Geoffroi sat up with a sudden shout, all dripping crimson. He held out his red-stained hand. "What is this? What is this?" he cried in a high, unnatural voice. "This is blood on my hand!"
"No, my lord, it is wine," said the jongleur; "you fell into a deep swoon, and it was thus I roused you."
"Did you see him?" said Geoffroi. "Oh, did you see him by the wall? Christ shield us all! It was Pierce, a soldier of mine. His throat was cut and all bloody, and he made mouths like a man whose throat is slit in war."
"My lord, you are disordered," said the jongleur. "You ate pork at supper, a wonderful bad thing for the belly at night."
Geoffroi said never a word, but fell trembling upon his knees.
CHAPTER V
The three trees of Monkshood Glade.
How fresh the morning air was in the wood! A million yellow spears flashed through the thick leaves and stabbed the undergrowth with gold. A delicious smell of leaves and forest beasts scented the cool breezes, and birds of all colours sang hymns to the sun.