lke 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