‘Why, are you going to hold a council of war?’
‘That is as you take it. Now, look here, Smid. Whomsoever I cannot trust, I suppose I may trust you, eh?’
‘Well!’ quoth Smid surlily, putting down his goblet, ‘that is a strange question to ask of a man who has marched, and hungered, and plundered, and conquered, and been well beaten by your side for five-and-twenty years, through all lands between the Wesel and Alexandria!’
‘I am growing old, I suppose, and so I suspect every one. But hearken to me, for between wine and ill-temper out it must come. You saw that Alruna-woman?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well?’
‘Well?’
‘Why, did not you think she would make a wife for any man?’
‘Well?’
‘And why not for our Amal?’