Just one month after I became squire to Sir Richard de Courci, then of the Castle of Stoke Courci, that lies between Quantock Hills and the sea in our fair Somerset, I met Alan de Govet, about whom my story mostly is.  
We had been to Taunton, and were riding homewards across the hills, and valley and river lay straight before us—as fair a view as any in all England is that rich country between Mendips and Quantocks—yet I suppose that Sir Richard thought of it hardly at all, for he, as Queen Matilda's steward, was deep in all the new plans that were to set our exiled queen on her father's throne, and he rode thoughtfully after meeting De Mohun of Dunster that day.
 
But when we saw a gay little party of men in hunting dress, with hawks and hounds, come up the deep narrow lane to meet us, he roused, and turning to the twenty well-armed men behind us, asked who these were who came now.
 
None of them knew: but as they came nearer, I saw that the handsome young leader of the party wore the badge of the De Govets—a family from Yeovil, and well-known and loyal followers of King Stephen.
 
"Why, then," said my knight, "if this is young De Govet, I must have a word or two with him. Bar the road while we speak."
 
The men grinned, and closed up so that the lane was full. There was little love lost, since Matilda's failure of two years ago, between the parties of King and Queen.
 
"He came heavily to the roadside grass, where he lay stunned."
When we met, therefore, the hunting party must needs rein up, for they could not pass us.
 
"Pardon me, sir knight, but you bar the road," said the leader, raising his cap courteously.
 
"Only for the pleasure of speech with you," said my knight, saluting in turn. "I am De Courci, and I believe that I speak to Alan de Govet?"
 
The young man's face darkened as he answered, "Let me go my way, Sir Richard. I have nought to say to disloyal men."
 
"There are two sides to every question, young sir," the knight answered. "And since I am a Queen's man, and the De Govets are King's men, we have different views of what loyalty is. However, just now Stephen is king."
 
"Well, what would you with me?"
 
"Some time since I had a fair offer to make to your noble father—touching yourself—that is, if you are Alan de Govet. I have as yet had no answer."
 
The young man's face flushed angrily.
 
"Stand aside, sir," he said. "This is discourteous."
 
"Not if you are the man I take you for. Which, by the way, you have not owned as yet."
 
"I will own nothing, if thus asked," was the answer, and the stranger turned to his men.
 
But they had gone hastily at the first word about the rival claims of King and Queen, knowing what mostly came of such arguments nowadays.
 
Seeing which, he turned his horse leisurely, and without sign of fear, to follow them, and Sir Richard laughed, and rode alongside him, laying his hand on the horse's bridle.
 
"Stay—I must ask you to come to Stoke Courci with me, as your men have left you," he said.
 
In a moment the young man's sword was out, and at the same instant he seemed to rise from his saddle, lose his balance, and fall away from Sir Richard. His blow was wasted on air, as he came heavily to the roadside grass, where he lay stunned.
 
"Bring him home carefully," said Sir Richard to his men. "If he is Alan de Govet, we must have had him as a hostage sooner or later. If he is not—well, a De Courci can but apologise."
 
So we rode on, and I asked Sir Richard, wondering, why so good a rider fell, as did this young man.
 
"'Tis an old trick," the knight said; "you do but get your foot under his and lift him at the right moment. But I would not advise you to try it with one heavier than yourself."
 
Now when we reached the castle, our prisoner was brought in after us, seemingly not much the worse for his fall, and the Lady Sybilla, Sir Richard's ward, and mistress of the castle since his wife died, asked me who he might be. And when I told her that he was thought to be Alan de Govet, but that he would not own his name, she flushed a little, and said no more. Next day I had reason to think that she had heard of him before this. Very fair was this young lady, and heiress of many broad acres. She seemed much older than myself, but a boy of sixteen will think anything over twenty a great age.
 
