Sir Nigel Read online

  VII. HOW NIGEL WENT MARKETING TO GUILDFORD

  It was on a bright June morning that young Nigel, with youth andspringtime to make his heart light, rode upon his errand from Tilfordto Guildford town. Beneath him was his great yellow warhorse, caracolingand curveting as he went, as blithe and free of spirit as his master.In all England one would scarce have found upon that morning sohigh-mettled and so debonair a pair. The sandy road wound through grovesof fir, where the breeze came soft and fragrant with resinous gums, orover heathery downs, which rolled away to north and to south, vast anduntenanted, for on the uplands the soil was poor and water scarce.Over Crooksbury Common he passed, and then across the great Heath ofPuttenham, following a sandy path which wound amid the bracken andthe heather, for he meant to strike the Pilgrims' Way where it turnedeastward from Farnham and from Seale. As he rode he continually felt hissaddle-bag with his hand, for in it, securely strapped, he had placedthe precious treasures of the Lady Ermyntrude. As he saw the grand tawnyneck tossing before him, and felt the easy heave of the great horse andheard the muffled drumming of his hoofs, he could have sung and shoutedwith the joy of living.

  Behind him, upon the little brown pony which had been Nigel's formermount, rode Samkin Aylward the bowman, who had taken upon himself theduties of personal attendant and body-guard. His great shoulders andbreadth of frame seemed dangerously top-heavy upon the tiny steed,but he ambled along, whistling a merry lilt and as lighthearted as hismaster. There was no countryman who had not a nod and no woman who hadnot a smile for the jovial bowman, who rode for the most part with hisface over his shoulder, staring at the last petticoat which had passedhim. Once only he met with a harsher greeting. It was from a tall,white-headed, red-faced man whom they met upon the moor.

  "Good-morrow, dear father!" cried Aylward. "How is it with you atCrooksbury? And how are the new black cow and the ewes from Alton andMary the dairymaid and all your gear?"

  "It ill becomes you to ask, you ne'er-do-weel," said the old man. "Youhave angered the monks of Waverley, whose tenant I am, and they woulddrive me out of my farm. Yet there are three more years to run, anddo what they may I will bide till then. But little did I think that Ishould lose my homestead through you, Samkin, and big as you are I wouldknock the dust out of that green jerkin with a good hazel switch if Ihad you at Crooksbury."

  "Then you shall do it to-morrow morning, good father, for I will comeand see you then. But indeed I did not do more at Waverley than youwould have done yourself. Look me in the eye, old hothead, and tellme if you would have stood by while the last Loring--look at him as herides with his head in the air and his soul in the clouds--was shot downbefore your very eyes at the bidding of that fat monk! If you would,then I disown you as my father."

  "Nay, Samkin, if it was like that, then perhaps what you did was not sofar amiss. But it is hard to lose the old farm when my heart is burieddeep in the good brown soil."

  "Tut, man! there are three years to run, and what may not happen inthree years? Before that time I shall have gone to the wars, and when Ihave opened a French strong box or two you can buy the good brown soiland snap your fingers at Abbot John and his bailiffs. Am I not as propera man as Tom Withstaff of Churt? And yet he came back after six monthswith his pockets full of rose nobles and a French wench on either arm."

  "God preserve us from the wenches, Samkin! But indeed I think that ifthere is money to be gathered you are as likely to get your fist full asany man who goes to the war. But hasten, lad, hasten! Already your youngmaster is over the brow."

  Thus admonished, the archer waved his gauntleted hand to his father, anddigging his heels into the sides of his little pony soon drew up withthe Squire. Nigel glanced over his shoulder and slackened speed untilthe pony's head was up to his saddle.

  "Have I not heard, archer," said he, "that an outlaw has been loose inthese parts?"

  "It is true, fair sir. He was villain to Sir Peter Mandeville, but hebroke his bonds and fled into the forests. Men call him the 'Wild Man ofPuttenham.'"

  "How comes it that he has not been hunted down? If the man be adraw-latch and a robber it would be an honorable deed to clear thecountry of such an evil."

  "Twice the sergeants-at-arms from Guildford have come out against him,but the fox has many earths, and it would puzzle you to get him out ofthem."

  "By Saint Paul! were my errand not a pressing one I would be tempted toturn aside and seek him. Where lives he, then?"

