The pursuer had drawn in on the farther bank, with his horse’s hoofs sucking the spongy grass.
“Keep over there, my friend, if you value a sound skull. I am not to be meddled with when I ride with a gay lady.”
There was a splashing of hoofs in the shallows, and a voice came over the river.
“Denise!” it said, “is it Denise, yonder?”
Gaillard looked down at her, and opened his mouth scoffingly when she answered the man’s call.
“Hallo, Golden-head, you would have a lover in your lap, eh! We will see to it to-night, my desire. I promise you it shall not be the fool yonder.”
The water had broken into fresh ripples that came lapping among the sedges. Aymery’s horse was swimming the river.
Gaillard dropped his great helmet on to his shoulders, and holding the halter in the same big hand as held his sword, turned the horses, and rode off so close to Denise that his knee touched hers.
“Grace before meat,” he said, laughing under his helmet, “your man is probably clumsy enough. I know how to deal with such a windmill.”
He dragged Denise’s horse to a canter, and turning in the saddle, saw Aymery floundering up through the crackling shadows.