“Ah!”
“We will follow Gorlois to the war, you and I, Brastias, together. What say you to that?”
The man looked at her with clear grey eyes, and with a transient immobility of feature that changed swiftly to a glow of understanding. The words had gone home to him like a trumpet-cry; their courage warmed him, and he was carried with the wind.
“A great hazard—and a noble,” he said, with a flush of colour; “the peril is on my neck, and yet—I’ll bear it.”
Igraine’s face blazed.
“Brastias, you will go with me?”
“By my sword, to the death.”
“Come hither, man; I must kiss your forehead.”
Brastias knelt to her again with crossed hands. She looked into his grey eyes and touched his forehead with her lips.
“Thus I salute honour,” she said.