“And I have seen him too often. What, you have lived in these parts and know not Messire Fulk de Lisle?”
Martin’s forehead wrinkled itself.
“Fulk de Lisle! A great gentleman in my Lord of Troy’s service.”
“A great gentleman! God help you, Martin Valliant, and God help— Enough. This clinches it. I have often itched to cut that man’s throat, though I have served with him.”
Martin Valliant’s eyes filled with a sudden fury of understanding.
“Why is he here?”
“To play any devil’s trick that pleases him. You do not know Messire Fulk de Lisle. Rich is a saint beside him. The debonair, filthy, malicious devil! Why, I could tell you— Oh! to hell with the beast!”
He twisted around and looked up into Martin Valliant’s face.
“Man, can you stand torture?”
“Speak out!”