“We will not,” answered the boys in a breath.  “But the rest of your story, good Father.”

“You shall hear it all, my sons.  It was in the year of grace 1329 that your father first brought his wife here, and in the following year you twain were born.  Your father stayed till he could fold you in his arms, and bestow upon you the blessing of a father; but then his duties to his master called him to England, and for a whole long year we heard no news of him.  At the end of that time a messenger arrived with despatches for his lady.  She sent to ask my help in reading these; and together we made out that the letter contained a summons for her to join her lord in England, where he would meet her at the port of Southampton, into which harbour many of our vessels laden with wine put in for safe anchorage.  As for the children, said the letter, she must either bring or leave them, as seemed best to her at the time; and after long and earnest debate we resolved that she should go alone, and that you should be left to good Margot’s tender care.  I myself escorted our gentle lady to Bordeaux, and there it was easy to find safe and commodious transport for her across the sea.  She left us, and we heard no more until more than a year had passed by, and she returned to us, sorely broken down in mind and body, to tell a sorrowful tale.”

“Sorrowful?  Had our proud uncles refused to receive her?” asked Gaston, with flashing eyes.  “I trow if that be so —­”

But the Father silenced him by a gesture.

“Wait and let me tell my tale, boy.  Thou canst not judge till thou knowest all.  She came back to us, and to me she told all her tale, piece by piece and bit by bit, not all at once, but as time and opportunity served.  And this is what I learned.  When your father summoned her back to join him, it was because her one brother was dead —­ dead without leaving children behind —­ and her father, now growing old, wished to see her once again, and give over to her before he died the fair domain of Basildene, which she would now inherit, but to which she had had no title when she married your father.  It seemed like enow to both of them that if Arnald de Brocas could lead a well-dowered bride to his brothers’ halls, all might be well between them and so it came about when the old man died, and the lady had succeeded to the lands, that he started forth to tell the news, not taking her, as the weather was inclement, and she somewhat suffering from the damp and fog which they say prevail so much in England, but faring forth alone on his embassy, trusting to come with joy to fetch her anon.”

“And did he not?” asked the boys eagerly.