For three years following the disappearance of Prince Richard, a bent oldwoman lived in the heart of London within a stone's throw of the King'spalace. In a small back room she lived, high up in the attic of an oldbuilding, and with her was a little boy who never went abroad alone, nor byday. And upon his left breast was a strange mark which resembled a lily.When the bent old woman was safely in her attic room, with bolted doorbehind her, she was wont to straighten up, and discard her dingy mantle formore comfortable and becoming doublet and hose.

For years, she worked assiduously with the little boy's education. Therewere three subjects in her curriculum; French, swordsmanship and hatred ofall things English, especially the reigning house of England.

The old woman had had made a tiny foil and had commenced teaching thelittle boy the art of fence when he was but three years old.

"You will be the greatest swordsman in the world when you are twenty, myson," she was wont to say, "and then you shall go out and kill manyEnglishmen. Your name shall be hated and cursed the length and breadth ofEngland, and when you finally stand with the halter about your neck, aha,then will I speak. Then shall they know."

The little boy did not understand it all, he only knew that he wascomfortable, and had warm clothing, and all he required to eat, and that hewould be a great man when he learned to fight with a real sword, and hadgrown large enough to wield one. He also knew that he hated Englishmen,but why, he did not know.

Way back in the uttermost recesses of his little, childish head, he seemedto remember a time when his life and surroundings had been very different;when, instead of this old woman, there had been many people around him, anda sweet faced woman had held him in her arms and kissed him, before he wastaken off to bed at night; but he could not be sure, maybe it was only adream he remembered, for he dreamed many strange and wonderful dreams.

When the little boy was about six years of age, a strange man came to theirattic home to visit the little old woman. It was in the dusk of theevening but the old woman did not light the cresset, and further, shewhispered to the little boy to remain in the shadows of a far corner of thebare chamber.

The stranger was old and bent and had a great beard which hid almost hisentire face except for two piercing eyes, a great nose and a bit ofwrinkled forehead. When he spoke, he accompanied his words with manyshrugs of his narrow shoulders and with waving of his arms and otherstrange and amusing gesticulations. The child was fascinated. Here wasthe first amusement of his little starved life. He listened intently tothe conversation, which was in French.

"I have just the thing for madame," the stranger was saying. "It be anoble and stately hall far from the beaten way. It was built in the olddays by Harold the Saxon, but in later times, death and poverty and thedisfavor of the King have wrested it from his descendants. A few yearssince, Henry granted it to that spend-thrift favorite of his, Henri deMacy, who pledged it to me for a sum he hath been unable to repay. Todayit be my property, and as it be far from Paris, you may have it for themere song I have named. It be a wondrous bargain, madame."

"And when I come upon it, I shall find that I have bought a crumbling pileof ruined masonry, unfit to house a family of foxes," replied the old womanpeevishly.

"One tower hath fallen, and the roof for half the length of one wing hathsagged and tumbled in," explained the old Frenchman. "But the three lowerstories be intact and quite habitable. It be much grander even now thanthe castles of many of England's noble barons, and the price, madame ---ah, the price be so ridiculously low."

Still the old woman hesitated.

"Come," said the Frenchman, "I have it. Deposit the money with Isaac theJew -- thou knowest him ? -- and he shall hold it together with the deedfor forty days, which will give thee ample time to travel to Derby andinspect thy purchase. If thou be not entirely satisfied, Isaac the Jewshall return thy money to thee and the deed to me, but if at the end offorty days thou hast not made demand for thy money, then shall Isaac sendthe deed to thee and the money to me. Be not this an easy and fair way outof the difficulty ?"

The little old woman thought for a moment and at last conceded that itseemed quite a fair way to arrange the matter. And thus it wasaccomplished.

Several days later, the little old woman called the child to her.

"We start tonight upon a long journey to our new home. Thy face shall bewrapped in many rags, for thou hast a most grievous toothache. Dostunderstand ?"

"But I have no toothache. My teeth do not pain me at all. I -- "expostulated the child.

