Ch. 4: Old Men at Pevensey

'It has naught to do with apes or Devils,'Sir Richard went
on, in an undertone. 'It concerns De Aquila, than whom
there was never bolder nor craftier, nor more hardy
knight born. And remember he was an old, old man at
that time.'

'When?' said Dan.

'When we came back from sailing with Witta.'

'What did you do with your gold?' said Dan.

'Have patience. Link by link is chain-mail made. I will
tell all in its place. We bore the gold to Pevensey on
horseback - three loads of it - and then up to the north
chamber, above the Great Hall of Pevensey Castle, where
De Aquila lay in winter. He sat on his bed like a little
white falcon, turning his head swiftly from one to the
other as we told our tale. Jehan the Crab, an old sour
man-at-arms, guarded the stairway, but De Aquila bade
him wait at the stair-foot, and let down both leather
curtains over the door. It was jehan whom De Aquila had
sent to us with the horses, and only Jehan had loaded the
gold. When our story was told, De Aquila gave us the
news of England, for we were as men waked from a
year-long sleep. The Red King was dead - slain (ye
remember?) the day we set sail - and Henry, his younger
brother, had made himself King of England over the head
of Robert of Normandy. This was the very thing that the
Red King had done to Robert when our Great William
died. Then Robert of Normandy, mad, as De Aquila said,
at twice missing of this kingdom, had sent an army
against England, which army had been well beaten back
to their ships at Portsmouth. A little earlier, and Witta's
ship would have rowed through them.

"'And now," said De Aquila, "half the great Barons of
the North and West are out against the King between
Salisbury and Shrewsbury, and half the other half wait
to see which way the game shall go. They say Henry
is overly English for their stomachs, because he hath
married an English wife and she hath coaxed him to give
back their old laws to our Saxons. (Better ride a horse on
the bit he knows, I say!) But that is only a cloak to their
falsehood." He cracked his finger on the table, where
the wine was spilt, and thus he spoke:

"'William crammed us Norman barons full of good
English acres after Santlache. I had my share too," he
said, and clapped Hugh on the shoulder; "but I warned
him - I warned him before Odo rebelled - that he should
have bidden the Barons give up their lands and lordships
in Normandy if they would be English lords. Now they
are all but princes both in England and Normandy -
trencher-fed hounds, with a foot in one trough and both
eyes on the other! Robert of Normandy has sent them
word that if they do not fight for him in England he will
sack and harry out their lands in Normandy. Therefore
Clare has risen, FitzOsborne has risen, Montgomery has
risen - whom our First William made an English Earl.
Even D'Arcy is out with his men, whose father I remember -
a little hedge-sparrow knight near by Caen. If Henry
wins, the Barons can still flee to Normandy, where
Robert will welcome them. If Henry loses, Robert, he
says, will give them more lands in England. Oh, a pest - a
pest on Normandy, for she will be our England's curse
this many a long year!"

"'Amen," said Hugh. "But will the war come our
ways, think you?"

"'Not from the North," said De Aquila. "But the sea is
always open. If the Barons gain the upper hand Robert
will send another army into England for sure, and this
time I think he will land here - where his father, the
Conqueror, landed. Ye have brought your pigs to a pretty
market! Half England alight, and gold enough on the
ground" - he stamped on the bars beneath the table - "to
set every sword in Christendom fighting."

"'What is to do?" said Hugh. "I have no keep at
Dallington; and if we buried it, whom could we trust?"
"'Me," said De Aquila. "Pevensey walls are strong. No
man but jehan, who is my dog, knows what is between
them." He drew a curtain by the shot-window and
showed us the shaft of a well in the thickness of the wall.

"'I made it for a drinking-well," he said, "but we found
salt water, and it rises and falls with the tide. Hark!" We
heard the water whistle and blow at the bottom. "Will it
serve?" said he.

"'Needs must," said Hugh. "Our lives are in thy
hands." So we lowered all the gold down except one
small chest of it by De Aquila's bed, which we kept as
much for his delight in its weight and colour as for any of
our needs.

'In the morning, ere we rode to our Manors, he said: "I
do not say farewell; because ye will return and bide here.
Not for love nor for sorrow, but to be with the gold. Have
a care," he said, laughing, "lest I use it to make myself
Pope. Trust me not, but return!"'

Sir Richard paused and smiled sadly.

