They scrambled up out of their “forms,” and went back through the wood till they came to a dell where they had left their horses. Aymery laid his hands on Waleran’s shoulders.
“Brother-in-arms,” he said, “trust me. I have a book to read, and a debt to pay. There is nothing of the traitor in my heart.”
Waleran hugged him like a bear.
“Blood of my father, I know that! I can carry the news.”
They parted there, two men who loved and trusted one another. Aymery took spear, shield, and helmet, and mounted his horse to follow the march of the King’s host, that splendid stream that seemed to gather and to carry with it all the pomp and music, the violence and passion, and the suffering sinfulness that the land held.
CHAPTER XXX
A halt was called at noon, and Denise, who had walked for four long hours, felt that hopeless weariness that yearns only for some corner where the body may lie relaxed. Her feet were burning, and she and Marpasse had been trudging in the dust made by the horses, dust that had clogged the air, and made the eyes tingle. Denise was glad to throw herself on the grass beside Marpasse, who was much less weary, being tougher, and more used to the road.
Marpasse was very wide awake. She looked narrowly at Denise, and rolled to the side on one elbow so as to be nearer.
“We have our chance now, are you strong enough?”
Denise’s dull eyes brightened, and she moistened her lips with her tongue.