’"None,” said Jehan, “except”—­he had been with De Aquila at Santlache—­“except he said that if an old dog could not learn new tricks it was time to sweep out the kennel.”

’"Oho!” said De Aquila, rubbing his nose, “to whom did he say that?”

’"To his beard, chiefly, but some to his horse’s flank as he was girthing up.  I followed him out,” said Jehan the Crab.

’"What was his shield-mark?”

’"Gold horseshoes on black,” said the Crab.

‘"That is one of Fulke’s men,” said De Aquila.’

Puck broke in very gently, ’Gold horseshoes on black is not the Fulkes’ shield.  The Fulkes’ arms are——­’

The knight waved one hand statelily.

‘Thou knowest that evil man’s true name,’ he replied, ’but I have chosen to call him Fulke because I promised him I would not tell the story of his wickedness so that any man might guess it.  I have changed all the names in my tale.  His children’s children may be still alive.’

‘True—­true,’ said Puck, smiling softly.  ’It is knightly to keep faith—­even after a thousand years.’

Sir Richard bowed a little and went on:—­

’"Gold horseshoes on black?” said De Aquila.  “I had heard Fulke had joined the Barons, but if this is true our King must be of the upper hand.  No matter, all Fulkes are faithless.  Still, I would not have sent the man away empty.”

’"He fed,” said Jehan.  “Gilbert the Clerk fetched him meat and wine from the kitchens.  He ate at Gilbert’s table.”

’This Gilbert was a clerk from Battle Abbey, who kept the accounts of the Manor of Pevensey.  He was tall and pale-coloured, and carried those new-fashioned beads for counting of prayers.  They were large brown nuts or seeds, and hanging from his girdle with his pen and inkhorn they clashed when he walked.  His place was in the great fireplace.  There was his table of accounts, and there he lay o’ nights.  He feared the hounds in the Hall that came nosing after bones or to sleep on the warm ashes, and would slash at them with his beads—­like a woman.  When De Aquila sat in Hall to do justice, take fines, or grant lands, Gilbert would so write it in the Manor-roll.  But it was none of his work to feed our guests, or to let them depart without his lord’s knowledge.

’Said De Aquila, after Jehan was gone down the stair:  “Hugh, hast thou ever told my Gilbert thou canst read Latin hand-of-write?”

’"No,” said Hugh.  “He is no friend to me, or to Odo my hound either.”  ’"No matter,” said De Aquila.  “Let him never know thou canst tell one letter from its fellow, and”—­here he jerked us in the ribs with his scabbard—­“watch him, both of ye.  There be devils in Africa, as I have heard, but by the Saints, there be greater devils in Pevensey!” And that was all he would say.