Aymery was turning his horse when Marpasse caught his bridle.
“Lording,” she said, “keep the fog out of your eyes. We, and the rest yonder, followed the host to do what we could when men were knocked out of the saddle. I have changed my cloth, if not the colour of it. She has done that for me.”
She looked up almost fiercely into Aymery’s eyes.
“Speak to her on the way, lording. Women are not won by looking, charge home, and let the trumpets blow, unless,” and she let go the bridle, “unless my lord has changed.”
The man’s eyes answered her that.
“Marpasse, have you forgotten that night?”
“No, not I, nor you, lording.”
“It seemed death then, but now——”
Marpasse’s eyes flashed up at him.
“Man, man, what makes the hills blaze, a wet fog, or the sunset?”