“Nay, nay, good Robin, rest thyself. I was angered with thee a moment hence, but now it is all past. Seat thyself, brave yeoman.”
The soldier complied, and rested his stout person upon a stool of oak, placed some six feet from the spot where sat the Signior Aldarin. Robin had but time to note a singular circumstance, ere the scholar spoke. The stool upon which the stout yeoman sat, was firmly jointed in a large slab of red stone, which, spreading before him for the space of some six feet, was curiously fixed in the planks of the oaken floor.
With a mild and smiling look, the scholar spoke:—
“Robin, thou hast been a true and faithful vassal to my late brother. Thou didst right carefully attend Lord Julian, when forced by the incurable wound of a poisoned arrow, some three months since, he returned from Palestine, leaving Sir Geoffrey o’ th’ Long-sword, at the head of his men-at-arms. Robin, I have long designed to testify the good opinion in which I hold thee by some substantial gift—thou shall be Seneschal of this mighty castle of Albarone!”
“Marry, good Signior—”
“How, sir!—dost thou address me as Signior? Vassal, I am the Lord of Albarone!”
“But Adrian—”
“What sayest thou of Adrian? A murderer—a parricide—his death is certain. The Duke of Florence hath sworn it.”
“Well, my Lord Count, then, an’ it pleases you better, I was about to say that if I had my choice I would sooner be made an esquire.”
“This thou shalt be:—first promise to serve me faithfully in all that I shall command.”