“How now, Master Secretary!” the steward exclaimed. “This is pretty hearing indeed! Master Fenton is a worthy man, and not one to be prying into another man’s affairs! Now is he gone, and God alone knows what will come to this poor land!”
“Nay, not God alone,” the secretary said. “My lord knows also.”
Master Hubert flung up his chubby hands in horror.
“Oh, blasphemous man!” he cried virtuously. “To speak thus lightly! Oh, that I should live to hear thee!”
James the Short-Leg took this opportunity of filling his tankard. Master Hubert caught sight of him, and heaved a gusty sigh.
“Ay, drink, James, drink! ’Tis little ale or sack will flow in the future. Verily this new lord hath lynx-eyes! I shudder to think of the things he threatened to do unto me if I gave more than he commanded to any man in the castle! Oh, an evil fate hath befallen us! He is everywhere at once, so that I have ta’en to starting at every sound! And what doth he purpose? No man can tell, for he goes softly and saith little. He doth ride forth all this week about the estate, and I learn from Robert the Herd that already he knoweth each man by name and how many children he hath, or what is his fortune. Plague be upon it, the peasants cheer him and hasten to do his bidding. They are all upon the fields again, and tending the cattle.”
“Ay, but the guards murmur against him,” James remarked. “And the men-at-arms would rise against him at any moment.”
“Small wonder!” Master Hubert said. “For what hath he done? Why, within a week of his coming he had laid strict rules on all the men-at-arms and archers that are here, so that they fret and grumble. And as for Maurice of Gountray who commands them, it needs but a spark to set him blazing. Would that I had died before this fate had come upon us! We were happy before, but now no man may call his soul his own. Back hath come Father Jocelyn, and we have Masses and penances enough to make a poor man’s flesh shrink. Woe is me! Oh, woe is me!” Overcome by grief and sack, the steward beat feebly at his breast and moaned. “If he would but make known his vile intentions!” he cried. “My teeth are all on edge because that I know not from one hour to the next when he will fall upon me!”
Someone knocked upon the door and the steward started upright, pulling his doublet together. His little eyes shifted uneasily.
“En—en—enter!” he said.
A page thrust his head into the room.
“My lord hath need of Master Bernard,” he said importantly.
The steward drew himself up.
“Ho!” he grunted. “Is it for this you disturb me, boy? A murrain seize your impudence!”
The boy grinned.
“Shall I bear that message to my lord?” he asked tauntingly. “It is not convenient for Master Bernard to come to him?”
Bernard rose.
“If it is convenient for my lord, then is it convenient for his secretary,” he said with some dignity.
The steward blew out his flabby cheeks.
“I wonder that ye go so humbly! I wonder at it!”
Bernard went to the door.
“I go because I dare not tarry,” he said.
Master Hubert laughed jeeringly.
“Oh, brave! Oh, brave! Ye will tell me next that ye love this new lord, craven!”
“I think I do,” the secretary said, and closed the door softly behind him.
The page, a child of ten or twelve years, danced a few paces in front of him adown the corridor.
“Oh, and I do love this lord!” he said. “He lets not the bullies beat us and ill-treat us, and though he is cold to us and stern, he is kind withal, and just. And though he flies not into a passion over a little thing, yet we durst not disobey his commands. Nor does he strike one down when one comes late to do his bidding, as the old lord was wont to do, but looks at one so that one is afraid, and shamed. Indeed, I am glad that he is come, for it was an ill time for us pages when the Marshal ruled.”
“Where is my lord?” Bernard asked.
“In the chamber looking south where he doth sit so often. He sent me for you, yet I do not think he is angered with you!”
The secretary smiled faintly, and leaving the page to join his fellows, went to Simon’s room.
Simon was seated at a table, his arms resting upon it, and his brows frowning. He glanced up as Bernard entered, and then the heavy frown lifted a little.
“Sit ye down, Master Bernard,” he said. “There is much I would say to thee.”
The secretary looked at him in momentary surprise, for this was the first time that Simon had made use of the familiar “thou” in speaking to him. He drew up a chair and sank into it, his gentle, tired eyes resting on Simon’s face.
“I have been in this land a fortnight,” Simon said, “and much have I seen. Mayhap ye think that I have been strangely inactive?”
“Nay,” Bernard answered. “Your lordship hath done much already. The peasants cleave to you. I have thought that ye but hold your hand until all things be clear to you.”
“That is so,” Simon said. “And until I should know what men I might trust.”
The secretary bowed his head.
“I do now wish