'In seven days, then, we returned from our Manors -
from the Manors which had been ours.'

'And were the children quite well?' said Una.

'My sons were young. Land and governance belong by
right to young men.' Sir Richard was talking to himself.
'It would have broken their hearts if we had taken back
our Manors. They made us great welcome, but we could
see - Hugh and I could see - that our day was done. I was
a cripple and he a one-armed man. No!' He shook his
head. 'And therefore' - he raised his voice - 'we rode
back to Pevensey.'

'I'm sorry,' said Una, for the knight seemed very sorrowful.

'Little maid, it all passed long ago. They were young;
we were old. We let them rule the Manors. "Aha!" cried
De Aquila from his shot-window, when we dismounted.
"Back again to earth, old foxes?" but when we were in his
chamber above the Hall he puts his arms about us and
says, "Welcome, ghosts! Welcome, poor ghosts!"

Thus it fell out that we were rich beyond belief, and
lonely. And lonely!'

'What did you do?' said Dan.

'We watched for Robert of Normandy,' said the knight.
'De Aquila was like Witta. He suffered no idleness. In fair
weather we would ride along between Bexlei on the one
side, to Cuckmere on the other - sometimes with hawk,
sometimes with hound (there are stout hares both on the
Marsh and the Downland), but always with an eye to the
sea, for fear of fleets from Normandy. In foul weather he
would walk on the top of his tower, frowning against the
rain - peering here and pointing there. It always vexed
him to think how Witta's ship had come and gone
without his knowledge. When the wind ceased and ships
anchored, to the wharf's edge he would go and, leaning
on his sword among the stinking fish, would call to the
mariners for their news from France. His other eye he
kept landward for word of Henry's war against the Barons.

'Many brought him news - jongleurs, harpers, pedlars,
sutlers, priests and the like; and, though he was
secret enough in small things, yet, if their news misliked
him, then, regarding neither time nor place nor people,
he would curse our King Henry for a fool or a babe. I have
heard him cry aloud by the fishing boats: "If I were King
of England I would do thus and thus"; and when I rode
out to see that the warning-beacons were laid and dry, he
hath often called to me from the shot-window: "Look
to it, Richard! Do not copy our blind King, but see
with thine own eyes and feel with thine own hands."
I do not think he knew any sort of fear. And so
we lived at Pevensey, in the little chamber above the Hall.

'One foul night came word that a messenger of the
King waited below. We were chilled after a long riding in
the fog towards Bexlei, which is an easy place for ships to
land. De Aquila sent word the man might either eat with
us or wait till we had fed. Anon jehan, at the stair-head,
cried that he had called for horse, and was gone. "Pest on
him!" said De Aquila. "I have more to do than to shiver in
the Great Hall for every gadling the King sends. Left he
no word?"

"'None," said Jehan, "except" - he had been with De
Aquila at Santlache - "except he said that if an old dog
could not learn new tricks it was time to sweep out the kennel."

"'Oho!" said De Aquila, rubbing his nose, "to whom
did he say that?"

"'To his beard, chiefly, but some to his horse's flank as
he was girthing up. I followed him out," said jehan the Crab.

"'What was his shield-mark?"

"'Gold horseshoes on black," said the Crab.

"'That is one of Fulke's men," said De Aquila.'

Puck broke in very gently, 'Gold horseshoes on black is
not the Fulkes' shield. The Fulkes' arms are -'

The knight waved one hand statelily.

'Thou knowest that evil man's true name,' he replied,
'but I have chosen to call him Fulke because I promised
him I would not tell the story of his wickedness so
that any man might guess it. I have changed all the
names in my tale. His children's children may be still alive.'

'True - true,' said Puck, smiling softly. 'It is knightly to
keep faith - even after a thousand years.'

Sir Richard bowed a little and went on:

"'Gold horseshoes on black?" said De Aquila. "I had
heard Fulke had joined the Barons/ but if this is true our
King must be of the upper hand. No matter, all Fulkes are
faithless. Still, I would not have sent the man away empty."

"'He fed," said jehan. "Gilbert the Clerk fetched him
meat and wine from the kitchens. He ate at Gilbert's table."

