Kitabı oku: «The Little Duke: Richard the Fearless», sayfa 3

CHAPTER IV

Richard of Normandy was very anxious to know more of the little boy whom he had seen among his vassals.

“Ah! the young Baron de Montémar,” said Sir Eric.  “I knew his father well, and a brave man he was, though not of northern blood.  He was warden of the marches of the Epte, and was killed by your father’s side in the inroad of the Viscount du Cotentin, ¹⁰ at the time when you were born, Lord Richard.”

“But where does he live?  Shall I not see him again?”

“Montémar is on the bank of the Epte, in the domain that the French wrongfully claim from us.  He lives there with his mother, and if he be not yet returned, you shall see him presently.  Osmond, go you and seek out the lodgings of the young Montémar, and tell him the Duke would see him.”

Richard had never had a playfellow of his own age, and his eagerness to see Alberic de Montémar was great.  He watched from the window, and at length beheld Osmond entering the court with a boy of ten years old by his side, and an old grey-headed Squire, with a golden chain to mark him as a Seneschal or Steward of the Castle, walking behind.

Richard ran to the door to meet them, holding out his hand eagerly.  Alberic uncovered his bright dark hair, bowed low and gracefully, but stood as if he did not exactly know what to do next.  Richard grew shy at the same moment, and the two boys stood looking at each other somewhat awkwardly.  It was easy to see that they were of different races, so unlike were the blue eyes, flaxen hair, and fair face of the young Duke, to the black flashing eyes and olive cheek of his French vassal, who, though two years older, was scarcely above him in height; and his slight figure, well-proportioned, active and agile as it was, did not give the same promise of strength as the round limbs and large-boned frame of Richard, which even now seemed likely to rival the gigantic stature of his grandfather, Earl Rollo, the Ganger.

For some minutes the little Duke and the young Baron stood surveying each other without a word, and old Sir Eric did not improve matters by saying, “Well, Lord Duke, here he is.  Have you no better greeting for him?”

“The children are shame-faced,” said Fru Astrida, seeing how they both coloured.  “Is your Lady mother in good health, my young sir?”

Alberic blushed more deeply, bowed to the old northern lady, and answered fast and low in French, “I cannot speak the Norman tongue.”

Richard, glad to say something, interpreted Fru Astrida’s speech, and Alberic readily made courteous reply that his mother was well, and he thanked the Dame de Centeville, a French title which sounded new to Fru Astrida’s ears.  Then came the embarrassment again, and Fru Astrida at last said, “Take him out, Lord Richard; take him to see the horses in the stables, or the hounds, or what not.”

Richard was not sorry to obey, so out they went into the court of Rollo’s tower, and in the open air the shyness went off.  Richard showed his own pony, and Alberic asked if he could leap into the saddle without putting his foot in the stirrup.  No, Richard could not; indeed, even Osmond had never seen it done, for the feats of French chivalry had scarcely yet spread into Normandy.

“Can you?” said Richard; “will you show us?”

“I know I can with my own pony,” said Alberic, “for Bertrand will not let me mount in any other way; but I will try with yours, if you desire it, my Lord.”

So the pony was led out.  Alberic laid one hand on its mane, and vaulted on its back in a moment.  Both Osmond and Richard broke out loudly into admiration.  “Oh, this is nothing!” said Alberic.  “Bertrand says it is nothing.  Before he grew old and stiff he could spring into the saddle in this manner fully armed.  I ought to do this much better.”

Richard begged to be shown how to perform the exploit, and Alberic repeated it; then Richard wanted to try, but the pony’s patience would not endure any longer, and Alberic said he had learnt on a block of wood, and practised on the great wolf-hound.  They wandered about a little longer in the court, and then climbed up the spiral stone stairs to the battlements at the top of the tower, where they looked at the house-tops of Rouen close beneath, and the river Seine, broadening and glittering on one side in its course to the sea, and on the other narrowing to a blue ribbon, winding through the green expanse of fertile Normandy.  They threw the pebbles and bits of mortar down that they might hear them fall, and tried which could stand nearest to the edge of the battlement without being giddy.  Richard was pleased to find that he could go the nearest, and began to tell some of Fru Astrida’s stories about the precipices of Norway, among which when she was a young girl she used to climb about and tend the cattle in the long light summer time.  When the two boys came down again into the hall to dinner, they felt as if they had known each other all their lives.  The dinner was laid out in full state, and Richard had, as before, to sit in the great throne-like chair with the old Count of Harcourt on one side, but, to his comfort, Fru Astrida was on the other.

