“That Sussex hawk—that love child of a Prince! Hallo, listen.”
Men were coming down the lane with a rattle of arms. Someone knocked at the door.
“Who’s there?”
“Wat and John Ball.”
Merlin nodded Guy towards the door. He dropped the bar, and they came crowding in—men whose hands were bloody and whose throats were dry.
“Why bitest thou thy beard, St. Francis?”
“Saints, is the man hungry? Here is good Father John who has not touched a crust.”
Merlin caught Wat by the shoulder.
“I’m in no mood for your clowning when the lords have made fools of us all.”
“Good sir, I think not.”