“Ah, Brother Greenshield, get me out into the sunlight. I would rather lie on the green grass—under those apple trees. This place smells of the coffin.”
Martin helped him up.
“That wound of yours must be dressed. Mistress Mellis is finding me linen.”
Swartz put an arm around him.
“Deo gratias, but I guess I owe this crack of the poll to her. Well, I bear her no ill-will. And I have a liking for you, Greenshield, a man after my own heart.”
“We were trying to kill each other half an hour ago.”
“Lord, man, are we the worse for that?”
Martin helped Swartz out into the orchard and propped him against a tree. And there Mellis found them like brethren in arms when she brought linen and red wine.
“I have found you linen, Martin Valliant.”
But she did not tell him that she had torn it from her own shift.