easier to try him than deny him. Besides, good friend and captain, I
learn from what I read in Master Froissart's Chronicles that it were
neither customary nor courteous to deny conference to a supplicating
enemy."

Halfman adored her for her courage, for her calm assumption of
success.

"How if he but come to spy out our strategies?" he asked. "The
leanness of our larder? Our empty bandoliers?"

Brilliana beamed back at him with her bewildering confidence.

"I have thought of that, too," she admitted. "But he shall not find
us at our wit's-end. Seek Simon Butler, friend captain. Though our
cellars are near empty he will make shift to find you some full
flagons. Bring hither a bunch of your subalterns, the rosiest, the
most jovial, if any still carry such colors and boast such spirit;
let them gather in the banqueting-hall, where, with such wit as
French wine can give, let them sing as if they were merry and well
fed. Our sanctimonious spy-out-the-nakedness-of-the-land must think
we are well victualled, he must think we are well mannered."

Halfman made her a sweeping reverence which was not without its
play-actor's grace, though its honesty might have pardoned a greater
awkwardness.

"We are well womaned, lady," he asseverated, "with you for our
leader. By sea and by land I have served some great captains, but
never one greater than you for constancy and manly valor."

Brilliana's bright face took a swift look of gravity and she gave a
little sigh.

"The King's cause," she said, soberly, "might turn a child into a
champion."

The steady loyalty that made her words at once a psalm and a
battle-cry bade Halfman's pulses tingle. Who could be found
unfaithful where this fair maid was so faithful? Yet he remembered
their isolation and the memory made him speak.

"I marvel that none of your neighbors have tried to lend us a hand?"

"How could they?" Brilliana asked, astonished. "The brave are with
the King at Shrewsbury; the stay-at-homes are not fighters."

"Hum," commented Halfman. "What of Master Paul Hungerford?"

Brilliana shrugged her shoulders.

"A miserly daw, who would not risk a crown to save the crown."

Halfman questioned again.

"What of Master Peter Rainham?"

Brilliana shrugged again.

"A dull, sullen skinflint waiting on event."

Halfman's inventory was not complete.

"You have yet a third neighbor," he said, "and, as I heard, a
prodigal in protestation. What of Sir Blaise Mickleton