One difference in our looks there was, however, which made the porter silent—­we wore mail and swords, and at that he seemed to stare in wonder.

Then I held up the ring and said, “Messages from Osric the Sheriff.”

Whereupon the wicket closed suddenly, and there was a sound of unbarring, and the door opened and we were let in, the rest, who must wait, grumbling loudly at the preference shown to us, while the beggars, who had roused at the sound of the hinges creaking, went back whining in their disappointment.

Then one came and bade us follow him, and we were led into the abbey hall and there waited for a little.  There were a few monks about, passing and repassing, but they paid no attention to us, and we, too, were silent in that quiet place.  Only a great fire crackled at one end of the hall, else there would have been no noise at all.  It was, I thought, a strangely peaceful place into which to bring news of war and tumult.

Then I thought of Ealhstan the Bishop, as he had seemed to me when he judged me, and that seemed years ago, nor could I think of myself as the same who had stood a prisoner before him.  So I wondered if I should seem the same to him.

Now it is strange that of Eanulf, the mighty ealdorman who had pronounced my doom, I thought little at all, but as of one who was by the bishop.  All that day’s doings seemed to have been as a dream, wherein I and Wulfhere had living part with this bishop, while the rest, Eanulf and Matelgar and the others, were but phantoms standing by.

Maybe this is not so wonderful, for the doom was the doom of the Moot, and spoken by Eanulf as its mouthpiece, and that passed on my body only.  And Matelgar had found a new place in my thoughts, but Wulfhere was my friend, and the bishop had spoken to my heart, so that his words and looks abode there.

Then the servant cut short my thoughts, and led us to the bishop, bidding me unhelm first.

He sat in a wide chamber, with another most venerable-looking man at the same table.  And all the walls were covered with books, and on the table, too, lay one or two great ones, open, and bright with gold and crimson borderings, and great litters on the pages.  But those things I saw presently, only the bishop first of all, sitting quietly and very upright in his great chair, dressed in a long purple robe, and with a golden cross hanging on his breast.

And for a moment as I looked at him, I remembered the day of the Moot, and my heart rose up, and I was ready to hide my face for minding the shame thereof.

But he looked at me curiously, and then all of a sudden smiled very kindly and said: 

“Heregar, my son, are you the messenger?”

And I knelt before him on one knee, and held out the ring for him to take, and he did so, laying it on the table before him—­for my errand was in hand yet.

“Then,” he said, “things are none so ill with you, my son,” and he smiled gravely; “but do your errand first, and afterwards we will speak of that.”