After breakfast on the next day I fed the hawks, and then came back into the great hall to see if my knight had any commands for me. There I found some sort of council on hand, and, from all appearances, no very peaceful one. Jehan of Stowey, the head man-at-arms, and one of his men guarded the two doors, and our chaplain, Father Gregorius, sat by the hearth, smiling uneasily. Sir Richard sat in his great chair on the da?s, facing his prisoner, and by his side was the Lady Sybilla, who was plainly in a towering rage, for her eyes flashed, and her little hand was clenched as if she was holding herself in check. And when I looked at De Govet, I saw that he was as angry as the lady. As for Sir Richard, he seemed to be enjoying what was going on immensely, watching his prisoner with something of admiration for his fearlessness. Well built and square he was, though not so big as our knight, who was almost a giant, as the De Courcis often are, and he looked like a warrior, even in his hunting gear, which was stained with red Quantock mud from his fall when he was taken.
 
"Sir Richard sat in his great chair on the da?s."
Sir Richard took up the matter where he had broken it off when I entered.
 
"'Tis a mercy, Alan, that De Mohun of Dunster did not get hold of you. For that humour of yours of last night, when you would not own your name, would surely have landed you in the sachentege he keeps in his castle wherewith to wring answers from the silent. I would fain fit a more pleasant yoke to your neck," he said in a meditative way, watching De Govet's face amusedly.
 
Now of all the tortures that a Norman can invent, that of the sachentege is the worst; for the engine is made of a great beam of wood, fastened round the man's neck with a rough iron collar. As the beam is too heavy for one man to lift, and too long to be set on end, it is apt to wring confession of anything needed from him who is set therein after a time. Therefore I was surprised to hear the Lady Sybilla say suddenly—
 
"Borrow De Mohun's sachentege, I pray you."
 
"Fie, daughter," said Gregorius, shaking his head, but half smiling at the girl's anger. "It were a shame to set so gallant a youth in such bondage."
 
"Set me in the hateful thing rather," she said. "It were better than to marry me to this man of Stephen's, who would not own whatever name he has—being doubtless ashamed thereof."
 
At that De Govet started, and his face grew crimson. But Sybilla went on, growing more angry still.
 
"When Queen Maud comes I will go to her. She will see that I——"
 
"Hold," said Sir Richard suddenly; "enough of this. Go to your bower, girl, until you can be more patient with your guardian."
 
 
"Willingly," she said, with a proud toss of her head, and she swept out of the hall without a glance at us, and her waiting-woman followed her.
 
Then there was silence, and the knight and his captive looked at one another until a faint smile crossed De Govet's face. The chaplain looked anxious and disturbed, and it flashed of a sudden across my mind that if Queen Matilda was indeed coming to England shortly, it was the last thing that a King's man should have heard as yet.
 
Sir Richard tried to laugh, but it was uneasy.
 
"When do King Stephen and Maud his Queen come this way?" he asked Alan de Govet.
 
"When does Maud the Empress cross from Normandy?" retorted Alan.
 
Then both laughed. They understood one another by this time.
 
"Well," said Sir Richard, "shut up you must be, Alan, for a time at least. But if you will take my advice you will do as I wish you, and so find freedom and fortune as well."
 
"This is a pretty plan," said Alan. "Having caught a loyal King's man, you must needs marry him to your ward, you being Matilda's steward, whereby you save her fortunes when your new plots fail."
 
"Or yours when they succeed," answered Sir Richard. "Truly this is a pretty plan, as you say, and I am a benefactor to you both. Moreover, I think that you might seek further and fare worse."
 
"What is the benefit to yourself?" said Alan scornfully.
 
"Being a De Courci, I look for none, except may-be that to have a damsel in my charge hampers me somewhat; also, it is my duty to provide for her welfare as best I can. This is no new plan of mine, Alan. De Mohun or I were to take you sooner or later as a hostage, to ensure that your good father will bide quietly when there is a little fighting on hand presently. I have only caught you by chance rather sooner than I hoped."
 
"Well," said Alan, "the lady seems to think ill of your plans for her welfare."
 
"That is because her advice was not asked," laughed Sir Richard. "Now, what say you?"
 
"It is plain that I have heard too much to be let loose," said Alan, "and I will not be married against my will. Wherefore you have me in your own power."
 