'This Gilbert was a clerk from Battle Abbey, who kept
the accounts of the Manor of Pevensey. He was tall and
pale-coloured, and carried those new-fashioned beads
for counting of prayers. They were large brown nuts or
seeds, and hanging from his girdle with his pen and
ink-horn they clashed when he walked. His place was in
the great fireplace. There was his table of accounts, and
there he lay o' nights. He feared the hounds in the Hall
that came nosing after bones or to sleep on the warm
ashes, and would slash at them with his beads - like a
woman. When De Aquila sat in Hall to do justice, take
fines, or grant lands, Gilbert would so write it in the
Manor-roll. But it was none of his work to feed our
guests, or to let them depart without his lord's knowledge.

'Said De Aquila, after jehan was gone down the stair:
"Hugh, hast thou ever told my Gilbert thou canst read
Latin hand-of-write?"

"'No," said Hugh. "He is no friend to me, or to Odo
my hound either."

"'No matter," said De Aquila. "Let him never know thou canst
tell one letter from its fellow, and" - there he yerked us in the
ribs with his scabbard - "watch him, both of ye. There be devils
in Africa, as I have heard, but by the Saints, there be greater
devils in Pevensey!" And that was all he would say.

'It chanced, some small while afterwards, a Norman
man-at-arms would wed a Saxon wench of the Manor,
and Gilbert (we had watched him well since De Aquila
spoke) doubted whether her folk were free or slave. Since
De Aquila would give them a field of good land, if she
were free, the matter came up at the justice in Great Hall
before De Aquila. First the wench's father spoke; then
her mother; then all together, till the Hall rang and the
hounds bayed. De Aquila held up his hands. "Write her
free," he called to Gilbert by the fireplace. "A' God's
name write her free, before she deafens me! Yes, yes," he
said to the wench that was on her knees at him; "thou art
Cerdic's sister, and own cousin to the Lady of Mercia, if
thou wilt be silent. In fifty years there will be neither
Norman nor Saxon, but all English," said he, "and these
are the men that do our work!" He clapped the man-at-arms
that was Jehan's nephew on the shoulder, and
kissed the wench, and fretted with his feet among the
rushes to show it was finished. (The Great Hall is always
bitter cold.) I stood at his side; Hugh was behind Gilbert
in the fireplace making to play with wise rough Odo. He
signed to De Aquila, who bade Gilbert measure the new
field for the new couple. Out then runs our Gilbert
between man and maid, his beads clashing at his waist,
and the Hall being empty, we three sit by the fire.

'Said Hugh, leaning down to the hearthstones, "I saw
this stone move under Gilbert's foot when Odo snuffed
at it. Look!" De Aquila digged in the ashes with his
sword; the stone tilted; beneath it lay a parchment folden,
and the writing atop was: "Words spoken against
the King by our Lord of Pevensey - the second part."

'Here was set out (Hugh read it us whispering) every
jest De Aquila had made to us touching the King; every
time he had called out to me from the shot-window, and
every time he had said what he would do if he were King
of England. Yes, day by day had his daily speech, which
he never stinted, been set down by Gilbert, tricked out
and twisted from its true meaning, yet withal so cunningly
that none could deny who knew him that De Aquila
had in some sort spoken those words. Ye see?'

Dan and Una nodded.

'Yes,' said Una gravely. 'It isn't what you say so much.
It's what you mean when you say it. Like calling Dan a
beast in fun. Only grown-ups don't always understand.'

"'He hath done this day by day before our very face?"
said De Aquila.

"'Nay, hour by hour," said Hugh. "When De Aquila
spoke even now, in the Hall, of Saxons and Normans, I
saw Gilbert write on a parchment, which he kept beside
the Manor-roll, that De Aquila said soon there would be
no Normans left in England if his men-at-arms did their
work aright. "

"'Bones of the Saints!" said De Aquila. "What avail is
honour or a sword against a pen? Where did Gilbert hide
that writing? He shall eat it."

"'In his breast when he ran out," said Hugh. "Which
made me look to see where he kept his finished stuff.
When Odo scratched at this stone here, I saw his face
change. So I was sure."

"'He is bold," said De Aquila. "Do him justice. In his
own fashion, my Gilbert is bold."

"'Overbold," said Hugh. "Hearken here," and he
read: "Upon the Feast of St Agatha, our Lord of Pevensey,
lying in his upper chamber, being clothed in his
second fur gown reversed with rabbit -"

"'Pest on him! He is not my tire-woman!" said
De Aquila, and Hugh and I laughed.
"'Reversed with rabbit, seeing a fog over the marshes,
did wake Sir Richard Dalyngridge, his drunken cup-
mate" (here they laughed at me) "and said, 'Peer out, old
fox, for God is on the Duke of Normandy's side."'

