“I have a promise that must be kept,” he answered.
“Here?” And Beaumanoir looked at him hard and smiled.
“No, to my mother—at Cancale.”
“Keep it, messire. It may be a month before we sail—if that is time enough.”
“Then, sire, I will come with you.”
“Brothers in arms—for the memory of Mivoie.”
Hopart and Guicheaux, trudging behind Bertrand’s horse as they followed him over the bleak lands towards the sea, glanced often at each other like two men most wise; for their lord rode as though he were alone with his own thoughts, a smile on his lips, and in his eyes the light of a brave desire.
For Tiphaïne had given him one long kiss at parting, and a lock of her hair, that he should wear under his armor—over his heart.
“Wait,” her eyes had said.
And Bertrand had answered: