was afraid, madame," he returned, dully. "Everywhere men fight, and I am afraid to die."
So they stood silent in the ruins of Bastling.
"Of a piece with our lives," Dame Alianora said at last. "All ruin, my Osmund."
But Messire Heleigh threw back his head and laughed, new color in his face. "Presently men will build here, my Queen. Presently, as in legend was re-born the Arabian bird, arises from these ashes a lordlier and more spacious town."
They went forward. The next day chance loosed upon them Gui Camoys, lord of Bozon, Foliot, and Thwenge, who, riding alone through Poges Copse, found there a man and a woman over their limited supper. The woman had thrown back her hood, and Camoys drew rein to stare at her. Lispingly he spoke the true court dialect.
"Ma belle," said this Camoys, in friendly condescension, "n'estez vous pas jongleurs?"
Dame Alianora smiled up at him. "Ouais, messire; mon mary faict les chanons--" She paused, with dilatory caution, for Camoys had leaped from his horse, giving a great laugh.
"A prize! ho, an imperial prize!" Camoys shouted. "A peasant woman with the Queen's face, who speaks French! And who, madame, is this? Have you by any chance brought pious Lewis from oversea? Have I bagged a brace of monarchs?"
Here was imminent danger, for Camoys had known the Queen some fifteen years. Messire Heleigh rose, his five days' beard glinting like hoar-frost as his mouth twitched.
"I am Osmund Heleigh, messire, younger brother to the Earl of Brudenel."
"I have heard of you, I believe--the fellow who spoils parchment. This is odd company, however, Messire Osmund, for Brudenel's brother."
"A gentleman must serve his Queen, messire. As Cicero very justly observes--"
"I am inclined to think that his political opinions are scarcely to our immediate purpose. This is a high matter, Messire Heleigh. To let the sorceress pass is, of course, out of the question; upon the other hand, I observe that you lack weapons of defence. Yet if you will have the kindness to assist me in unarming, your courtesy will place our commerce on more equal footing."
Osmund had turned very white. "I am no swordsman, messire--"
"Now, this is not handsome of you," Camoys began. "I warn you that people will speak harshly of us if we lose this opportunity of gaining honor. And besides, the woman will be burned at the stake. Plainly, you owe it to all three of us to fight."
"--But I refer my cause to God. I am quite at your service." "No, my Osmund!" Dame Alianora then cried. "It means your death."
He spread out his hands. "That is God's affair, madame."
"Are you not afraid?" she breathed.
"Of course I am afraid," said Messire Heleigh, irritably.
After that he unarmed Camoys, and presently they faced each other in their tunics. So for the first time in the journey Osmund's long falchion saw daylight. He had thrown away his dagger, as Camoys had none.
The combat was sufficiently curious. Camoys raised his left hand. "So help me God and His saints, I have upon me neither bone, stone, nor witchcraft wherethrough the power and the word of God might be diminished or the devil's power increased."
Osmund made similar oath. "Judge Thou this woman's cause!" he cried, likewise.
Then Gui Camoys shouted, as a herald might have done, "Laissez les aller, laissez les aller, laissez les aller, les bons combatants!" and warily each moved toward the other.
On a sudden Osmund attacked, desperately apprehensive of his own cowardice. Camoys lightly eluded him and slashed at Osmund's undefended thigh, drawing much blood. Osmund gasped. He flung away his sword, and in the instant catching Camoys under the arms, threw him to the ground. Messire Heleigh fell with his opponent, who in stumbling had lost his sword, and thus the two struggled unarmed, Osmund atop. But Camoys was the younger man, and Osmund's strength was ebbing rapidly by reason of his wound. Now Camoys' tethered horse, rearing with nervousness, tumbled his master's flat-topped helmet into the road. Osmund caught up this helmet and with it battered Camoys in the face, dealing severe blows.
"God!" Camoys cried, his face all blood.
"Do you acknowledge my quarrel just?" said Osmund, between horrid sobs.
"What choice have I?" said Gui Camoys, very sensibly.
So Osmund rose, blind with tears and shivering. The Queen bound up their wounds as best she might, but Camoys was much dissatisfied.
"For private purposes of His own, madame," he observed, "and doubtless for sufficient reasons, God has singularly favored your cause. I am neither a fool nor a pagan to question His decision, and you two may go your way unhampered. But I have had my head broken with my own helmet, and this I consider to be a proceeding very little conducive toward enhancing my reputation. Of your courtesy, messire, I must entreat another meeting."
Osmund shrank as if from a blow. Then, with a short laugh, he conceded that this was Camoys' right, and they fixed upon the following Saturday, with Poges Copse as the rendezvous.
"I would suggest that the combat be to the death," Gui Camoys said, "in consideration of the fact it was my own helmet. You must undoubtedly be aware, Messire Osmund, that such an affront is practically without any parallel."
This, too, was agreed upon.
Then, after asking if they needed money, which was courteously declined, Gui Camoys rode away, and sang as he went. Osmund Heleigh remained motionless. He raised quivering hands to the sky.
"Thou hast judged!" he cried. "Thou hast judged, O puissant Emperor of Heaven! Now pardon! Pardon us twain! Pardon for unjust stewards of Thy gifts! Thou hast loaned this woman dominion over England, with all instruments to aid Thy cause, and this trust she has abused. Thou hast loaned me life and manhood, agility and wit and strength, all instruments to aid Thy cause. Talents in a napkin, O God! Repentant we cry to Thee. Pardon for unjust stewards! Pardon for the ungirt loin, for the service shirked, for all good deeds undone! Pardon and grace, O King of kings!"
Thus he prayed, while Gui Camoys sang, riding deeper into the tattered, yellowing forest. By an odd chance Camoys had lighted on that song made by Thibaut of Champagne, beginning _Signor, saciez, ki or ne s'en ira_, which denounces all half-hearted servitors of Heaven; and this he sang with a lilt gayer than his matter countenanced. Faintly there now came to Osmund and the Queen the sound of Camoys' singing, and they found it, in the circumstances, ominously apt.
Sang Camoys:
"Et vos, par qui je n'ci onques ae, Descendez luit en infer le parfont."
Dame Alianora shivered. But she was a capable woman, and so she said: "I may have made mistakes. But I am sure I never meant