"'So did I. It was a black fog. Robert could have landed
ten thousand men, and we none the wiser. Does he tell
how we were out all day riding the Marsh, and how I near
perished in a quicksand, and coughed like a sick ewe for
ten days after?" cried De Aquila.

"'No," said Hugh. "But here is the prayer of Gilbert
himself to his master Fulke."

"'Ah," said De Aquila. "Well I knew it was Fulke.
What is the price of my blood?"

"'Gilbert prayeth that when our Lord of Pevensey is
stripped of his lands on this evidence which Gilbert hath,
with fear and pains, collected -"

"'Fear and pains is a true word," said De Aquila, and
sucked in his cheeks. "But how excellent a weapon is a
pen! I must learn it."

"'He prays that Fulke will advance him from his
present service to that honour in the Church which Fulke
promised him. And lest Fulke should forget, he has
written below, 'To be Sacristan of Battle'."

'At this De Aquila whistled. "A man who can plot
against one lord can plot against another. When I am
stripped of my lands Fulke will whip off my Gilbert's
foolish head. None the less Battle needs a new Sacristan.
They tell me the Abbot Henry keeps no sort of rule there."

"'Let the Abbot wait," said Hugh. "It is our heads and
our lands that are in danger. This parchment is the
second part of the tale. The first has gone to Fulke, and so
to the King, who will hold us traitors."

"Assuredly," said De Aquila. "Fulke's man took the
first part that evening when Gilbert fed him, and our
King is so beset by his brother and his Barons (small
blame, too!) that he is mad with mistrust. Fulke has his
ear, and pours poison into it. Presently the King gives
him my land and yours. This is old," and he leaned back
and yawned.

"'And thou wilt surrender Pevensey without word or
blow?" said Hugh. "We Saxons will fight your King then.
I will go warn my nephew at Dallington. Give me a horse!"

"'Give thee a toy and a rattle," said De Aquila. "Put
back the parchment, and rake over the ashes. If Fulke is
given my Pevensey, which is England's gate, what will
he do with it? He is Norman at heart, and his heart is in
Normandy, where he can kill peasants at his pleasure.
He will open England's gate to our sleepy Robert, as Odo
and Mortain tried to do, and then there will be another
landing and another Santlache. Therefore I cannot give
up Pevensey."

"'Good," said we two.

"'Ah, but wait! If my King be made, on Gilbert's
evidence, to mistrust me, he will send his men against
me here, and while we fight, England's gate is left
unguarded. Who will be the first to come through thereby?
Even Robert of Normandy. Therefore I cannot fight my
King." He nursed his sword - thus.

"'This is saying and unsaying like a Norman," said
Hugh. "What of our Manors?"

"'I do not think for myself," said De Aquila, "nor for
our King, nor for your lands. I think for England, for
whom neither King nor Baron thinks. I am not Norman,
Sir Richard, nor Saxon, Sir Hugh. English am I."

"'Saxon, Norman or English," said Hugh, "our lives
are thine, however the game goes. When do we hang Gilbert?"

"'Never," said De Aquila. "Who knows, he may yet be
Sacristan of Battle, for, to do him justice, he is a good
writer. Dead men make dumb witnesses. Wait."

"'But the King may give Pevensey to Fulke. And our
Manors go with it," said I. "Shall we tell our sons?"

"'No. The King will not wake up a hornets' nest in the
South till he has smoked out the bees in the North. He
may hold me a traitor; but at least he sees I am not
fighting against him; and every day that I lie still is so
much gain to him while he fights the Barons. If he were
wise he would wait till that war were over before he made
new enemies. But I think Fulke will play upon him to
send for me, and if I do not obey the summons, that will,
to Henry's mind, be proof of my treason. But mere talk,
such as Gilbert sends, is no proof nowadays. We Barons
follow the Church, and, like Anselm, we speak what we
please. Let us go about our day's dealings, and say
naught to Gilbert."

"'Then we do nothing?" said Hugh.

"'We wait," said De Aquila. "I am old, but still I find
that the most grievous work I know."
'And so we found it, but in the end De Aquila was right.

