The King of the Romans took refuge within an old mill, and here it was that Norman of Torn found him barricaded. When the door was broken down, the outlaw entered and dragged the monarch forth with his own hand to the feet of De Montfort, and would have put him to death had not the Earl intervened.
“I have yet to see my mark upon the forehead of a King,” said Norman of Torn, “and the temptation be great; but, an you ask it, My Lord Earl, his life shall be yours to do with as you see fit.”
“You have fought well this day, Norman of Torn,” replied De Montfort. “Verily do I believe we owe our victory to you alone; so do not mar the record of a noble deed by wanton acts of atrocity.”
“It is but what they had done to me, were I the prisoner instead,” retorted the outlaw.
And Simon de Montfort could not answer that, for it was but the simple truth.
“How comes it, Norman of Torn,” asked De Montfort as they rode together toward Lewes, “that you threw the weight of your sword upon the side of the barons? Be it because you hate the King more?”
“I do not know that I hate either, My Lord Earl,” replied the outlaw. “I have been taught since birth to hate you all, but why I should hate was never told me. Possibly it be but a bad habit that will yield to my maturer years.
“As for why I fought as I did today,” he continued, “it be because the heart of Lady Bertrade, your daughter, be upon your side. Had it been with the King, her uncle, Norman of Torn had fought otherwise than he has this day. So you see, My Lord Earl, you owe me no gratitude. Tomorrow I may be pillaging your friends as of yore.”
Simon de Montfort turned to look at him, but the blank wall of his lowered visor gave no sign of the thoughts that passed beneath.
“You do much for a mere friendship, Norman of Torn,” said the Earl coldly, “and I doubt me not but that my daughter has already forgot you. An English noblewoman, preparing to become a princess of France, does not have much thought to waste upon highwaymen.” His tone, as well as his words were studiously arrogant and insulting, for it had stung the pride of this haughty noble to think that a low-born knave boasted the friendship of his daughter.