At last the heir was really grown a man; as handsome as any other in Normandy, as brave as any knight at court. But it was observed by many, that, handsome as he was, there was still a threat of the features which his father wore the year before he, Robert, was born.
Soon the people grew to detest the heir to the throne; for he swept through the land like a destroying angel. They abhorred him, and then it was they called him Robert the Devil!
Then, broken-hearted, utterly cast down, but never wearing the old terrible look, the father, greyhaired and weary of the world, exiled his only son from Normandy, forbade him the land of his birth, and drove him from it.
Henceforth, till the old duke died, the people never felt the hand of “Robert the Devil.” They heard of him, brave, fearless, terrible—ever conquering, never conquered, never even wounded. They heard of him, a monster—firing, destroying, waking up war wherever he placed his foot; and they trembled as they thought of the time when he should come to reign over them.
Meanwhile the old duke and the sorrowing lady prayed, hourly for their lost son; and joined in their prayers the lost son’s foster-sister, Alice.
THE LEGEND.
Part I.—The Tempter.
A world of tents—to the right, to the left—before or behind—a world of tents. And not dismal little canvas tents—but brave erections in cloths of gold and silver, and gay colors.
Truth to tell, all this was evidence of a tournament, given by the Duke of Messina.