Swartz had a look at her as she turned to go.
“Saints, brother, but some things are well lost for a woman.”
Martin’s eyes grew grim.
“Tush, man, I did not speak lightly. Never flare out at Peter Swartz; he is too old a ruffian.”
Martin fetched water from the mere in his salade and washed and dressed Swartz’s head for him. He gave him wine to drink, and Swartz was glad of it.
“Zounds, that’s good. Now, by my soul, I think I will spend the night here, out of the dew, and with the stars blinking above. I have a love of the green earth, Martin Valliant; I was not bred in a city. And look you here, man——”
Martin gazed at him steadily.
“You took me in fair fight, and here I shall stay, so long as you hold the place. I swear to keep faith, and to play no tricks on you. And here’s the hand of a soldier.”
Martin accepted the pledge.
“My heart trusts you,” he said.