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Hence it had become serious, and since Kynewulf departed mortification had set in. The mother rose and embraced her "sweet son." "Thank God!" she said, and led him to his stepfather's side. Grimbeard raised himself with difficulty, and looked Martin in the face. "Martin is here," he said. "Let my dying eyes gaze upon him again. "Martin, I have longed for thee.
The hearers gathered in groups and discussed the event. "This explains how he knew all about us!" "It is Martin, little Martin, who should have been our chieftain." "The last of the house of Michelham!" "Turned into a preaching friar!" Grimbeard mused in silence. At last he gave a whispered order. "Treat them both well, to the best of our power. But they must not leave the camp."
The dart missed Grimbeard, and immediately the deadly shower which the old man had so keenly apprehended descended upon the exposed and ill-fated group, who, for their sins, were commanded by so mad a leader. A terrific scene ensued.
"Bring forth the prisoners." They were led forth; Ralph looking as saucy and careless as ever. "What is thy name?" asked Grimbeard. "Ralph, son of Waleran de Monceux." "And what has brought thee into my woods?" "Thy woods, are they? Well, thou couldst see I came to hunt." "And thou must pay for thy sport." "Willingly, since I must. Only do not fix the price too high."
Ralph and two or three more still fought desperately, but with little hope, when there appeared the sudden vision of a grey friar, who thrust himself between the knight and Grimbeard, who were fighting with their axes. "Hold, for the love of God! Accursed be he who strikes another blow."
The prospect was not new to them, for Martin's long labours had not been in vain; but while Drogo was at Walderne, and the royal party triumphant, it seemed useless to hope for its realisation. Now things had changed, and there was hope that the breach would be healed. "His last prayer was for peace," said Grimbeard. "Should not mine be the same?
Just as, in our own recollection, the mob crowded together to see an execution. Grimbeard was fond of assuming a certain state on these occasions. He dressed himself in all his rustic finery, and seated himself with the air of a king on his rude chair of honour. By his side stood Martin, pale and composed, but determined to prevent further bloodshed if it were in mortal power to do so.
"Ye shall not harm him, unless ye trample under foot the sign of your redemption." "Who forbids?" said Grimbeard. "I, the representative by birth of your ancestral leaders, and one who might now claim the allegiance you have paid to my fathers for generations.
"Did thy mother marry again?" "She was compelled to accept one Grimbeard, a chief amongst the 'merrie men' who succeeded my father as their leader." "Now, my son, I know why I looked at thee I knew thy father. Nay, I administered the last rites of Holy Church to him.
"I know not; they have been much reduced both in numbers and in power, and give small trouble now to the nobles and men of high degree. Many have been hanged." "Does Grimbeard yet live?" "I know not." "Father, I start on my search tomorrow; give me thy blessing and pray for me." Martin could not sleep. He stood long at the window of his cell in a dreamy reverie.
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