‘“A little,” he says. “I have driven Saxon deer all day for a Norman King, and there is enough of Earl Godwin’s blood left in me to sicken at the work. Wait awhile with the torch.”
‘I waited then, and I thought I heard him sob.’
‘Poor Hugh! Was he so tired?’ said Una. ‘Hobden says beating is hard work sometimes.’
‘I think this tale is getting like the woods,’ said Dan, ‘darker and twistier every minute.’
Sir Richard had walked as he talked, and though the children thought they knew the woods well enough, they felt a little lost.
‘A dark tale enough,’ says Sir Richard, ‘but the end was not all black. When we had washed, we went to wait on the King at meat in the great pavilion. Just before the trumpets blew for the Entry—all the guests upstanding—long Rahere comes posturing up to Hugh, and strikes him with his bauble-bladder.
‘“Here’s a heavy heart for a joyous meal!” he says. “But each man must have his black hour or where would be the merit of laughing? Take a fool’s advice, and sit it out with my man. I’ll make a jest to excuse you to the King if he remember to ask for you. That’s more than I would do for Archbishop Anselm.”
‘Hugh looked at him heavy-eyed. “Rahere?” said he. “The King’s Jester? Oh, Saints, what punishment for my King!” and smites his hands together.
‘“Go—go fight it out in the dark,” says Rahere, “and thy Saxon Saints reward thee for thy pity to my fool.” He pushed him from the pavilion, and Hugh lurched away like one drunk.’
‘But why?’ said Una. ‘I don’t understand.’