me." He guarded his face with his arms, and
shivered. "Now his madness will strike him down," said Rahere. "Cast out
the evil spirit, one of you new bishops."

'Said William of Exeter: "Harold was slain at Santlache fight. All the
world knows it."

'"I think this man must have forgotten," said Rahere. "Be comforted,
Father. Thou wast well slain at Hastings forty years gone, less three
months and nine days. Tell the King."

'The man uncovered his face. "I thought they would stone me," he said.
"I did not know I spoke before a King." He came to his full towering
height--no mean man, but frail beyond belief.

'The King turned to the tables, and held him out his own cup of wine.
The old man drank, and beckoned behind him, and, before all the Normans,
my Hugh bore away the empty cup, Saxon-fashion, upon the knee.

"It is Harold!" said De Aquila. "His own stiff-necked blood kneels to
serve him.

"Be it so," said Henry. "Sit, then, thou that hast been Harold of
England."

'The madman sat, and hard, dark Henry looked at him between half-shut
eyes. We others stared like oxen, all but De Aquila, who watched Rahere
as I have seen him watch a far sail on the sea.

'The wine and the warmth cast the old man into a dream. His white head
bowed; his hands hung. His eye indeed was opened, but the mind was
shut. When he stretched his feet, they were scurfed and road-cut like a
slave's.

'"Ah, Rahere," cried Hugh, "why hast thou shown him thus? Better have
let him die than shame him--and me!"

'"Shame thee?" said the King. "Would any baron of mine kneel to me if I
were witless, discrowned, and alone, and Harold had my throne?"

'"No," said Rahere. "I am the sole fool that might do it, Brother,
unless"--he pointed at De Aquila, whom he had only met that day--"yonder
tough Norman crab kept me company. But, Sir Hugh, I did not mean to
shame him. He hath been somewhat punished through, maybe, little fault
of his own."

'"Yet he lied to my Father, the Conqueror," said the King, and the old
man flinched in his sleep.

'"Maybe," said Rahere, "but thy Brother Robert, whose throat we purpose
soon to slit with our own hands--"

'"Hutt!" said the King, laughing. "I'll keep Robert at my table for
a life's guest when I catch him. Robert means no harm. It is all his
cursed barons."

'"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