CHAPTER III.


The next morning William was long closeted alone with Lanfranc,--that
man, among the most remarkable of his age, of whom it was said, that
"to comprehend the extent of his talents, one must be Herodian in
grammar, Aristotle in dialectics, Cicero in rhetoric, Augustine and
Jerome in Scriptural lore," [66]--and ere the noon the Duke's gallant
and princely train were ordered to be in readiness for return home.

The crowd in the broad space, and the citizens from their boats in the
river, gazed on the knights and steeds of that gorgeous company,
already drawn up and awaiting without the open gates the sound of the
trumpets that should announce the Duke's departure. Before the hall-
door in the inner court were his own men. The snow-white steed of
Odo; the alezan of Fitzosborne; and, to the marvel of all, a small
palfrey plainly caparisoned. What did that palfrey amid those
steeds?--the steeds themselves seemed to chafe at the companionship;
the Duke's charger pricked up his ears and snorted; the Lord of
Breteuil's alezan kicked out, as the poor nag humbly drew near to make
acquaintance; and the prelate's white barb, with red vicious eye, and
ears laid down, ran fiercely at the low-bred intruder, with difficulty
reined in by the squires, who shared the beast's amaze and resentment.

Meanwhile the Duke thoughtfully took his way to Edward's apartments.
In the anteroom were many monks and many knights; but conspicuous
amongst them all was a tall and stately veteran, leaning on a great
two-handed sword, and whose dress and fashion of beard were those of
the last generation, the men who had fought with Canute the Great or
Edmund Ironsides. So grand was the old man's aspect, and so did he