“It is time, my son, that thou learned an answer to such questions as were put to thee yestereve by the pigs of Henry. Thou art fifteen years of age, and thy name be Norman, and so, as this be the ancient castle of Torn, thou mayst answer those whom thou desire to know it that thou art Norman of Torn; that thou be a French gentleman whose father purchased Torn and brought thee hither from France on the death of thy mother, when thou wert six years old. “But remember, Norman of Torn, that the best answer for an Englishman is the sword; naught else may penetrate his thick wit.” And so was born that Norman of Torn, whose name in a few short years was to strike terror to the hearts of Englishmen, and whose power in the vicinity of Torn was greater than that of the King or the barons. CHAPTER VI From now on, the old man devoted himself to the training of the boy in the handling of his lance and battle-axe, but each day also, a period was allotted to the sword, until, by the time the youth had turned sixteen, even the old man himself was as but a novice by comparison with the marvelous skill of his pupil. During these days, the boy rode Sir Mortimer abroad in many directions until he knew every bypath within a radius of fifty miles of Torn. Sometimes the old man accompanied him, but more often he rode alone. On one occasion, he chanced upon a hut at the outskirts of a small hamlet not far from Torn and, with the curiosity of boyhood, determined to enter and have speech with the inmates, for by this time the natural desire for companionship was commencing to assert itself. In all his life, he remembered only the company of the old man, who never spoke except when necessity required. The hut was occupied by an old priest, and as the boy in armor pushed in, without the usual formality of knocking, the old man looked up with an expression of annoyance and disapproval. “What now,” he said, “have the King’s men respect neither for piety nor age that they burst in upon the seclusion of a holy man without so much as a ‘by your leave’?” “I am no king’s man,” replied the boy quietly. “I am Norman of Torn, who has neither a king nor a god, and who says ‘by your leave’ to no man. But I have come in peace because I wish to talk to another than my father. Therefore you may talk to me, priest,” he concluded with haughty peremptoriness. “By the nose of John, but it must be a king has deigned to honor me with his commands,” laughed the priest. “Raise your visor, My Lord, I would fain look upon the countenance from which issue the commands of royalty.” The priest was a large man with beaming, kindly eyes, and a round jovial face. There was no bite in the tones of his good-natured retort, and so, smiling, the boy raised his visor. “By the ear of Gabriel,” cried the good father, “a child in armor!” “A child in years, mayhap,” replied the boy, “but a good child to own as a friend, if one has enemies who wear swords.”