'A little later in the year, armed men rode over the hill,
the Golden Horseshoes flying behind the King's banner.
Said De Aquila, at the window of our chamber: "How did
I tell you? Here comes Fulke himself to spy out his new
lands which our King hath promised him if he can bring
proof of my treason."

"'How dost thou know?" said Hugh.

"'Because that is what I would do if I were Fulke, but I
should have brought more men. My roan horse to your
old shoes," said he, "Fulke brings me the King's Summons
to leave Pevensey and join the war." He sucked in
his cheeks and drummed on the edge of the well-shaft,
where the water sounded all hollow.

"'Shall we go?" said I.

"'Go! At this time of year? Stark madness," said he.
"Take me from Pevensey to fisk and flyte through fern
and forest, and in three days Robert's keels would be
lying on Pevensey mud with ten thousand men! Who
would stop them - Fulke?"

'The horns blew without, and anon Fulke cried the
King's Summons at the great door, that De Aquila with
all men and horse should join the King's camp
at Salisbury.
"'How did I tell you?" said De Aquila. "There are
twenty Barons 'twixt here and Salisbury could give King
Henry good land service, but he has been worked upon
by Fulke to send South and call me - me! - off the Gate of
England, when his enemies stand about to batter it in.
See that Fulke's men lie in the big south barn," said he.
"Give them drink, and when Fulke has eaten we will
drink in my chamber. The Great Hall is too cold for old bones."

'As soon as he was off-horse Fulke went to the chapel
with Gilbert to give thanks for his safe coming, and when
he had eaten - he was a fat man, and rolled his eyes
greedily at our good roast Sussex wheat-ears - we led him
to the little upper chamber, whither Gilbert had already
gone with the Manor-roll. I remember when Fulke heard
the tide blow and whistle in the shaft he leaped back, and
his long down-turned stirrup-shoes caught in the rushes
and he stumbled, so that Jehan behind him found it easy
to knock his head against the wall.'

'Did you know it was going to happen?' said Dan.

'Assuredly,' said Sir Richard, with a sweet smile. 'I put
my foot on his sword and plucked away his dagger, but
he knew not whether it was day or night for awhile. He
lay rolling his eyes and bubbling with his mouth, and
jehan roped him like a calf. He was cased all in that
newfangled armour which we call lizard-mail. Not rings
like my hauberk here'- Sir Richard tapped his chest -but
little pieces of dagger-proof steel overlapping on stout
leather. We stripped it off (no need to spoil good harness
by wetting it), and in the neck-piece De Aquila found the
same folden piece of parchment which we had put back
under the hearth-stone.

'At this Gilbert would have run out. I laid my hand on
his shoulder. It sufficed. He fell to trembling and praying
on his beads.

"'Gilbert," said De Aquila, "here be more notable
sayings and doings of our Lord of Pevensey for thee to
write down. Take pen and ink-horn, Gilbert. We cannot
all be Sacristans of Battle."

'Said Fulke from the floor, "Ye have bound a King's
messenger. Pevensey shall burn for this."

"'Maybe. I have seen it besieged once," said
De Aquila, "but heart up, Fulke. I promise thee that thou
shalt be hanged in the middle of the flames at the end of
that siege, if I have to share my last loaf with thee; and
that is more than Odo would have done when we starved
out him and Mortain."

'Then Fulke sat up and looked long and cunningly at De Aquila.

"'By the Saints," said he, "why didst thou not say thou
wast on the Duke Robert's side at the first?"

"'Am I?" said De Aquila.

'Fulke laughed and said, "No man who serves King
Henry dare do this much to his messenger. When didst
thou come over to the Duke? Let me up and we can
smooth it out together." And he smiled and becked and winked.

"'Yes, we will smooth it out," said De Aquila. He
nodded to me, and jehan and I heaved up Fulke - he
was a heavy man - and lowered him into the shaft by a
rope, not so as to stand on our gold, but dangling by
his shoulders a little above. It was turn of ebb, and the
water came to his knees. He said nothing, but shivered somewhat.

'Then jehan of a sudden beat down Gilbert's wrist with
his sheathed dagger. "Stop!" he said. "He swallows his beads."

"'Poison, belike," said De Aquila. "It is good for men
who know too much. I have carried it these thirty years.
Give me!"

'Then Gilbert wept and howled. De Aquila ran the
beads through his fingers. The last one - I have said they
were large nuts - opened in two halves on a pin, and there
was a small folded parchment within. On it was written:
"The Old Dog goes to Salisbury to be beaten. I have his Kennel.
Come quickly.

