“Captain Amherst,” he began, “you have much reason to hate me.”
“Oh, that is past and gone,” I responded, as heartily as I could, for I did not like the man, and indeed, though he only acted for another, he was a bitter foe.
“Perhaps I should not have done what I did,” he went on, “but Sir George swore me to an oath.”
“’Tis past,” I said. “You only served your master.”
“Then you forgive me?”
“Aye, surely,” I murmured, impatient to be away and find Lucille.
Simon came toward me, holding out his hand. I marked that it was his left, but I was too hurried to give it a thought, so I clasped it firmly.
His fingers closed over mine with the grip of a vise. He pulled me near him. His right hand shot out from his jacket, beneath which it was hidden. In it I caught the glitter of a knife. I saw him raise it above my head.
There was no time for me to draw my sword. I threw up my left arm to protect my head. Simon’s hand came down.
There was a pain in my arm, as if a hot iron had seared me. Then I felt it, ten times as hot, in my side. My ears rang with the roar of waters; my eyes saw only blackness.