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He leant forward, and pushed her back with a rough thrust of the open hand. Aymery caught Denise, and drew her aside.

“Forgive——”

His arms lingered about her like the arms of a lover.

“Lord, I understand.”

“That arrow has stricken two hearts.”

Her eyes looked into Aymery’s as he let her go.

“God have pity,” she said.

Waleran had broken off the head of the arrow. He held it up in the moonlight, and his hood fell back from his face. The three who watched him saw his face contorted with laughter, though no sound came from the open mouth.

He ran the arrow’s head through his cloak, as a woman pins her tunic with a splinter of bone.

“Here is a keepsake,” he said. “Lord, but I shall cherish it! They have lit a candle for the boy, yonder. Some day I shall hang a bell on a rope, and ring him a passing.”

He scrambled up, swaggering, and shaking his shoulders. It was his way of carrying the burden that the night had laid on him. He shouted to the men, roughly, and they came out from the shadows of the trees.