LITMIR.BIZ

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out his hand as desired, he shrank a little to his father’s side, gazing at them in dread and shyness.

      There was Count Bernard, of Harcourt, called the “Dane,” 2 with his shaggy red hair and beard, to which a touch of grey had given a strange unnatural tint, his eyes looking fierce and wild under his thick eyebrows, one of them mis-shapen in consequence of a sword cut, which had left a broad red and purple scar across both cheek and forehead.  There, too, came tall Baron Rainulf, of Ferrières, cased in a linked steel hauberk, that rang as he walked, and the men-at-arms, with helmets and shields, looking as if Sir Eric’s armour that hung in the hail had come to life and was walking about.

      They sat down to Fru Astrida’s banquet, the old Lady at the Duke’s right hand, and the Count of Harcourt on his left; Osmond carved for the Duke, and Richard handed his cup and trencher.  All through the meal, the Duke and his Lords talked earnestly of the expedition on which they were bound to meet Count Arnulf of Flanders, on a little islet in the river Somme, there to come to some agreement, by which Arnulf might make restitution to Count Herluin of Montreuil, for certain wrongs which he had done him.

      Some said that this would be the fittest time for requiring Arnulf to yield up some towns on his borders, to which Normandy had long laid claim, but the Duke shook his head, saying that he must seek no selfish advantage, when called to judge between others.

      Richard was rather tired of their grave talk, and thought the supper very long; but at last it was over, the Grace was said, the boards which had served for tables were removed, and as it was still light, some of the guests went to see how their steeds had been bestowed, others to look at Sir Eric’s horses and hounds, and others collected together in groups.

      The Duke had time to attend to his little boy, and Richard sat upon his knee and talked, told about all his pleasures, how his arrow had hit the deer to-day, how Sir Eric let him ride out to the chase on his little pony, how Osmond would take him to bathe in the cool bright river, and how he had watched the raven’s nest in the top of the old tower.

      Duke William listened, and smiled, and seemed as well pleased to hear as the boy was to tell.  “And, Richard,” said he at last, “have you nought to tell me of Father Lucas, and his great book?  What, not a word?  Look up, Richard, and tell me how it goes with the learning.” 3

      “Oh, father!” said Richard, in a low voice, playing with the clasp of his father’s belt, and looking down, “I don’t like those crabbed letters on the old yellow parchment.”

      “But you try to learn them, I hope!” said the Duke.

      “Yes, father, I do, but they are very hard, and the words are so long, and Father Lucas will always come when the sun is so bright, and the wood so green, that I know not how to bear to be kept poring over those black hooks and strokes.”

      “Poor little fellow,” said Duke William, smiling and Richard, rather encouraged, went on more boldly.  “You do not know this reading, noble father?”

      “To my sorrow, no,” said the Duke.

      “And Sir Eric cannot read, nor Osmond, nor any one, and why must I read, and cramp my fingers with writing, just as if I was a clerk, instead of a young Duke?”  Richard looked up in his father’s face, and then hung his head, as if half-ashamed of questioning his will, but the Duke answered him without displeasure.

      “It is hard, no doubt, my boy, to you now, but it will be the better for you in the end.  I would give much to be able myself to read those holy books which I must now only hear read to me by a clerk, but since I have had the wish, I have had no time to learn as you have now.”

      “But Knights and Nobles never learn,” said Richard.

      “And do you think it a reason they never should?  But you are wrong, my boy, for the Kings of France and England, the Counts of Anjou, of Provence, and Paris, yes, even King Hako of Norway, 4 can all read.”

      “I tell you, Richard, when the treaty was drawn up for restoring this King Louis to his throne, I was ashamed to find myself one of the few crown vassals who could not write his name thereto.”

      “But none is so wise or so good as you, father,” said Richard, proudly.  “Sir Eric often says so.”

      “Sir Eric loves his Duke too well to see his faults,” said Duke William; “but far better and wiser might I have been, had I been taught by such masters as you may be.  And hark, Richard, not only can all Princes here read, but in England, King Ethelstane would have every Noble taught; they study in his own palace, with his brothers, and read the good words that King Alfred the truth-teller put into their own tongue for them.”

      “I hate the English,” said Richard, raising his head and looking very fierce.

      “Hate them? and wherefore?”

      “Because they traitorously killed the brave Sea King Ragnar!  Fru Astrida sings his death-song, which he chanted when the vipers were gnawing him to death, and he gloried to think how his sons would bring the ravens to feast upon the Saxon.  Oh! had I been his son, how I would have carried on the feud!  How I would have laughed when I cut down the false traitors, and burnt their palaces!”  Richard’s eye kindled, and his words, as he spoke the old Norse language, flowed into the sort of wild verse in which the Sagas or legendary songs were composed, and which, perhaps, he was unconsciously repeating.

      Duke William looked grave.

      “Fru Astrida must sing you no more such Sagas,” said he, “if they fill your mind with these revengeful thoughts, fit only for the worshippers of Odin and Thor.  Neither Ragnar nor his sons knew better than to rejoice in this deadly vengeance, but we, who are Christians, know that it is for us to forgive.”

      “The English had slain their father!” said Richard, looking up with wondering dissatisfied eyes.

      “Yes, Richard, and I speak not against them, for they were even as we should have been, had not King Harold the fair-haired driven your grandfather from Denmark.  They had not been taught the truth, but to us it has been said, ‘Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.’  Listen to me, my son, Christian as is this nation of ours, this duty of forgiveness is too often neglected, but let it not be so with you.  Bear in mind, whenever you see the Cross 5 marked on our banner, or carved in stone on the Churches, that it speaks of forgiveness to us; but of that pardon we shall never taste if we forgive not our enemies.  Do you mark me, boy?”

      Richard hesitated a little, and then said, “Yes, father, but I could never have pardoned, had I been one of Ragnar’s sons.”

      “It may be that you will be in their case, Richard,” said the Duke, “and should I fall, as it may well be I shall, in some of the contests that tear to pieces this unhappy Kingdom of France, then, remember what I say now.  I charge you, on your duty to God and to your father, that you keep up no feud, no hatred, but rather that you should deem me best revenged, when you have with heart and hand, given the fullest proof of forgiveness to your enemy.  Give me your word that you will.”

      “Yes, father,” said Richard, with rather a subdued tone, and resting his head on his father’s shoulder.  There was a silence for a little space, during which he began to revive into playfulness, to stroke the Duke’s short curled beard, and play with his embroidered collar.

      In so doing, his fingers caught hold of a silver chain, and pulling it out with a jerk, he saw a silver key attached to it.  “Oh, what is that?” he asked eagerly.  “What does that key unlock?”

      “My greatest treasure,” replied Duke William, as he replaced the chain and key within his robe.

      “Your greatest treasure, father!  Is that your coronet?”

      “You will know one day,” said his father, putting the little hand down from its too busy investigations; and some of the Barons at that moment returning into the hall, he had no more leisure to bestow on his little son.

      The next day, after morning service

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