then there would have been left to
him no alternative save death by his own hand; for a king may not fight
with a lesser mortal, and he who strikes a king may not live--the king's
honor must be satisfied.

Had a French king struck him, De Vac would have struck back, and gloried
in the fate which permitted him to die for the honor of France; but an
English King--pooh! a dog; and who would die for a dog? No, De Vac would
find other means of satisfying his wounded pride. He would revel in
revenge against this man for whom he felt no loyalty. If possible, he
would harm the whole of England if he could, but he would bide his time.
He could afford to wait for his opportunity if, by waiting, he could
encompass a more terrible revenge.

De Vac had been born in Paris, the son of a French officer reputed the
best swordsman in France. The son had followed closely in the footsteps
of his father until, on the latter's death, he could easily claim the
title of his sire. How he had left France and entered the service of
John of England is not of this story. All the bearing that the life of
Jules de Vac has upon the history of England hinges upon but two of his
many attributes--his wonderful swordsmanship and his fearful hatred for
his adopted country.

CHAPTER II

South of the armory of Westminster Palace lay the gardens, and here, on
the third day following the King's affront to De Vac, might have been a
seen a black-haired woman gowned in a violet cyclas, richly embroidered
with gold about the yoke and at the bottom of the loose-pointed sleeves,
which reached almost to the similar bordering on the lower hem of the
garment. A richly wrought leathern girdle, studded with precious stones,
and held in place by a huge carved buckle of gold, clasped the garment
about her waist so that the upper portion fell outward over the girdle
after the manner of a blouse. In the girdle was a long dagger of
beautiful workmanship. Dainty sandals encased her feet, while a wimple
of violet silk bordered in gold fringe, lay becomingly over her head and
shoulders.

By her side walked a handsome boy of about three, clad, like his
companion, in gay colors. His tiny surcoat of scarlet velvet was rich
with embroidery, while beneath was a close-fitting tunic of white
silk. His doublet was of scarlet, while his long hose of white were
cross-gartered with scarlet from his tiny sandals to his knees. On the
back of his brown curls sat a flat-brimmed, ro