"Tut, tut," interrupted the little old woman. "Thou hast a toothache, andso thy face must be wrapped in many rags. And listen, should any ask theeupon the way why thy face be so wrapped, thou art to say that thou hast atoothache. And thou do not do as I say, the King's men will take us and weshall be hanged, for the King hateth us. If thou hatest the English Kingand lovest thy life do as I command."

"I hate the King," replied the little boy. "For this reason I shall do asthou sayest."

So it was that they set out that night upon their long journey north towardthe hills of Derby. For many days they travelled, riding upon two smalldonkeys. Strange sights filled the days for the little boy who rememberednothing outside the bare attic of his London home and the dirty Londonalleys that he had traversed only by night.

They wound across beautiful parklike meadows and through dark, forbiddingforests, and now and again they passed tiny hamlets of thatched huts.Occasionally they saw armored knights upon the highway, alone or in smallparties, but the child's companion always managed to hasten into cover atthe road side until the grim riders had passed.

Once, as they lay in hiding in a dense wood beside a little open gladeacross which the road wound, the boy saw two knights enter the glade fromeither side. For a moment, they drew rein and eyed each other in silence,and then one, a great black mailed knight upon a black charger, cried outsomething to the other which the boy could not catch. The other knightmade no response other than to rest his lance upon his thigh and withlowered point, ride toward his ebon adversary. For a dozen paces theirgreat steeds trotted slowly toward one another, but presently the knightsurged them into full gallop, and when the two iron men on their irontrapped chargers came together in the center of the glade, it was with allthe terrific impact of full charge.

The lance of the black knight smote full upon the linden shield of hisfoeman, the staggering weight of the mighty black charger hurtled upon thegray, who went down with his rider into the dust of the highway. Themomentum of the black carried him fifty paces beyond the fallen horsemanbefore his rider could rein him in, then the black knight turned to viewthe havoc he had wrought. The gray horse was just staggering dizzily tohis feet, but his mailed rider lay quiet and still where he had fallen.

With raised visor, the black knight rode back to the side of his vanquishedfoe. There was a cruel smile upon his lips as he leaned toward theprostrate form. He spoke tauntingly, but there was no response, then heprodded the fallen man with the point of his spear. Even this elicited nomovement. With a shrug of his iron clad shoulders, the black knightwheeled and rode on down the road until he had disappeared from sightwithin the gloomy shadows of the encircling forest.

The little boy was spell-bound. Naught like this had he ever seen ordreamed.

"Some day thou shalt go and do likewise, my son," said the little oldwoman.

"Shall I be clothed in armor and ride upon a great black steed ?" he asked.

"Yes, and thou shalt ride the highways of England with thy stout lance andmighty sword, and behind thee thou shalt leave a trail of blood and death,for every man shalt be thy enemy. But come, we must be on our way."

They rode on, leaving the dead knight where he had fallen, but always inhis memory the child carried the thing that he had seen, longing for theday when he should be great and strong like the formidable black knight.

On another day, as they were biding in a deserted hovel to escape thenotice of a caravan of merchants journeying up-country with their wares,they saw a band of ruffians rush out from the concealing shelter of somebushes at the far side of the highway and fall upon the surprised anddefenseless tradesmen.

Ragged, bearded, uncouth villains they were, armed mostly with bludgeonsand daggers, with here and there a cross-bow. Without mercy they attackedthe old and the young, beating them down in cold blood even when theyoffered no resistance. Those of the caravan who could, escaped, thebalance the highwaymen left dead or dying in the road, as they hurried awaywith their loot.

At first the child was horror-struck, but when he turned to the little oldwoman for sympathy he found a grim smile upon her thin lips. She noted hisexpression of dismay.

"It is naught, my son. But English curs setting upon English swine. Someday thou shalt set upon both -- they be only fit for killing."

