Then, as in a dream, I listened to words that I will not recall, making good those accusations.  And through all that false witness there seemed to me to run, as it were, a thread of those foolish, boy-wise words of mine that had, and meant, no harm, but on which were now built mountains of seeming proof.  So that, when at last all those men had spoken I was dumb, and knew that I had no defence.  For no proof of loyalty had I to give—­for proof had never been required of me.  And a man may live a quiet life, and yet conspire most foully.

As my accusers went back to their seats there ran a murmur among the folk, and then a silence fell.  The level afternoon sun seemed to blaze on me alone, while to me the air seemed thick and close, and full of whispers.

Ealhstan the Bishop broke the silence.

“The proof is weighty, and Matelgar the Thane is an honourable man,” he said, sadly enough; “but if a man conspires, there needs must be one other, at least, in the plot.  Surely we have heard little of this.”

Then was added more evidence.  And men proved lonely journeys of mine, with evasion of notice thereof, and disavowal of the same.  Yet I thought that Matelgar the Thane knew of my love for Alswythe, his daughter, whom I would meet, as lovers will meet, unobserved if they may, in all honour.

Yet, as I listened, it was of these meetings they spoke, saying only that I had been able to concord whom I met, and where, though Matelgar must have known it.  When that was finished, Eanulf bade me call men to disprove these things.  And I could not.  For my accusers were my close companions, and of Alswythe I would not speak, and I must fain hold my peace.

Only, after a silence, I could forbear no longer, and cried: 

“Will none speak for me?”

Then one by one my father’s friends rose and told what they knew of my boyhood and training; but of these last few years of my manhood they, alas for my own folly could not speak.  What they might they did, and my heart turned to them in gratitude for a little, though Matelgar’s treachery had seemed to make it a stone within me.

They ended, and the silence came again.  It seemed long, and weighed on me like a thunderstorm in the air, nor should I have started had the whole assembly broken into one thunderclap of hatred of me.  But instead of that, came the calm voice of Ealhstan the Bishop: 

“Eanulf and freemen of Somerset, there is one who witnesses for this Heregar more plainly than all these.  That witness is himself, in his youth and inexperience.  What are the wild words a boy will say?  Who will plot against a mighty king with a boy for partner?  What weight have his words?  What help can come from his following?  It seems to me that Matelgar the Thane and these friends of his might well have laughed away all these foolishnesses, rather than hoard them up to bring before this solemn council.  This, too, I hold for injustice, that one should be kept in ward till his trial, unknowing of all that is against him, unhelped by the counsel of any freeman, and unable to send word to those who should stand by him at his trial.  Indeed, this thing must be righted, I tell you, before England is a free land.”