Fulk de Lisle rode for a mile without troubling to glance back. He was in great good humor, and trying to raise some color in the face of the girl beside him. She looked dazed, beaten, her eyes empty of all light, her hands gripping the pommel of her saddle.
“Why so sad, sweet mistress? Am I not as good a man as any fellow yonder, and better than our friend the monk1? I have won you on a fair field.”
Her eyes glanced at him with furtive2 dread3.
“I know not who you are.”
He put up his vizor and she knew him by his eyes, bold, brown, and merciless.
“Ah!”
Her frank horror angered him, and he reached out and twisted his hand into her hair.
“What! Shall I have to tame you, teach you what manner of man I am? What others have had I will have also.”
“Beast!”
Her pride rose at his challenge.
“Let me go, or I will throw myself out of the saddle.”
“And be dragged by the hair, my shrew! No, no; such tricks will not serve. I have taken my prize, and this time I shall not be balked5 of it.”
She knew her own helplessness, and constrained6 herself to try other weapons.
“Let me go. You are hurting.”
“Is the fault mine? Smile at me, you jade7, and look not so sick and passionless.”
She contrived8 to smile, hating him the more for it.
“That’s better—much better. Why, I have taught many women to love me, but love does not last, wench; that is why men should marry for a month and no more.”
He let her go, and glancing back over his shoulder, he reined9 in with sudden fierceness. The white horse, checked so roughly, swerved10 and showed temper.
“Stand still, you beast! Hallo! what have we here?”
Mellis saw what Fulk de Lisle saw, and her face flamed like a sunset. Martin Valliant had drawn11 up to within a quarter of a mile of them, but he was holding his horse in and following them with a certain grim leisureliness12. This eastern part of Bracknell Plain was an utter wilderness13; they had left victory and defeat far behind; nothing moved over the heather.
Fulk de Lisle caught a glimpse of Mellis’s face with its shining eyes and its rich rush of tenderness. The droop14 had gone out of her figure, and her throat had regained15 its pride.
He laughed with malicious16 insolence17.
“What is this, my lady? A beggar in a black smock? I am in no temper to give alms to-day.”
He spurred on his horse, and jerked Mellis along with him. It was his spear that had broken itself in John Falconer’s body, and he felt to see that his sword was loose in its scabbard. Mellis noticed the act, and smiled strangely. Ahead of them towered the fir woods of Amber18 Holt, dark and silent, like a great green cloud across the blue. Dense19 gloom lay behind the tall straight trunks, and bracken foamed20 at their feet.
She glanced back over her shoulder, and realized that Martin had no harness. He had drawn nearer, and she could see that he carried some sort of weapon on his shoulder. Fear for him darkened her eyes. What chance had he, a naked man, against this steel-coated swashbuckler with his sword and dagger21?
She hated Fulk de Lisle—hated him with such intensity22 that he turned his head sharply and met her eyes. Even his vanity could not misread the look in them.
“So! Madame has a tender heart? You white-bosomed jade!”
He drew the white horse in, hooked an arm around her neck, and forced her face close to his helmet.
“Look in my eyes, wench. Yes, our friend can see this pretty picture. If he meddles24 with me I shall kill him; somewhere over yonder in the fir woods. Then we shall be alone together, you and I, and you will give me all that I desire.”
She strained away from him.
“Beast! Be not so sure!”
He laughed.
“What—a fool of a monk with a club! I know that sort of clumsy savage25. It will be mere26 murder.”
But she would not betray her fear.
“Have it so. Strange things happen—even to kings.”
Martin saw all this, and his wrath27 blew like a north wind. He had guessed the name of the red knight28 and knew the man with whom he had to deal. It would be no easy business, setting about this notable sworder and captain with nothing but a green holly29 stake, but somehow Martin had no doubts as to how the battle would end. His cold fury was so intense and so fanatical that it resembled a fate that was not to be stayed or turned back.
Fulk de Lisle and Mellis were nearing the fir woods, and Martin put his horse at a canter and drew up within fifty yards. De Lisle had no spear; that was something in Martin’s favor, though his long sword would be deadly enough in so strong and cunning a hand. Martin had a shrewd notion as to how he ought to fight the man; if he could dismount him and get to close grips De Lisle’s heavy armor would make him clumsy and slow.
The shadows of the firs swept over them, and they were in among the crowded trunks, riding down a narrow track that seemed to lose itself in the distant gloom. Martin drew closer, teeth set, his heavy truncheon ready on his shoulder.
Fulk de Lisle turned in the saddle and looked back at him. He had drawn his sword.
“My friend, be warned in time. Turn back, or I shall kill you.”
Martin said never a word, but drew closer, his eyes shining in a dead-white face.
De Lisle had every advantage, but there was a woman at his side, and he did not respect her courage or her hatred30 as he should have done. The white horse was close to his, and of a sudden Mellis twisted sideways, threw her arms about De Lisle’s body, and held to him desperately31.
“Martin—Martin!”
Martin kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks, leaning forward and swinging his club. De Lisle had got an arm around Mellis’s body. He dragged her around on to his knees, struck her savagely32 in the breast with the pommel of his sword, and flung her down under her horse’s feet. He brought his horse around just as Martin charged him, and gave his enemy the point; but Martin had been waiting for such a trick, and slipping down under his horse’s f............