The man-at-arms was one of her most ardent admirers. He looked down on the pretty upturned face.
"A thousand, Mistress Beatrice! You have but to ask, pardie."
"Then throw me down yon helmet your lord cast away anon."
The man hesitated. He glanced round; but Sir Fulke was out of sight. Beatrice pouted deliciously.
"I said not a thousand, but one favour, Hubert. By my troth, Arnoul or Denis would have given it me in a trice. Methinks you set less store on my words than--"
"Be not so cruel, fair one," exclaimed the admiring archer. "I obey your slightest wish. Here!"
The helmet fell at her feet. Beatrice picked it up, and then, without so much as a look at the archer, ran back with it to Aliva.
"See, my lady," she cried, "thou canst read these riddles of the heralds."
Aliva recognized on the helmet the crest of the De Beauchamps.
CHAPTER XVI.