It was a beautiful spring day in May, 1262, that Norman of Torn rode alonedown the narrow trail that led to the pretty cottage with which he hadreplaced the hut of his old friend, Father Claude.

As was his custom, he rode with lowered visor, and nowhere upon his personor upon the trappings of his horse were sign or insignia of rank or house.More powerful and richer than many nobles of the court, he was without rankor other title than that of outlaw and he seemed to assume what in realityhe held in little esteem.

He wore armor because his old guardian had urged him to do so, and notbecause he craved the protection it afforded. And, for the same cause, herode always with lowered visor, though he could never prevail upon the oldman to explain the reason which necessitated this precaution.

"It is enough that I tell you, my son," the old fellow was wont to say,"that for your own good as well as mine, you must not show your face toyour enemies until I so direct. The time will come and soon now, I hope,when you shall uncover your countenance to all England."

The young man gave the matter but little thought, usually passing it off asthe foolish whim of an old dotard; but he humored it nevertheless.

Behind him, as he rode down the steep declivity that day, loomed a verydifferent Torn from that which he had approached sixteen years before,when, as a little boy he had ridden through the darkening shadows of thenight, perched upon a great horse behind the little old woman, whosemetamorphosis to the little grim, gray, old man of Torn their advent to thecastle had marked.

Today the great, frowning pile loomed larger and more imposing than ever inthe most resplendent days of its past grandeur. The original keep wasthere with its huge, buttressed Saxon towers whose mighty fifteen footwalls were pierced with stairways and vaulted chambers, lighted byembrasures which, mere slits in the outer periphery of the walls, spread tolarger dimensions within, some even attaining the area of small triangularchambers.

The moat, widened and deepened, completely encircled three sides of thecastle, running between the inner and outer walls, which were set atintervals with small projecting towers so pierced that a flanking fire fromlong bows, cross bows and javelins might be directed against a scalingparty.

The fourth side of the walled enclosure overhung a high precipice, whichnatural protection rendered towers unnecessary upon this side.

The main gateway of the castle looked toward the west and from it ran thetortuous and rocky trail, down through the mountains toward the valleybelow. The aspect from the great gate was one of quiet and rugged beauty.A short stretch of barren downs in the foreground only sparsely studdedwith an occasional gnarled oak gave an unobstructed view of broad andlovely meadowland through which wound a sparkling tributary of the Trent.

Two more gateways let into the great fortress, one piercing the north walland one the east. All three gates were strongly fortified with towered andbuttressed barbicans which must be taken before the main gates could bereached. Each barbican was portcullised, while the inner gates weresimilarly safeguarded in addition to the drawbridges which, spanning themoat when lowered, could be drawn up at the approach of an enemy,effectually stopping his advance.

The new towers and buildings added to the ancient keep under the directionof Norman of Torn and the grim, old man whom he called father, were of theNorman type of architecture, the windows were larger, the carving moreelaborate, the rooms lighter and more spacious.

Within the great enclosure thrived a fair sized town, for, with his tenhundred fighting-men, the Outlaw of Torn required many squires, lackeys,cooks, scullions, armorers, smithies, farriers, hostlers and the like tocare for the wants of his little army.

Fifteen hundred war horses, beside five hundred sumpter beasts, werequartered in the great stables, while the east court was alive with cows,oxen, goats, sheep, pigs, rabbits and chickens.

Great wooden carts drawn by slow, plodding oxen were daily visitors to thegrim pile, fetching provender for man and beast from the neighboring farmlands of the poor Saxon peasants, to whom Norman of Torn paid good gold fortheir crops.

These poor serfs, who were worse than slaves to the proud barons who ownedthe land they tilled, were forbidden by royal edict to sell or give apennysworth of provisions to the Outlaw of Torn, upon pain of death, butnevertheless his great carts made their trips regularly and always returnedfull laden, and though the husbandmen told sad tales to their overlords ofthe awful raids of the Devil of Torn in which he seized upon their stuff byforce, their tongues were in their cheeks as they spoke and the Devil'sgold in their pockets.