  "There is a great morass beyond Puttenham, and across it there are cavesin which he and his people lurk."

  "His people? He hath a band?"

  "There are several with him."

  "It sounds a most honorable enterprise," said Nigel. "When the King hathcome and gone we will spare a day for the outlaws of Puttenham. I fearthere is little chance for us to see them on this journey."

  "They prey upon the pilgrims who pass along the Winchester Road, andthey are well loved by the folk in these parts, for they rob none ofthem and have an open hand for all who will help them."

  "It is right easy to have an open hand with the money that you havestolen," said Nigel; "but I fear that they will not try to rob two menwith swords at their girdles like you and me, so we shall have no profitfrom them."

  They had passed over the wild moors and had come down now into the mainroad by which the pilgrims from the west of England made their way tothe national shrine at Canterbury. It passed from Winchester, and up thebeautiful valley of the Itchen until it reached Farnham, where it forkedinto two branches, one of which ran along the Hog's Back, while thesecond wound to the south and came out at Saint Catherine's Hill wherestands the Pilgrim shrine, a gray old ruin now, but once so august, socrowded and so affluent. It was this second branch upon which Nigel andAylward found themselves as they rode to Guildford.

  No one, as it chanced, was going the same way as themselves, but theymet one large drove of pilgrims returning from their journey withpictures of Saint Thomas and snails' shells or little leaden ampullaein their hats and bundles of purchases over their shoulders. They were agrimy, ragged, travel-stained crew, the men walking, the women borneon asses. Man and beast, they limped along as if it would be a gladday when they saw their homes once more. These and a few beggars orminstrels, who crouched among the heather on either side of the trackin the hope of receiving an occasional farthing from the passer-by, werethe only folk they met until they had reached the village of Puttenham.Already there, was a hot sun and just breeze enough to send the dustflying down the road, so they were glad to clear their throats with aglass of beer at the ale-stake in the village, where the fair alewifegave Nigel a cold farewell because he had no attentions for her, andAylward a box on the ear because he had too many.

  On the farther side of Puttenham the road runs through thick woods ofoak and beech, with a tangled undergrowth of fern and bramble. Here theymet a patrol of sergeants-at-arms, tall fellows, well-mounted, clad instudded-leather caps and tunics, with lances and swords. They walkedtheir horses slowly on the shady side of the road, and stopped as thetravelers came up, to ask if they had been molested on the way.

  "Have a care," they added, "for the 'Wild Man' and his wife are out.Only yesterday they slew a merchant from the west and took a hundredcrowns."

  "His wife, you say?"

  "Yes, she is ever at his side, and has saved him many a time, for if hehas the strength it is she who has the wit. I hope to see their headstogether upon the green grass one of these mornings."

  The patrol passed downward toward Farnham, and so, as it proved, awayfrom the robbers, who had doubtless watched them closely from thedense brushwood which skirted the road. Coming round a curve, Nigel andAylward were aware of a tall and graceful woman who sat, wringing herhands and weeping bitterly, upon the bank by the side of the track. Atsuch a sight of beauty in distress Nigel pricked Pommers with the spurand in three bounds was at the side of the unhappy lady.

  "What ails you, fair dame?" he asked. "Is there any small matter inwhich I may stand
your friend, or is it possible that anyone hath sohard a heart as to do you an injury."

  She rose and turned upon him a face full of hope and entreaty. "Oh,save my poor, poor father!" she cried. "Have you perchance seen theway-wardens? They passed us, and I fear they are beyond reach."

  "Yes, they have ridden onward, but we may serve as well."

  "Then hasten, hasten, I pray you! Even now they may be doing him todeath. They have dragged him into yonder grove and I have heard hisvoice growing ever weaker in the distance. Hasten, I implore you!"

  Nigel sprang from his horse and tossed the rein to Aylward.

  "Nay, let us go together. How many robbers were there, lady?"

  "Two stout fellows."

  "Then I come also."

  "Nay, it is not possible," said Nigel. "The wood is too thick forhorses, and we cannot leave them in the road."

  "I will guard them," cried the lady.

  "Pommers is not so easily held. Do you bide here, Aylward, until youhear from me. Stir not, I command you!" So saying, Nigel, with thelight, of adventure gleaming in his joyous eyes, drew his sword andplunged swiftly into the forest.

