’It chanced, some small while afterwards, a Norman man-at-arms would wed a Saxon wench of the Manor, and Gilbert (we had watched him well since De Aquila spoke) doubted whether her folk were free or slave.  Since De Aquila would give them a field of good land, if she were free, the matter came up at the justice in Great Hall before De Aquila.  First the wench’s father spoke; then her mother; then all together, till the hall rang and the hounds bayed.  De Aquila held up his hands.  “Write her free,” he called to Gilbert by the fireplace.  “A’ God’s name write her free, before she deafens me!  Yes, yes,” he said to the wench that was on her knees at him; “thou art Cerdic’s sister, and own cousin to the Lady of Mercia, if thou wilt be silent.  In fifty years there will be neither Norman nor Saxon, but all English,” said he, “and these are the men that do our work!” He clapped the man-at-arms that was Jehan’s nephew on the shoulder, and kissed the wench, and fretted with his feet among the rushes to show it was finished. (The Great Hall is always bitter cold.) I stood at his side; Hugh was behind Gilbert in the fireplace making to play with wise rough Odo.  He signed to De Aquila, who bade Gilbert measure the new field for the new couple.  Out then runs our Gilbert between man and maid, his beads clashing at his waist, and the Hall being empty, we three sit by the fire.

’Said Hugh, leaning down to the hearthstones, “I saw this stone move under Gilbert’s foot when Odo snuffed at it.  Look!” De Aquila digged in the ashes with his sword; the stone tilted; beneath it lay a parchment folden, and the writing atop was:  “Words spoken against the King by our Lord of Pevensey—­the second part.”

’Here was set out (Hugh read it us whispering) every jest De Aquila had made to us touching the King; every time he had called out to me from the shot-window, and every time he had said what he would do if he were King of England.  Yes, day by day had his daily speech, which he never stinted, been set down by Gilbert, tricked out and twisted from its true meaning, yet withal so cunningly that none could deny who knew him that De Aquila had in some sort spoken those words.  Ye see?’

Dan and Una nodded.

‘Yes,’ said Una gravely.  ’It isn’t what you say so much.  It’s what you mean when you say it.  Like calling Dan a beast in fun.  Only grown-ups don’t always understand.’

’"He hath done this day by day before our very face?” said De Aquila.

’"Nay, hour by hour,” said Hugh.  “When De Aquila spoke even now, in the Hall, of Saxons and Normans, I saw Gilbert write on a parchment, which he kept beside the Manor-roll, that De Aquila said soon there would be no Normans left in England if his men-at-arms did their work aright.”

’"Bones of the Saints!” said De Aquila.  “What avail is honour or a sword against a pen?  Where did Gilbert hide that writing?  He shall eat it.”

’"In his breast when he ran out,” said Hugh.  “Which made me look to see where he kept his finished stuff.  When Odo scratched at this stone here, I saw his face change.  So I was sure.”