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Sir Hugh De Bracy: These glades go on forever. I hope we find shelter before nightfall, Boid-Guilbert.
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert: What do you fear De Bracy, Saxon hobgoblins?
Sir Hugh De Bracy: No, a Saxon arrow in the small of my back. I wager there's a cutthroat behind every tree.
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert: Aye, and soon they'll be hanging from them.
Sir Hugh De Bracy: Unless we are.
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Ivanhoe: God save you, Knight.
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert: And God save you minstrel. We ride to Ashby, which crossroad do we take?
Ivanhoe: The right will take you to Ashby, sire
Sir Hugh De Bracy: Shall we get there by nightfall?
Ivanhoe: By nightfall tomorrow.
Sir Hugh De Bracy: Tomorrow? Can you show us the way to a roof for the night?
Ivanhoe: I know of a roof nearby, but perhaps you would scorn it.
Sir Hugh De Bracy: Why, is it humble?
Ivanhoe: No sire. It is Saxon.
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert: I'd sooner bivouac on the roadside.
Ivanhoe: 'Tis a warm, fine night.
Sir Hugh De Bracy: To be butchered in ones sleep.
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert: We could sooner walk into a Saxon trap.
Sir Hugh De Bracy: What is this house you speak of minstral?
Ivanhoe: Rotherwood, the keep of Cedric the Saxon.
Sir Hugh De Bracy: I believe I know this Cedric the Saxon. Has he a ward, a woman of great beauty?
Ivanhoe: The Saxon princess Lady Rowena is his ward.
Sir Hugh De Bracy: Aye, Rowena. 'Tis the same Cedric. He loves us not at all, but we would sleep safe beneath his roof.
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert: You know the way?
Ivanhoe: Well enough to lead you there.
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert: Then lead us there, but mark you this. One false step and you'll sing a very different song my friend.
Ivanhoe: I have a song to fit every occasion, sire.
Sir Hugh De Bracy: He means he'll lop your head off, minstral.
Ivanhoe: Yes sire. I knew what he meant.
Peter Brace
Extended Reading