After the dinner, Alberic de Montémar rose to take his leave, as he was to ride half way to his home that afternoon.  Count Bernard, who all dinner time had been watching him intently from under his shaggy eye-brows, at this moment turned to Richard, whom he hardly ever addressed, and said to him, “Hark ye, my Lord, what should you say to have him yonder for a comrade?”

“To stay with me?” cried Richard, eagerly.  “Oh, thanks, Sir Count; and may he stay?”

“You are Lord here.”

“Oh, Alberic!” cried Richard, jumping out of his chair of state, and running up to him, “will you not stay with me, and be my brother and comrade?”

Alberic looked down hesitating.

“Oh, say that you will!  I will give you horses, and hawks, and hounds, and I will love you—almost as well as Osmond.  Oh, stay with me, Alberic.”

“I must obey you, my Lord,” said Alberic, “but—”

“Come, young Frenchman, out with it,” said Bernard,—“no buts!  Speak honestly, and at once, like a Norman, if you can.”

This rough speech seemed to restore the little Baron’s self-possession, and he looked up bright and bold at the rugged face of the old Dane, while he said, “I had rather not stay here.”

“Ha! not do service to your Lord?”

“I would serve him with all my heart, but I do not want to stay here.  I love the Castle of Montémar better, and my mother has no one but me.”

“Brave and true, Sir Frenchman,” said the old Count, laying his great hand on Alberic’s head, and looking better pleased than Richard thought his grim features could have appeared.  Then turning to Bertrand, Alberic’s Seneschal, he said, “Bear the Count de Harcourt’s greetings to the noble Dame de Montémar, and say to her that her son is of a free bold spirit, and if she would have him bred up with my Lord Duke, as his comrade and brother in arms, he will find a ready welcome.”

“So, Alberic, you will come back, perhaps?” said Richard.

“That must be as my mother pleases,” answered Alberic bluntly, and with all due civilities he and his Seneschal departed.

Four or five times a day did Richard ask Osmond and Fru Astrida if they thought Alberic would return, and it was a great satisfaction to him to find that every one agreed that it would be very foolish in the Dame de Montémar to refuse so good an offer, only Fru Astrida could not quite believe she would part with her son.  Still no Baron de Montémar arrived, and the little Duke was beginning to think less about his hopes, when one evening, as he was returning from a ride with Sir Eric and Osmond, he saw four horsemen coming towards them, and a little boy in front.

“It is Alberic himself, I am sure of it!” he exclaimed, and so it proved; and while the Seneschal delivered his Lady’s message to Sir Eric, Richard rode up and greeted the welcome guest.

“Oh, I am very glad your mother has sent you!”

“She said she was not fit to bring up a young warrior of the marches,” said Alberic.

“Were you very sorry to come?”

“I dare say I shall not mind it soon; and Bertrand is to come and fetch me home to visit her every three months, if you will let me go, my Lord.”

Richard was extremely delighted, and thought he could never do enough to make Rouen pleasant to Alberic, who after the first day or two cheered up, missed his mother less, managed to talk something between French and Norman to Sir Eric and Fru Astrida, and became a very animated companion and friend.  In one respect Alberic was a better playfellow for the Duke than Osmond de Centeville, for Osmond, playing as a grown up man, not for his own amusement, but the child’s, had left all the advantages of the game to Richard, who was growing not a little inclined to domineer.  This Alberic did not like, unless, as he said, “it was to be always Lord and vassal, and then he did not care for the game,” and he played with so little animation that Richard grew vexed.

“I can’t help it,” said Alberic; “if you take all the best chances to yourself, ’tis no sport for me.  I will do your bidding, as you are the Duke, but I cannot like it.”

“Never mind my being Duke, but play as we used to do.”

“Then let us play as I did with Bertrand’s sons at Montémar.  I was their Baron, as you are my Duke, but my mother said there would be no sport unless we forgot all that at play.”

“Then so we will.  Come, begin again, Alberic, and you shall have the first turn.”

However, Alberic was quite as courteous and respectful to the Duke when they were not at play, as the difference of their rank required; indeed, he had learnt much more of grace and courtliness of demeanour from his mother, a Provençal lady, than was yet to be found among the Normans.  The Chaplain of Montémar had begun to teach him to read and write, and he liked learning much better than Richard, who would not have gone on with Father Lucas’s lessons at all, if Abbot Martin of Jumièges had not put him in mind that it had been his father’s especial desire.