  Far and fast he ran, from glade to glade, breaking through the bushes,springing over the brambles, light as a young deer, peering this way andthat, straining his ears for a sound, and catching only the cry of thewood-pigeons. Still on he went, with the constant thought of the weepingwoman behind and of the captured man in front. It was not until he wasfootsore and out of breath that he stopped with his hand to his side,and considered that his own business had still to be done, and that itwas time once more that he should seek the road to Guildford.

  Meantime Aylward had found his own rough means of consoling the woman inthe road, who stood sobbing with her face against the side of Pommers'saddle.

  "Nay, weep not, my pretty one," said he. "It brings the tears to my owneyes to see them stream from thine."

  "Alas! good archer, he was the best of fathers, so gentle and so kind!Had you but known him, you must have loved him."

  "Tut, tut! he will suffer no scathe. Squire Nigel will bring him back toyou anon."

  "No, no, I shall never see him more. Hold me, archer, or I fall!"

  Aylward pressed his ready arm round the supple waist. The fainting womanleaned with her hand upon his shoulder. Her pale face looked pasthim, and it was some new light in her eyes, a flash of expectancy, oftriumph, of wicked joy, which gave him sudden warning of his danger.

  He shook her off and sprang to one side, but only just in time to avoida crashing blow from a great club in the hands of a man even tallerand stronger than himself. He had one quick vision of great white teethclenched in grim ferocity, a wild flying beard and blazing wild-beasteyes. The next instant he had closed, ducking his head beneath anotherswing of that murderous cudgel.

  With his arms round the robber's burly body and his face buried in hisbushy beard, Aylward gasped and strained and heaved. Back and forwardin the dusty road the two men stamped and staggered, a grimwrestling-match, with life for the prize. Twice the great strength ofthe outlaw had Aylward nearly down, and twice with his greater youthand skill the archer restored his grip and his balance. Then at lasthis turn came. He slipped his leg behind the other's knee, and, givinga mighty wrench, tore him across it. With a hoarse shout the outlawtoppled backward and had hardly reached the ground before Aylwardhad his knee upon his chest and his short sword deep in his beard andpointed to his throat.

  "By these ten finger-bones!" he gasped, "one more struggle and it isyour last!"

  The man lay still enough, for he was half-stunned by the crashing fall.Aylward looked round him, but the woman had disappeared. At the firstblow struck she had vanished into the forest. He began to have fears forhis master, thinking that he perhaps had been lured into some deathtrap;but his forebodings were soon at rest, for Nigel himself came hasteningdown the road, which he had struck some distance from the spot where heleft it.

  "By Saint Paul!" he cried, "who is this man on whom you are perched, andwhere is the lady who has honored us so far as to crave our help? Alas,that I have been unable to find her father!"

  "As well for you, fair sir," said Aylward, "for I am of opinion that herfather was the Devil. This woman is, as I believe, the wife of the 'WildMan of Puttenham,' and this is the 'Wild Man' himself who set upon meand tried to brain me with his club."

  The outlaw, who had opened his eyes, looked with a scowl from his captorto the new-comer. "You are in luck, archer," said he, "for I have cometo grips with many a man, but I cannot call to mind any who have had thebetter of me."

  "You have indeed the grip of a bear," said Aylward; "but it was a cowarddeed that your wife should hold me while you dashed out my brains witha stick. It is also a most villainous thing to lay a snare for wayfarersby asking for their pity and assistance, so that it was our own softhearts which brought us into such danger. The next who hath real need ofour help may suffer for your sins."

  "When the hand of the whole world is against you," said the outlaw in asurly voice, "you must fight as best you can."

  "You well deserve to be hanged, if only because you have brought thiswoman, who is fair and gentle-spoken, to such a life," said Nigel. "Letus tie him by the wrist to my stirrup leather, Aylward, and we will leadhim into Guildford."

  The archer drew a spare bowstring from his case and had bound theprisoner as directed, when Nigel gave a sudden start and cry of alarm.

  "Holy Mary!" he cried. "Where is the saddle-bag?"

  It had been cut away by a sharp knife. Only the two ends of strapremained. Aylward and Nigel stared at each other in blank dismay. Thenthe young Squire shook his clenched hands and pulled at his yellow curlsin his despair.

  "The Lady Ermyntrude's bracelet! My grandfather's cup!" he cried. "Iwould have died ere I lost them! What can I say to her? I dare notreturn until I have found them. Oh, Aylward, Aylward! how came you tolet them be taken?"

