Ket."

"I have seen ye often, riding with Alan and the lady Rosemary," Ket remarked obliquely. "Ye wished to stay?"

*'I must go." Hal sat a moment in silence. "I am not loath to tell you what you have already guessed, that I love the lady well, and my Lord Pelys also. If you had not by good fortune come to me, I would have come to you, for I have been troubled, and I have a great favor to ask."

"I will do whatever I can," Ket vowed.

Hal scratched at the dirt with a stick, trying to name his fears. "There is Nabon of Lee, for one," he said slowly. "From what I hear, he is making ready his armies to have his revenge on Pelys. To the north. Guy of Gaunt waits to pounce on whatever remains of both of them, which may stay Nabon's hand yet awhile. . . . But danger is more common than such warmongering lords. All I can say is, pray look after my lady and my lord while I am gone."

" Tis a small enough request from one friend to an- other," Ket smiled. "I will do my best. Where will ye go?"

"Where the road takes me. I shall see you from time to time, I dare say."

They chatted for a while longer. Then Hal returned to Celydon Castle and greeted Alan with a wry smile. "Let us pack our things."

"It's already done," Alan retorted.

They loaded their horses. Flann was shocked and sorry to find that they were going. But he could tell that they wanted no fuss, and bid them a quiet farewell. They went next to the barracks, and spoke to Rafe and Wilt Rafe faltered, trying to tell them what knowing them had meant to him,

"1 believe you understand me more completely than

Celydon 123 anyone except Alan," Hal told him quietly. "I hope we shall meet again."

Rafe set bis jumbled thoughts aside and voiced his feel- ings as best he could. "All the gods defend you, Hal. And if ever I can aid you in any way, pray call on me . . . my friend."

They asked Will to give their regards to their other friends in the barracks, the kitchen and the workshops.

Then they reluctantly went to take their leave of Pelys and Rosemary. Hal cradled his plinset in his arms.

The lord and lady were at breakfast in Pelys's cham- ber. "The sun shines, and the wind blows warm, my lord," Hal said. "It is time for us to go."

Rosemary gave a cry of sorrow. "But where, Hal? And when shall we see you again?"

"Where the road leads me, my lady," Hal replied softly. "When we shall meet again, I do not know, but surely I will come to you if I am alive." He held out to her the precious instrument in his arms. "This is too old and valuable to suffer the weather and the chances of travel. Will you keep it for me, till I return?"

"But what will you have then, to comfort and cheer you?" Rosemary knew how Hal depended on his plinset when he fell into one of his desperate moods. "Wait but a moment," she said, and ran from the room.

Pelys regarded them quietly with his eyes that always searched for truth. "So you are leaving us," he said thoughtfully. "I am sorry to see you go, you two. You have brightened my winter greatly. I thank you from my heart, both of you, for a great many reasons." Hal and Alan were embarrassed, and glanced at each other side- long. Pelys changed his tone abruptly. "Now, now, don't just stand there, you two! Give me the hands, quickly!"

Grinning, they extended their hands to him as they had when first they met him. "Ay, so you have taken up wood- carving, Alan, and smithying. What were the results?"

Alan brought from his pocket a hunting knife he had made for Corin, complete with its tooled leather scabbard.

The polished handle in the shape of a horse's head shone darkly. Pelys admired it, and looked appraisingly at Alan-

"I believe you can do anything to which you turn your hand," he remarked. "Hal's works are of a different sort. . . . But am I never to know the meaning of this?"

He pointed to the small scar on each left wrist.

124 THE SILVER SUN.

Rosemary entered quietly and stopped near the door.

Hal and Alan looked at each other. Then Hal spoke.

"It happened, my lord, that this summer past there was a terrible and wonderful night when I was greatly in need of Alan's comfort and love. Yet I felt that he had good reason to hate me. But he told me a marvelous thing, that he wished I were his brother and my blood ran in his veins.

"In the country of Welas, the West Land, where my ancestry lies, it is the custom that two men who wish to be brothers may make themselves so by a ritual that requires their trust and confidence in each other. Each must put a knife to the other's left wrist, where the heart's blood flows, and cut. And the wounds shall then be pressed to- gether, thus."

He and Alan joined left hands somewhat as wrestlers do, so that their fists pointed skyward and their wrists pressed together. Each attempted, playfully, to pull the other over. This gesture, at once a contest of strength and a demonstration of affection, had become their habit of greeting each other.

"And so we did," said Hal.

"And so," finished Alan, '*we are indeed brothers, as you say, my lord. though some may not see it so."

For once in his life Pelys was at a loss for words. Rose- mary moved from her place at the door and came to his rescue. She held an intricately seamed leather sack with a long carrying strap. It was provided with tight fastenings, and it was so sturdily sewn and so well waxed as to be practically waterproof. Into this the plinset would fit as snugly as a turtle in its shell.

'Take this case, Hal," she said, holding it out to him.

"It will keep your instrument from harm. But you must bring it back to me when you can, for it is not yet fin- ished."

Wonderstruck, Hal accepted the finely wrought case.

On the front, over the place where the strings would lie, shone a sunburst, delicately picked out in metallic thread, but only half done. He had never dreamed that she was making a gift for him. His eyes, full of emotion, met hers for a long moment No words were exchanged between them.

"Tush, tush," Pelys broke the silence. "The day is grow-

Celydon 125

ing older by the moment. Go on if you are going, you two!"

They needed no further urging to move toward the door. "All blessing be with you, my lord, my lady," said Hal.

"Thank you both for everything," added Alan.

Then they were gone. As their footsteps faded down the stairs. Rosemary bolted for the door, weeping. "Come herel" Pelys snapped at her, as sternly as he had ever spoken to her. Surprised, but still weeping, she came slowly to stand before him. He reached up and took her by the shoulders, shaking her.

"Are you a woman or a child?" he scolded her.

"Would you have him face his journey with a heavy heart? Dry your eyes, quickly! We go to the battlements, to wave them on their way." He clapped for his retainer.

Hal and Alan rode out of Celydon as soon as they could, bidding only a quick farewell to the old gatekeeper.

They turned north, toward Rodsen, back the same way they had come the fall before. As they topped the rise near the Forest. Hal drew Arundel to a stop. He could not bear to look back, but neither could he bear not to.

Slowly he wheeled Arundel, and on the topmost platform of the keep he saw two tiny figures, one standing, the other seated. Even at that distance Hal could not mistake them, and as he smiled his relief, they waved. Hal and Alan waved back, then sent their horses cantering over the rise.

"Now, daughter," said Pelys, in a voice that was once again gentle, "you may weep as much as you like." And with his arms around her she did just that.

That night, miles to the north, Hal and Alan lay down under the light of a young moon and a spring sky crisply studded with stars. Hal slept well; better than he had in months. He was on his way again, and he was relieved that Rosemary had not taken the parting as hard as he feared. The winter of inaction and inner struggle was be- hind him; the future was all that concerned him now.

But in Celydon, sleep came hard to Rosemary after a day spent first in weeping and then in trancelike misery.

Though she was outwardly calm, her thoughts were whirl- ing. The young moon which peeped in her window mocked her with its serenity. Finally, like a pot suddenly

126 THE SILVER SUN.

boiling over, she threw off her covers, stamped her bare feet and padded off to her father's chamber.

He was sitting up reading, and he smiled as she entered almost as if he had been expecting her. He patted the bed, and she sat, sighing, "I can't get to sleep," she mum- bled.