“Still thinking, Martin?”
He hesitated, and then told her of Swartz, and the inn at Gawdy Town. Her eyes brightened.
“Good Swartz! Good comrade! Why, that is a plan worth trying when matters look so desperate. The men of Gawdy Town have no great love for my Lord of Troy.”
Martin looked at her in astonishment, for the brave adventurousness of her face betrayed no fear of the future.
“Mellis. Have you considered?”
“Everything. More than you can guess, dear lad. Why, I am wiser than you are, and tougher in the ways of the world. We should find ourselves in France, taking the open road, sleeping in all manner of odd places, sometimes begging, sometimes singing for pay. The great vagabond life! But Swartz was right. Strong men soon jostle free, get a higher seat than their fellows. I have wandered; I know what can be done. Martin Valliant was born to fight and to rule.”
But she had not won him yet. His mystical love still glimpsed self-sacrifice, renunciation.
It was before they came to the Rondel river that they sighted a forester’s cottage in a deep hollow under the woods. Mellis knew the place, and after scanning it awhile turned her horse toward it.
“Jeremy Marvel lived there—a good fellow. He may sell us what we need.”
She smiled at Martin’s blank face.