Fulk’s eyes were cold as a frost, and a great and bitter scorn possessed
him. He had kept faith with the King and his lords, and now that they no
longer needed him they had gone about to be rid of so dangerous a friend
by setting bravos to murder him.
Fulk had a sullen face when they sat down under the yew tree to make
their morning meal, nor did Isoult vex him with much talking. Her own
scorn was up in arms. She thought of Knollys and Cavendish, and of the
way they had brought them down to the Black Mere and left them to be set
upon and butchered by ruffians and outlaws in charge of an arch-rebel.
And somehow she could not believe it—could not believe that Knollys
knew.
“Are you sure it is the King’s ring?”
He answered her grimly:
“I wore it on my own finger.”
“Yet I could swear that Knollys knows nothing of it.”
“You think that? It would be strange if he did not!”
His voice was sharp with scorn.
“Knollys planned the adventure. Knollys brought us here—in secret. Pah!
it makes my gorge rise!”
“Have faith in a friend. Might not I be the traitress?”
He flashed a look at her.
“Isoult, if I sneer and am savage, bear with me. This—has hurt—more
than wounds.”
Instantly she was kneeling before him, her hands on his shoulders.
“I know, I know. Such treachery bites deep. But there are other lands
than this, and you and I will seek them.”
He caught her and held her fast.
“Dear heart, heal me. We will ride out together, this very morning, and
take ship for France. The shipmen will want money, and, by God, I feel
minded to turn robber for a day and empty some rich fool’s purse. We
must have money.”
“Sell the horses.”
“Then as to the ports. Southampton and the great ones will be watched.
The King’s doom is on us.”
She laughed softly.
“Am I not something of a wanderer, and yet know nothing of the ways? We
have no need of ports and shipmen. A fishing-boat will serve. I have
money for that.”
She showed him where she had ten gold pieces sewn up in her tunic.
“Isoult, you are a wonder of a woman.”
Yet his face and eyes looked sad.
“We shall go out like beggars. And it was in my heart to make you a
great lady, with a ship to carry us, and ‘spears’ in our pay.”
“Then make me a great lady. Who will be prouder than Isoult when your
sword wins that which it deserves? A stout heart is better than a full
purse.”
He kissed her, and her fresh breath mingled with his, and for a while
she lay in his arms, loving him dearly, and the dead men and the King’s
ring were forgotten.
Then Fulk gave a sudden cry. She looked up and saw his eyes flashing at
something over the water.
“Merlin’s men?”
“No. A pennon and spears.”
She drew away and sprang up, shading her eyes with her hand, the hot
colour out of her face.
“It is Knollys! Surely it is Knollys!”
Fulk stood in the shade of the yew.
“Yes, it is Knollys. How many men can you count? Thirty, if there is
one. He has come to bury us, perhaps, or to do Merlin’s work if Merlin
should have failed.”
“Fulk, I’ll not believe it.”
“We shall know the truth soon enough. Stay here.”
He took his sword, and, walking down to the water’s edge, posted himself
there like a sentinel, the point of his sword grounded, his hands
resting on the pommel. Knollys and his men came riding down towards the
mere, the sunlight flashing on their harness, for the gentry rode armed
through the months that followed the rising.
Knollys tossed his spear, but Fulk did not move. He mistrusted all men
that morning.
“Hail, hail!”
They reined in on the farther bank, not knowing that dead men had been
dragged by the heels into the thickets. But Merlin’s raft of tree trunks
lay in the shallows and Knollys eyed it and looked puzzled.
They could see Isoult under the yew tree, and Fulk standing in his
harness by the water’s edge, and looking more like an enemy than a
friend. Knollys’ face darkened. He spoke sharply to Cavendish, who set
his horse beside him.
“Somehow, I smell blood here. And I see no boat.”
He looked across at Fulk, who had not moved, but waited there as though
ready to fight any man who should seek to land.
Knollys dismounted, and, climbing down the bank, stepped on to Merlin’s
craft that lay among the flags and sedges. It was solid enough, and the
rough paddles were there just as the men had left them, but Knollys
stepped ashore again and called Cavendish to him.
“Something has flown askew here. Unbuckle this harness of mine. I am
going over on this noble ship and may have to swim for it. The lad over
yonder looks as though he were in a white rage and ready to fight all
Christendom.”