The boy made no reply, but he thought a great deal about that which he hadseen. Knights were cruel to knights -- the poor were cruel to the rich --and every day of the journey had forced upon his childish mind thateveryone must be very cruel and hard upon the poor. He had seen them inall their sorrow and misery and poverty -- stretching a long, scatteringline all the way from London town. Their bent backs, their poor thinbodies and their hopeless, sorrowful faces attesting the weary wretchednessof their existence.

"Be no one happy in all the world ?" he once broke out to the old woman.

"Only he who wields the mightiest sword," responded the old woman. "Youhave seen, my son, that all Englishmen are beasts. They set upon and killone another for little provocation or for no provocation at all. When thoushalt be older, thou shalt go forth and kill them all for unless thou killthem, they will kill thee."

At length, after tiresome days upon the road, they came to a little hamletin the hills. Here the donkeys were disposed of and a great horsepurchased, upon which the two rode far up into a rough and uninvitingcountry away from the beaten track, until late one evening they approacheda ruined castle.

The frowning walls towered high against the moonlit sky beyond, and where aportion of the roof had fallen in, the cold moon, shining through thenarrow unglazed windows, gave to the mighty pile the likeness of a huge,many-eyed ogre crouching upon the flank of a deserted world, for nowherewas there other sign of habitation.

Before this somber pile, the two dismounted. The little boy was filledwith awe and his childish imagination ran riot as they approached thecrumbling barbican on foot, leading the horse after them. From the darkshadows of the ballium, they passed into the moonlit inner court. At thefar end the old woman found the ancient stables, and here, with decayingplanks, she penned the horse for the night, pouring a measure of oats uponthe floor for him from a bag which had bung across his rump.

Then she led the way into the dense shadows of the castle, lighting theiradvance with a flickering pine knot. The old planking of the floors, longunused, groaned and rattled beneath their approach. There was a suddenscamper of clawed feet before them, and a red fox dashed by in a frenzy ofalarm toward the freedom of the outer night.

Presently they came to the great hall. The old woman pushed open the greatdoors upon their creaking hinges and lit up dimly the mighty, cavernousinterior with the puny rays of their feeble torch. As they steppedcautiously within, an impalpable dust arose in little spurts from thelong-rotted rushes that crumbled beneath their feet. A huge bat circledwildly with loud fluttering wings in evident remonstrance at this rudeintrusion. Strange creatures of the night scurried or wriggled across walland floor.

But the child was unafraid. Fear had not been a part of the old woman'scurriculum. The boy did not know the meaning of the word, nor was he everin his after-life to experience the sensation. With childish eagerness, hefollowed his companion as she inspected the interior of the chamber. Itwas still an imposing room. The boy clapped his hands in delight at thebeauties of the carved and panelled walls and the oak beamed ceiling,stained almost black from the smoke of torches and oil cressets that hadlighted it in bygone days, aided, no doubt, by the wood fires which hadburned in its two immense fireplaces to cheer the merry throng of noblerevellers that had so often sat about the great table into the morninghours.

Here they took up their abode. But the bent, old woman was no longer anold woman -- she had become a straight, wiry, active old man.

The little boy's education went on -- French, swordsmanship and hatred ofthe English -- the same thing year after year with the addition ofhorsemanship after he was ten years old. At this time the old mancommenced teaching him to speak English, but with a studied and very markedFrench accent. During all his life now, he could not remember of havingspoken to any living being other than his guardian, whom he had been taughtto address as father. Nor did the boy have any name -- he was just "myson."

His life in the Derby hills was so filled with the hard, exacting duties ofhis education that he had little time to think of the strange loneliness ofhis existence; nor is it probable that he missed that companionship ofothers of his own age of which, never having had experience in it, he couldscarce be expected to regret or yearn for.

At fifteen, the youth was a magnificent swordsman and horseman, and with anutter contempt for pain or danger -- a contempt which was the result of theheroic methods adopted by the little old man in the training of him. Oftenthe two practiced with razor-sharp swords, and without armor or otherprotection of any description.