"The choice is between the bonds of matrimony and the small dungeon I have here, unless you prefer to be sent to Dunster, where De Mohun will take good care of you. I think the first choice is best."
 
"What sort of dungeon have you here?" asked Alan coolly on this. "I have no mind for Dunster."
 
"Let him see it," said Sir Richard to Jehan, and Alan turned on his heel and followed the man-at-arms from the hall without a word.
 
"One would have thought that the looks of the Lady Sybilla would have needed no comparison with those of any dungeon," said our knight with a great laugh, when he had disappeared. "But it is a good youth, and I am glad that De Mohun got him not, else he would have been in the rack by this time. But we may not let him go, now that yon headstrong girl has let out what she has."
 
Presently Jehan brought Alan back. The former was grinning, but the latter was cool as ever. His gay cordovan boots were wet and muddy, as if he had been over the ankles in water.
 
"'Tis a good dungeon," he said, "and no chance of escape therefrom. I have no mind to dwell in it, therefore I will offer ransom for myself."
 
Sir Richard shook his head.
 
"I took you, Master de Govet, for weightier reasons than those of gain."
 
"That is to your credit," answered Alan. "It is discourteous to take an unarmed man by force, save for weighty reasons. Then I will pledge my word of honour not to escape if allowed reasonable liberty."
 
"Ho!" said Sir Richard, "is there no word about the Lady Sybilla?"
 
"We will not discuss that point further," said Alan loftily. "I do but seek to evade the dungeon."
 
"It seems that you know your mind, young man," Sir Richard said, "and I am willing to meet you as far as I may. If I take your word, you must promise also to hold no communication with the King's party."
 
"I will consider myself in the dungeon for that matter. They will not miss my help."
 
"I am not so sure," said the knight thoughtfully. "If you are my guest you may hear and see much that they would be glad to learn."
 
"Turn me out, then," said Alan promptly. "I know nothing as yet."
 
Again Sir Richard shook his head and laughed.
 
"I must keep my hostage, for I am not alone in this matter, and have to answer to others. Now, do I have your word not to escape, and to be silent?"
 
Alan stepped forward and held out his hand.
 
"The word of a De Govet," he said.
 
Now from that time forward Alan took his captivity in good part, sending by a chapman some message to his father which Sir Richard approved, and which satisfied those at home, for shortly after they sent him all that a guest could need, even to his helm and mail and charger. I do not know what his people thought of his being a guest with so noted a Queen's man as our knight, but at that time the great plans were secret, and none seemed to have any suspicion of them beyond the circle of the leaders of Matilda's party.
 
I soon learnt, having often to ride with messages to one leader or another, what these plans were, and I can put them into few words. Earl Robert of Gloucester, our Queen's half-brother, was to rise at the head of all the nobles in the west, while King Malcolm of Scotland, her uncle, was to invade England from across the Border. Two years ago he had done the same, but failed for want of well-planned assistance, so that King Stephen was able to make terms with him. This had seemed the death-blow to Matilda's hopes at the time, but now things would surely go better. Stephen would be taken between two fires, and then the Queen would come from Normandy, and all would end in her favour.
 
So the great plotting went on, and meanwhile Alan de Govet and I grew to be great friends, for he was a good warrior, and took pains to teach me many things. Which pleased Sir Richard well, so that he seemed to forget that Alan was his captive, treating him always as a welcome guest.
 
The only person in all the castle, and village also, who did not like Alan was the Lady Sybilla, and she made no secret of her dislike. I thought it good of Alan to take the trouble to please her that he did, for we must needs see much of her. However, she was always most pleasant to me, and I liked to serve her in any way that I could. Father Gregorius was another friend of mine, and I learnt many things that a squire should know from him. He, too, liked Alan, and would often pass a sly jest on him about his choice between the dungeon and the lady's hand, at first. But as time went on Alan seemed to grow tired of the old jest, and waxed angry when it came. So Gregorius forgot it.
 
