youth narrated the events of the morning, concluding with, "These,
then, be my men, father; and together we shall fare forth upon the
highways and into the byways of England, to collect from the rich
English pigs that living which you have ever taught me was owing us."

"'Tis well, my son, and even as I myself would have it; together we
shall ride out, and where we ride, a trail of blood shall mark our way.

"From now, henceforth, the name and fame of Norman of Torn shall grow in
the land, until even the King shall tremble when he hears it, and shall
hate and loathe ye as I have even taught ye to hate and loathe him.

"All England shall curse ye and the blood of Saxon and Norman shall
never dry upon your blade."

As the old man walked away toward the great gate of the castle after
this outbreak, Shandy, turning to Norman of Torn, with a wide grin,
said:

"By the Pope's hind leg, but thy amiable father loveth the English.
There should be great riding after such as he."

"Ye ride after ME, varlet," cried Norman of Torn, "an' lest ye should
forget again so soon who be thy master, take that, as a reminder," and
he struck the red giant full upon the mouth with his clenched fist--so
that the fellow tumbled heavily to the earth.

He was on his feet in an instant, spitting blood, and in a towering
rage. As he rushed, bull-like, toward Norman of Torn, the latter made
no move to draw; he but stood with folded arms, eyeing Shandy with cold,
level gaze; his head held high, haughty face marked by an arrogant sneer
of contempt.

The great ruffian paused, then stopped, slowly a sheepish smile
overspread his countenance and, going upon one knee, he took the hand of
Norman of Torn and kissed it, as some great and loyal noble knight might
have kissed his king's hand in proof of his love and fealty. There was
a certain rude, though chivalrous grandeur in the act; and it marked
not only the beginning of a lifelong devotion and loyalty on the part of
Shandy toward his young master, but was prophetic of the attitude which
Norman of Torn was to inspire in all the men who served him during the
long years that saw thousands pass the barbicans of Torn to crave a
position beneath his grim banner.

As Shandy rose, one by one, John Flory, James, his brother, One Eye
Kanty, and Peter the Hermit knelt before their young lord and kissed
his hand. From the Great Court beyond, a little, grim, gray, old man had
watched this scene, a slight smil