"Thus only," the old man was wont to say, "mayst thou become the absolutemaster of thy blade. Of such a nicety must be thy handling of the weaponthat thou mayst touch an antagonist at will and so lightly, shouldst thoudesire, that thy point, wholly under the control of a master hand, mayst bestopped before it inflicts so much as a scratch."

But in practice, there were many accidents, and then one or both of themwould nurse a punctured skin for a few days. So, while blood was often leton both sides, the training produced a fearless swordsman who was so trulythe master of his point that he could stop a thrust within a fraction of aninch of the spot he sought.

At fifteen, he was a very strong and straight and handsome lad. Bronzedand hardy from his outdoor life; of few words, for there was none that hemight talk with save the taciturn old man; hating the English, for that hewas taught as thoroughly as swordsmanship; speaking French fluently andEnglish poorly -- and waiting impatiently for the day when the old manshould send him out into the world with clanking armor and lance and shieldto do battle with the knights of England.

It was about this time that there occurred the first important break in themonotony of his existence. Far down the rocky trail that led from thevalley below through the Derby hills to the ruined castle, three armoredknights urged their tired horses late one afternoon of a chill autumn day.Off the main road and far from any habitation, they had espied the castle'stowers through a rift in the hills, and now they spurred toward it insearch of food and shelter.

As the road led them winding higher into the hills, they suddenly emergedupon the downs below the castle where a sight met their eyes which causedthem to draw rein and watch in admiration. There, before them upon thedowns, a boy battled with a lunging, rearing horse -- a perfect demon of ablack horse. Striking and biting in a frenzy of rage, it sought ever toescape or injure the lithe figure which clung leech-like to its shoulder.

The boy was on the ground. His left hand grasped the heavy mane; his rightarm lay across the beast's withers and his right hand drew steadily in upona halter rope with which he had taken a half hitch about the horse'smuzzle. Now the black reared and wheeled, striking and biting, full uponthe youth, but the active figure swung with him -- always just behind thegiant shoulder -- and ever and ever he drew the great arched neck fartherand farther to the right.

As the animal plunged hither and thither in great leaps, he dragged the boywith him, but all his mighty efforts were unavailing to loosen the gripupon mane and withers. Suddenly, he reared straight into the air carryingthe youth with him, then with a vicious lunge he threw himself backwardupon the ground.

"It's death !" exclaimed one of the knights, "he will kill the youth yet,Beauchamp."

"No !" cried he addressed. "Look ! He is up again and the boy stillclings as tightly to him as his own black hide."

"'Tis true," exclaimed another, "but he hath lost what he had gained uponthe halter -- he must needs fight it all out again from the beginning."

And so the battle went on again as before, the boy again drawing the ironneck slowly to the right -- the beast fighting and squealing as thoughpossessed of a thousand devils. A dozen times, as the head bent fartherand farther toward him, the boy loosed his hold upon the mane and reachedquickly down to grasp the near fore pastern. A dozen times the horse shookoff the new hold, but at length the boy was successful, and the knee wasbent and the hoof drawn up to the elbow.

Now the black fought at a disadvantage, for he was on but three feet andhis neck was drawn about in an awkward and unnatural position. His effortsbecame weaker and weaker. The boy talked incessantly to him in a quietvoice, and there was a shadow of a smile upon his lips. Now he boreheavily upon the black withers, pulling the horse toward him. Slowly thebeast sank upon his bent knee -- pulling backward until his off fore legwas stretched straight before him. Then, with a final surge, the youthpulled him over upon his side, and, as he fell, slipped prone beside him.One sinewy hand shot to the rope just beneath the black chin -- the othergrasped a slim, pointed ear.

For a few minutes the horse fought and kicked to gain his liberty, but withhis head held to the earth, he was as powerless in the hands of the boy asa baby would have been. Then he sank panting and exhausted into mutesurrender.

"Well done !" cried one of the knights. "Simon de Montfort himself nevermastered a horse in better order, my boy. Who be thou ?"

In an instant, the lad was upon his feet his eyes searching for thespeaker. The horse, released, sprang up also, and the two stood -- thehandsome boy and the beautiful black -- gazing with startled eyes, like twowild things, at the strange intruder who confronted them.