What Richard most disliked was, however, the being obliged to sit in council.  The Count of Harcourt did in truth govern the dukedom, but nothing could be done without the Duke’s consent, and once a week at least, there was held in the great hall of Rollo’s tower, what was called a Parlement, or “a talkation,” where Count Bernard, the Archbishop, the Baron de Centeville, the Abbot of Jumièges, and such other Bishops, Nobles, or Abbots, as might chance to be at Rouen, consulted on the affairs of Normandy; and there the little Duke always was forced to be present, sitting up in his chair of state, and hearing rather than listening to, questions about the repairing and guarding of Castles, the asking of loans from the vassals, the appeals from the Barons of the Exchequer, who were then Nobles sent through the duchy to administer justice, and the discussions about the proceedings of his neighbours, King Louis of France, Count Foulques of Anjou, and Count Herluin of Montreuil, and how far the friendship of Hugh of Paris, and Alan of Brittany might be trusted.

Very tired of all this did Richard grow, especially when he found that the Normans had made up their minds not to attempt a war against the wicked Count of Flanders.  He sighed most wearily, yawned again and again, and moved restlessly about in his chair; but whenever Count Bernard saw him doing so, he received so severe a look and sign that he grew perfectly to dread the eye of the fierce old Dane.  Bernard never spoke to him to praise him, or to enter into any of his pursuits; he only treated him with the grave distant respect due to him as a Prince, or else now and then spoke a few stern words to him of reproof for this restlessness, or for some other childish folly.

Used as Richard was to be petted and made much of by the whole house of Centeville, he resented this considerably in secret, disliked and feared the old Count, and more than once told Alberic de Montémar, that as soon as he was fourteen, when he would be declared of age, he should send Count Bernard to take care of his own Castle of Harcourt, instead of letting him sit gloomy and grim in the Castle hall in the evening, spoiling all their sport.

Winter had set in, and Osmond used daily to take the little Duke and Alberic to the nearest sheet of ice, for the Normans still prided themselves on excelling in skating, though they had long since left the frost-bound streams and lakes of Norway.

One day, as they were returning from the ice, they were surprised, even before they entered the Castle court, by hearing the trampling of horses’ feet, and a sound of voices.

“What may this mean?” said Osmond.  “There must surely be a great arrival of the vassals.  The Duke of Brittany, perhaps.”

“Oh,” said Richard, piteously, “we have had one council already this week.  I hope another is not coming!”

“It must import something extraordinary,” proceeded Osmond.  “It is a mischance that the Count of Harcourt is not at Rouen just now.”

Richard thought this no mischance at all, and just then, Alberic, who had run on a little before, came back exclaiming, “They are French.  It is the Frank tongue, not the Norman, that they speak.”

“So please you, my Lord,” said Osmond, stopping short, “we go not rashly into the midst of them.  I would I knew what were best to do.”

Osmond rubbed his forehead and stood considering, while the two boys looked at him anxiously.  In a few seconds, before he had come to any conclusion, there came forth from the gate a Norman Squire, accompanied by two strangers.

“My Lord Duke,” said he to Richard, in French, “Sir Eric has sent me to bring you tidings that the King of France has arrived to receive your homage.”

“The King!” exclaimed Osmond.

“Ay!” proceeded the Norman, in his own tongue, “Louis himself, and with a train looking bent on mischief.  I wish it may portend good to my Lord here.  You see I am accompanied.  I believe from my heart that Louis meant to prevent you from receiving a warning, and taking the boy out of his clutches.”

“Ha! what?” said Richard, anxiously.  “Why is the King come?  What must I do?”

“Go on now, since there is no help for it,” said Osmond.

“Greet the king as becomes you, bend the knee, and pay him homage.”

Richard repeated over to himself the form of homage that he might be perfect in it, and walked on into the court; Alberic, Osmond, and the rest falling back as he entered.  The court was crowded with horses and men, and it was only by calling out loudly, “The Duke, the Duke,” that Osmond could get space enough made for them to pass.  In a few moments Richard had mounted the steps and stood in the great hall.

In the chair of state, at the upper end of the room, sat a small spare man, of about eight or nine-and-twenty, pale, and of a light complexion, with a rich dress of blue and gold.  Sir Eric and several other persons stood respectfully round him, and he was conversing with the Archbishop, who, as well as Sir Eric, cast several anxious glances at the little Duke as he advanced up the hall.  He came up to the King, put his knee to the ground, and was just beginning, “Louis, King of France, I—” when he found himself suddenly lifted from the ground in the King’s arms, and kissed on both cheeks.  Then setting him on his knee, the King exclaimed, “And is this the son of my brave and noble friend, Duke William?  Ah!  I should have known it from his likeness.  Let me embrace you again, dear child, for your father’s sake.”

