swear I
will do it. I will tell the King thou art no traitor, but the most
excellent, valiant, and perfect of us all. Yes, I will save thee."

'De Aquila looked still into the bottom of the cup, rolling the
wine-dregs to and fro. "'Ay," he said. "If I had a son, I would, I
think, save him. But do not by any means tell me how thou wilt go
about it."

"'Nay, nay," said Fulke, nodding his bald head wisely. "That is my
secret. But rest at ease, De Aquila, no hair of thy head nor rood of
thy land shall be forfeited," and he smiled like one planning great
good deeds.

"'And henceforward," said De Aquila, "I counsel thee to serve one
master--not two."

"'What?" said Fulke. "Can I work no more honest trading between the
two sides these troublous times?"

"'Serve Robert or the King--England or Normandy," said De Aquila. "I
care not which it is, but make thy choice here and now."

"'The King, then," said Fulke, "for I see he is better served than
Robert. Shall I swear it?"

"'No need," said De Aquila, and he laid his hand on the parchments
which Gilbert had written. "It shall be some part of my Gilbert's
penance to copy out the savoury tale of thy life, till we have made
ten, twenty, an hundred, maybe, copies. How many cattle, think you,
would the Bishop of Tours give for that tale? Or thy brother? Or the
Monks of Blois? Minstrels will turn it into songs which thy own Saxon
serfs shall sing behind their plough-stilts, and men-at-arms riding
through thy Norman towns. From here to Rome, Fulke, men will make very
merry over that tale, and how Fulke told it, hanging in a well, like a
drowned puppy. This shall be thy punishment, if ever I find thee
double-dealing with thy King any more. Meantime, the parchments stay
here with thy son. Him I will return to thee when thou hast made my
peace with the King. The parchments never."

'Fulke hid his face and groaned.

"'Bones of the Saints!" said De Aquila, laughing. "The pen cuts deep.
I could never have fetched that grunt out of thee with any sword."

"'But so long as I do not anger thee, my tale will be secret?" said
Fulke.

"'Just so long. Does that comfort thee, Fulke?" said De Aquila.

"'What other comfort have ye left me?" he said, and of a sudden he wept
hopelessly like a child, dropping his face on his knees.'

'Poor Fulke,' said Una.

'I pitied him also,' said Sir Richard.

"'After the spur, corn," said De Aquila, and he threw Fulke three
wed