But Edward, as ill-liking the form of the giant as the subject of his
lay, said, pushing back his seat as far as he could:

"Nay, nay, we excuse thee, we excuse thee, tall man." Nevertheless,
the minstrel still knelt, and so, with a look of profound humility,
did the priest. Then both slowly rose, and at a sign from the Duke,
passed to the other side of the table, standing behind Fitzosborne's
chair.

"Clerk," said William, eying deliberately the sallow face of the
ecclesiastic; "I know thee of old; and if the Church have sent me an
envoy, per la resplendar De, it should have sent me at least an
abbot."

"Hein, hein!" said Taillefer, bluntly, "vex not my bon camarade,
Count of the Normans. Gramercy, thou wilt welcome him, peradventure,
better than me; for the singer tells but of discord, and the sage may
restore the harmony."

"Ha!" said the Duke, and the frown fell so dark over his eyes that the
last seemed only visible by two sparks of fire. "I guess, my proud
Vavasours are mutinous. Retire, thou and thy comrade. Await me in my
chamber. The feast shall not flag in London because the wind blows a
gale in Rouen."

The two envoys, since so they seemed, bowed in silence and withdrew.

"Nought of ill-tidings, I trust," said Edward, who had not listened to
the whispered communications that had passed between the Duke and his