“So many men have said; but—I—I will think on it.”
So they rode on into the night; while Father Merlin sat before the fire at “The Painted Lady,” and the men who were his creatures stood in a half-circle watching him like dogs. Here were Guy the Stallion and the Polecat, Jack o’ the Knife, Peter of Alton, Will Sunburst, and several more, all rank rogues and thieves. And they stood and grumbled together, and watched the grey friar.
Then Guy had a fit of courage.
“Master Merlin, no man quarrels with cutting throats for a good purse; but, by cock, I’ll not walk out into the dark with my eyes shut. There’s blood!”
The rest applauded him.
“Guy has a tongue.”
“Let’s see the inside of the gentleman’s fist.”
Merlin swung round on his stool and faced them, and his face was not pleasant to behold.
“Fools and jays, come, look. Bring a torch.”
They gathered round, and he held out his hand with something that glittered on the third finger. Their heads came together over it, the light of the torch flickering on their faces.