The boat had drifted close to the willows that grew on the farther bank. Fulk was leaning forward over the pole, Isoult touching the strings of the lute. The evening sunlight played upon the water, dappling it with gold between the network of shadows.
Merlin’s hand went to the knife at his girdle.
“Fools, have you forgotten me?”
He knelt there among the hazels, biting his nails, black jealousy in his blood.
“I bide my time, Master Fulk; I bide my time.”
And that night Fulk again slept across Isoult’s door, his naked sword beside him. But no one crossed the water. The moon shone on it, and there was not a ripple.
CHAPTER XXXII
Fulk slept heavily that night, so heavily that when the day had come he did not hear the opening of Isoult’s door. Stepping over him as he lay, she stood for a moment, looking down at him and at the naked sword by his side.
“Had it been an enemy, something would have warned thee, Fulk. They would not have caught thee sleeping.”
She bent over him dearly, her hair almost brushing against his face.