’"How did I tell you?” said De Aquila.  “There are twenty Barons ’twixt here and Salisbury could give King Henry good land service, but he has been worked upon by Fulke to send South and call me—­me!—­off the Gate of England, when his enemies stand about to batter it in.  See that Fulke’s men lie in the big south barn,” said he.  “Give them drink, and when Fulke has eaten we will drink in my chamber.  The Great Hall is too cold for old bones.”

’As soon as he was off-horse Fulke went to the chapel with Gilbert to give thanks for his safe coming, and when he had eaten—­he was a fat man, and rolled his eyes greedily at our good roast Sussex wheatears—­we led him to the little upper chamber, whither Gilbert had already gone with the Manor-roll.  I remember when Fulke heard the tide blow and whistle in the shaft he leaped back, and his long down-turned stirrup-shoes caught in the rushes and he stumbled, so that Jehan behind him found it easy to knock his head against the wall.’

‘Did you know it was going to happen?’ said Dan.

‘Assuredly,’ said Sir Richard, with a sweet smile.  ’I put my foot on his sword and plucked away his dagger, but he knew not whether it was day or night for awhile.  He lay rolling his eyes and bubbling with his mouth, and Jehan roped him like a calf.  He was cased all in that newfangled armour which we call lizard-mail.  Not rings like my hauberk here’—­Sir Richard tapped his chest—­but little pieces of dagger-proof steel overlapping on stout leather.  We stripped it off (no need to spoil good harness by wetting it), and in the neck-piece De Aquila found the same folden piece of parchment which we had put back under the hearthstone.

’At this Gilbert would have run out.  I laid my hand on his shoulder.  It sufficed.  He fell to trembling and praying on his beads.

’"Gilbert,” said De Aquila, “here be more notable sayings and doings of our Lord of Pevensey for thee to write down.  Take pen and ink-horn, Gilbert.  We cannot all be Sacristans of Battle.”

’Said Fulke from the floor, “Ye have bound a King’s messenger.  Pevensey shall burn for this.”

’"Maybe.  I have seen it besieged once,” said De Aquila, “but heart up, Fulke.  I promise thee that thou shalt be hanged in the middle of the flames at the end of that siege, if I have to share my last loaf with thee; and that is more than Odo would have done when we starved out him and Mortain.”

’Then Fulke sat up and looked long and cunningly at De Aquila.

’"By the Saints,” said he, “why didst thou not say thou wast on the Duke Robert’s side at the first?”

’"Am I?” said De Aquila.

’Fulke laughed and said, “No man who serves King Henry dare do this much to his messenger.  When didst thou come over to the Duke?  Let me up and we can smooth it out together.”  And he smiled and becked and winked.

’"Yes, we will smooth it out,” said De Aquila.  He nodded to me, and Jehan and I heaved up Fulke—­he was a heavy man—­and lowered him into the shaft by a rope, not so as to stand on our gold, but dangling by his shoulders a little above.  It was turn of ebb, and the water came to his knees.  He said nothing, but shivered somewhat.