“He is too good for this world, Vance; I would that you could help us to be rid of him.”
The red man grinned.
“Why, anything in reason! One bruises one’s toe against these incorruptible lumps. And your toe may be swollen, holy friend.”
“Have done. This is serious to us.”
“Speak out, then; confess to me, Dom Geraint; I am no suckling.”
Geraint poured out more ale.
“But for Abbot Hilary we should not care a snap of the fingers.”
“Every man has a man over him, gossip, even if it be only a grave-digger. My Lord of Troy—well, I would not lose Roger Bland’s good-will. I should be a broken man in a month, and I know it. You are afraid of this pup’s yelping?”
Geraint nodded, and sat biting the nail of his thumb.
“Teach him to gnaw bones.”