Knollys opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He turned, and began to stamp up and down the hall, glancing at Merlin every time he passed.
“Thunder!”
He wheeled round and faced Fulk.
“By God, lad, such words take some swallowing! And this black treachery! The boy knew! He gave the ring! He has spat upon our honour!”
His eyes were like the eyes of a man leading a charge of horse.
“Shall I, Robert Knollys, have to pledge myself on the Cross? Where is Isoult?”
“Out yonder.”
“Bring her in to me. Let her hear.”
Fulk went out into the garden and brought her into the hall, where Knollys was pacing up and down. He paused in his stride, swung round, and saw Isoult’s bandaged arm.
“Wounded?”