Richard made his small obligatory obeisance, and stood squarelybefore his master, lifting to the light an impenetrablecountenance, lit by two blue-green eyes of radiant innocence. Athin, active child, small for his years but agile and supple as acat, with a thick, curly crest of light brown hair, and a band ofgolden freckles over both cheekbones and the bridge of his neat,straight nose. He stood with feet braced sturdily apart, toesgripping the floorboards, and stared up into Brother Paul’sface, dutiful and guileless. Paul was well acquainted with thatunblinking gaze.

“Richard,” he said gently, “come, sit downwith me. I have something I must tell you.”

That in itself was enough to discount one slight childishunease, only to replace it with another and graver, for the tonewas so considerate and indulgent as to prophesy the need forcomfort. But what Richard’s sudden flickering frown expressedwas simple bewilderment. He allowed himself to be drawn to thebench and seated there within the circle of Brother Paul’sarm, bare toes just touching the floor, and braced there hard. Hecould be prepared for scolding, but here was surely something forwhich he was not prepared, and had no idea how to confront.

“You know that your father fought at Lincoln for the king,and was wounded? And that he has since been in poor health.”Secure in robust, well-fed and well-tended youth, Richard hardlyknew what poor health might be, except that it was something thathappened to the old.

But he said: “Yes, Brother Paul!” in a small,accommodating voice, since it was expected of him.

“Your grandmother sent a groom to the lord sheriff thismorning. He has brought a sad message, Richard. Your father hasmade his last confession and received his Saviour. He is dead, mychild. You are his heir, and you must be worthy of him. In life andin death,” said Brother Paul, “he is in the hand ofGod. So are we all.”