e
before the great supper, and in the dusk I heard Hugh on the couch.

'"Wearied, Hugh?" said I.

'"A little," he says. "I have driven Saxon deer all day for a Norman
King, and there is enough of Earl Godwin's blood left in me to sicken at
the work. Wait awhile with the torch."

'I waited then, and I thought I heard him sob.'

'Poor Hugh! Was he so tired?' said Una. 'Hobden says beating is hard
work sometimes.'

'I think this tale is getting like the woods,' said Dan, 'darker and
twistier every minute.' Sir Richard had walked as he talked, and though
the children thought they knew the woods well enough, they felt a little
lost.

'A dark tale enough,' says Sir Richard, 'but the end was not all black.
When we had washed, we went to wait on the King at meat in the great
pavilion. Just before the trumpets blew for the Entry--all the guests
upstanding--long Rahere comes posturing up to Hugh, and strikes him with
his bauble-bladder.

'"Here's a heavy heart for a joyous meal!" he says. "But each man must
have his black hour or where would be the merit of laughing? Take a
fool's advice, and sit it out with my man. I'll make a jest to excuse
you to the King if he remember to ask for you. That's more than I would
do for Archbishop Anselm."

'Hugh looked at him heavy-eyed. "Rahere?" said he. "The King's jester?
Oh, Saints, what punishment for my King!" and smites his hands together.
'"Go--go fight it out in the dark," says Rahere, "and thy Saxon Saints
reward thee for thy pity to my fool." He pushed him from the pavilion,
and Hugh lurched away like one drunk.'

'But why?' said Una. 'I don't understand.'

'Ah, why indeed? Live you long enough, maiden, and you shall know the
meaning of many whys.' Sir Richard smiled. 'I wondered too, but it was
my duty to wait on the King at the High Table in all that glitter and
stir.

'He spoke me his thanks for the sport I had helped show him, and he had
learned from De Aquila enough of my folk and my castle in Normandy to
graciously feign that he knew and had loved my brother there. (This,
also, is part of a king's work.) Many great men sat at the High
Table--chosen by the King for their wits, not for their birth. I have
forgotten their names, and their faces I only saw that one night.
But'--Sir Richard turned in his stride--'but Rahere, flaming in black
and scarlet among our guests, the hollow of his dark cheek flushed with
wine--long, laughing Rahere, and the stricken sadness of