And so, while the barons learned to hate him the more, the peasants' lovefor him increased. Them he never injured; their fences, their stock, theircrops, their wives and daughters were safe from molestation even though theneighboring castle of their lord might be sacked from the wine cellar tothe ramparts of the loftiest tower. Nor did anyone dare ride rough shodover the territory which Norman of Torn patrolled. A dozen bands ofcut-throats he had driven from the Derby hills, and though the barons wouldmuch rather have had all the rest than he, the peasants worshipped him as adeliverer from the lowborn murderers who had been wont to despoil the weakand lowly and on whose account the women of the huts and cottages had neverbeen safe.

Few of them had seen his face and fewer still had spoken with him, but theyloved his name and his prowess and in secret they prayed for him to theirancient god, Wodin, and the lesser gods of the forest and the meadow andthe chase, for though they were confessed Christians, still in the heartsof many beat a faint echo of the old superstitions of their ancestors; andwhile they prayed also to the Lord Jesus and to Mary, yet they felt itcould do no harm to be on the safe side with the others, in case they didhappen to exist.

A poor, degraded, downtrodden, ignorant, superstitious people, they were;accustomed for generations to the heel of first one invader and thenanother and in the interims, when there were any, the heels of their feudallords and their rapacious monarchs.

No wonder then that such as these worshipped the Outlaw of Torn, for sincetheir fierce Saxon ancestors had come, themselves as conquerors, toEngland, no other hand had ever been raised to shield them from oppression.

On this policy of his toward the serfs and freedmen, Norman of Torn and thegrim, old man whom he called father had never agreed. The latter was forcarrying his war of hate against all Englishmen, but the young man wouldneither listen to it, nor allow any who rode out from Torn to molest thelowly. A ragged tunic was a surer defence against this wild horde than astout lance or an emblazoned shield.

So, as Norman of Torn rode down from his mighty castle to visit FatherClaude, the sunlight playing on his clanking armor and glancing from thecopper boss of his shield, the sight of a little group of woodmen kneelinguncovered by the roadside as he passed was not so remarkable after all.

Entering the priest's study, Norman of Torn removed his armor and lay backmoodily upon a bench with his back against a wall and his strong, lithelegs stretched out before him.

"What ails you, my son ?" asked the priest, "that you look so disconsolateon this beautiful day ?"

"I do not know, Father," replied Norman of Torn, "unless it be that I amasking myself the question, 'What it is all for ?' Why did my father trainme ever to prey upon my fellows ? I like to fight, but there is plenty offighting which is legitimate, and what good may all my stolen wealth availme if I may not enter the haunts of men to spend it ? Should I stick myhead into London town, it would doubtless stay there, held by a hempennecklace.

"What quarrel have I with the King or the gentry ? They have quarrelenough with me it is true, but, nathless, I do not know why I should havehated them so before I was old enough to know how rotten they really are.So it seems to me that I am but the instrument of an old man's spite, noteven knowing the grievance to the avenging of which my life has beendedicated by another.

"And at times, Father Claude, as I grow older, I doubt much that thenameless old man of Torn is my father, so little do I favor him, and neverin all my life have I heard a word of fatherly endearment or felt a caress,even as a little child. What think you, Father Claude ?"

"I have thought much of it, my son," answered the priest. "It has everbeen a sore puzzle to me, and I have my suspicions, which I have held foryears, but which even the thought of so frightens me that I shudder tospeculate upon the consequences of voicing them aloud. Norman of Torn, ifyou are not the son of the old man you call father, may God forfend thatEngland ever guesses your true parentage. More than this, I dare not sayexcept that, as you value your peace of mind and your life, keep your visordown and keep out of the clutches of your enemies."

"Then you know why I should keep my visor down ?"

"I can only guess, Norman of Torn, because I have seen another whom youresemble."

The conversation was interrupted by a commotion from without; the sound ofhorses' hoofs, the cries of men and the clash of arms. In an instant, bothmen were at the tiny unglazed window. Before them, on the highroad, fiveknights in armor were now engaged in furious battle with a party of ten ora dozen other steel-clad warriors, while crouching breathless on herpalfry , a young woman sat a little apart from the contestants.

