Many great men sat at the High Table - chosen by the King for their wits, not for their birth. I have forgotten their names, and their faces I only saw that one night. But' - Sir Richard turned in his stride - 'but Rahere, flaming in black and scarlet among our guests, the hollow of his dark cheek flushed with wine - long, laughing Rahere, and the stricken sadness of his face when he was not twisting it about - Rahere I shall never forget.
'At the King's outgoing De Aquila bade me follow him, with his great bishops and two great barons, to the little pavilion. We had devised jugglers and dances for the Court's sport; but Henry loved to talk gravely to grave men, and De Aquila had told him of my travels to the world's end. We had a fire of apple-wood, sweet as incense, - and the curtains at the door being looped up, we could hear the music and see the lights shining on mail and dresses.
'Rahere lay behind the King's chair. The questions he darted forth at me were as shrewd as the flames. I was telling of our fight with the apes, as ye called them, at the world's end. [See 'The Knights of the Joyous Venture' in PUCK OF POOK'S HILL.]
'"But where is the Saxon knight that went with you?" said Henry. "He must confirm these miracles."
'"He is busy," said Rahere, "confirming a new miracle."
'"Enough miracles for today," said the King. "Rahere, you have saved your long neck. Fetch the Saxon knight."
'"Pest on it," said Rahere. "Who would be a King's jester? I'll bring him, Brother, if you'll see that none of your home-brewed bishops taste my wine while I am away." So he jingled forth between the men-at-arms at the door.
'Henry had made many bishops in England without the Pope's leave. I know not the rights of the matter, but only Rahere dared jest about it. We waited on the King's next word.
'"I think Rahere is jealous of you," said he, smiling, to Nigel of Ely. He was one bishop; and William of Exeter, the other -
Wal-wist the Saxons called him - laughed long. "Rahere is a priest at heart. Shall I make him a bishop, De Aquila?" says the King.
'"There might be worse," said our Lord of Pevensey. "Rahere would never do what Anselm has done."
'This Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, had gone off raging to the Pope at Rome, because Henry would make bishops without his leave either. I knew not the rights of it, but De Aquila did, and the King laughed.
'"Anselm means no harm. He should have been a monk, not a bishop," said the King. "I'll never quarrel with Anselm or his Pope till they quarrel with my England. If we can keep the King's peace till my son comes to rule, no man will lightly quarrel with our England."
'"Amen," said De Aquila. "But the King's peace ends when the King dies."
'That is true. The King's peace dies with the King. The custom then is that all laws are outlaw, and men do what they will till the new King is chosen.
'"I will amend that," said the King hotly. "I will have it so that though King, son, and grandson were all slain in one day, still the King's peace should hold over all England! What is a man that his mere death must upheave a people? We must have the Law."
'"Truth," said William of Exeter; but that he would have said to any word of the King.
'The two great barons behind said nothing. This teaching was clean against their stomachs, for when the King's peace ends, the great barons go to war and increase their lands. At that instant we heard Rahere's voice returning, in a scurril Saxon rhyme against William of Exeter:
'"Well wist Wal-wist where lay his fortune When that he fawned on the King for his crozier," and amid our laughter he burst in, with one arm round Hugh, and one round the old pilgrim of Netherfield.
'"Here is your knight, Brother," said he, "and for the better disport of the company, here is my fool. Hold up, Saxon Samson, the gates of Gaza are clean carried away!"
'Hugh broke loose, white and sick, and staggered to my side; the old man blinked upon the company.
'We looked at the King, but he smiled.
'"Rahere promised he would show me some sport after supper to cover his morning's offence," said he to De Aquila. "So this is thy man, Rahere?"
'"Even so," said Rahere. "My man he has been, and my protection he has taken, ever since I found him under the gallows at Stamford Bridge telling the kites atop of it that he was - Harold of England!"
'There was a great silence upon these last strange words, and Hugh hid his face on my shoulder, woman-fashion.
'"It is most cruel true," he whispered to me. "The old man proved it to me at the beat after you left, and again in our hut even now. It is Harold, my King!"
'De Aquila crept forward. He walked about the man and swallowed.
'"Bones of the Saints!" said he, staring.
'"Many a stray shot goes too well home," said Rahere.
The old man flinched as at an arrow. "Why do you hurt me still?" he said in Saxon. "It was on some bones of some Saints that I promised I would give my England to the Great Duke." He turns on us all crying, shrilly: "Thanes, he had caught me at Rouen - a lifetime ago. If I had not promised, I should have lain there all my life. What else could I have done? I have lain in a strait prison all my life none the less. There is no need to throw stones at 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.