  The honest archer had pushed back his steel cap and was scratching histangled head. "Nay, I know nothing of it. You never said that there wasaught of price in the bag, else had I kept a better eye upon it. Certes!it was not this fellow who took it, since I have never had my hands fromhim. It can only be the woman who fled with it while we fought."

  Nigel stamped about the road in his perplexity. "I would follow her tothe world's end if I knew where I could find her, but to search thesewoods for her is to look for a mouse in a wheat-field. Good SaintGeorge, thou who didst overcome the Dragon, I pray you by that mosthonorable and knightly achievement that you will be with me now! Andyou also, great Saint Julian, patron of all wayfarers in distress! Twocandles shall burn before your shrine at Godalming, if you will butbring me back my saddle-bag. What would I not give to have it back?"

  "Will you give me my life?" asked the outlaw. "Promise that I go free,and you shall have it back, if it be indeed true that my wife has takenit."

  "Nay, I cannot do that," said Nigel. "My honor would surely beconcerned, since my loss is a private one; but it would be to the publicscathe that you should go free. By Saint Paul! it would be an ungentledeed if in order to save my own I let you loose upon the gear of ahundred others."

  "I will not ask you to let me loose," said the "Wild Man." "If you willpromise that my life be spared I will restore your bag."

  "I cannot give such a promise, for it will lie with the Sheriff andreeves of Guildford."

  "Shall I have your word in my favor?"

  "That I could promise you, if you will give back the bag, though I knownot how far my word may avail. But your words are vain, for you cannotthink that we will be so fond as to let you go in the hope that youreturn?"

  "I would not ask it," said the "Wild Man," "for I can get your bag andyet never stir from the spot where I stand. Have I your promise uponyour honor and all that you hold dear that you will ask for grace?"

  "You have."

  "And that my wife shall be unharmed?"

  "I promise it."

  The outlaw l
aid back his head and uttered a long shrill cry like thehowl of a wolf. There was a silent pause, and then, clear and shrill,there rose the same cry no great distance away in the forest. Again the"Wild Man" called, and again his mate replied. A third time he summoned,as the deer bells to the doe in the greenwood. Then with a rustle ofbrushwood and snapping of twigs the woman was before them once more,tall, pale, graceful, wonderful. She glanced neither at Aylward norNigel, but ran to the side of her husband.

  "Dear and sweet lord," she cried, "I trust they have done you no hurt. Iwaited by the old ash, and my heart sank when you came not."

  "I have been taken at last, wife."

  "Oh, cursed, cursed day! Let him go, kind, gentle sirs; do not take himfrom me!"

  "They will speak for me at Guildford," said the "Wild Man." "They havesworn it. But hand them first the bag that you have taken."

  She drew it out from under her loose cloak. "Here it is, gentle sir.Indeed it went to my heart to take it, for you had mercy upon me in mytrouble. But now I am, as you see, in real and very sore distress. Willyou not have mercy now? Take ruth on us, fair sir! On my knees I beg itof you, most gentle and kindly Squire!"

  Nigel had clutched his bag, and right glad he was to feel that thetreasures were all safe within it. "My proffer is given," said he. "Iwill say what I can; but the issue rests with others. I pray you tostand up, for indeed I cannot promise more."

  "Then I must be content," said she, rising, with a composed face. "Ihave prayed you to take ruth, and indeed I can do no more; but ere I goback to the forest I would rede you to be on your guard lest you loseyour bag once more. Wot you how I took it, archer? Nay, it was simpleenough, and may happen again, so I make it clear to you. I had thisknife in my sleeve, and though it is small it is very sharp. I slippedit down like this. Then when I seemed to weep with my face against thesaddle, I cut down like this--"

  In an instant she had shorn through the stirrup leather which bound herman, and he, diving under the belly of the horse, had slipped like asnake into the brushwood. In passing he had struck Pommers from beneath,and the great horse, enraged and insulted, was rearing high, with twomen hanging to his bridle. When at last he had calmed there was no signleft of the "Wild Man" or of his wife. In vain did Aylward, an arrow onhis string, run here and there among the great trees and peer down theshadowy glades. When he returned he and his master cast a shamefacedglance at each other.

  "I trust that we are better soldiers than jailers," said Aylward, as heclimbed on his pony.