"'This is worse than poison," said De Aquila very
softly, and sucked in his cheeks. Then Gilbert grovelled
in the rushes, and told us all he knew. The letter, as we
guessed, was from Fulke to the Duke (and not the first
that had passed between them); Fulke had given it to
Gilbert in the chapel, and Gilbert thought to have taken it
by morning to a certain fishing boat at the wharf, which
trafficked between Pevensey and the French shore. Gilbert
was a false fellow, but he found time between his
quakings and shakings to swear that the master of the
boat knew nothing of the matter.

"'He hath called me shaved-head," said Gilbert, "and he hath
thrown haddock-guts at me; but for all that, he is no traitor."

"'I will have no clerk of mine mishandled or miscalled,"
said De Aquila. "That seaman shall be whipped
at his own mast. Write me first a letter, and thou shalt
bear it, with the order for the whipping, tomorrow to the boat."

'At this Gilbert would have kissed De Aquila's hand -
he had not hoped to live until the morning - and when he
trembled less he wrote a letter as from Fulke to the Duke,
saying that the Kennel, which signified Pevensey, was shut, and
that the Old Dog (which was De Aquila) sat outside it, and,
moreover, that all had been betrayed.

"'Write to any man that all is betrayed," said
De Aquila, "and even the Pope himself would sleep
uneasily. Eh, Jehan? If one told thee all was betrayed, what
wouldst thou do?"

"'I would run away," said Jehan. "it might be true."

"'Well said," quoth De Aquila. "Write, Gilbert, that
Montgomery, the great Earl, hath made his peace with
the King, and that little D'Arcy, whom I hate, hath been
hanged by the heels. We will give Robert full measure to
chew upon. Write also that Fulke himself is sick to death
of a dropsy."

"'Nay!" cried Fulke, hanging in the well-shaft.
"Drown me out of hand, but do not make a jest of me."

"'Jest? I?" said De Aquila. "I am but fighting for life
and lands with a pen, as thou hast shown me, Fulke."

'Then Fulke groaned, for he was cold, and, "Let me
confess," said he.

"'Now, this is right neighbourly," said De Aquila,
leaning over the shaft. "Thou hast read my sayings and
doings - or at least the first part of them - and thou art
minded to repay me with thy own doings and sayings. Take
pen and inkhorn, Gilbert. Here is work that will not irk thee."

"'Let my men go without hurt, and I will confess my
treason against the King," said Fulke.

"'Now, why has he grown so tender of his men of a
sudden?" said Hugh to me; for Fulke had no name for
mercy to his men. Plunder he gave them, but pity, none.

"'Te! Te!" said De Aquila. "Thy treason was all confessed
long ago by Gilbert. It would be enough to hang
Montgomery himself."

"'Nay; but spare my men," said Fulke; and we heard
him splash like a fish in a pond, for the tide was rising.

"'All in good time," said De Aquila. "The night is
young; the wine is old; and we need only the merry tale.
Begin the story of thy life since when thou wast a lad at
Tours. Tell it nimbly!"

"'Ye shame me to my soul," said Fulke.

"'Then I have done what neither King nor Duke could
do," said De Aquila. "But begin, and forget nothing."

"'Send thy man away," said Fulke.

"'That much can I do," said De Aquila. 'But, remember,
I am like the Danes' King. I cannot turn the tide."

"'How long will it rise?" said Fulke, and splashed anew.

"'For three hours," said De Aquila. "Time to tell all thy
good deeds. Begin, and, Gilbert, - I have heard thou art
somewhat careless - do not twist his words from his true
meaning."

'So - fear of death in the dark being upon him - Fulke
began, and Gilbert, not knowing what his fate might be,
wrote it word by word. I have heard many tales, but
never heard I aught to match the tale of Fulke his
black life, as Fulke told it hollowly, hanging in the shaft.'

'Was it bad?' said Dan, awestruck.
'Beyond belief,' Sir Richard answered. 'None the less,
there was that in it which forced even Gilbert to laugh.
We three laughed till we ached. At one place his teeth so
chattered that we could not well hear, and we reached
him down a cup of wine. Then he warmed to it, and
smoothly set out all his shifts, malices, and treacheries,
his extreme boldnesses (he was desperate bold); his
retreats, shufflings, and counterfeitings (he was also
inconceivably a coward); his lack of gear and honour; his
despair at their loss; his remedies, and well-coloured
contrivances. Yes, he waved the filthy rags of his life
before us, as though they had been some proud banner.
When he ceased, we saw by torches that the tide stood at
the corners of his mouth, and he breathed strongly
through his nose.

