to make amends by appointing a royal officer to a prebend in his cathedral, saying that “benefices were for clergy and not for courtiers.”  A general storm of abuse and calumny broke out against him at the palace.  Henry angrily summoned him to his presence.  The bishop was received by the king in an open space under the trees, where he sat with all the courtiers ranged in a close circle.  Hugh drew near and saluted, but there was no answer.  Upon this the bishop put his hand lightly on the noble who sat next to the king, and made place for himself by Henry’s side.  Still the silence was unbroken, the king speechless as a furious man choked with his anger.  Looking up at last, he asked a servant for needle and thread, and began to sew up a torn bandage which was tied round a wounded finger.  The lively Frenchman observed him patiently; at last he turned to the king, “How like you are now,” he said, “to your cousins of Falaise!” The king’s quick wit caught the extravagant impertinence, and in an ecstasy of delight he rolled on the ground with laughter, while a perplexed merriment ran round the circle of courtiers who scarce knew what the joke might be.  At last the king found his voice.  “Do you hear the insolence of this barbarian?  I myself will explain.”  And he reminded them of his ancestress, the peasant girl Arlotta of Falaise, where the citizens were famous for their working in skins.  “And now, good man,” he said, turning to the bishop in a broad good-humour, “how is it that without consulting us you have laid our forester under anathema, and made of no account the poor little request we made, and sent not even a message of explanation or excuse?”—­“Ah,” said Hugh, “I knew in what a rage you and your courtiers were!” and he then proceeded boldly to declare what were his rights and duties as a bishop of the Church of God.  Henry gave way on every point.  The forester had to make open satisfaction and was publicly flogged, and from that time the bishop was no more tormented to set courtiers over the Church.  There were many other theologians besides Hugh of Lincoln among the king’s friends—­Baldwin, afterwards archbishop; Foliot, one of the chief scholars of his time; Richard of Ilchester, as learned in theology as capable in administration; John of Oxford, lawyer and theologian; Peter of Blois, ready for all kinds of services that might be asked, and as skilled in theology as in rhetoric.  Henry was never known to choose an unworthy friend; laymen could only grumble that he was accustomed to take advice of bishops and abbots rather than that of knights even about military matters.  But theology was not the main preoccupation of the court.  Henry, inquisitive in all things, learned in most, formed the centre of a group of distinguished men which, for varied intellectual activity, had no rival save at the university of Paris.  There was not a court in Christendom in the affairs of which the king was not concerned, and a crowd of travellers was for ever coming and going.  English chroniclers