“I knew that I could trust you, Martin, and the proof of it is that I have spoken to you so openly,” went on Maldon in a gentler voice.  “Well, you shall hear all.  The great Emperor of Germany and Spain is on our side, as, seeing his blood and faith, he must be.  He will avenge the wrongs of the Church and of his royal aunt.  I, who know him, am his agent here, and what I do is done at his bidding.  But I must have more money than he finds me, and that is why I stirred in this matter of the Shefton lands.  Also the Lady Cicely had jewels of vast price, though I fear greatly lest they should have been lost in the fire this night.”

“Filthy lucre—­the root of all evil,” muttered Brother Martin.

“Aye, and of all good.  Money, money—­I must have more money to bribe men and buy arms, to defend that stronghold of Heaven, the Church.  What matters it if lives are lost so that the immortal Church holds her own?  Let them go.  My friend, you are fearful; these deaths weigh upon your soul—­aye, and on mine.  I loved that girl, whom as a babe I held in my arms, and even her rough father, I loved him for his honest heart, although he always mistrusted me, the Spaniard—­and rightly.  The knight Harflete, too, who lies yonder, he was of a brave breed, but not one who would have served our turn.  Well, they are gone, and for these blood-sheddings we must find absolution.”

“If we can.”

“Oh! we can, we can.  Already I have it in my pouch, under a seal you know.  And for our bodies, fear not.  There is such a gale rising in England as will blow out this petty breeze.  A question of rights, some arrows shot, a fire and lives lost—­what of that when it agitates betwixt powers temporal and spiritual, and which of them shall hold the sceptre in this mighty Britain?  Martin, I have a mission for you that may lead you to a bishopric ere all is done, for that’s your mind and aim, and if you would put off your doubts and moodiness you’ve got the brain to rule.  That ship, the Great Yarmouth, which sailed for Spain some days ago, has been beat back into the river, and should weigh anchor again to-morrow morning.  I have letters for the Spanish Court, and you shall take them with my verbal explanations, which I will give you presently, for they would hang us, and may not be trusted to writing.  She is bound for Seville, but you will follow the Emperor wherever he may be.  You will go, won’t you?” and he glanced at him sideways.

“I obey orders,” answered Martin, “though I know little of Spaniards or of Spanish.”

“In every town the Benedictines have a monastery, and in every monastery interpreters, and you shall be accredited to them all who are of that great Brotherhood.  Well, ’tis settled.  Go, make ready as best you can; I must write.  Stay; the sooner this Harflete is under ground the better.  Bid that sturdy fellow, Bolle, find the sexton of the church and help dig his grave, for we will bury him at dawn.  Now go, go, I tell you I must write.  Come back in an hour, and I will give you money for your faring, also my secret messages.”