And Theron whispered back, “Perhaps I do.”
Perpetua shook her head, and the flame of her hair rippled over her shoulders.
“God’s will rules the world. There is nothing to fear. Farewell, dear father.”
Theron took her face in his two brown, wrinkled hands and kissed it tenderly.
“Farewell, eaglet,” he sighed. Then he left her and went into the open, bearing the great sword, that seemed to gleam crimson with the sunlight. He closed the door behind him carefully, and was making for the mountain-path, when Hildebrand caught him by the arm.
“Is that the headsman’s weapon? ’Tis a pretty piece of steel. Can your withered sinews still wield it?”
Theron looked at his interrogator with a frown of disdain for his foppery.
“I doubt if you could do as much, younker,” he growled.
Hildebrand only laughed.
“Do you think because I am feathered like a bird-of-paradise that I have no sap in me? Let me handle your chin-chopper.”