“Upon certain conditions, and the payment of a heavy fine, they allow pilgrims to approach.  Would that thou couldst enter it amidst a victorious host, but that day, in penalty for our sins, is not allowed as yet to dawn.  Thou hast but to pray before the Holy Sepulchre, to deposit the sword to be blessed thereon, and thou mayst return.”

“But will there be no fighting?”

“This I cannot tell at present; a temporary truce exists.  It may be broken at any moment, and if it be, thou mayst tarry for one campaign, not longer.  My eyes will ache to see thee again, and remember that but to have visited the Holy Places will entitle thee to all the indulgences and privileges of a crusader—­Bethlehem, Nazareth, Calvary, Gethsemane, Olivet.  The task is easier now, by reason of the truce, although the infidels be very treacherous, and thou wilt need constant vigilance.”

So they talked until the midnight hour.

No ghostly visitant appeared to mar its joy, and the sire and son slept.  The old man made the youth lie on his couch, while he lay on the floor.  Hubert resisted the arrangement in vain; the father was absolute, and so they slept.

On the morrow the travellers (of both parties) left the priory together, after the chapter mass at nine.  Hubert had bidden the last farewell to his old father, who with difficulty relinquished his grasp of his adored boy, now that the hour for fulfilling the purpose of many years had come at last.  Martin and his brother and companion Ginepro were there, and the six men-at-arms who were to act as a guard of honour to the young knight in his passage through the forest to the castle of his ancestors.  They purposed to travel together as long as their different objects permitted.

“My men will be a protection,” said Hubert.

The young friars laughed.

“We need no protection,” said Ginepro.  “If we want arms, these bulrushes will serve for spears.”

“Nay, do not jest,” said Martin.

“We have other arms, my Hubert.”

“What are they?”

“Only faith and prayer, but they never fail.”

Then they talked of the future.  Hubert disclosed all his plans to Martin; how he must visit the castle at Fievrault; how he must seek and carry the sword of the knight whom his father had slain and lay it on the Holy Sepulchre; how then he hoped to return, but not till he had dyed the sword in the blood of the Paynim, etc.  And Martin told his plans for a mission in the Andredsweald; of his hope to reclaim the outlaws to Christianity, and to pacify the forests; to reunite the lords of Norman descent and the Saxon peasants together in one common love.

“Shall you visit Walderne Castle?” inquired Hubert.

“It may fall to my lot to do so.”

“Avoid Drogo; at least do not trust him.  He hates us both.”

“He may have mended.”

Hubert shook his head.