THE SACRILEGE
The hall was raised at one end into a square stage, where the smoke would gather when the men sat late near the fire, and from this stage two doors opened at the back corners. One of these doors was curtained and led to the apartments of the men of the castle. The other was carved with strange images, and by it stood a long square table of carved oak. We men sat below at the long board which ran the length of the hall. It was my lord and the monks who lived upon us who sat upon the raised staging; the monks eating at their carved table apart.
It was after the dinner, and Father Peter rose in his place. Motioning to his followers to pass through the door that led to the chapel, he came and bent and whispered to my lord, who set down his beer-mug on the instant, frowning; then, after a moment’s thought my lord lifted his hand and spoke to us all in a loud, clear voice:
“Father Peter and I would speak alone in the hall. It would please me that you men take your beer on the battlements.”
The men went shuffling, all but myself, for I was my lord’s own man and counted as nothing more than his follower, doing things which women usually do for men, for he would have no women-folk about him.
Now Father Peter, folding his fat hands across his chest, lowered his head and frowned reflectively. My lord sat silently in the great chair with one leg over the arm.
“Lord Rolf,” said Father Peter at last.
“Yes, Father Peter,” answered my lord.
“Lord Rolf, Christian of this castle,” said Father Peter again.
“Ay! Christian, and certainly lord of this castle,” answered my lord, smiling.