'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 nearby 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.'