drangle
of the Wolfsberg, ever smelling of horses and the swelter of shed blood,
the howling, fox-colored demons in the kennels, the black Duke Casimir
--right gladly I forgot them all. Aye, I forgot even my father, and
everything save that I was riding with two fair women through a world
where all was love and spring, and where it was ever the prime of a
young morning.

The Lady Ysolinde could not make enough of our Little Playmate. She
laughed back at her over her shoulder when she let her horse out for a
canter. She marvelled loudly at Helene's good riding, and at the
unbound beauty of the crisp ringlets which clustered round her head
like a boy's. And our Helene smiled, well pleased, and ceased to watch
my eyes or to grow silent if I checked my horse too long by the side of
the Lady Ysolinde.

Mostly we three rode abreast over the pleasant country. So long as we
were crossing the plain of the Wolfmark we saw few tilled fields, and
the farm-houses were fewer still. But wherever these were to be seen
they were fortified and defended like castles, and had gates, great and
high, with iron plates upon them and knobs like the points of spears
beaten blunt.

The Lady Ysolinde, who had often ridden that way, told us that these were
all in the Duke Casimir's country, and were mostly possessed by the kin
of his chief captains--feudal tenants, who for the right of possession
were compelled to furnish so many riders to the Duke's Companies.

"But wait," she said, "till you come to the dominions of the Prince of
Plassenburg. You will find that he is indeed a ruler that can make the
broom-bush keep the cow."

So we rode on, and passed pleasant and exciting things, more than I had
ever seen in all my life before.

Once we saw half a dozen men driving cattle across our path, and it was
curious to mark how readily they drew their swords and couched their
lances at us, turning themselves about this way and that like a quintain
till we were quite gone by, which made us laugh. For it seemed a strange
thing that men so well armed should fear a company of no more than their
own numbers, and two of them maids upon palfreys.

But Ysolinde said: "It is not, after all, so strange, for over yonder
blue hills dwells Joan of the Swordhand, who can lead a foray as well as
any man, and once worsted Duke Casimir himself when he beset her castle."

So the day went past swiftly, with good company and the converse of folk
well liking one an