eBooks Base 2000

The old man stumbled forward and fell on his knees beside her.
"Madam, dear madam," he stammered, "ill news has come to this house....
There is a post in from Avesnes.... The young master ... "
"Philip," and the woman's voice rose to a scream. "What of my son?"
"The lord has taken away what He gave. He is dead, slain in a scuffle with
highway robbers.... Oh, the noble young lord! The fair young knight! Woe
upon this stricken house!"
The woman lay very still, white the old man on his knees drifted into
broken prayers. Then he observed her silence, scrambled to his feet in a
panic, and lit two candles from the nearest brazier. She lay back on the
pillows in a deathly faintness, her face drained of blood. Only her
tortured eyes showed that life was still in her.
Her voice came at last, no louder than a whisper. It was soft now, but more
terrible than the old harshness.
"I follow Philip," it said. "Sic transit gloria.... Call me Arnulf the
goldsmith and Robert the scrivener. . . . Quick, man, quick.


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