  But Nigel's frown relaxed into a smile. "At least we have gained backwhat we lost," said he. "Here I place it on the pommel of my saddle, andI shall not take my eyes from it until we are safe in Guildford town."

  So they jogged on together until passing Saint Catherine's shrine theycrossed the winding Wey once more, and so found themselves in the steephigh street with its heavy-caved gabled houses, its monkish hospitiumupon the left, where good ale may still be quaffed, and its greatsquare-keeped castle upon the right, no gray and grim skeleton of ruin,but very quick and alert, with blazoned banner flying free, and steelcaps twinkling from the battlement. A row of booths extended from thecastle gate to the high street, and two doors from the Church of theTrinity was that of Thorold the goldsmith, a rich burgess and Mayor ofthe town.

  He looked long and lovingly at the rich rubies and at the fine workupon the goblet. Then he stroked his flowing gray beard as he ponderedwhether he should offer fifty nobles or sixty, for he knew well that hecould sell them again for two hundred. If he offered too much his profitwould be reduced. If he offered too little the youth might go as far asLondon with them, for they were rare and of great worth. The young manwas ill-clad, and his eyes were anxious. Perchance he was hard pressedand was ignorant of the value of what he bore. He would sound him.

  "These things are old and out of fashion, fair sir," said he. "Of thestones I can scarce say if they are of good quality or not, but they aredull and rough. Yet, if your price be low I may add them to my stock,though indeed this booth was made to sell and not to buy. What do youask?"

  Nigel bent his brows in perplexity. Here was a game in which neitherhis bold heart nor his active limbs could help him. It was the newforce mastering the old: the man of commerce conquering the man ofwar--wearing him down and weakening him through the centuries until hehad him as his bond-servant and his thrall.

  "I know not what to ask, good sir," said Nigel. "It is not for me, norfor any man who bears my name, to chaffer and to haggle. You knowthe worth of these things, for it is your trade to do so. The LadyErmyntrude lacks money, and we must have it against the King's coming,so give me that which is right and just, and we will say no more."

  The goldsmith smiled. The business was growing more simple and moreprofitable. He had intended to offer fifty, but surely it would besinful waste to give more than twenty-five.

  "I shall scarce know what to do with them when I have them," said he."Yet I should not grudge twenty nobles if it is a matter in which theKing is concerned."

  Nigel's heart turned to lead. This sum would not buy one-half whatwas needful. It was clear that the Lady Ermyntrude had overvalued hertreasures. Yet he could not return empty-handed, so if twenty nobleswas the real worth, as this good old man assured him, then he must bethankful and take it.

  "I am concerned by what you say," said he. "You know more of thesethings than I can do. However, I will take--"

  "A hundred and fifty," whispered Aylward's voice in his ear.

  "A hundred and fifty," said Nigel, only too relieved to have found thehumblest guide upon these unwonted paths.

  The goldsmith started. This youth was not the simple soldier that hehad seemed. That frank face, those blue eyes, were traps for the unwary.Never had he been more taken aback in a bargain.

  "This is fond talk and can lead to nothing, fair sir," said he, turningaway and fiddling with the keys of his strong boxes. "Yet I have no wishto be hard on you. Take my outside price, which is fifty nobles."

  "And a hundred," whispered Aylward.

  "And a hundred," said Nigel, blushing at his own greed.

  "Well, well, take a hundred!" cried the merchant. "Fleece me, skin me,leave me a loser, and take for your wares the full hundred!"

  "I should be shamed forever if I were to treat you so badly," saidNigel. "You have spoken me fair, and I would not grind you down.Therefore, I will gladly take one hundred--"

  "And fifty," whispered Aylward.

  "And fifty," said Nigel.

  "By Saint John of Beverley!" cried the merchant. "I came hither from theNorth Country, and they are said to be shrewd at a deal in those parts;but I had rather bargain with a synagogue full of Jews than with you,for all your gentle ways. Will you indeed take no less than a hundredand fifty? Alas! you pluck from me my profits of a month. It is a fellmorning's work for me. I would I had never seen you!" With groans andlamentations he paid the gold pieces across the counter, and Nigel,hardly able to credit his own good fortune, gathered them into theleather saddle-bag.

  A moment later with flushed face he was in the street and pouring outhis thanks to Aylward.

  "Alas, my fair lord! the man has robbed us now," said the archer. "Wecould have had another twenty had we stood fast."

