Whose heavy tidings now I have to tell.
First all the captives which they here had hent
Were by them slaine by generall consent."
Dom Anselm was strolling about the courtyard of the castle at Hilgay.
His hands were behind his back, and his head was thrust forward and slowly oscillated from side to side.
It was about eleven o'clock in the morning, and he was pretending to take an intelligent interest in the activity all round. He regarded four great bundles of newly made arrows tied up with rope in the manner of a connoisseur. He even took one out from its bundle, felt the point, and held it on a level with his eye to make sure that the shaft was perfectly straight and true.
Then he went to a heap of raw hides and felt their texture. This done he stood before a mangonel, which was being hoisted up upon the walls by a windlass, and surveyed it with an affectation of the engineer and a flavour of the expert at home. But he did it very badly, and the whole proceeding was an obvious effort. After that, feeling that he had done his duty, he went to the draw-well in the centre of the courtyard, and, sitting on the ground on the shady side—for it was a structure of masonry some four feet high, like all Norman walls—composed himself to sleep. The creature felt out of place. Upon first news of the coming attack he was hard at work shriving blackguards, and allowing each one to believe that should an arrow of the enemy put a swift end to his sinful life, the saints and angels would meet them at the jasper gates of heaven with trumpets and acclamations. The fools believed him; it flattered them to hear of these fine things provided for an unpleasant contingency, and no one was more important than Sir Anselm. Then came the ceremonial importance of the funeral and the votive Mass. That kept him well in the public eye for a little time. But this and that done, he found time hang very heavy upon his hands.
All round him activity was being pushed to its furthest limit, and in all that hive he was the only drone. The squires passed him with a jest, the waiting maids threw a quip at him. Lewin alone was friendly, but the minter had but little time to spare. That quick brain and alert eye for the main chances in life were very valuable at Hilgay, and Lewin was in constant request. The man suggested, advised, and directed operations which were the wonder of all who saw them.
But he said nothing of the crack in the orchard wall.
The precious couple were quite resolved upon the treachery which they had plotted in the fen. In truth Fulke was a bestial young fool, and offered no inducement to his followers to be faithful. Roger Bigot was a bigger man in the world, and reputed to be very fair with all his people. Lewin certainly would gain by the change. As for Dom Anselm, he knew perfectly that Roger would never need a priest, for—a strange fact even in those dreadful days—he was an open scoffer. At the same time, the scoundrel was rather tired of the business. Among men-at-arms it was not lucrative, though their superstition enjoined a certain amount of respect for him. He knew a little about the rude medicine of that time, had some skill in simples, and he would, he thought, join Roger as a chirurgeon provided that all went well.