“His friends are from the ranks of the lowly, but so too were the friends and followers of our Dear Lord Jesus; so that shall be more greatly to his honor than had he preyed upon the already unfortunate.
“Women have never been his prey; that also will be spoken of to his honor when he is gone, and that he has been cruel to men will be forgotten in the greater glory of his mercy to the weak.
“Whatever be thy object: whether revenge or the natural bent of a cruel and degraded mind, I know not; but if any be curst because of the Outlaw of Torn, it will be thou—I had almost said, unnatural father; but I do not believe a single drop of thy debased blood flows in the veins of him thou callest son.”
The grim old man of Torn had sat motionless throughout this indictment, his face, somewhat pale, was drawn into lines of malevolent hatred and rage, but he permitted Father Claude to finish without interruption.
“Thou hast made thyself and thy opinions quite clear,” he said bitterly, “but I be glad to know just how thou standeth. In the past there has been peace between us, though no love; now let us both understand that it be war and hate. My life work is cut out for me. Others, like thyself, have stood in my path, yet today I am here, but where are they? Dost understand me, priest?” And the old man leaned far across the table so that his eyes, burning with an insane fire of venom, blazed but a few inches from those of the priest.
Father Claude returned the look with calm level gaze.
“I understand,” he said, and, rising, left the castle.
Shortly after he had reached his cottage, a loud knock sounded at the door, which immediately swung open without waiting the formality of permission. Father Claude looked up to see the tall figure of Norman of Torn, and his face lighted with a pleased smile of welcome.
“Greetings, my son,” said the priest.
“And to thee, Father,” replied the outlaw. “And what may be the news of Torn. I have been absent for several days. Is all well at the castle?”
“All be well at the castle,” replied Father Claude, “if by that you mean have none been captured or hanged for their murders. Ah, my boy, why wilt thou not give up this wicked life of thine? It has never been my way to scold or chide thee, yet always has my heart ached for each crime laid at the door of Norman of Torn.”
“Come, come, Father,” replied the outlaw, “what do I that I have not good example for from the barons, and the King, and Holy Church. Murder, theft, rapine! Passeth a day over England which sees not one or all perpetrated in the name of some of these?
“Be it wicked for Norman of Torn to prey upon the wolf, yet righteous for the wolf to tear the sheep? Methinks not. Only do I collect from those who have more than they need, from my natural enemies; while they prey upon those who have naught.
“Yet,” and his manner suddenly changed, “I do not love it, Father. That thou know. I would that there might be some way out of it, but there is none.
“If I told you why I wished it, you would be surprised indeed, nor can I myself understand; but, of a verity, my greatest wish to be out of this life is due to the fact that I crave the association of those very enemies I have been taught to hate. But it is too late, Father, there can be but one end and that the lower end of a hempen rope.”
“No, my son, there is another way, an honorable way,” replied the good Father. “In some foreign clime there be opportunities abundant for such as thee. France offers a magnificent future to such a soldier as Norman of Torn. In the court of Louis, you would take your place among the highest of the land. You be rich and brave and handsome. Nay do not raise your hand. You be all these and more, for you have learning far beyond the majority of nobles, and you have a good heart and a true chivalry of character. With such wondrous gifts, naught could bar your way to the highest pinnacles of power and glory, while here you have no future beyond the halter. Canst thou hesitate, Norman of Torn?”
The young man stood silent for a moment, then he drew his hand across his eyes as though to brush away a vision.
“There be a reason, Father, why I must remain in England for a time at least, though the picture you put is indeed wondrous alluring.”
And the reason was Bertrade de Montfort.
IX
The visit of Bertrade de Montfort with her friend Mary de Stutevill was drawing to a close. Three weeks had passed since Roger de Condé had ridden out from the portals of Stutevill and many times the handsome young knight’s name had been on the lips of his fair hostess and her fairer friend.
Today the two girls roamed slowly through the gardens of the great court, their arms about each other’s waists, pouring the last confidences into each other’s ears, for tomorrow Bertrade had elected to return to Leicester.
“Methinks thou be very rash indeed, my Bertrade,” said Mary. “Were my father here he would, I am sure, not permit thee to leave with only the small escort which we be able to give.”
“Fear not, Mary,” replied Bertrade. “Five of thy father’s knights be ample protection for