  "How know you that, good Aylward?"

  "By his eyes, Squire Loring. I wot I have little store of reading wherethe parchment of a book or the pinching of a blazon is concerned, but Ican read men's eyes, and I never doubted that he would give what he hasgiven."

  The two travelers had dinner at the monk's hospitium, Nigel at the hightable and Aylward among the commonalty. Then again they roamed the highstreet on business intent. Nigel bought taffeta for hangings, wine,preserves, fruit, damask table linen and many other articles of need. Atlast he halted before the armorer's shop at the castle-yard, staring atthe fine suits of plate, the engraved pectorals, the plumed helmets, thecunningly jointed gorgets, as a child at a sweet-shop.

  "Well, Squire Loring," said Wat the armor
er, looking sidewise from thefurnace where he was tempering a sword blade, "what can I sell you thismorning? I swear to you by Tubal Cain, the father of all workers inmetal, that you might go from end to end of Cheapside and never see abetter suit than that which hangs from yonder hook!"

  "And the price, armorer?"

  "To anyone else, two hundred and fifty rose nobles. To you two hundred."

  "And why cheaper to me, good fellow?"

  "Because I fitted your father also for the wars, and a finer suit neverwent out of my shop. I warrant that it turned many an edge before helaid it aside. We worked in mail in those days, and I had as soon have awell-made thick-meshed mail as any plates; but a young knight will bein the fashion like any dame of the court, and so it must be plate now,even though the price be trebled."

  "Your rede is that the mail is as good?"

  "I am well sure of it."

  "Hearken then, armorer! I cannot at this moment buy a suit of plate, andyet I sorely need steel harness on account of a small deed which it isin my mind to do. Now I have at my home at Tilford that very suit ofmail of which you speak, with which my father first rode to the wars.Could you not so alter it that it should guard my limbs also?"

  The armorer looked at Nigel's small upright figure and burst outlaughing. "You jest, Squire Loring! The suit was made for one who wasfar above the common stature of man."

  "Nay, I jest not. If it will but carry me through one spear-running itwill have served its purpose."

  The armorer leaned back on his anvil and pondered while Nigel staredanxiously at his sooty face.

  "Right gladly would I lend you a suit of plate for this one venture,Squire Loring, but I know well that if you should be overthrown yourharness becomes prize to the victor. I am a poor man with many children,and I dare not risk the loss of it. But as to what you say of the oldsuit of mail, is it indeed in good condition?"

  "Most excellent, save only at the neck, which is much frayed."

  "To shorten the limbs is easy. It is but to cut out a length of the mailand then loop up the links. But to shorten the body--nay, that is beyondthe armorer's art."

  "It was my last hope. Nay, good armorer, if you have indeed served andloved my gallant father, then I beg you by his memory that you will helpme now."

  The armorer threw down his heavy hammer with a crash upon the floor. "Itis not only that I loved your father, Squire Loring, but it is that Ihave seen you, half armed as you were, ride against the best of them atthe Castle tiltyard. Last Martinmas my heart bled for you when I saw howsorry was your harness, and yet you held your own against the stout SirOliver with his Milan suit: When go you to Tilford?"

  "Even now."

  "Heh, Jenkin, fetch out the cob!" cried the worthy Wat. "May my righthand lose its cunning if I do not send you into battle in your father'ssuit! To-morrow I must be back in my booth, but to-day I give to youwithout fee and for the sake of the good-will which I bear to yourhouse. I will ride with you to Tilford, and before night you shall seewhat Wat can do."

  So it came about that there was a busy evening at the old TilfordManor-house, where the Lady Ermyntrude planned and cut and hung thecurtains for the hall, and stocked her cupboards with the good thingswhich Nigel had brought from Guildford.

  Meanwhile the Squire and the armorer sat with their heads touching andthe old suit of mail with its gorget of overlapping plates laid outacross their knees. Again and again old Wat shrugged his shoulders, asone who has been asked to do more than can be demanded from mortal man.At last, at a suggestion from the Squire, he leaned back in hischair and laughed long and loudly in his bushy beard, while the LadyErmyntrude glared her black displeasure at such plebeian merriment.Then taking his fine chisel and his hammer from his pouch of tools,the armorer, still chuckling at his own thoughts, began to drive a holethrough the center of the steel tunic.