For three long hours Robin suffered from the good-will of his friends, and even when La Bellière was free of them, the lad still had his father to torment him with affection. Stephen Raguenel had the ways and whims of an old man. Like a child, he was never tired of hearing the same tale retold. Robin was dragged into the solar, held at bay in the broad window-seat, and catechised tenderly till the truth itself was torn to tatters. The lad writhed inwardly under the ordeal, finding each lie the more bitter to his lips. He escaped from the old man at last, and went out into the orchard, letting his hot face cool in the wind.
It was under the apple-trees that Tiphaïne found him, tossing twigs into the pool that reflected the budding bloom above. Robin had said no word to her of Bertrand’s breaking of his oath. She had heard it spoken of for the first time at the high table by Raoul de Resay and others. Hot and angry, she had given the lie to young Prosper of Dinan, who had called Bertrand a coward, and had silenced those who cavilled thoughtlessly at Du Guesclin’s honor.
Robin saw her through the trees and cursed her to himself, guessing that his hypocrisy was to be tested once more. Tiphaïne did not see the spasm of pain that passed across her brother’s face. She was troubled for Bertrand, and angry when she remembered how the spruce young squires had sat in lordly and complacent judgment on a man whom not one of them would have dared to face in arms.
“Robin, they tell me Bertrand did not fight at Mivoie.”
Robin groaned in spirit, and marched out the weary troop of lies once more, watching his sister’s face as she stood leaning against the trunk of an apple-tree. He saw that she was troubled, and, like the guilty coward that he was, began to wonder whether she suspected him.
“Robin, this is bad news to me.”
The lad was breaking twigs from a bough above his head.
“You do not know how much this meant to Bertrand! He had prayed for such honor—prayed for it night and day.”
So absorbed was she for the moment that the rush of shame into her brother’s eyes passed unnoticed. Tiphaïne had turned and stood looking at the pool, whose still waters reflected the apple-boughs and the burning clouds above.
Robin recovered himself and began to whistle.