can cut a throat with any man in
Christendom or out.' He shook the man backwards and forwards to
support himself. 'Kat, this offal would have kept me from thee.'

Katharine said, 'Hush! it is very late.'

At the sound of her voice his face began to smile.

'Oh, Kat,' he stuttered jovially, 'what law should keep me from thee?
Thou'rt better than my wife. Heathen to keep man and wife apart, I
say, I.'

'Be still. It is very late. You will shame me,' she answered.

'Why, I would not have thee shamed, Kat of the world,' he said. He
shook the man again and threw him good humouredly against the wall.
'Bide thou there until I come out,' he muttered, and sought to replace
his sword in the scabbard. He missed the hole and scratched his left
wrist with the point. 'Well, 'tis good to let blood at times,' he
laughed. He wiped his hand upon his breeches.

'God help thee, thou'rt very drunk,' Katharine laughed at him. 'Let me
put up thy sword.'

'Nay, no woman's hand shall touch this blade. It was my father's.'

An old knight with a fat belly, a clipped grey beard and roguish,
tranquil eyes was ambling along the gallery, swinging a small pair of
cheverel gloves. Culpepper made a jovial lunge at the old man's chest
and suddenly the sword was whistling through the shadows.

The old fellow planted himself on his sturdy legs. He laughed
pleasantly at the pair of them.

'An' you had not been very drunk I could never have done that,' he
said to Culpepper, 'for I am passed of sixty, God help me.'

'God help thee for a gay old cock,' Culpepper said. 'You could not
have done it without these gloves in your fist.'

'See you, but the gloves are not cut,' the knight answered. He held
them flat in his fat hands. 'I learnt that twist forty years ago.'

'Well, get you to the wench the gloves are for,' Culpepper retorted.
'I am not long together of this pleasant mind.' He went into
Katharine's room and propped himself against the door post.

The old man winked at Katharine.

'Bid that gallant not draw his sword in these galleries,' he said.
'There is a penalty of losing an eye. I am Rochford of Bosworth
Hedge.'

'Get thee to thy wench, for a Rochford,' Culpepper snarled over his
shoulder. 'I will have no man speak with my coz. You struck a good
blow at Bosworth Hedge. But I go to Paris to cut a better throat than
thine ever was, Rochford or no Rochford.'

The old man surveyed him sturdily from his head to his heels and
winked