Presently, one of the knights detached himself from the melee and rode toher side with some word of command, at the same time grasping roughly ather bridle rein. The girl raised her riding whip and struck repeatedly butfutilely against the iron headgear of her assailant while he swung hishorse up the road, and, dragging her palfrey after him, galloped rapidlyout of sight.

Norman of Torn sprang to the door, and, reckless of his unarmoredcondition, leaped to Sir Mortimer's back and spurred swiftly in thedirection taken by the girl and her abductor.

The great black was fleet, and, unencumbered by the usual heavy armor ofhis rider, soon brought the fugitives to view. Scarce a mile had beencovered ere the knight, turning to look for pursuers, saw the face ofNorman of Torn not ten paces behind him.

With a look of mingled surprise, chagrin and incredulity the knight reinedin his horse, exclaiming as he did so, "Mon Dieu, Edward !"

"Draw and defend yourself," cried Norman of Torn.

"But, Your Highness," stammered the knight.

"Draw, or I stick you as I have stuck an hundred other English pigs," criedNorman of Torn.

The charging steed was almost upon him and the knight looked to see therider draw rein, but, like a black bolt, the mighty Sir Mortimer struck theother horse full upon the shoulder, and man and steed rolled in the dust ofthe roadway.

The knight arose, unhurt, and Norman of Torn dismounted to give fair battleupon even terms. Though handicapped by the weight of his armor, the knightalso had the advantage of its protection, so that the two fought furiouslyfor several minutes without either gaining an advantage.

The girl sat motionless and wide-eyed at the side of the road watchingevery move of the two contestants. She made no effort to escape, butseemed riveted to the spot by the very fierceness of the battle she wasbeholding, as well, possibly, as by the fascination of the handsome giantwho had espoused her cause. As she looked upon her champion, she saw alithe, muscular, brown-haired youth whose clear eyes and perfect figure,unconcealed by either bassinet or hauberk, reflected the clean, athleticlife of the trained fighting man.

Upon his face hovered a faint, cold smile of haughty pride as the swordarm, displaying its mighty strength and skill in every move, played withthe sweating, puffing, steel-clad enemy who hacked and hewed so futilelybefore him. For all the din of clashing blades and rattling armor, neitherof the contestants had inflicted much damage, for the knight could neitherforce nor insinuate his point beyond the perfect guard of his unarmoredfoe, who, for his part, found difficulty in penetrating the other's armor.

Finally, by dint of his mighty strength, Norman of Torn drove his bladethrough the meshes of his adversary's mail, and the fellow, with a cry ofanguish, sank limply to the ground.

"Quick, Sir Knight !" cried the girl. "Mount and flee; yonder come hisfellows."

And surely, as Norman of Torn turned in the direction from which he hadjust come, there, racing toward him at full tilt, rode three steel-armoredmen on their mighty horses.

"Ride, madam," cried Norman of Torn, "for fly I shall not, nor may I,alone, unarmored, and on foot hope more than to momentarily delay thesethree fellows, but in that time you should easily make your escape. Theirheavy-burdened animals could never o'ertake your fleet palfrey."

As he spoke, he took note for the first time of the young woman. That shewas a lady of quality was evidenced not alone by the richness of her ridingapparel and the trappings of her palfrey, but as well in her noble andhaughty demeanor and the proud expression of her beautiful face.

Although at this time nearly twenty years had passed over the head ofNorman of Torn, he was without knowledge or experience in the ways ofwomen, nor had he ever spoken with a female of quality or position. Nowoman graced the castle of Torn nor had the boy, within his memory, everknown a mother.

His attitude therefore was much the same toward women as it was toward men,except that he had sworn always to protect them. Possibly, in a way, helooked up to womankind, if it could be said that Norman of Torn looked upto anything: God, man or devil -- it being more his way to look down uponall creatures whom he took the trouble to notice at all.

As his glance rested upon this woman, whom fate had destined to alter theentire course of his life, Norman of Torn saw that she was beautiful, andthat she was of that class against whom he had preyed for years with hisband of outlaw cut-throats. Then he turned once more to face her enemieswith the strange inconsistency which had ever marked his methods.

Tomorrow he might be assaulting the ramparts of her father's castle, buttoday he was joyously offering to sacrifice his life for her -- had shebeen the daughter of a charcoal burner he would have done no less. It wasenough that she was a woman and in need of protection.

