“William will not refuse his prayer, father, if thy superior, the Bishop of Coutances, urges it; he is all-powerful just now,” said Eustace of Blois.  “The poor boy shall plead himself.  Come, my lad, to the pavilion; there shalt thou ask for and obtain the poor boon thou cravest.”

The unhappy Wilfred—­for our readers have of course recognised the young heir of Aescendune—­repressed his sobs, strove to wipe away his tears, as if he felt them unmanly, and followed his conductors, the knight and the monk, towards the ducal tent.

There William, attended by all his chief officers—­by Odo of Bayeux and Geoffrey of Coutances, by Hugh de Bigod and Robert de Mortain, and some few others of his mightiest nobles, was taking the evening meal, served by a few young pages, themselves the sons of nobles or knights, who learnt the duties of chivalry by beginning at the lowest grade, if to wait on the Conqueror could be so considered.

Speaking to the sentinel, the good chaplain was allowed to enter, and whisper low in the ear of the bishop.

“I can refuse thee nought after thy good service,” said the courtly prelate.  “Thou say’st the poor boy has a boon to crave—­the body of his sire, and begs through me—­I will out, and speak to him.”

“Thy name, my son?” said Geoffrey to Wilfred.

“Wilfred, son of the Thane of Aescendune, in Mercia.”

“Hast thou been in the battle?”

“Only since all was over, or I had died by his side.”

“The saints have preserved thee for better things than to die in a cause accursed by the Church.  Nay, my son, I blame thee not, thou art too young to know better.”

And truly the boy’s face and manner, winning though suffused with tears, might have softened a harder heart than beat beneath the rochet of the Bishop of Coutances, warrior prelate though he was.

So, without any further delay, he led the boy into the presence of the mighty Conqueror.

“Who is this stripling? an English lad, my lord of Coutances?”

“He has come to beg permission to carry away the body of his sire.  Bend thy knee, my lad, and salute thy future king.”

“Nay, thy present one; coronation will but put the seal on accomplished facts,” said Eustace.

But young though Wilfred was, he had his father’s spirit in him, and spoke in broken sentences.

“My lord,” he said, “I cannot own thee as my king.  My father would not have me abjure all he taught me before his body is yet cold.  I but ask thee as a kind enemy, who wars not with the dead, to give me leave to remove him from this fatal spot—­to take him home.  Thou wilt not deny an English lad this poor boon, mighty duke as thou art.”

William understood English well, and was touched by the boyish spirit of the address, by the absence of fear.

“Thou dost not fear me then?” he said.

“He who lies dead on yon field for his country’s sake taught me to despise fear.”