She spoke half in a whisper, and with an irony that went over his head.
“When are we to be in London, great captain?”
“In three days.”
“So soon?”
“We want to be in, and to have the glory, and some of the pickings, before the easterlings and the midlanders come up.”
“To be sure.”
She smiled at him as she might have smiled at some extravagantly bitter jest. He leant over the tailboard, and his eyes leered.
“Isoult, you shall be a great lady.”
“I shall be nothing, my friend, just nothing.”
“Wait till some of us have our castles and our lands.”