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There was some sort of bickering over dice, or wine,
or was it a woman, coz?"
"Pasques Dieu! but you have nicked it," cried Aylward. "It was
indeed about a woman; and the quarrel must go forward, for I am
still of the same mind as before."
"What of the woman, then?" asked Simon. "May the murrain strike
me if I can call to mind aught about her."
"It was La Blanche Rose, maid at the sign of the `Trois Corbeaux'
at Limoges. Bless her pretty heart! Why, mon gar., I loved
her."
"So did a many," quoth Simon. "I call her to mind now. On the
very day that we fought over the little hussy, she went off with
Evan ap Price, a long-legged Welsh dagsman. They have a hostel
of their own now, somewhere on the banks of the Garonne, where
the landlord drinks so much of the liquor that there is little
left for the customers."
"So ends our quarrel, then," said Aylward, sheathing his sword.
"A Welsh dagsman, i' faith! C'etait mauvais gout, camarade, and
the more so when she had a jolly archer and a lusty man-at-arms
to choose from."
"True, old lad.


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