"I shall see what this freedom of yours is like," said Gilbert,
thoughtfully. "For my part I am not used to such thoughts, and though I
have read some history of Rome, I could never understand the Roman
Republic. With us the strongest is master by natural law. Why should
the strong man share with the weak what he may keep for himself? Or if
he must, in your ideal, then why should not the strong nation share her
strength and wealth with her weak neighbour? Is it not enough that the
strong should not wantonly bruise the weak nor deal unfairly by him?
The Normans can see no more harm or injustice in holding than we see in
taking what we can; and so we shall never understand your republics and
your senates."

"Are you a Norman, sir?" asked the friar. "Are you a kinsman of
Guiscard and of them that last burnt Rome? I do not wonder that the
civilization of a republic should seem strange to you!"

Gilbert was listening, but his eyes had wandered from the friar's face
in the direction of the dusty road that led to Rome, and between his
companion's words his quick ear had caught the sound of hoofs, although
no horses were yet in sight but his own. Just as the friar ceased
speaking, however, a troop of seven riders appeared at the turn of the
road. They were rough-looking men in long brown cloaks that were in
tatters at the edge; they wore round caps of mail on their heads, with
a broad leathern strap under the chin; their faces were dark, their
beards black and unkempt, and they rode small, ragged horses, as ill
cared for as themselves.

Gilbert sprang up almost as soon as he saw them, for he knew that, not
being travellers, they could hardly be anything but highwaymen. His own
men were on their feet as soon as he, while the muleteer guide