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THE TAVERN KNIGHT by Rafael Sabatini

CONTENTS
I. ON THE MARCH
II. ARCADES AMBO
III. THE LETTER
IV. AT THE SIGN OF THE MITRE
V. AFTER WORCESTER FIELD
VI. COMPANIONS IN MISFORTUNE
VII. THE TAVERN KNIGHT'S STORY
VIII. THE TWISTED BAR
IX. THE BARGAIN
X. THE ESCAPE
XI. THE ASHBURNS
XII. THE HOUSE THAT WAS ROLAND MARLEIGH'S
XIII. THE METAMORPHOSIS OF KENNETH
XIV. THE HEART OF CYNTHIA ASHBURN
XV. JOSEPH'S RETURN
XVI. THE RECKONING
XVII. JOSEPH DRIVES A BARGAIN
XVIII. COUNTER-PLOT
XIX. THE INTERRUPTED JOURNEY
XX. THE CONVERTED HOGAN
XXI. THE MESSAGE KENNETH BORE
XXII. SIR CRISPIN'S UNDERTAKING
XXIII. GREGORY'S ATTRITION
XXIV. THE WOOING OF CYNTHIA
XXV. CYNTHIA'S FLIGHT
XXVI. TO FRANCE
XXVII. THE AUBERGINE DU SOLEIL

THE TAVERN KNIGHT By Rafael Sabatini
CHAPTER I
ON THE MARCH
He whom they called the Tavern Knight laughed an evil laugh - such a laugh as might fall from the lips of Satan in a sardonic moment.
He sat within the halo of yellow light shed by two tallow candles, whose sconces were two empty bottles, and contemptuously he eyed the youth in black, standing with white face and quivering lip in a corner of the mean chamber. Then he laughed again, and in a hoarse voice, sorely suggestive of the bottle, he broke into song. He lay back in his chair, his long, spare legs outstretched, his spurs jingling to the lilt of his ditty whose burden ran:
On the lip so red of the wench that's sped His passionate kiss burns, still-O! For 'tis April time, and of love and wine Youth's way is to take its fill-O! Down, down, derry-do!
So his cup he drains and he shakes his reins, And rides his rake-helly way-O! She was sweet to woo and most comely, too, But that was all yesterday-O! Down, down, derry-do!
The lad started forward with something akin to a shiver.
"Have done," he cried, in a voice of loathing, "or, if croak you must, choose a ditty less foul!"
"Eh?" The ruffler shook back the matted hair from his lean, harsh face, and a pair of eyes that of a sudden seemed ablaze glared at his companion; then the lids drooped until those eyes became two narrow slits - catlike and cunning - and again he laughed.
"Gad's life, Master Stewart, you have a temerity that should save you from grey hairs! What is't to you what ditty my fancy seizes on? 'Swounds, man, for three weary months have I curbed my moods, and worn my throat dry in praising the Lord; for three months have I been a living monument of Covenanting zeal and godliness; and now that at last I have shaken the dust of your beggarly Scotland from my heels, you - the veriest milksop that ever ran tottering from its mother's lap would chide