Castle, and to the cliff road where waited boys and men ready for their
desperate emprise, clad in such protection of leather as they could
afford against the stallion's hoofs.

Two people only remained by the steer, an aged man, almost blind, who
tended the fire, and the girl Joan, whom Guillem slept to forget.

"The _seigneur_ has ridden out of the gates, father," she said. The
colour mounted to her dark cheeks. She was tall and slender, unlike the
peasant girls of the town, almost noble in her bearing; a rare flower
that Charles, in his rage and disappointment, would pick for himself.

"And were you not undutiful," he mumbled, "you would be with him now,
and looking down on this rabble."

She did not reply at once. Her eyes were fixed on the frowning castle,
on the grim double line of men-at-arms, at the massive horse and its
massive rider.

"I, too, should be up there," whined the old man. "Today, instead of
delivering Christmas dues, I should be receiving them. But you--!" He
swung on her malevolently, "You must turn great ox-eyes toward Guillem,
whose most courageous work is to levy tribute of a dungeon!"

She flushed.

"I am afraid, father. He is a hard man."

"He is gentle with women."