howled. De Aquila ran the beads through his
fingers. The last one--I have said they were large nuts--opened in two
halves on a pin, and there was a small folded parchment within. On it
was written: "The Old Dog goes to Salisbury to be beaten. I have his
Kennel. Come quickly.

"'This is worse than poison," said De Aquila very softly, and sucked in
his cheeks. Then Gilbert grovelled in the rushes, and told us all he
knew. The letter, as we guessed, was from Fulke to the Duke (and not
the first that had passed between them); Fulke had given it to Gilbert
in the chapel, and Gilbert thought to have taken it by morning to a
certain fishing boat at the wharf, which trafficked between Pevensey
and the French shore. Gilbert was a false fellow, but he found time
between his quakings and shakings to swear that the master of the boat
knew nothing of the matter.

"'He hath called me shaved-head," said Gilbert, "and he hath thrown
haddock-guts at me; but for all that, he is no traitor."

"'I will have no clerk of mine mishandled or miscalled," said De
Aquila. "That seaman shall be whipped at his own mast. Write me first
a letter, and thou shalt bear it, with the order for the whipping,
tomorrow to the boat."

'At this Gilbert would have kissed De Aquila's hand--he had not hoped
to live until the morning--and when he trembled less he wrote a letter
as from Fulke to the Duke, saying that the Kennel, which signified
Pevensey, was shut, and that the Old Dog (which was De Aquila) sat
outside it, and, moreover, that all had been betrayed.

"'Write to any man that all is betrayed," said De Aquila, "and even the
Pope himself would sleep uneasily. Eh, Jehan? If one told thee all
was betrayed, what wouldst thou do?"

"'I would run away," said Jehan. "It might be true."

"'Well said," quoth De Aquila. "Write, Gilbert, that Montgomery, the
great Earl, hath made his peace with the King, and that little D'Arcy,
whom I hate, hath been hanged by the heels. We will give Robert full
measure to chew upon. Write also that Fulke himself is sick to death
of a dropsy."

"'Nay!" cried Fulke, hanging in the well-shaft. "Drown me out of hand,
but do not make a jest of me."

"'Jest? I?" said De Aquila. "I am but fighting for life and lands
with a pen, as thou hast shown me, Fulke."

'Then Fulke groaned, for he was cold, and, "Let me confess," said he.

"'Now, this is right neighbourly," said De Aquila, leaning over the
shaft. "