The three knights were now fairly upon him, and with fine disregard forfair play, charged with couched spears the unarmored man on foot. But asthe leading knight came close enough to behold his face, he cried out insurprise and consternation:

"Mon Dieu, le Prince !" He wheeled his charging horse to one side. Hisfellows, hearing his cry, followed his example, and the three of themdashed on down the high road in as evident anxiety to escape as they hadbeen keen to attack.

"One would think they had met the devil," muttered Norman of Torn, lookingafter them in unfeigned astonishment.

"What means it, lady ?" he asked turning to the damsel, who had made nomove to escape.

"It means that your face is well known in your father's realm, my LordPrince," she replied. "And the King's men have no desire to antagonizeyou, even though they may understand as little as I why you should espousethe cause of a daughter of Simon de Montfort."

"Am I then taken for Prince Edward of England ?" he asked.

"An' who else should you be taken for, my Lord ?"

"I am not the Prince," said Norman of Torn. "It is said that Edward is inFrance."

"Right you are, sir," exclaimed the girl. "I had not thought on that; butyou be enough of his likeness that you might well deceive the Queenherself. And you be of a bravery fit for a king's son. Who are you then,Sir Knight, who has bared your steel and faced death for Bertrade, daughterof Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester ?"

"Be you De Montfort's daughter, niece of King Henry ?" queried Norman ofTorn, his eyes narrowing to mere slits and face hardening.

"That I be," replied the girl, "an' from your face I take it you havelittle love for a De Montfort," she added, smiling.

"An' whither may you be bound, Lady Bertrade de Montfort ? Be you niece ordaughter of the devil, yet still you be a woman, and I do not war againstwomen. Wheresoever you would go will I accompany you to safety."

"I was but now bound, under escort of five of my father's knights, to visitMary, daughter of John de Stutevill of Derby."

"I know the castle well," answered Norman of Torn, and the shadow of a grimsmile played about his lips, for scarce sixty days had elapsed since he hadreduced the stronghold, and levied tribute on the great baron. "Come, youhave not far to travel now, and if we make haste you shall sup with yourfriend before dark."

So saying, he mounted his horse and was turning to retrace their steps downthe road when he noticed the body of the dead knight lying where it hadfallen.

"Ride on," he called to Bertrade de Montfort, "I will join you in aninstant."

Again dismounting, he returned to the side of his late adversary, andlifting the dead knight's visor, drew upon the forehead with the point ofhis dagger the letters NT.

The girl turned to see what detained him, but his back was toward her andhe knelt beside his fallen foeman, and she did not see his act. Bravedaughter of a brave sire though she was, had she seen what he did, herheart would have quailed within her and she would have fled in terror fromthe clutches of this scourge of England, whose mark she had seen on thedead foreheads of a dozen of her father's knights and kinsmen.

Their way to Stutevill lay past the cottage of Father Claude, and hereNorman of Torn stopped to don his armor. Now he rode once more withlowered visor, and in silence, a little to the rear of Bertrade de Montfortthat he might watch her face, which, of a sudden, had excited his interest.

Never before, within the scope of his memory, had he been so close to ayoung and beautiful woman for so long a period of time, although he hadoften seen women in the castles that had fallen before his vicious andterrible attacks. While stories were abroad of his vile treatment of womencaptives, there was no truth in them. They were merely spread by hisenemies to incite the people against him. Never had Norman of Torn laidviolent hand upon a woman, and his cut-throat band were under oath torespect and protect the sex, on penalty of death.

As he watched the semi-profile of the lovely face before him, somethingstirred in his heart which had been struggling for expression for years.It was not love, nor was it allied to love, but a deep longing forcompanionship of such as she, and such as she represented. Norman of Torncould not have translated this feeling into words for he did not know, butit was the far faint cry of blood for blood and with it, mayhap, was mixednot alone the longing of the lion among jackals for other lions, but forhis lioness.

They rode for many miles in silence when suddenly she turned, saying:

"You take your time, Sir Knight, in answering my query. Who be ye ?"

