"Brian Fitz-Count!" said Osric in horror.
"None other."
Osric stood aghast—confounded.
"Because your father would not pay tribute, maintaining that the land was his own freehold since it had been confirmed to his father, thy paternal grandfather, by the Norman courts, which acknowledged no tenure, no right of possession, dating before the Conquest; but Wigod of Wallingford was thy grandfather's friend, and he had secured to him the possession of the ancestral domains. This Brian denied, and claimed the rent of his vassal, as he deemed thy father. Thy father refused to obey, and appealed to the courts, and Brian's answer was this deed of murder."
Osric listened as one in a dream.
"Oh, my poor father! What did he do?"
"He brought thee here. 'Henceforth,' he said, 'I am about to live the life of a hunted wolf, my sole solace to slay Normans: sooner or later I shall perish by their hands, for Satan is on their side, and helps them, and God and His Saints are asleep; but take care of my child; let him not learn the sad story of his birth till he be of age; nor let him even know his father's name. Only let him be brought up as an Englishman; and if he live to years of discretion, thou mayst tell him all, if I return not to claim him before then.'"
"And he has never returned—never?"
"Never: he became a captain of an outlawed band, haunting the forests and slaying Normans, until, four years ago, he met Brian Fitz-Count alone on these downs, and the two fought to the death."