"Come, Sir Mortimer !" cried the boy, and turning he led the prancing butsubdued animal toward the castle and through the ruined barbican into thecourt beyond.

"What ho, there, lad !" shouted Paul of Merely. "We wouldst not harmthee -- come, we but ask the way to the castle of De Stutevill."

The three knights listened but there was no answer.

"Come, Sir Knights," spoke Paul of Merely, "we will ride within and learnwhat manner of churls inhabit this ancient rookery."

As they entered the great courtyard, magnificent even in its ruinedgrandeur, they were met by a little, grim old man who asked them in nogentle tones what they would of them there.

"We have lost our way in these devilish Derby hills of thine, old man,"replied Paul of Merely. "We seek the castle of Sir John de Stutevill."

"Ride down straight to the river road, keeping the first trail to theright, and when thou hast come there, turn again to thy right and ridenorth beside the river -- thou canst not miss the way -- it be plain as thenose before thy face," and with that the old man turned to enter thecastle.

"Hold, old fellow !" cried the spokesman. "It be nigh onto sunset now, andwe care not to sleep out again this night as we did the last. We willtarry with you then till morn that we may take up our journey refreshed,upon rested steeds."

The old man grumbled, and it was with poor grace that he took them in tofeed and house them over night. But there was nothing else for it, sincethey would have taken his hospitality by force had he refused to give itvoluntarily.

From their guests, the two learned something of the conditions outsidetheir Derby hills. The old man showed less interest than he felt, but tothe boy, notwithstanding that the names he heard meant nothing to him, itwas like unto a fairy tale to hear of the wondrous doings of earl andbaron, bishop and king.

"If the King does not mend his ways," said one of the knights, "we willdrive his whole accursed pack of foreign blood-suckers into the sea."

"De Montfort has told him as much a dozen times, and now that all of us,both Norman and Saxon barons, have already met together and formed a pactfor our mutual protection, the King must surely realize that the time fortemporizing be past, and that unless he would have a civil war upon hishands, he must keep the promises he so glibly makes, instead of breakingthem the moment De Montfort's back be turned."

"He fears his brother-in-law," interrupted another of the knights, "evenmore than the devil fears holy water. I was in attendance on his majestysome weeks since when he was going down the Thames upon the royal barge.We were overtaken by as severe a thunder storm as I have ever seen, ofwhich the King was in such abject fear that he commanded that we land atthe Bishop of Durham's palace opposite which we then were. De Montfort,who was residing there, came to meet Henry, with all due respect,observing, 'What do you fear, now, Sire, the tempest has passed ?' And whatthinkest thou old 'waxen heart' replied ? Why, still trembling, he said,'I do indeed fear thunder and lightning much, but, by the hand of God, Itremble before you more than for all the thunder in Heaven !'"

"I surmise," interjected the grim, old man, "that De Montfort has in somemanner gained an ascendancy over the King. Think you he looks so high asthe throne itself ?"

"Not so," cried the oldest of the knights. "Simon de Montfort works forEngland's weal alone -- and methinks, nay knowest, that he would be firstto spring to arms to save the throne for Henry. He but fights the King'srank and covetous advisers, and though he must needs seem to defy the Kinghimself, it be but to save his tottering power from utter collapse. But,gad, how the King hates him. For a time it seemed that there might be apermanent reconciliation when, for years after the disappearance of thelittle Prince Richard, De Montfort devoted much of his time and privatefortune to prosecuting a search through all the world for the littlefellow, of whom he was inordinately fond. This self-sacrificing intereston his part won over the King and Queen for many years, but of late hisunremitting hostility to their continued extravagant waste of the nationalresources has again hardened them toward him."

The old man, growing uneasy at the turn the conversation threatened, sentthe youth from the room on some pretext, and himself left to preparesupper.

