"I will sell you one," corrected the witch. "But I should warn you. They
are not cheap."
"No matter."
"Good. I was about to observe that since our sovereign liege KING RICHARD
granted peace to the Saracen the cost both of material and labour hath so
parlously risen that I am unable to supply a really reliable article under
fifty golden angels."
"I have them here."
"With special pins, of course, extra."
"Take what you will." The maiden flung down a leathern wallet that chinked
pleasingly. The witch, having transferred the contents of this to her own
pocket, proceeded to fashion the required charm, watched by her client with
half-repelled eagerness.
"Hawk's eye, falcon's nose, raven's lock, peacock's clothes," chanted the
crone, following the words with her cunning fingers.
"How--how know you him?" Panic was in the voice.
The other laughed unpleasantly. "Doth not the whole district know the Lord
Oeil-de-Veau by reputation?" She held out the image. "Handle him carefully
and use a fresh pin for each record."
The maid snatched it from her hands and was turning towards the door of the
hut when a low tap on its outer surface caused her to shrink back alarmed.
The witch had again been watching her with an ambiguous smile. "Should
Moddam wish to avoid observation," she suggested, "the side exit behind
yonder curtain--" In an instant she was alone. Flinging the empty wallet
into the darkest corner the witch (not without sundry chuckles) slowly
unbarred the entrance.
On the threshold stood a slim female figure enveloped in a cloak. "The love
potion I had here last week," began a timid voice, "seems hardly
satisfactory. If you stock a stronger quality, no matter how expensive--"
"Step inside," said the witch.
* * * * *
Some couple of months later the ladies of the house-party assembled at
Sangazure Castle for the Victory jousts were gathered in the great hall,
exchanging gossip and serf-stories in the firelight while awaiting the
return of their menkind.
"Hath any heard," lisped one fair young thing, "how fareth the Lord
Oeil-de-Veau? They tell me that some mysterious ailment hath him in
thrall."
At the words the Lady Yolande Sangazure (whom we have met before) was aware
of a crimson flood mounting swiftly to her exquisite temples. Strange to
add, the same phenomenon might have been observed in a score of damosels
belonging to the best families in the district. The hall seemed suffused in
a ruddy glow that was certainly not reflected from the exiguous pile of
post-Crusading fuel smouldering on the great hearth.
"Tush!" broke in the cracked voice of a withered old dame, "your news is
old. Not only hath the so-called fever vanished but my lord himself hath
followed it."
"Gone!" The cry was echoed by twenty voices; twenty embroidery-frames fell
from forty arrested hands, while nine-and-thirty dismayed eyes fixed
themselves upon the maliciously-amused countenance of the speaker. Only
one, belonging to the Lady Beauregarde, who squinted slightly, remained as
though unmoved by the general commotion.
"Moreover," continued the old dame, "report saith that with him went his
leman, who, having some art in necromancy, transformed her beauty to the
semblance of a witch and provided her own dowry by the sale, to certain
addle-pated wenches, of charms for which her lover himself prepared the
market."
"But--his fever?" an impetuous voice broke in.
"Cozening, no doubt. Of course the tale may be but idle babble; still, if
true, one would admit that such credulous fools got no more than they
deserved."
She ceased, well satisfied. "I fancy," observed the Lady Yolande coldly,
"that I hear our lords returning." And in the eloquent silence a score of
fair young minds slowly assimilated the profound truth (as fresh to-day as
eight hundred years ago) that Satan finds some mischief still for the
impecunious demobilised.
* * * * *