“Madam is asleep,” said Diccon’s voice behind me.
“Ay,” I answered. “She’ll find a jack of mail but a hard pillow. And look to her that she does not fall.”
“I had best walk beside you, then,” he said.
I nodded, and he dismounted, and throwing the mares bridle over his arm strode on beside us, with his hand upon the frame of the pillion. Ten minutes passed, the last five of which I rode with my face over my shoulder. “Diccon!” I cried at last sharply.
He came to his senses with a start. “Ay, sir?” he questioned, his face dark red.
“Suppose you look at me for a change,” I said. “How long since Dale came in, Diccon?”
“Ten years, sir.”
“Before we enter Jamestown we’ll pass through a certain field and beneath a certain tree. Do you remember what happened there, some years ago?”
“I am not like to forget, sir. You saved me from the wheel.”
“Upon which you were bound, ready to be broken for drunkenness, gaming, and loose living. I begged your life from Dale for no other reason, I think, than that you had been a horse-boy in my old company in the Low Countries. God wot the life was scarcely worth the saving!”