“Methinks thou art right, gentle mother; albeit I did sorely long to give the varlet a lesson to teach him better.  But perchance it was well I was not nigh enough.  Surely it must be nigh upon the hour for dinner.  Our sport has whet the edge of appetite, and I would fain hear what the missive was which yon knave brought with him.  Our father will doubtless tell us at the table.”

It was indeed nearly noon, and mistress and maids alike relinquished their tasks to prepare for the meal which was the chiefest of the day, though the supper was nothing to be despised.

The long table in the great banqueting hall was a goodly sight to see when the dinner was spread, and the retainers of the better sort and some amongst the upper servants sat down with the master and his family to partake of the good cheer.  At one end of the long board sat the knight and his lady side by side; to their right were the three boys, the young monk, and Warbel the armourer, who now held a post of some importance in the house.  Opposite to these were other gentlemen-at-arms and their sons, who were resident at Chad; and at the lower end of the table, below the great silver salt cellars, sat the seneschal, the lowlier retainers, and certain trusted servants who held responsible positions at Chad.  The cooks and scullions and underlings dined in the great kitchen immediately after their masters’ meal had been served.

The table at Chad always groaned with good things, except at such seasons as the Church decreed a fast, and then the diet was scrupulously kept within the prescribed bounds.  Sir Oliver and his wife were both devout and earnest people, and had every reverence for their spiritual superiors.  The Benedictine Priory of Chadwater stood only a mile and a half distant, and the prior was on excellent terms with the owner of Chad.  Brother Emmanuel had been an inmate of the priory before he was selected by Sir Oliver for the education of his sons.  He was considered a youth of no small promise, and the knight was well pleased at the progress made by his boys since they had been studying with him.

Today there was a look of annoyance upon the handsome face of Sir Oliver Chadgrove.  It was a striking countenance at all times, in which sternness of purpose and kindness of heart were blended in a fashion that was both attractive and unusual.  He had the same regular features, rather square in the outline, which he had transmitted to his children; and his hair, which was now silvered with many streaks, had been raven black in its day.  His carriage was upright and fearless, and he was very tall and powerfully proportioned.  It was Bertram’s keenest ambition to grow up in all points like his father, and he copied him, consciously and unconsciously, in a fashion that often raised a smile on his mother’s face.

“I have been favoured with another insolent letter from my Lord of Mortimer,” he said.  “He had better take heed that he try not my patience too far, and that I go not to the king and lay a complaint before him.  I will do so if I be much more troubled.”