Richard was rather overwhelmed, but he thought the King very kind, especially when Louis began to admire his height and free-spirited bearing, and to lament that his own sons, Lothaire and Carloman, were so much smaller and more backward.  He caressed Richard again and again, praised every word he said—Fru Astrida was nothing to him; and Richard began to say to himself how strange and unkind it was of Bernard de Harcourt to like to find fault with him, when, on the contrary, he deserved all this praise from the King himself.

CHAPTER V

Duke Richard of Normandy slept in the room which had been his father’s; Alberic de Montémar, as his page, slept at his feet, and Osmond de Centeville had a bed on the floor, across the door, where he lay with his sword close at hand, as his young Lord’s guard and protector.

All had been asleep for some little time, when Osmond was startled by a slight movement of the door, which could not be pushed open without awakening him.  In an instant he had grasped his sword, while he pressed his shoulder to the door to keep it closed; but it was his father’s voice that answered him with a few whispered words in the Norse tongue, “It is I, open.”  He made way instantly, and old Sir Eric entered, treading cautiously with bare feet, and sat down on the bed motioning him to do the same, so that they might be able to speak lower.  “Right, Osmond,” he said.  “It is well to be on the alert, for peril enough is around him—The Frank means mischief!  I know from a sure hand that Arnulf of Flanders was in council with him just before he came hither, with his false tongue, wiling and coaxing the poor child!”

“Ungrateful traitor!” murmured Osmond.  “Do you guess his purpose?”

“Yes, surely, to carry the boy off with him, and so he trusts doubtless to cut off all the race of Rollo!  I know his purpose is to bear off the Duke, as a ward of the Crown forsooth.  Did you not hear him luring the child with his promises of friendship with the Princes?  I could not understand all his French words, but I saw it plain enough.”

“You will never allow it?”

“If he does, it must be across our dead bodies; but taken as we are by surprise, our resistance will little avail.  The Castle is full of French, the hall and court swarm with them.  Even if we could draw our Normans together, we should not be more than a dozen men, and what could we do but die?  That we are ready for, if it may not be otherwise, rather than let our charge be thus borne off without a pledge for his safety, and without the knowledge of the states.”

“The king could not have come at a worse time,” said Osmond.

“No, just when Bernard the Dane is absent.  If he only knew what has befallen, he could raise the country, and come to the rescue.”

“Could we not send some one to bear the tidings to-night?”

“I know not,” said Sir Eric, musingly.  “The French have taken the keeping of the doors; indeed they are so thick through the Castle that I can hardly reach one of our men, nor could I spare one hand that may avail to guard the boy to-morrow.”

“Sir Eric;” a bare little foot was heard on the floor, and Alberic de Montémar stood before him.  “I did not mean to listen, but I could not help hearing you.  I cannot fight for the Duke yet, but I could carry a message.”

“How would that be?” said Osmond, eagerly.  “Once out of the Castle, and in Rouen, he could easily find means of sending to the Count.  He might go either to the Convent of St. Ouen, or, which would be better, to the trusty armourer, Thibault, who would soon find man and horse to send after the Count.”

“Ha! let me see,” said Sir Eric.  “It might be.  But how is he to get out?”

“I know a way,” said Alberic.  “I scrambled down that wide buttress by the east wall last week, when our ball was caught in a branch of the ivy, and the drawbridge is down.”

“If Bernard knew, it would be off my mind, at least!” said Sir Eric.  “Well, my young Frenchman, you may do good service.”

“Osmond,” whispered Alberic, as he began hastily to dress himself, “only ask one thing of Sir Eric—never to call me young Frenchman again!”

Sir Eric smiled, saying, “Prove yourself Norman, my boy.”

“Then,” added Osmond, “if it were possible to get the Duke himself out of the castle to-morrow morning.  If I could take him forth by the postern, and once bring him into the town, he would be safe.  It would be only to raise the burghers, or else to take refuge in the Church of Our Lady till the Count came up, and then Louis would find his prey out of his hands when he awoke and sought him.”

“That might be,” replied Sir Eric; “but I doubt your success.  The French are too eager to hold him fast, to let him slip out of their hands.  You will find every door guarded.”

