“Thou know’st not what thou wouldst have, Christina,” said Edgar.  “One sea of blood wherever a Norman castle rises!  I love my people too well to lead them to a fruitless struggle with all the might of Normandy unless I saw better hope than lies before me now!  Mind thee, I swore to Duke William that I would withstand neither him nor any son of his whom the English duly hailed.  Yet, I will see how it is with this young man,” he added, as she fell back muttering, “Craven!  Who ever won throne without blood?”

Henry had an anxious face when he turned from his knight, who, no doubt, had told him how completely he was in the Atheling’s power.

“Sir Edgar,” he said, “a word with you.  Winchester is not far off—­ nor Porchester—­nor my brother William’s Free companies, and his treasure.  Normans will scarce see Duke William’s son tampered with, nor bow their heads to the English!”

“Belike, Henry of Normandy,” said Edgar, rising above him in his grave majesty.  “Yet have I a question or two to put to thee.  Thou art a graver, more scholarly man than thy brother, less like to be led away by furies.  Have the people of England and Normandy sworn to thee willingly as their King?”

“Even so, in the Minster,” Henry began, and would have said more, but Edgar again made his gesture of authority.

“Wilt thou grant them the charter of Alfred and Edward, with copies spread throughout the land?”

“I will.”

“Wilt thou do equal justice between English and Norman?”

“To the best of my power.”

“Wilt thou bring home the Archbishop, fill up the dioceses, do thy part by the Church?”

“So help me God, I will.”

“Then, Henry of Normandy, I, Edgar Atheling, kiss thine hand, and become thy man; and may God deal with thee, as thou dost with England.”

The noble form of Edgar bent before the slighter younger figure of Henry, who burst into tears, genuine at the moment, and vowed most earnestly to be a good King to the entire people.  No doubt, he meant it—­then.

And now—­far more humbly, he made his suit to the Atheling for the hand of his niece.

Edgar took her apart.  “Edith, canst thou brook this man?”

“Uncle, he was good to me when we were children together at the old King’s Court.  I have made no vows, I tore the veil mine aunt threw over me from mine head.  Methinks with me beside him he would never be hard to our people.”

“So be it then, Edith.  If he holds to this purpose when he hath been crowned at Westminster, he shall have thee, though I fear thou hast chosen a hard lot, and wilt rue the day when thou didst quit these peaceful walls.”

And one more stipulation was made by Edgar the Atheling, ere he rode to own Henry as King in the face of the English people at Westminster—­namely, that Boyatt should be restored to the true heiress the Lady Elftrud.  And to Roger, compensation was secretly made at the Atheling’s expense, ere departing with Bertram in his train for the Holy War.  For Bertram could not look at the scar without feeling himself a Crusader; and Edgar judged it better for England to remove himself for awhile, while he laid all earthly aspirations at the Feet of the King of kings.