“Whither?”
“Heaven knows, my lord.”
“How dressed?”
“As a grey nun.”
“Has she gone back to the Church?”
“She did not love such a life, my lord.”
“By God, no.”
Gorlois frowned a moment in thought. The scent of the girl’s dress was still in his nostrils, and her eyes haunted him. Then he turned past Radamanth to go, hitching up his sword belt, a significant habit he had learnt long ago.
“I shall find her,” he said.
“Good, my lord.”