“He shall not die,” said Geoffrey, “if we can save him.  William must acquit him if he hear all.”

“Acquit him, yes,” said Lanfranc, “of sacrilege and parricide; but not, I fear, of the guilt of rebellion against his lawful king {xxiv}.”

“At least, if he must die, let him die freed from the supposed guilt of such awful sacrilege, and let men know to what kind of father King William committed the innocent English lad.”

“Most certainly:  if we cannot save him from the consequences of his rash appeal to the sword, we will yet save him from the cord, or worse, the stake, which might be thought the not inappropriate penalty of the destruction of two successive houses of God by fire.”

“The stake! it is too horrible to think of!” said the monk; “thank God I have not sought thee in vain.  Forgive me, my lord, but the lad is very dear to me.”

“Nor is my own interest much less keen in him,” said Geoffrey.  “I first met him at Senlac, where he sought his father’s corpse amidst the slain, and since that time have watched his tragic career not without grief.”

“But one question remains,” spake Lanfranc.  “The documents will be disputed:  how shall we prove them genuine?”

“There is much internal evidence; but may not some of the witnesses of the crimes be living?  For instance, the Jew, Abraham of Toledo, he who sold the poisons to Hugo?” said Geoffrey.

“He shall be sought for,” replied Lanfranc.  “Meanwhile, Father Kenelm, thou art my guest, and I must at once commend you to the chamberlain, who will supply all your wants.  You need food and rest.”

Bowing humbly—­his heart full of gratitude—­the good old Benedictine followed the chamberlain, who appeared at the summons of the primate, to more comfortable lodgings and better fare than he had known for years.

CHAPTER XXII.  THE CHAPTER HOUSE OF ABINGDON.

On the morrow of Michaelmas, in the year of grace 1071, an imposing group of warriors and ecclesiastics was gathered in the chapter house of the ancient Abbey of Abingdon.

The chamber in question was of rectangular form, but terminated at the eastern end in an apse, where, beneath a column with radiating arches, was the throne of the Lord Abbot.

A stone seat encompassed the other three sides of the building, cushions interposing, however, between the person and the bare stone beneath, as was meet.

The walls were arcaded, so as to form stalls, and in the arcades were pictures of the Saints of the order, in glowing colours—­St. Benedict occupying the place of honour.  Nor was St. Dunstan, the most noted of English Benedictines, unrepresented.

A light burned perpetually in the midst of this chamber, framed so as to image a tongue of fire, emblem of Him, whose inspiration was sought at the gatherings of the chapter for deliberation.