Coming close
to him, she pulled aside the dusty cloak, hot as a live coal in the glare of
the day, and there--behold!--there were blood stains on the breast of his blue
kirtle. Forgetful of everything else, she flung her arms around him as though
to shield him. "Sebert, you are wounded! What is it?"
Nothing that troubled him very much, apparently, for his haggard face had
grown radiant with gladness. Yet he was enough afraid of the reaction to
answer her as gravely as possible: "It is Rothgar Lodbroksson, whom I met
coming from the City as I was journeying back from my errand in Northampton.
Little affection has ever passed between us, and this time something more than
usual seemed to have stirred him against me, for--"
"He tried to kill you!" The words were not a question but a breathless
assertion as she remembered the Jotun's last threat.
"He tried to kill me," the Marshal assented quietly. "And his blade did manage
to pierce my mail; he is a giant in strength as in other things. But it cut no
more than flesh; and after that, Fortune wheeled not toward him."
"You slew him!" Her lips were white as she gasped it, but he knew now that it
was no love for the Jotun that moved her, and he answered promptly to her
unspoken thought: "No, sweet,--for the King's sake, I spared him. Before this,
his men have taken him aboard his ship and England is rid of him.
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