“Yes, but all the French have not seen the Duke, and the sight of a squire and a little page going forth, will scarcely excite their suspicion.”

“Ay, if the Duke would bear himself like a little page; but that you need not hope for.  Besides, he is so taken with this King’s flatteries, that I doubt whether he would consent to leave him for the sake of Count Bernard.  Poor child, he is like to be soon taught to know his true friends.”

“I am ready,” said Alberic, coming forward.

The Baron de Centeville repeated his instructions, and then undertook to guard the door, while his son saw Alberic set off on his expedition.  Osmond went with him softly down the stairs, then avoiding the hall, which was filled with French, they crept silently to a narrow window, guarded by iron bars, placed at such short intervals apart that only so small and slim a form as Alberic’s could have squeezed out between them.  The distance to the ground was not much more than twice his own height, and the wall was so covered with ivy, that it was not a very dangerous feat for an active boy, so that Alberic was soon safe on the ground, then looking up to wave his cap, he ran on along the side of the moat, and was soon lost to Osmond’s sight in the darkness.

Osmond returned to the Duke’s chamber, and relieved his father’s guard, while Richard slept soundly on, little guessing at the plots of his enemies, or at the schemes of his faithful subjects for his protection.

Osmond thought this all the better, for he had small trust in Richard’s patience and self-command, and thought there was much more chance of getting him unnoticed out of the Castle, if he did not know how much depended on it, and how dangerous his situation was.

When Richard awoke, he was much surprised at missing Alberic, but Osmond said he was gone into the town to Thibault the armourer, and this was a message on which he was so likely to be employed that Richard’s suspicion was not excited.  All the time he was dressing he talked about the King, and everything he meant to show him that day; then, when he was ready, the first thing was as usual to go to attend morning mass.

“Not by that way, to-day, my Lord,” said Osmond, as Richard was about to enter the great hall.  “It is crowded with the French who have been sleeping there all night; come to the postern.”

Osmond turned, as he spoke, along the passage, walking fast, and not sorry that Richard was lingering a little, as it was safer for him to be first.  The postern was, as he expected, guarded by two tall steel-cased figures, who immediately held their lances across the door-way, saying, “None passes without warrant.”

“You will surely let us of the Castle attend to our daily business,” said Osmond.  “You will hardly break your fast this morning if you stop all communication with the town.”

“You must bring warrant,” repeated one of the men-at-arms.  Osmond was beginning to say that he was the son of the Seneschal of the Castle, when Richard came hastily up.  “What?  Do these men want to stop us?” he exclaimed in the imperious manner he had begun to take up since his accession.  “Let us go on, sirs.”

The men-at-arms looked at each other, and guarded the door more closely.  Osmond saw it was hopeless, and only wanted to draw his young charge back without being recognised, but Richard exclaimed loudly, “What means this?”

“The King has given orders that none should pass without warrant,” was Osmond’s answer.  “We must wait.”

“I will pass!” said Richard, impatient at opposition, to which he was little accustomed.  “What mean you, Osmond?  This is my Castle, and no one has a right to stop me.  Do you hear, grooms? let me go.  I am the Duke!”

The sentinels bowed, but all they said was, “Our orders are express.”

“I tell you I am Duke of Normandy, and I will go where I please in my own city!” exclaimed Richard, passionately pressing against the crossed staves of the weapons, to force his way between them, but he was caught and held fast in the powerful gauntlet of one of the men-at-arms.  “Let me go, villain!” cried he, struggling with all his might.  “Osmond, Osmond, help!”

Even as he spoke Osmond had disengaged him from the grasp of the Frenchman, and putting his hand on his arm, said, “Nay, my Lord, it is not for you to strive with such as these.”

“I will strive!” cried the boy.  “I will not have my way barred in my own Castle.  I will tell the King how these rogues of his use me.  I will have them in the dungeon.  Sir Eric! where is Sir Eric?”

Away he rushed to the stairs, Osmond hurrying after him, lest he should throw himself into some fresh danger, or by his loud calls attract the French, who might then easily make him prisoner.  However, on the very first step of the stairs stood Sir Eric, who was too anxious for the success of the attempt to escape, to be very far off.  Richard, too angry to heed where he was going, dashed up against him without seeing him, and as the old Baron took hold of him, began, “Sir Eric, Sir Eric, those French are villains! they will not let me pass—”

“Hush, hush! my Lord,” said Sir Eric.  “Silence! come here.”

