’"He is bold,” said De Aquila.  “Do him justice.  In his own fashion, my Gilbert is bold.”

’"Overbold,” said Hugh.  “Hearken here,” and he read:  “Upon the Feast of St Agatha, our Lord of Pevensey, lying in his upper chamber, being clothed in his second fur gown reversed with rabbit——­”

’"Pest on him!  He is not my tire-woman!” said De Aquila, and Hugh and I laughed.

’"Reversed with rabbit, seeing a fog over the marshes, did wake Sir Richard Dalyngridge, his drunken cup-mate” (here they laughed at me) “and said, ’Peer out, old fox, for God is on the Duke of Normandy’s side."’

’"So did I. It was a black fog.  Robert could have landed ten thousand men, and we none the wiser.  Does he tell how we were out all day riding the Marsh, and how I near perished in a quicksand, and coughed like a sick ewe for ten days after?” cried De Aquila.

’"No,” said Hugh.  “But here is the prayer of Gilbert himself to his master Fulke.”

’"Ah,” said De Aquila.  “Well I knew it was Fulke.  What is the price of my blood?”

’"Gilbert prayeth that when our Lord of Pevensey is stripped of his lands on this evidence which Gilbert hath, with fear and pains, collected——­”

’"Fear and pains is a true word,” said De Aquila, and sucked in his cheeks.  “But how excellent a weapon is a pen!  I must learn it.”

’"He prays that Fulke will advance him from his present service to that honour in the Church which Fulke promised him.  And lest Fulke should forget, he has written below, ’To be Sacristan of Battle’.”

’At this De Aquila whistled.  “A man who can plot against one lord can plot against another.  When I am stripped of my lands Fulke will whip off my Gilbert’s foolish head.  None the less Battle needs a new Sacristan.  They tell me the Abbot Henry keeps no sort of rule there.”

’"Let the Abbot wait,” said Hugh.  “It is our heads and our lands that are in danger.  This parchment is the second part of the tale.  The first has gone to Fulke, and so to the King, who will hold us traitors.”

“Assuredly,” said De Aquila.  “Fulke’s man took the first part that evening when Gilbert fed him, and our King is so beset by his brother and his Barons (small blame, too!) that he is mad with mistrust.  Fulke has his ear, and pours poison into it.  Presently the King gives him my land and yours.  This is old,” and he leaned back and yawned.

’"And thou wilt surrender Pevensey without word or blow?” said Hugh.  “We Saxons will fight your King then.  I will go warn my nephew at Dallington.  Give me a horse!”

’"Give thee a toy and a rattle,” said De Aquila.  “Put back the parchment, and rake over the ashes.  If Fulke is given my Pevensey, which is England’s gate, what will he do with it?  He is Norman at heart, and his heart is in Normandy, where he can kill peasants at his pleasure.  He will open England’s gate to our sleepy Robert, as Odo and Mortain tried to do, and then there will be another landing and another Santlache.  Therefore I cannot give up Pevensey.”