He left his sword and armour with Cavendish, put on his cote-hardie,
and, calling two unarmed servants down to the water, bade them take the
paddles and ferry him over. It was a slow and a devious passage, the
raft doing its best to spin in a circle, for the paddles were clumsy
tools. Knollys stood with his feet well apart on the tree-trunks,
watching Fulk with increasing curiosity.
“Hold there! Sir Robert Knollys, let those fellows of yours keep their
places. I will speak with you—alone.”
His hands were on the hilt of his sword, his head held high, his eyes
dangerous.
Knollys sprang ashore.
“What game is this that you are playing, my friend?”
“If you had come armed you would not have set foot here. Tell those
fellows to keep their places.”
“Come, come, lad.”
“Knollys, there is a devil in me. Beware! I have looked murder and
treachery in the eyes. I trust no man this morning.”
“These are strange words.”
“Are they, by God! If you would see dead men—come hither.”
He turned sharply, and strode off towards the house, Knollys following
him with a face that was growing grim. In the porch dead men and faggots
were still jumbled together, and the stones were crusted with blood.
Knollys stared.
“Whose men are these?”
“You shall see.”
He led him into the hall where Merlin lay, and stood pointing with his
sword.
“Dost know that hound, Knollys?”
“No, by my God!”
“Look closer. Whose ring is that—there, on the crooked hand?”
Knollys stooped, and then straightened, as though dumbfounded.
“The King’s ring!”
“Even so—the King’s ring. And these were the King’s men, these footpads
and brothel-sweepings led by that damned priest. We fought and beat
them, and they tried to burn the house about us. And this grey hound
carried the King’s ring. Strange happenings, Knollys! Stranger still,
who was it that betrayed us?”
Knollys started round with a face like thunder.
“Fulk Ferrers, you speak as though you charged me with this.”
“I charge the whole world—till I know the truth. Who brought us here?
How was it the place was empty? Who betrayed the secret to Merlin? Who
gave Merlin the King’s ring?”
Knollys opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He turned, and
began to stamp up and down the hall, glancing at Merlin every time he
passed.
“Thunder!”
He wheeled round and faced Fulk.
“By God, lad, such words take some swallowing! And this black treachery!
The boy knew! He gave the ring! He has spat upon our honour!”
His eyes were like the eyes of a man leading a charge of horse.
“Shall I, Robert Knollys, have to pledge myself on the Cross? Where is
Isoult?”
“Out yonder.”
“Bring her in to me. Let her hear.”
Fulk went out into the garden and brought her into the hall, where
Knollys was pacing up and down. He paused in his stride, swung round,
and saw Isoult’s bandaged arm.
“Wounded?”
“She turned a knife aside from me, Knollys.”
“Isoult, a woman can look into a man’s eyes and read his honour. Fulk
here looks at me askance, as though I, Robert Knollys, were a false and
bloody dog fit to hunt with that dead hound yonder. By the Cross of
Christ, I knew nothing of this treachery.”
Isoult was ready with her answer.
“I believe it.”
But Knollys looked at Fulk.
“Let him speak, for I was his father’s comrade in arms.”
Something gave way in Fulk’s mistrust. The blood rushed to his face; his
eyes grew generous. He stood forward, holding out a hand.
“Knollys, God pardon me. I have had a devil in me since I saw the ring
on that friar’s hand.”
“And, by heaven, lad, I too have a devil in me. Richard is at Windsor; I
would put this ring in the false boy’s nose.”
He went to where Merlin lay, and, taking the ring from the dead hand,
slipped it on his own little finger.
“Madame Isoult, trust your man to me. I will leave Cavendish and a guard
here. They shall clear out these shambles. And to-morrow you shall see
our faces again.”
She looked Knollys steadily in the eyes.
“Yes, I trust you. But this man of mine has not slept.”
Fulk laughed.
“What is a night without a bed to a forester? Knollys, I am with you.
Our horses are in the stable.”
“You shall take Cavendish’s. It will save time, and we can get fresh
mounts on the road. I blow like a north wind when my blood is up. Come.”
He took Isoult’s hand, lifted it to his lips, and then turned towards
the door.
“Take her in your arms, lad. A brave woman is worth all the good wine in
the world.”