It was in April, towards the end, that I came to Stoke Courci, and from that time forward messengers came and went in much secrecy. Once Earl Robert came for a day from Dunster, with De Mohun; and once we rode to Wells to meet Roger, Bishop of Salisbury, the Justiciar, from whose help the Queen hoped much.
 
 
Now, in the beginning of July, I had been out with Sir Richard, and did not go into the castle when I had led the horses round to the stables, but sought Alan in the tiltyard, some one telling me that he had gone in that direction. And there I saw a thing that puzzled me, for it was unlike what one might have expected.
 
Two people walked under the trees on the far side of the tilting-ground, and they were the Lady Sybilla and Alan himself in deep converse. Alan seemed to be speaking a great deal and getting short answers; which was not surprising, as the lady was always proud and disdainful with him, so that Alan always seemed discomfited when she appeared. Just at this time, however, he did not seem so.
 
They did not see that I came, at first; and before they heeded me, I heard a few words.
 
"I will have nought to say to a man who is ashamed to own his own name," quoth Lady Sybilla.
 
"It was not shame, but policy," answered Alan.
 
"Ay—to escape from me."
 
Alan was silent for a moment, and then said—
 
"I have learnt to prize what once I had no thought of."
 
Then Sybilla saw me, and flushed.
 
"Ay—your name, you mean," she said to Alan, whose face was away from me. "Go to—win your name back by some deeds of arms, and then you may be worth speaking with."
 
With that she passed him and came towards me, beginning to hum some old tune or other lightly. As for Alan, he bided where she left him, not caring to follow.
 
"Come away," she said to me; "your comrade is in an evil temper."
 
"That is the first time I have seen him so," answered I; "needs must that I stay to cheer him; for I am not the cause of his ill-humour," and I laughed.
 
 
"Well then, go your way for an unmannerly squire," she retorted, turning away towards the castle.
 
"Nay, but, lady—" I began. But she went on quickly, with one last remark flung over her shoulder, as it were—
 
"I know where I am not wanted, at least."
 
"Now," thought I, "it is plain where the ill-temper lies." So I went to Alan, and asked what was amiss.
 
"Well," said he—for though he was five years or more older than I, we were close friends by this time—"maybe I am a fool to think twice of the matter; but, on my word, friend Ralph, one would think that I was in love."
 
I laughed heartily.
 
"Did you tell her so?" I asked.
 
"She has set me a task which, as a good squire, I am bound to undertake, whatever I may have said; and what chance a prisoner like myself has to do it, I cannot see."
 
"Winning a name to wit. I heard that much," I said. "But that we have often talked of. It does not need the words of a sharp-tongued damsel to set your thoughts in that direction."
 
"Your Saxon wits need sharpening with Norman whetstone," he answered gravely. "Know you not that the word of a fair lady has double weight in the matter of winning renown? So that one must straightway seek for what one might else have left to chance and good fortune."
 
"My Saxon mother-wit would tell me that all depends on who the lady who speaks the word may be," I answered, being used to a gentle jest of this sort from Alan, and by no means minding it, since I had well beaten him about the Norman pate with our good old Saxon quarter-staff—the one weapon whose use he disdained until I persuaded him to a bout with me. After which he learned to use it, because he said that it belonged to good forestry.
 
"Above wit comes the law of chivalry," he said then. "It matters not if the lady is queen or beggar-maid, so that her words be a spur to great deeds and knightly."
 
"I know where I am not wanted, at least."
 
Now, when Alan began in this strain he was apt to wax high-flown, causing Sir Richard to laugh at him at times. So I said—
 
"This sounds well. But there is nought for you to undertake, that I can see."
 
After that we sat and looked out to the long line of the blue Quantocks and spoke of foreign wars. But the time for brave deeds was nearer than we thought, for that night came a messenger with stirring news, and after speaking with him Sir Richard sent for us two.
 
"Alan," he said, "I have strange news for you, and I do not know how you will take what I have to tell you. Nor do I rightly know what to do with you now. The other leaders of our cause will not suffer me to let you go free, as I would willingly, because they do your father the honour of thinking that his hand must be held. As for myself, I have forgotten that you are aught but a guest, and you please me."
 
