Simon called him back.
“Wait, and keep watch in the woods,” he said, “the women will try to bring back news. We shall be on the move before dawn.”
He rose from the barrow, and crossing the threshing floor, laid a hand on Aymery’s shoulder.
“It is in my heart to catch the King napping to-morrow,” he said. “I trust England with you, in this, and some of us may have to suffer.”
He stood considering something a moment, frowning a little, his hand still on Aymery’s shoulder.
“The two women yonder, brave hearts, have talked me into suffering this. I would not put such work upon a woman, but then, my son, we all carry the Cross. Hasten, and God speed you.”
And Aymery went out from before him, thinking of the two women as women, and nothing more.
Marpasse, who had spun her net very cleverly, and whose hope had been to catch and entangle a man and a woman therein, was bitterly disgusted at the way things happened. She had made up her mind that she herself would go to Lewes, but she had no intention of taking Denise into the hell of the royal camp. She certainly caught these two people in her net, but they broke the threads, and would not do as she desired. Yet Marpasse might have seen how it would be had she not been too eager to sweep away Denise’s pride.
Denise was standing by her, with the sunlight on her hair and face, waiting in all innocence for the escort that Earl Simon was to send for them. A prophetic fore-gleam of self-sacrifice played in the deeps of her brown eyes. She had seized on Marpasse’s plan and clasped it as something precious and something actively alive. The solemn shriving of that great host under the oaks of the Fletching woods had sent the blood to Denise’s brain. She felt herself in the midst of strong men who held their swords aloft and prayed. She was as one who saw a sacred fire burning, and was driven to throw herself therein with the ardour of a soul that seeks martyrdom in some great cause.
Marpasse, who had a corner of each eye very wide awake for the coming of the man on the black horse, began to wonder how Denise would meet the truth. And Marpasse’s expectations came back limply to roost like birds that had been drenched in a thunder shower. She had struck a spark into Denise’s soul, and the spark blazed up into a beacon that Marpasse could not smother.