“Lay it on the grass—there.”
He obeyed her, wondering what was in her mind.
Mellis knelt and cut the leather thong that fastened the throat of the sack. The leather had kept out the damp, and her white hands drew out armor that was bright as the blade of her poniard. It was a suit of white mail beautifully wrought, yet noble in its clean simplicity. Salade, breast-plate, shoulder pieces, back-plate, tassets, loin-guard, vam-braces, rear-braces, elbow pieces, gauntlets, thigh plates, greaves, solerets and spurs, she laid them all upon the grass. And last of all she drew out a belt and sword, and a plain shield colored green.
She spread her hands, palms downwards, over them.
“This was to have been my brother’s harness.”
Martin Valliant was kneeling at her side.
“And now, God helping me, I have chosen the man who shall wear it—even you, Martin Valliant, my comrade in arms.”
Martin’s eyes seemed to catch the sunlight. He knelt for a while in silence, as though he were praying.
“May no shame come to it through me,” he said at last; “and though it may sit strange on me, my heart shall serve you to the death.”
She took the sword and rose from her knees.