Part 17 (1/2)

”I met some of his men yesterday upon the heath,” said Grim, ”all mud-bespattered and outworn. What hath he now in hand, Ulwin?”

”Pah! who can tell? He hath fetched a swarm of accursed foreigners--smiths and wrights--from overseas, and he must keep them busy. There is ever some new-fangled hewing or digging. He set a yew-hedge in the fall, ye know; and they say he will have a fish-pond.”

”Here is friend Richard,” said Ingelric, ”and the little lad also.”

Richard appeared upon the green, on horseback, accompanied by his son Osbern, aged ten, who rode a pony. Having tethered their mounts to two of a row of posts beside the ale-house door, they made their way to the elm-tree. The years had been generous towards Richard the Scrob. He was better clothed and shod than formerly, more serene, less spare. Osbern, the eldest of his children, had his father's firm mouth and his mother's clear blue eyes.

”Greeting,” said Ulwin, with an uneasy leer. ”We talk of thee, neighbour, as a great man and a wealthy. Shouldst thank me for Alftrude and what she brought thee, which latter did surely set thee on thy feet.”

”Nay, Ulwin, surely I did set thee once upon thy feet, with timely loan. Hast thou forgotten, also, that I have had no answer from thee to a question I put to thee above a year and four months ago?”

”What mean ye? Say all that ye mean aloud, in the ears of these thanes, and let them judge between thee and me!” Ulwin's brain was slow, but he rightly guessed that an explicit reply would follow, for Richard's love of litigation was notorious.

”Thou knowest that I speak of Ashford, which wrongfully thou keepest from me, and of the hundred and forty s.h.i.+llings which thou borrowedst.”

”Thou knowest, and all here know, that Ashford is mine, holden of Turstin as lord,” said Ulwin.

”Turstin is not lord of that land; the Abbot is lord thereof indeed, and by the Abbot's leave did it pa.s.s from thee to me. And I did pay thy gaming-losses; and thou gavest me Alftrude my dear wife, and half of the land she had as thy brother's widow. I did swear to let thee be in Ashford for ten years, and thou to give it up to me when ten years were run, or to repay me the sum of my lending in gold.”

”Not so,” said Ulwin. ”I agreed with thee for Alftrude and half of her morning-gift from Winge. Why should she take more with her when she went from us to wed a needy foreigner?”

”I have thy mark which thou settedst to the bond I wrote.”

”I made no mark. I saw no bond.”

”There is Ednoth's mark thereon, beneath thine own.”

”Say, brother Ednoth, have I pledged all this to Richard the Scrob by tongue or by pen?”

”I know nought of it,” answered Ednoth.

Richard thrust his hands into his belt. The faintest possible shadow of a smile lurked at the corners of his lips. For a second his glance wandered absently to the rocky hill of Lude[16] which towered above Ludford on the farther bank of the Teme where that river turned northward to join the Corve, and for a fraction of a second rested upon the narrow track straggling round the southern side of the hill and descending steeply to the ford.

[16] Now Ludlow.

”Bring witnesses to my mark and Ednoth's!” cried Ulwin with a gobbling laugh. ”Bring witnesses to the Abbot's right! The hundredmen will laugh thee to scorn. This Richard is a liar, friends: guilt hath sapped his boldness, or wealth and good-living, belike; he who was wont to be so ready with his fists now quails before an Englishman. What, dost thou smile? Aha, thou thinkest on the Frenchman at Westminster! What deemest thou we shall make of thy Duke?”

”What ye will, I doubt not,” said Richard. ”I am for law and order.” He seated himself upon a root of the elm, and leant against the trunk.

Every now and again he scanned what could be seen of the winding road about the hill of Lude.

”Hear me once more,” said Edric the Wild. ”Ye should make ready against aught that may befall while these your fruitful acres are your own and all unscathed. The tyrant hath left his spoor of fire and steel from the South Saxon land to London town.... Why, Gunwert of Mereston! What tidings? Steady, man--drink first, speak after!”

A weary, speechless man dropped from his horse to Edric's feet.

”They come!” he gasped, when he had swallowed a mouthful of beer.

”Sighted beyond Stretton.... From Shrewsbury ... in their hundreds--fully armed!”

Richard, deep in the shadow of the tree, took the boy Osbern's hand and drew him down beside him.

”Hasten, all!” shouted Edric, quivering with eagerness. ”To every homestead where be weapons--tools--what ye can find! Hasten, hasten!