“My liege, the lad, whom your royal will made the heir to the lands my father had won by his services on the field of battle, never lost his sympathy with the rebel rout around, or all had perhaps been well; he struck me in defence of a churl whom I found stealing game, and I challenged him to fight.”

“And did he shirk the contest?  I should not have thought it of him.”

“He ran away, sire, and was brought back; was sent to the monastery by my father for a time of penance as a punishment; the same night the building was burnt by the outlaws, as we have every reason to think by his connivance, since he joined them and became their head, while we all thought him dead.”

“And how didst thou learn he yet lived?”

“By his actions; the outlaws under his command burnt our farms, slew our men in the woods, and not our common men only, whose loss might better be borne, but they murdered a noble youth, my fellow page, entrusted to my father’s care, Louis de Marmontier; and finally, by the help of a false guide, they entrapped my father and his retainers into a marsh, which they set on fire, and all perished.”

Etienne spoke these words with deep emotion, but still firmly and distinctly.

“Fear not, my son, thy father’s death shall be avenged, or my sword has lost its power.  Weep not for the dead—­women weep, men avenge wrongs on the wrongdoer; but tell me, art thou certain of these facts? didst thou or any one else see this Wilfred at the head of the outlaws?”

“My liege, I saw him myself; I penetrated their fastnesses in the forest, and but narrowly escaped with life.”

“And saw Wilfred of Aescendune?”

“Distinctly, my liege, almost face to face, in command of the rebels.”

“And then, what happened after the death of thy father?”

“They issued from the woods, seized the castle—­the few defenders left had fled to Warwick—­and then summoned the whole neighbourhood to arms.  The bale fires were blazing on every hill.  The Count of Warwick bid me tell you, my liege, that he will hold his castle till aid arrives, but that he is powerless to check the wave of insurrection which is spreading over the country far and wide.”

“It is well; our banner shall be unfurled and these English shall feel the lion’s wrath, which they have provoked.  Tomorrow is Ascension Day—­the truce of God—­on Friday we march.  Meanwhile I commend thee to the abbot’s hospitality; he will bring thee to the banquet tomorrow after the High Mass.  Remember, a true warrior should be as devout in church as fearless in the field.”

Etienne left the presence, assured that the death of his father would be speedily avenged, and slept more soundly that night than he had since the fatal fire in the marshes.  He loved his father, and it must be remembered that he knew not that father’s crimes.  Not for one moment did he suspect that he had been concerned in the burning of the monastery, nor did he dream that there had been aught in the death of the Lady of Aescendune save the hand of nature.