“What?” she asked, her eyes big with wondering disappointment. “Why not? I don’t grudge it to you, a mite. Nor Ehud wouldn’t either.”
“You don’t understand,” he explained, feeling as though he had brutally rejected the love-offering of a child. “I cannot wear this splendid sword because I am not entitled to. Such a weapon is worn by none but commissioned officers. I am only a sergeant. And a sergeant is not permitted to carry a sword of this kind. Any more than he is allowed to wear epaulets.”
“But—”
“I should treasure this gift above any other I have ever had,” he went on, “if the laws of warfare would let me take it. I shall never forget that you offered it to me—an utter stranger—out of the generous bounty of your heart. Please don’t think I don’t appreciate it.”
Reluctantly she restored the sword to its hook on the raftered ceiling.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “If Ehud’s sword could go on fighting, I’d feel happier.”
“If I could carry it to victory, madam, I’d feel prouder than I can tell you.”
“Well, maybe you’ll be able to wear a sword at your side some of these days. If you’re a sergeant now and if you had the pluck to ride alone into this nest of hornets—By the way, did you come alone or were you separated from your regiment?”
“I came alone. I am carrying dispatches. To General Hooker.”
“Fighting Joe, eh? That’s a man after my own heart. Where is he?”