However imperious with others, Richard from force of habit always obeyed Sir Eric, and now allowed himself to be dragged hastily and silently by him, Osmond following closely, up the stairs, up a second and a third winding flight, still narrower, and with broken steps, to a small round, thick-walled turret chamber, with an extremely small door, and loop-holes of windows high up in the tower.  Here, to his great surprise, he found Dame Astrida, kneeling and telling her beads, two or three of her maidens, and about four of the Norman Squires and men-at-arms.

“So you have failed, Osmond?” said the Baron.

“But what is all this?  How did Fru Astrida come up here?  May I not go to the King and have those insolent Franks punished?”

“Listen to me, Lord Richard,” said Sir Eric: “that smooth-spoken King whose words so charmed you last night is an ungrateful deceiver.  The Franks have always hated and feared the Normans, and not being able to conquer us fairly, they now take to foul means.  Louis came hither from Flanders, he has brought this great troop of French to surprise us, claim you as a ward of the crown, and carry you away with him to some prison of his own.”

“You will not let me go?” said Richard.

“Not while I live,” said Sir Eric.  “Alberic is gone to warn the Count of Harcourt, to call the Normans together, and here we are ready to defend this chamber to our last breath, but we are few, the French are many, and succour may be far off.”

“Then you meant to have taken me out of their reach this morning, Osmond?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“And if I had not flown into a passion and told who I was, I might have been safe!  O Sir Eric!  Sir Eric! you will not let me be carried off to a French prison!”

“Here, my child,” said Dame Astrida, holding out her arms, “Sir Eric will do all he can for you, but we are in God’s hands!”

Richard came and leant against her.  “I wish I had not been in a passion!” said he, sadly, after a silence; then looking at her in wonder—“But how came you up all this way?”

“It is a long way for my old limbs,” said Fru Astrida, smiling, “but my son helped me, and he deems it the only safe place in the Castle.”

“The safest,” said Sir Eric, “and that is not saying much for it.”

“Hark!” said Osmond, “what a tramping the Franks are making.  They are beginning to wonder where the Duke is.”

“To the stairs, Osmond,” said Sir Eric.  “On that narrow step one man may keep them at bay a long time.  You can speak their jargon too, and hold parley with them.”

“Perhaps they will think I am gone,” whispered Richard, “if they cannot find me, and go away.”

Osmond and two of the Normans were, as he spoke, taking their stand on the narrow spiral stair, where there was just room for one man on the step.  Osmond was the lowest, the other two above him, and it would have been very hard for an enemy to force his way past them.

Osmond could plainly hear the sounds of the steps and voices of the French as they consulted together, and sought for the Duke.  A man at length was heard clanking up these very stairs, till winding round, he suddenly found himself close upon young de Centeville.

“Ha!  Norman!” he cried, starting back in amazement, “what are you doing here?”

“My duty,” answered Osmond, shortly.  “I am here to guard this stair;” and his drawn sword expressed the same intention.

The Frenchman drew back, and presently a whispering below was heard, and soon after a voice came up the stairs, saying, “Norman—good Norman—”

“What would you say?” replied Osmond, and the head of another Frank appeared.  “What means all this, my friend?” was the address.  “Our King comes as a guest to you, and you received him last evening as loyal vassals.  Wherefore have you now drawn out of the way, and striven to bear off your young Duke into secret places?  Truly it looks not well that you should thus strive to keep him apart, and therefore the King requires to see him instantly.”

“Sir Frenchman,” replied Osmond, “your King claims the Duke as his ward.  How that may be my father knows not, but as he was committed to his charge by the states of Normandy, he holds himself bound to keep him in his own hands until further orders from them.”

“That means, insolent Norman, that you intend to shut the boy up and keep him in your own rebel hands.  You had best yield—it will be the better for you and for him.  The child is the King’s ward, and he shall not be left to be nurtured in rebellion by northern pirates.”

At this moment a cry from without arose, so loud as almost to drown the voices of the speakers on the turret stair, a cry welcome to the ears of Osmond, repeated by a multitude of voices, “Haro!  Haro! our little Duke!”

It was well known as a Norman shout.  So just and so ready to redress all grievances had the old Duke Rollo been, that his very name was an appeal against injustice, and whenever wrong was done, the Norman outcry against the injury was always “Ha Rollo!” or as it had become shortened, “Haro.”  And now Osmond knew that those whose affection had been won by the uprightness of Rollo, were gathering to protect his helpless grandchild.