"I am Nor -- " and then he stopped. Always before he had answered thatquestion with haughty pride. Why should he hesitate, he thought. Was itbecause he feared the loathing that name would inspire in the breast ofthis daughter of the aristocracy he despised ? Did Norman of Torn fear toface the look of seem and repugnance that was sure to be mirrored in thatlovely face ?

"I am from Normandy," he went on quietly. "A gentleman of France."

"But your name ?" she said peremptorily. "Are you ashamed of your name ?"

"You may call me Roger," he answered. "Roger de Conde."

"Raise your visor, Roger de Conde," she commanded. "I do not take pleasurein riding with a suit of armor; I would see that there is a man within."

Norman of Torn smiled as he did her bidding, and when he smiled thus, as herarely did, he was good to look upon.

"It is the first command I have obeyed since I turned sixteen, Bertrade deMontfort," he said.

The girl was about nineteen, full of the vigor and gaiety of youth andhealth; and so the two rode on their journey talking and laughing as theymight have been friends of long standing.

She told him of the reason for the attack upon her earlier in the day,attributing it to an attempt on the part of a certain baron, Peter ofColfax, to abduct her, his suit for her hand having been peremptorily androughly denied by her father.

Simon de Montfort was no man to mince words, and it is doubtless that theold reprobate who sued for his daughter's hand heard some unsavory truthsfrom the man who had twice scandalized England's nobility by his rude anddiscourteous, though true and candid, speeches to the King.

"This Peter of Colfax shall be looked to," growled Norman of Torn. "And,as you have refused his heart and hand, his head shall be yours for theasking. You have but to command, Bertrade de Montfort."

"Very well," she laughed, thinking it but the idle boasting so muchindulged in in those days. "You may bring me his head upon a golden dish,Roger de Conde."

"And what reward does the knight earn who brings to the feet of hisprincess the head of her enemy ?" he asked lightly.

"What boon would the knight ask ?"

"That whatsoever a bad report you hear of your knight, of whatsoevercalumnies may be heaped upon him, you shall yet ever be his friend, andbelieve in his honor and his loyalty."

The girl laughed gaily as she answered, though something seemed to tell herthat this was more than play.

"It shall be as you say, Sir Knight," she replied. "And the boon oncegranted shall be always kept."

Quick to reach decisions and as quick to act, Norman of Torn decided thathe liked this girl and that he wished her friendship more than any otherthing he knew of. And wishing it, he determined to win it by any meansthat accorded with his standard of honor; an honor which in many respectswas higher than that of the nobles of his time.

They reached the castle of De Stutevill late in the afternoon, and there,Norman of Torn was graciously welcomed and urged to accept the Baron'shospitality overnight.

The grim humor of the situation was too much for the outlaw, and, whenadded to his new desire to be in the company of Bertrade de Montfort, hemade no effort to resist, but hastened to accept the warm welcome.

At the long table upon which the evening meal was spread sat the entirehousehold of the Baron, and here and there among the men were evidences ofpainful wounds but barely healed, while the host himself still wore hissword arm in a sling.

"We have been through grievous times," said Sir John, noticing that hisguest was glancing at the various evidences of conflict. "That fiend,Norman the Devil, with his filthy pack of cut-throats, besieged us for tendays, and then took the castle by storm and sacked it. Life is no longersafe in England with the King spending his time and money with foreignfavorites and buying alien soldiery to fight against his own barons,instead of insuring the peace and protection which is the right of everyEnglishman at home.

"But," he continued, "this outlaw devil will come to the end of a shorthalter when once our civil strife is settled, for the barons themselveshave decided upon an expedition against him, if the King will not subduehim."

"An' he may send the barons naked home as he did the King's soldiers,"laughed Bertrade de Montfort. "I should like to see this fellow; what mayhe look like -- from the appearance of yourself, Sir John, and many of yourmen-at-arms, there should be no few here but have met him."

"Not once did he raise his visor while he was among us," replied theBaron, "but there are those who claim they had a brief glimpse of him andthat he is of horrid countenance, wearing a great yellow beard and havingone eye gone, and a mighty red scar from his forehead to his chin."

"A fearful apparition," murmured Norman of Torn. "No wonder he keeps hishelm closed."