Alan smiled, and made a little bow at that, but said nothing.
 
"Now I must go northwards," said the knight; "and at once. Ralph must see to my arms, and he will go with me, all the better squire for your companionship. There is a campaign on hand, as you may guess."
 
"Northward," said Alan thoughtfully. "Are the Scots on foot across the Border?"
 
"Ay; that they are."
 
"Why, then, let me go with you and help fight them, Sir Richard. That is England's quarrel—whether king or queen has right to the throne."
 
Sir Richard smiled grimly.
 
"Mostly that is so. But now Malcolm comes again as ally of his niece, and with his help we mean to set her on the throne. I fear you will not fight on my side."
 
"I cannot," answered Alan. "I had hoped this was but some new Border raid or public quarrel."
 
 
He was silent for a while as my knight told me what I had to prepare for the journey. But presently he spoke again—
 
"Let me go with you, Sir Richard," he said. "You are most generous in your own wish to let me go free, and it is possible that in the far north, where there will be none to hinder you, you will let me join in one battle for my own king. I would return to you either in victory or defeat, if not slain. And if slain, any further trouble in keeping me is over."
 
"This is a strange request," said Sir Richard, watching Alan's eager face. "You must be tired of our little castle."
 
But I thought I knew why Alan was so ready to go north for a mere chance of fighting.
 
"Alan has a mind to do some mighty deeds or other," I said. "We spoke thereof this afternoon."
 
"When I came here I denied my name, as it were," said Alan quickly, preferring not to be questioned perhaps, "and I must needs win it back. Let me prove that I am not to be ashamed thereof."
 
"Nay, Alan. You withheld your name somewhat foolishly, may-be; but you denied it not. None can blame you," said Sir Richard kindly.
 
"Nevertheless it has been said that I must win it back, and, I pray you, let me have this chance."
 
"Ralph," said Sir Richard sternly, "is this your foolishness?"
 
"Not mine," I answered. "'Tis but a poor jest of the Lady Sybilla's."
 
The knight looked at Alan and began to smile. Alan grew red and then angry, and Sir Richard laughed.
 
"So!" he said. "If that is the lady's word, there is no help for it. But I knew not that you had used your leisure so well."
 
Now why Alan had not a word to say for himself at this I could not tell, but so it was. At last, after shifting from one foot to the other uneasily, he ceased his pretence at anger, and said—
 
"I am asking much, Sir Richard. But may it be so?"
 
"Come north at least, and we will see about the rest. If you fight for Stephen, however, you and I may be running tilt against one another unawares in some melee."
 
"You have unhorsed me once, Sir Richard," said Alan, in high glee, "and out of your way would I keep. Now, I do not know how to thank you."
 
"Why," said Sir Richard, "I am wont to need two squires, and have but one. If you are not too proud, journey as my second, and if aught is wanting in your gear I will supply it."
 
"It is honour for any squire to serve the De Courci," said Alan. "Your squire I will be in all good faith, until I must needs ask you to let me have one fight for whom I will."
 
I was glad enough that Alan was to go with us, as may be supposed, and gaily went to work to set my lord's armour in order, while Jehan of Stowey saw to mine. And presently, while I sat alone in the armoury singing as I polished the heavy, flat-topped, war helm, the Lady Sybilla came in, and sitting in the window-seat, began to talk with me about our journey.
 
By-and-by I told her that Alan de Govet was to go with us at his own request, and that because of her words this afternoon. She seemed to care little, for she looked out of the window and spoke of somewhat that she saw thence in the meadows by the stream.
 
Yet presently she said—
 
"So this Alan must needs blame me for making him eager to run into danger?"
 
"Your words, he says, are weighty, as being those of a lady. But I do not think that he blames you at all, Lady Sybilla."
 
 
"She seemed to care little."
"Well," she said, rising up suddenly, "as he must charge my words with his going, give him that to remind him that they are weighty."
 
 <............