and for the rest a jumble of bricks,
rafters half-burned, many calcined fragments of humanity, and ashes. At
Bastling, Messire Heleigh turned to the Queen toiling behind.

"Oh, madame!" he said, in a dry whisper, "this was the home of so many
men!"

"I burned it," Dame Alianora replied. "That man we passed just now I
killed. Those other men and women--my folly killed them all. And little
children, my Osmund! The hair like corn-floss, blood-dabbled!"

"Oh, madame!" he wailed, in the extremity of his pity.

For she stood with eyes shut, all gray. The Queen demanded: "Why have
they not slain me? Was there no man in England to strangle the proud
wanton? Are you all cowards here?"

"Not cowards!" he cried. "Your men and Leicester's ride about the world,
and draw sword and slay and die for the right as they see it. And you
for the right as ye see it. But I, madame! I! I, who sat snug at home
spilling ink and trimming rose-bushes! God's world, madame, and I in it
afraid to speak a word for Him! God's world, and a curmudgeon in it
grudging God the life He gave!" The man flung out his soft hands and
snarled: "We are tempted in divers and insidious ways. But I, who
rebuked you! behold, now, with how gross a snare was I entrapped!"

"I do not understand, my Osmund."

"I was afraid, madame," he returned, dully. "Everywhere men fight and I
am afraid to die."

So they stood silent in the ruins of Bastling.

"Of a piece with our lives," Dame Alianora said at last. "All ruin, my
Osmund."

But Messire Heleigh threw back his head and laughed, new color in his
face. "Presently men will build here, my Queen. Presently, as in legend
the Arabian bird, arises from these ashes a lordlier and more spacious
town."

Then they went forward. The next day Fate loosed upon them Gui Camoys,
lord of Bozon, Foliot, and Thwenge, who, riding alone through Poges
Copse, found there a man and a woman over their limited supper. The
woman had thrown back her hood, and Camoys drew rein to stare at her.
Lispingly he spoke the true court dialect.

"Ma belle," said this Camoys, in friendly condescension, "n'estez vous
pas jongleurs?"

Dame Alianora smiled up at him. "Ouais, messire; mon mary faict les
chancons--" Here she paused, with dilatory caution, for Camoys had
leaped from his horse, giving a great laugh.

"A prize! ho, an imperial prize!" Camoys shouted. "A peasant woman with
the Queen's face, who speaks French!