“Listen. Who am I? The child of a Breton gentleman, of a good man who fell into the Devil’s lap. I was desired, and I fled; but he who desired me was strong and cunning. Yet he did not prevail. I—a knight’s daughter, fled, dressed as a common singing-girl, to the English, and Thomas of Woodstock, the King’s uncle, looked on me with the eyes of a calf. He spoke fair words, swore I should be his lady, and, since I feared that other lover, I sailed with Thomas of Woodstock into England. He gave me a fair manor house in the west to live in, still spoke fair words, and hid what was in his heart. It was Merlin who betrayed Thomas of Woodstock to me, and in those days I did not know the colour of Father Merlin’s soul. I swore a feud against all lords and nobles, went wandering, and pitied the poor. My bitterness made a fool of me, for I joined myself to John Ball and his dreams, called myself ‘Queen of the Outlaws,’ and sang wild songs to all who were discontented. That is my tale, Friend Fulk. I have told it you. But never has any man called me his.”
His grip on her wrist did not relax.
“Brave heart, well flown.”
She turned her face, and he caught the shine of her eyes.
“Ah, but am I tamed—I, the Breton falcon?”
“Who would see you tamed? Not I, by my sword! Who would mate with a white pigeon?”
She laughed softly.
“Enough, hot-headed one. Those men are listening.”
He would not let her hand go for the moment.
“Isoult, by the shine in your eyes I will have none but you.”