'We had him out, and rubbed him; we wrapped him in
a cloak, and gave him wine, and we leaned and looked
upon him, the while he drank. He was shivering,
but shameless.

'Of a sudden we heard jehan at the stairway wake, but
a boy pushed past him, and stood before us, the Hall-
rushes in his hair, all slubbered with sleep. "My father!
My father! I dreamed of treachery," he cried, and babbled thickly.

"'There is no treachery here," said Fulke. "Go!" and
the boy turned, even then not fully awake, and jehan led
him by the hand to the Great Hall.
"'Thy only son!" said De Aquila. "Why didst thou
bring the child here?"

"'He is my heir. I dared not trust him to my brother,"
said Fulke, and now he was ashamed. De Aquila said
nothing, but sat weighing a wine-cup in his two hands -
thus. Anon, Fulke touched him on the knee.

"'Let the boy escape to Normandy," said he, "and do
with me at thy pleasure. Yea, hang me tomorrow, with
my letter to Robert round my neck, but let the boy go."

"'Be still," said De Aquila. "I think for England."

'So we waited what our Lord of Pevensey should
devise; and the sweat ran down Fulke's forehead.

'At last said De Aquila: "I am too old to judge, or to
trust any man. I do not covet thy lands, as thou hast
coveted mine; and whether thou art any better or any
worse than any other black Angevin thief, it is for thy
King to find out. Therefore, go back to thy King, Fulke."

"'And thou wilt say nothing of what has passed?" said Fulke.

"'Why should I? Thy son will stay with me. If the King
calls me again to leave Pevensey, which I must guard
against England's enemies; if the King sends his men
against me for a traitor; or if I hear that the King in his bed
thinks any evil of me or my two knights, thy son will be
hanged from out this window, Fulke."'

'But it hadn't anything to do with his son,' cried Una, startled.

'How could we have hanged Fulke?' said Sir Richard.
'We needed him to make our peace with the King. He
would have betrayed half England for the boy's sake. Of
that we were sure.'

'I don't understand,' said Una. 'But I think it was
simply awful.'

'So did not Fulke. He was well pleased.'

'What? Because his son was going to be killed?'

'Nay. Because De Aquila had shown him how he might
save the boy's life and his own lands and honours. "I will
do it, " he said. "I swear I will do it. I will tell the King thou
art no traitor, but the most excellent, valiant, and perfect
of us all. Yes, I will save thee."

'De Aquila looked still into the bottom of the cup,
rolling the wine-dregs to and fro.
"'Ay," he said. "If I had a son, I would, I think, save
him. But do not by any means tell me how thou wilt go
about it."

"'Nay, nay," said Fulke, nodding his bald head wisely.
"That is my secret. But rest at ease, De Aquila, no hair
of thy head nor rood of thy land shall be forfeited," and
he smiled like one planning great good deeds.

"'And henceforward," said De Aquila, "I counsel thee
to serve one master - not two."

"'What?" said Fulke. "Can I work no more honest
trading between the two sides these troublous times?"

"'Serve Robert or the King - England or Normandy,"
said De Aquila. "I care not which it is, but make thy
choice here and now."

"'The King, then," said Fulke, "for I see he is better
served than Robert. Shall I swear it?"

"'No need," said De Aquila, and he laid his hand on
the parchments which Gilbert had written. "It shall be
some part of my Gilbert's penance to copy out the
savoury tale of thy life, till we have made ten, twenty, an
hundred, maybe, copies. How many cattle, think you,
would the Bishop of Tours give for that tale? Or thy
brother? Or the Monks of Blois? Minstrels will turn it into
songs which thy own Saxon serfs shall sing behind their
plough-stilts, and men-at-arms riding through thy Norman
towns. From here to Rome, Fulke, men will make
very merry over that tale, and how Fulke told it, hanging
in a well, like a drowned puppy. This shall be thy
punishment, if ever I find thee double-dealing with thy
King any more. Meantime, the parchments stay here
with thy son. Him I will return to thee when thou hast
made my peace with the King. The parchments never."