As they were sitting at the evening meal, one of the nobles eyed the boyintently, for he was indeed good to look upon; his bright handsome face,clear, intelligent gray eyes, and square strong jaw framed in a mass ofbrown waving hair banged at the forehead and falling about his ears, whereit was again cut square at the sides and back, after the fashion of thetimes.

His upper body was clothed in a rough under tunic of wool, stained red,over which he wore a short leathern jerkin, while his doublet was also ofleather, a soft and finely tanned piece of undressed doeskin. His longhose, fitting his shapely legs as closely as another layer of skin, were ofthe same red wool as his tunic, while his strong leather sandals werecross-gartered halfway to his knees with narrow bands of leather.

A leathern girdle about his waist supported a sword and a dagger and around skull cap of the same material, to which was fastened a falcon'swing, completed his picturesque and becoming costume.

"Your son ?" he asked, turning to the old man.

"Yes," was the growling response.

"He favors you but little, old fellow, except in his cursed French accent.

"'S blood, Beauchamp," he continued, turning to one of his companions, "an'were he set down in court, I wager our gracious Queen would he hard put toit to tell him from the young Prince Edward. Dids't ever see so strange alikeness ?"

"Now that you speak of it, My Lord, I see it plainly. It is indeed amarvel," answered Beauchamp.

Had they glanced at the old man during this colloquy, they would have seena blanched face, drawn with inward fear and rage.

Presently the oldest member of the party of three knights spoke in a gravequiet tone.

"And how old might you be, my son ?" he asked the boy.

"I do not know."

"And your name ?"

"I do not know what you mean. I have no name. My father calls me son andno other ever before addressed me."

At this juncture, the old man arose and left the room, saving he wouldfetch more food from the kitchen, but he turned immediately he had passedthe doorway and listened from without.

"The lad appears about fifteen," said Paul of Merely, lowering his voice,"and so would be the little lost Prince Richard, if he lives. This onedoes not know his name, or his age, yet he looks enough like Prince Edwardto be his twin."

"Come, my son," he continued aloud, "open your jerkin and let us have alook at your left breast, we shall read a true answer there."

"Are you Englishmen ?" asked the boy without making a move to comply withtheir demand.

"That we be, my son," said Beauchamp.

"Then it were better that I die than do your bidding, for all Englishmenare pigs and I loathe them as becomes a gentleman of France. I do notuncover my body to the eyes of swine."

The knights, at first taken back by this unexpected outbreak, finally burstinto uproarious laughter.

"Indeed," cried Paul of Merely, "spoken as one of the King's foreignfavorites might speak, and they ever told the good God's truth. But comelad, we would not harm you -- do as I bid."

"No man lives who can harm me while a blade hangs at my side," answered theboy, "and as for doing as you bid, I take orders from no man other than myfather."

Beauchamp and Greystoke laughed aloud at the discomfiture of Paul ofMerely, but the latter's face hardened in anger, and without further wordshe strode forward with outstretched hand to tear open the boy's leathernjerkin, but met with the gleaming point of a sword and a quick sharp, "Engarde !" from the boy.

There was naught for Paul of Merely to do but draw his own weapon, inself-defense, for the sharp point of the boy's sword was flashing in andout against his unprotected body, inflicting painful little jabs, and theboy's tongue was murmuring low-toned taunts and insults as it invited himto draw and defend himself or be stuck "like the English pig you are."

Paul of Merely was a brave man and he liked not the idea of drawing againstthis stripling, but he argued that he could quickly disarm him withoutharming the lad, and he certainly did not care to be further humiliatedbefore his comrades.

But when he had drawn and engaged his youthful antagonist, he discoveredthat, far from disarming him, he would have the devil's own job of it tokeep from being killed.

Never in all his long years of fighting had he faced such an agile anddexterous enemy, and as they backed this way and that about the room, greatbeads of sweat stood upon the brow of Paul of Merely, for he realized thathe was fighting for his life against a superior swordsman.

The loud laughter of Beauchamp and Greystoke soon subsided to grim smiles,and presently they looked on with startled faces in which fear andapprehension were dominant.

