Thou hast read my sayings and doings--or at least the first
part of them--and thou art minded to repay me with thy own doings and
sayings. Take pen and inkhorn, Gilbert. Here is work that will not
irk thee."

"'Let my men go without hurt, and I will confess my treason against the
King," said Fulke.

"'Now, why has he grown so tender of his men of a sudden?" said Hugh to
me; for Fulke had no name for mercy to his men. Plunder he gave them,
but pity, none.

"'Te! Te!" said De Aquila. "Thy treason was all confessed long ago by
Gilbert. It would be enough to hang Montgomery himself."

"'Nay; but spare my men," said Fulke; and we heard him splash like a
fish in a pond, for the tide was rising.

"'All in good time," said De Aquila. "The night is young; the wine is
old; and we need only the merry tale. Begin the story of thy life since
when thou wast a lad at Tours. Tell it nimbly!"

"'Ye shame me to my soul," said Fulke.

"'Then I have done what neither King nor Duke could do," said De
Aquila. "But begin, and forget nothing."

"'Send thy man away," said Fulke.

"'That much can I do," said De Aquila. 'But, remember, I am like the
Danes' King. I cannot turn the tide.'

"'How long will it rise?" said Fulke, and splashed anew.

"'For three hours," said De Aquila. "Time to tell all thy good deeds.
Begin, and, Gilbert,--I have heard thou art somewhat careless--do not
twist his words from his true meaning."

'So--fear of death in the dark being upon him--Fulke began, and
Gilbert, not knowing what his fate might be, wrote it word by word. I
have heard many tales, but never heard I aught to match the tale of
Fulke his black life, as Fulke told it hollowly, hanging in the shaft.'

'Was it bad?' said Dan, awestruck. 'Beyond belief,' Sir Richard
answered. 'None the less, there was that in it which forced even
Gilbert to laugh. We three laughed till we ached. At one place his
teeth so chattered that we could not well hear, and we reached him down
a cup of wine. Then he warmed to it, and smoothly set out all his
shifts, malices, and treacheries, his extreme boldnesses (he was
desperate bold); his retreats, shufflings, and counterfeitings (he was
also inconceivably a coward); his lack of gear and honour; his despair
at their loss; his remedies, and well-coloured contrivances. Yes, he
waved the filthy rags of his life before us, as though they had been
some proud banner. When he ceased, we saw by torches that