Yet he
was not unconscious.
"Now, by the Sacred Blood--"
Before he could pronounce the solemn vow of revenge that was on his
lips, the abbot's delicate hand was almost crushing his mouth with open
palm to stop the words.
"Arnold de Curboil, perjured to God, false to his king, the murderer of
his friend, the seducer of his friend's wife, is fit for my prayers,"
said the abbot, "not for your steel. Swear no great oaths that you will
kill him; still less swear that you will be avenged upon your mother;
but if you must needs swear something, vow rather that you will leave
them to their fate and never willingly cross their path again. And
indeed, whether you promise that or not, you must needs keep away from
them until you can claim your own with the chance of getting it back."
"My own!" exclaimed Gilbert. "Is Stoke not mine? Am I not my father's
son?"
"Curboil has got Stoke Regis by treachery, as he got your mother. As
soon as he had married her he took her with him to London, and they two
did homage to King Stephen, and the Lady Goda made apology before the
king's court because her former husband had been faithful to the
Empress Maud; and she besought the king to bestow the lordship of Stoke
Regis, with the manor house and all things thereto appertaining, upon
their present lord, Sir Arnold de Curboil, disinheriting you, her son,
both because you are true to the Empress, and because, as she did
swear, you tried to slay Sir Arnold by stealth in Stortford woods.
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