and this I consider to be a proceeding very little conducive toward
enhancing my reputation. Of your courtesy, messire, I must entreat
another meeting."

Osmund shrank as if from a blow. Then, with a short laugh, he conceded
that this was Camoys' right, and they fixed upon the following Saturday,
with Poges Copse as the rendezvous.

"I would suggest that the combat be to the death," Gui Camoys said, "in
consideration of the fact it was my own helmet. You must undoubtedly be
aware, Messire Osmund, that such an affront is practically without any
parallel."

This, too, was agreed upon.

Then, after asking if they needed money, which was courteously declined,
Gui Camoys rode away, and sang as he went. Osmund Heleigh remained
motionless. He raised quivering hands to the sky.

"Thou hast judged!" he cried. "Thou hast judged, O puissant Emperor of
Heaven! Now pardon! Pardon us twain! Pardon for unjust stewards of Thy
gifts! Thou hast loaned this woman dominion over England, with all
instruments to aid Thy cause, and this trust she has abused. Thou hast
loaned me life and manhood, agility and wit and strength, all
instruments to aid Thy cause. Talents in a napkin, O God! Repentant we
cry to Thee. Pardon for unjust stewards! Pardon for the ungirt loin, for
the service shirked, for all good deeds undone! Pardon and grace, O King
of kings!"

Thus he prayed, while Gui Camoys sang, riding deeper into the tattered,