“It was the King—as I know him.”
Merlin clutched at her, but Wat thrust him aside.
“Out! You have an answer. Isoult, I am a friend.”
She met his sinister eyes.
“Yes and no. I have spoken.”
Merlin flung back towards the fire in a rage.
“Go, and get you above. Close the trap on her, Guy. This bird may serve as a lure.”
Blood was dripping from Isoult’s hand; she did not heed it, but turned and walked towards the stairs. Guy tried to whisper to her, but she would not listen.
They gathered about the fire, hunching themselves on their stools and putting their heads together. John Ball had been in a stupor of prayer, and he was still kneeling with his face in the shadow. Merlin and Wat were the two who talked. Their voices rose and fell like a wind blowing fitfully through a hole in the wall.
As for Isoult, she found some straw and a horse-cloth in the attic, and spreading them over the trap-door, made her bed there, so that no one could steal in on her in the night.