He did not move, but kept his eyes on hers.
“Well?”
“I offer you this sword of yours to prove that you do not know the temper of Isoult. Take the sword, play the madman if it pleases you; but I warn you it will make you look the greater fool. Those fellows yonder have had their orders, and each man has his bow. I have heard the orders that were given them, to keep clear, and shoot you through those long legs of yours so that you could neither run nor fight.”
She took the sword by the scabbard and held the hilt towards him.
“Choose.”
He shrugged contemptuously.
“A fool’s business. I can make nothing of it, save that these hedgers and ditchers and horse-thieves are the lords of the forest. Why am I so marked a stag?”
“Because you are—what you are.”
“More words.”
She laid the sword on her knees, and bent towards him, pointing with one forefinger.