“We are safe enough now, madam,” she said,
and went on to explain, “Hold you by that path,
Princess, until beech and holly end and oaks begin.
Follow the dip of the land, you will come to Thornyhold
Brush; with those you find there you may stay until
you know who shall send for you. That may be
likely a week or more, for I am not so young as I
would be, and the roads are thick with Galordians.
Now kiss me quickly if you will stoop so low:
it is the last time I shall ask it of you.”
Isoult thanked her with sparkling eyes and warm red
lips; then she stood alone in the wood watching her
old friend go. Afterwards she herself took to
the path, wondering, but light-hearted and minded to
run.
The spruce Falve, curled and anointed for the bridal,
found no wife, but his mother, who called him a fool,
a knave, a notorious evil-liver and contemner of holy
persons. This was hard to bear, for part of it
at least he knew to be quite true. What was harder
was, that hitherto he had always believed his mother
of his party. But there is no pietist like your
reformed rake; so Falve left the huckster’s shop
vowing vengeance. The day was July 18, and all
the town astir, for Galors de Born and his riders
were just in from a raid.
THE ROAD TO GOLTRES
On July 14 Prosper left Wanmeeting at a gallop, in
the driving rain. There had been thunder and
a change in the weather; the roads were heavy and
the brooks brimming; but by noon he was in the plain,
and by night at One Ash, a lonely dead tree as often
gallows as not. There he slept in his cloak.
Next morning he was early in the saddle, and had reached
the fringe of Goltres Heath by breakfast time—if
the hour without the thing can be called by such a
comfortable name.
He knew there was a cross-road somewhere near by from
Goltres to Hauterive Town. He should go warily,
for if the first were invested there must needs be
communications with the base, which was Hauterive.
Sure enough, he had not seen the finger-post before
he saw the pikes. There were three mounted men
there, one of whom had his face to the north and was
shading his eyes to spy over the heath. In a dozen
more strides (for he was at no pains to skulk from
three troopers) a man saw him, gave a shout and spurred
over the heather. Prosper pulled his horse into
a gallop, resolved to bring things to a quick conclusion.
Spear in rest he came down on his fellow like a gale
of wind.
The man swerved at the onset; Prosper rocketed into
him; horse and man went over in a heap. “Bungler,”
cried Prosper, and went on. The other two faced
him together standing. Prosper drove in between
them, and had one of them off at the cost of a snapt
spear. He turned on the other with his sword
whirling round his head.
“Quarter, Messire!” cried the trooper,
“here comes one of my betters for you.”