The boy was fighting as a cat might play with a mouse. No sign of exertionwas apparent, and his haughty confident smile told louder than words thathe had in no sense let himself out to his full capacity.

Around and around the room they circled, the boy always advancing, Paul ofMerely always retreating. The din of their clashing swords and the heavybreathing of the older man were the only sounds, except as they brushedagainst a bench or a table.

Paul of Merely was a brave man, but he shuddered at the thought of dyinguselessly at the hands of a mere boy. He would not call upon his friendsfor aid, but presently, to his relief, Beauchamp sprang between them withdrawn sword, crying "Enough, gentlemen, enough ! You have no quarrel.Sheathe your swords."

But the boy's only response was, "En garde, cochon," and Beauchamp foundhimself taking the center of the stage in the place of his friend. Nor didthe boy neglect Paul of Merely, but engaged them both in swordplay thatcaused the eyes of Greystoke to bulge from their sockets.

So swiftly moved his flying blade that half the time it was a sheet ofgleaming light, and now he was driving home his thrusts and the smile hadfrozen upon his lips -- grim and stern.

Paul of Merely and Beauchamp were wounded in a dozen places when Greystokerushed to their aid, and then it was that a little, wiry, gray man leapedagilely from the kitchen doorway, and with drawn sword took his placebeside the boy. It was now two against three and the three may haveguessed, though they never knew, that they were pitted against the twogreatest swordsmen in the world.

"To the death," cried the little gray man, "a mort, mon fils." Scarcely hadthe words left his lips ere, as though it had but waited permission, theboy's sword flashed into the heart of Paul of Merely, and a Saxon gentlemanwas gathered to his fathers.

The old man engaged Greystoke now, and the boy turned his undividedattention to Beauchamp. Both these men were considered excellentswordsmen, but when Beauchamp heard again the little gray man's "a mort,mon fils," he shuddered, and the little hairs at the nape of his neck roseup, and his spine froze, for he knew that he had heard the sentence ofdeath passed upon him; for no mortal had yet lived who could vanquish sucha swordsman as he who now faced him.

As Beauchamp pitched forward across a bench, dead, the little old man ledGreystoke to where the boy awaited him.

"They are thy enemies, my son, and to thee belongs the pleasure of revenge;a mort, mon fils."

Greystoke was determined to sell his life dearly, and he rushed the lad asa great bull might rush a teasing dog, but the boy gave back not an inchand, when Greystoke stopped, there was a foot of cold steel protruding fromhis back.

Together they buried the knights at the bottom of the dry moat at the backof the ruined castle. First they had stripped them and, when they tookaccount of the spoils of the combat, they found themselves richer by threehorses with full trappings, many pieces of gold and silver money, ornamentsand jewels, as well as the lances, swords and chain mail armor of theirerstwhile guests.

But the greatest gain, the old man thought to himself, was that theknowledge of the remarkable resemblance between his ward and Prince Edwardof England had come to him in time to prevent the undoing of his life'swork.

The boy, while young, was tall and broad shouldered, and so the old man hadlittle difficulty in fitting one of the suits of armor to him, obliteratingthe devices so that none might guess to whom it had belonged. This he did,and from then on the boy never rode abroad except in armor, and when he metothers upon the high road, his visor was always lowered that none might seehis face.

The day following the episode of the three knights the old man called theboy to him, saying,

"It is time, my son, that thou learned an answer to such questions as wereput to thee yestereve by the pigs of Henry. Thou art fifteen years of age,and thy name be Norman, and so, as this be the ancient castle of Torn, thoumayst answer those whom thou desire to know it that thou art Norman ofTorn; that thou be a French gentleman whose father purchased Torn andbrought thee hither from France on the death of thy mother, when thou wertsix years old.

"But remember, Norman of Torn, that the best answer for an Englishman isthe sword; naught else may penetrate his thick wit."

And so was born that Norman of Torn, whose name in a few short years was tostrike terror to the hearts of Englishmen, and whose power in the vicinityof Torn was greater than that of the King or the barons.