Part 62

‘“None the less,” said Rahere, “Robert may say that thou hast not always spoken the stark truth to him about England. I should not hang too many men on that bough, Brother.” ‘“And it is certain,” said Hugh, “that”--he pointed to the old man--“Harold was forced to make his promise to the Great Duke.”

‘“Very strongly, forced,” said De Aquila. He had never any pride in the Duke William’s dealings with Harold before Hastings. Yet, as he said, one cannot build a house all of straight sticks.

‘“No matter how he was forced,” said Henry, “England was promised to my Father William by Edward the Confessor. Is it not so?” William of Exeter nodded. “Harold confirmed that promise to my Father on the bones of the Saints. Afterwards he broke his oath and would have taken England by the strong hand.”

‘“Oh! La! La!” Rahere rolled up his eyes like a girl. “That ever England should be taken by the strong hand!”

‘Seeing that Red William and Henry after him had each in just that fashion snatched England from Robert of Normandy, we others knew not where to look. But De Aquila saved us quickly.

‘“Promise kept or promise broken,” he said, “Harold came near enough to breaking us Normans at Santlache.”

‘“Was it so close a fight, then?” said Henry.

‘“A hair would have turned it either way,” De Aquila answered. “His house-carles stood like rocks against rain. Where wast thou, Hugh, in it?”

‘“Among Godwin’s folk beneath the Golden Dragon till your front gave back, and we broke our ranks to follow,” said Hugh.

‘“But I bade you stand! I bade you stand! I knew it was all a deceit!” Harold had waked, and leaned forward as one crying from the grave.

‘“Ah, now we see how the traitor himself was betrayed!” said William of Exeter, and looked for a smile from the King.

‘“I made thee Bishop to preach at my bidding,” said Henry; and turning to Harold, “Tell us here how thy people fought us?” said he. “Their sons serve me now against my Brother Robert!”

‘The old man shook his head cunningly. “Na--Na--Na!” he cried. “I know better. Every time I tell my tale men stone me. But, Thanes, I will tell you a greater thing. Listen!” He told us how many paces it was from some Saxon Saint’s shrine to another shrine, and how many more back to the Abbey of the Battle.

‘“Ay,” said he. “I have trodden it too often to be out even ten paces. I move very swiftly. Harold of Norway knows that, and so does Tostig my brother. They lie at ease at Stamford Bridge, and from Stamford Bridge to the Battle Abbey it is--” he muttered over many numbers and forgot us.

‘“Ay,” said De Aquila, all in a muse. “That man broke Harold of Norway at Stamford Bridge, and came near to breaking us at Santlache--all within one month.”

‘“But how did he come alive from Santlache fight?” asked the King. “Ask him! Hast thou heard it, Rahere?” “Never. He says he has been stoned too often for telling the tale. But he can count you off Saxon and Norman shrines till daylight,” said Rahere and the old man nodded proudly.

‘“My faith!” said Henry after a while. “I think even my Father the Great Duke would pity if he could see him.”

‘“How if he does see?” said Rahere.

‘Hugh covered his face with his sound hand. “Ah, why hast thou shamed him?” he cried again to Rahere.

‘“No--no,” says the old man, reaching to pluck at Rahere’s cape. “I am Rahere’s man. None stone me now,” and he played with the bells on the scollops of it.

‘“How if he had been brought to me when you found him?” said the King to Rahere.

‘“You would have held him prisoner again--as the Great Duke did,” Rahere answered.

‘“True,” said our King. “He is nothing except his name. Yet that name might have been used by stronger men to trouble my England. Yes. I must have made him my life’s guest--as I shall make Robert.”

‘“I knew it,” said Rahere. “But while this man wandered mad by the wayside, none cared what he called himself.”

‘“I learned to cease talking before the stones flew,” says the old man, and Hugh groaned.

‘“Ye have heard!” said Rahere. “Witless, landless, nameless, and, but for my protection, masterless, he can still make shift to bide his doom under the open sky.”

‘“Then wherefore didst thou bring him here for a mock and a shame?” cried Hugh, beside himself with woe.

‘“A right mock and a just shame!” said William of Exeter.