Then, when the scent of roses passed…a mere moment, ’twas there and gone, carried by a gentle breeze to let me know. I knew she was with me. Drawing my sword, I smiled at the man.
“Now it is time, I think,” I said, “for us to bleed and die. I’ll send you to the devil, sir, for death must choose that you or I will here escape, but twain shall not return.”
“And would you break your oath?” he sighed, though he too drew his sword.
“Aye, and what an oath, of vengeance for my love! No other word I mean to keep; no other word I gave. I have not come in through the door, but came over the wall. No oath required; no oath given. And justice may a brigand be when kings are served by bloody hands.”
No more for talk, I lunged at him, and he, with weary face, did parry and riposte. Our swords, like bells, and we a-dancing to their song, a merry rhythm kept. A sweeter strain none may record. I laughed a wild laugh as he turned round the tree. We circled then that steady trunk, once round and then again ere I did touch his flesh with steel, brought blood to the glen.
“A touch,” I laughed, and struck and struck. His arm slowing for want of blood, the first did shove aside, but, aye! I got him with that last and pinned him to the tree. I felt the blade sink in the bark, and howled with wild glee.
His weapon fell from out his hand onto the grassy floor, and smiling a last, sad smile, he died and was no more.
Tale Told 