Guy swaggered forward.
“Give the word, father, and we’ll make an end.”
Merlin’s hood had fallen back. He turned on Guy with grinning, furious face.
“Fool! Tie the man up, and put a sack over his head. And keep that dagger of yours out of mischief.”
A man went off towards the fire, and returned with leather thongs and an old sack. Merlin was still fingering his throat, and his voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Make no mistake over it—tie him up as a spider ties up a fly.”
He stood and watched them, and when the thing was done he went very close to Fulk and stared into his face.
“Fool! What of six feet of cold earth under a beech tree? Sleep on the edge of the black hole, my son, and look down into it when the daylight comes—the cold grey light after cock-crow.”
Fulk kept his mouth shut and his eyes on Merlin’s. His nostrils quivered. There was no slackening of his pride. Merlin sneered at him.
“Put the sack over my lord’s head, and lay him down like a baby to sleep on the bracken. Fulk Ferrers, I wish you good dreams, and cool blood in the morning.”