Bertrand’s brows contracted as he gave the lad a look that should have let light into his soul. Robin seemed glib enough with his excuses.
“Do not think that I am doing this for your sake, Messire Robin Raguenel.”
“No?” and the coward looked astonished at the words.
“I am thinking of your father and your sister at La Bellière. They love you, Robin, and God knows I am loved by no one. Therefore, I remember the love they have for you, for no one will grieve if Bertrand du Guesclin gathers shame.”
Robin looked at him vacantly. So wrapped up was he in his own troubles that he did not realize the greatness of Bertrand’s sacrifice.
“Oh, it will work very well,” he stammered.
“You think so? Thanks.”
“We can say that your horse fell lame. And if you keep your visor down no one will know you. Besides, you are strong enough to fight any man who gives you the lie.”
Bertrand ground his teeth over the ease with which the lad contrived it all. By the blood of God! did the fool think that it was easy for a strong man to throw away the chance he had longed and prayed for? Bertrand knew what men would say of him, and that the public tongue is as uncharitable as it is false.
“Unbuckle my arm pieces.”