"Oh may I but bear his body home to my poor mother," moaned the
lad.

"We will ask the Conqueror to grant thy petition, poor mourner,"
said the sympathising monk.

"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."