He trod the links like a buck in Spring, and he looked a lance in rest.
“Now here is thy master,” Kamal said, “who leads a troop of the Guides,
And thou must ride at his left side, as shield on shoulder rides.
Till death or I cut loose the tie at camp, and board and bed,
Thy life is his—thy fate to guard him with thy head.
So thou must eat the White Queen’s meat, and all her foes are thine,
And thou must harry thy father’s hold for the peace at the Borderline;
And thou must make a trooper tough and hack thy way to power—
Belike they will raise thee to Rassaldar when I am hanged in Peshawur.”
They have looked each other between the eyes, and there they found no fault;