'Fulke hid his face and groaned.

"'Bones of the Saints!" said De Aquila, laughing. "The
pen cuts deep. I could never have fetched that grunt out
of thee with any sword."

"'But so long as I do not anger thee, my tale will be
secret?" said Fulke.

"'Just so long. Does that comfort thee, Fulke?" said De Aquila.

"'What other comfort have ye left me?" he said, and of
a sudden he wept hopelessly like a child, dropping his
face on his knees.'

'Poor Fulke,' said Una.

'I pitied him also,' said Sir Richard.

"'After the spur, corn," said De Aquila, and he threw
Fulke three wedges of gold that he had taken from our
little chest by the bedplace.

"'If I had known this," said Fulke, catching his breath,
"I would never have lifted hand against Pevensey. Only
lack of this yellow stuff has made me so unlucky in my dealings."

'It was dawn then, and they stirred in the Great Hall
below. We sent down Fulke's mail to be scoured, and
when he rode away at noon under his own and the King's
banner, very splendid and stately did he show. He
smoothed his long beard, and called his son to his stirrup
and kissed him. De Aquila rode with him as far as the
New Mill landward. We thought the night had been all a dream.'

'But did he make it right with the King?' Dan asked.
'About your not being traitors, I mean.'

Sir Richard smiled. 'The King sent no second summons
to Pevensey, nor did he ask why De Aquila had not
obeyed the first. Yes, that was Fulke's work. I know not
how he did it, but it was well and swiftly done.'

'Then you didn't do anything to his son?' said Una.

'The boy? Oh, he was an imp! He turned the keep
doors out of dortoirs while we had him. He sang foul
songs, learned in the Barons' camps - poor fool; he set the
hounds fighting in Hall; he lit the rushes to drive out, as
he said, the fleas; he drew his dagger on jehan, who
threw him down the stairway for it; and he rode his horse
through crops and among sheep. But when we had
beaten him, and showed him wolf and deer, he followed
us old men like a young, eager hound, and called us
"uncle". His father came the summer's end to take him
away, but the boy had no lust to go, because of the
otter-hunting, and he stayed on till the fox-hunting. I
gave him a bittern's claw to bring him good luck at
shooting. An imp, if ever there was!'

'And what happened to Gilbert?' said Dan.

'Not even a whipping. De Aquila said he would sooner
a clerk, however false, that knew the Manor-roll than a
fool, however true, that must be taught his work afresh.
Moreover, after that night I think Gilbert loved as much
as he feared De Aquila. At least he would not leave us -
not even when Vivian, the King's Clerk, would have
made him Sacristan of Battle Abbey. A false fellow, but,
in his fashion, bold.'

'Did Robert ever land in Pevensey after all?' Dan went on.

'We guarded the coast too well while Henry was
fighting his Barons; and three or four years later, when
England had peace, Henry crossed to Normandy and
showed his brother some work at Tenchebrai that cured
Robert of fighting. Many of Henry's men sailed from
Pevensey to that war. Fulke came, I remember, and we all
four lay in the little chamber once again, and drank
together. De Aquila was right. One should not judge
men. Fulke was merry. Yes, always merry - with a catch
in his breath.'

'And what did you do afterwards?' said Una.

'We talked together of times past. That is all men can
do when they grow old, little maid.'

The bell for tea rang faintly across the meadows. Dan
lay in the bows of the Golden Hind; Una in the stern, the
book of verses open in her lap, was reading from 'The
Slave's Dream':
'Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,
He saw his native land.'

'I don't know when you began that,' said Dan, sleepily.

On the middle thwart of the boat, beside Una's sun-
bonnet, lay an Oak leaf, an Ash leaf, and a Thorn leaf,
that must have dropped down from the trees above; and
the brook giggled as though it had just seen some joke.

The Runes on Weland's Sword

A Smith makes me
To betray my Man
In my first fight.

To gather Gold
At the world's end
I am sent.

The Gold I gather
Comes into England
Out of deep Water.

Like a shining Fish
Then it descends
Into deep Water.

It is not given
For goods or gear,
But for The Thing.

The Gold I gather
A King covets
For an ill use.

The Gold I gather
Is drawn up
Out of deep Water.

Like a shining Fish
Then it descends
Into deep Water.

It is not given
For goods or gear,
But for The Thing.

Ch. 4: Old Men at Pevensey

Attention Bookworms: