“And hast thou the gift of preaching? I do not mean of talking.”
“My superiors thought so, but they are fallible.”
“I should think so, very, but that is nought. I hope I have better sense than to send for thee, poor boy, to teach thee to rebel against thy superiors, and perhaps after all we Augustinians are too hard upon Franciscans and friars of low degree—only we want to get to heaven our own way, with our steady jog trot, and you go frisking, caracolling, curvetting, gambolling along. Well, I hope Saint Peter will let us all in at the last.”
Martin was silent, out of respect to the age of the speaker.
“Thou art a modest boy; come, tell me, who was thy father?”
“An outlaw, long since dead.”
“And thy mother?”
“His bride—but I know not of what parentage. There is a secret never disclosed to me, and which I shall never learn now, only I am assured that I was born in holy wedlock, and that a priest blessed the union.”
“Did thy mother marry again?”
“She was compelled to accept one Grimbeard, a chief amongst the ‘merrie men’ who succeeded my father as their leader.”