"But such a swordsman," spoke up a son of De Stutevill. "Never in all theworld was there such swordplay as I saw that day in the courtyard."

"I, too, have seen some wonderful swordplay," said Bertrade de Montfort,"and that today. O he !" she cried, laughing gleefully, "verily do Ibelieve I have captured the wild Norman of Torn, for this very knight, whostyles himself Roger de Conde, fights as I ne'er saw man fight before, andhe rode with his visor down until I chide him for it."

Norman of Torn led in the laugh which followed, and of all the company hemost enjoyed the joke.

"An' speaking of the Devil," said the Baron, "how think you he will sideshould the King eventually force war upon the barons ? With his thousandhell-hounds, the fate of England might well he in the palm of his bloodyhand."

"He loves neither King nor baron," spoke Mary de Stutevill, "and I ratherlean to the thought that he will serve neither, but rather plunder thecastles of both rebel and royalist whilst their masters be absent at war."

"It be more to his liking to come while the master be home to welcome him,"said De Stutevill, ruthfully. "But yet I am always in fear for the safetyof my wife and daughters when I be away from Derby for any time. May thegood God soon deliver England from this Devil of Torn."

"I think you may have no need of fear on that score," spoke Mary, "forNorman of Torn offered no violence to any woman within the wall ofStutevill, and when one of his men laid a heavy hand upon me, it was thegreat outlaw himself who struck the fellow such a blow with his mailed handas to crack the ruffian's helm, saying at the time, 'Know you, fellow,Norman of Torn does not war upon women ?'"

Presently the conversation turned to other subjects and Norman of Tornheard no more of himself during that evening.

His stay at the castle of Stutevill was drawn out to three days, and then,on the third day, as he sat with Bertrade de Montfort in an embrasure ofthe south tower of the old castle, he spoke once more of the necessity forleaving and once more she urged him to remain.

"To be with you, Bertrade of Montfort," he said boldly, "I would forego anyother pleasure, and endure any privation, or face any danger, but there areothers who look to me for guidance and my duty calls me away from you. Youshall see me again, and at the castle of your father, Simon de Montfort, inLeicester. Provided," he added, "that you will welcome me there."

"I shall always welcome you, wherever I may be, Roger de Conde," repliedthe girl.

"Remember that promise," he said smiling. "Some day you may be glad torepudiate it."

"Never," she insisted, and a light that shone in her eyes as she said itwould have meant much to a man better versed in the ways of women than wasNorman of Torn.

"I hope not," he said gravely. "I cannot tell you, being but poorlytrained in courtly ways, what I should like to tell you, that you mightknow how much your friendship means to me. Goodbye, Bertrade de Montfort,"and he bent to one knee, as he raised her fingers to his lips.

As he passed over the drawbridge and down toward the highroad a few minuteslater on his way back to Torn, he turned for one last look at the castleand there, in an embrasure in the south tower, stood a young woman whoraised her hand to wave, and then, as though by sudden impulse, threw akiss after the departing knight, only to disappear from the embrasure withthe act.

As Norman of Torn rode back to his grim castle in the hills of Derby, hehad much food for thought upon the way. Never till now had he realizedwhat might lie in another manner of life, and he felt a twinge ofbitterness toward the hard, old man whom he called father, and whoseteachings from the boy's earliest childhood had guided him in the ways thathad out him off completely from the society of other men, except the wildhorde of outlaws, ruffians and adventurers that rode beneath the grislybanner of the young chief of Torn.

Only in an ill-defined, nebulous way did he feel that it was the girl whohad come into his life that caused him for the first time to feel shame forhis past deeds. He did not know the meaning of love, and so he could notknow that he loved Bertrade de Montfort.

And another thought which now filled his mind was the fact of his strangelikeness to the Crown Prince of England. This, together with the words ofFather Claude, puzzled him sorely. What might it mean ? Was it a heinousoffence to own an accidental likeness to a king's son ?

But now that he felt he had solved the reason that he rode always withclosed helm, he was for the first time anxious himself to hide his facefrom the sight of men. Not from fear, for he knew not fear, but from someinward impulse which he did not attempt to fathom.