CHAPTER XIII.

How I arrived at _St. Malo_, and, proceeding to the Abbey of _St. Michael de Tombelaine_, found friends to set me on my road.

With a straight course that naught delayed we ran to St. Malo, that ancient town hard by the holy Mount of St Michael, the mother-house of our Vale Abbey, where I had good hope that I should quickly thence be sped upon my way.

So when we had come to port, bidding the captain farewell, I chartered a good horse to reach the holy place where, as men say, the blessed Michael came down to bid St. Aubert build him a brave house on that lonely rock.

It was the hour of vespers when I attained the hostel of the mount, but I had been aware the last few miles of the sound of a trot behind me, whose pace was marvellous like mine own. If I stayed a moment, the rider behind likewise stayed; if I went at a gallop, he galloped also. It gave me some concern to be followed by a caitiff, watching for my purse, as I had only a sheath-knife with which to defend myself.

However, seeing the abbey lights gleam kindly through its narrow windows, I urged my beast on, though in sooth she was weary; and as I clattered at last into the yard, saw, as I waited for a space by the gateway, my follower walk his steed quietly by, peering the while as he passed.

Now, I strove as soon as was convenient to gain audience of my lord abbot. And this was not easy at that time for a simple secular priest, such as I appeared, for there was ever strife and common contempt 'twixt monk and parish priest, even as it is to-day.

"Audience of the holy father--and to-night?" repeated the seneschal, with proud disdain. "Good son, it is impossible, the abbot is engaged with knight and bishop; keep thou thy little matters till thou canst catch his rein, as he rides forth to-morrow."

"It is no little matter, good brother," I pleaded, "It is of life and death to many holy men."

"If it concerned a kingdom," returned he, "I could not send thee to the abbot now--with the little matters of thy parish to plague him withal," the fellow muttered under his breath.

As we debated thus, a most reverend monk passed through the corridor, of a strangely lofty and noble air and of a winning sweetness, who stayed his journey as he saw my evident distress.

"What ails thee, O my son?" said he.

"I bear grave and sad news to my lord abbot," I said, "and news that he should know without delay."

"What is thy name?" he said, and searched me kindly with his eyes.

I could not lie to him, so I said simply, "Nigel," as I would fain say no more.

"Then, good Father Nigel," said he, seeing my reluctance, "I will go whisper in my lord's ear, if thou wilt tell me more clearly of thy business."

"Tell him," said I, "that Abbot Michael, his good brother, has sent me with sad news of the miseries of Vale Abbey."

"So, my son," said the monk, gently, and disappeared through the stairway, whence he presently returned, and led me with him.

He led me to a certain fair chamber, wherein sat many great lords around my lord abbot.

"Who is this, brought by our brother of Bec?" said one, as I entered by the side of that great scholar, Lanfranc, the Abbot of Bec.

"This," said the abbot, an Italian also, "is an envoy from the isle of Guernsey, who comes with greeting from our brother yonder, bearing a sad tale with him, or I am mistaken."

I knelt to my lord, as he sat in his rich-broidered cloak, with his plump legs cross-gartered, as befits great nobles, and, kissing his hand, begged that I might speak on.

"Nay; first, sir priest," he said, "tell us thy name, and then thy story."

"Indeed, father," I replied, "I am not that I seem; no priest am I, though bred in Vale cloister in Guernsey."

"Then how darest thou," said he, hotly, "to come hither in this habit?"

"If thou but knewest the greatness of the perils of our brethren, how they are near being murdered by savage men, thou wouldst forgive me, father. But I bear a name none need fear to own--I am Nigel de Bessin, and mine uncle its vicomte, would vouch for me, were he here----"

"As indeed he is," put in a pleasant voice of a gentleman that in scarlet cloak sat by my lord's right hand. "And thou art my nephew?" said he, as I moved forward to do him courtesy.

When we were made known he bade me proceed, assuring me that all my wishes should be fulfilled.

"My lords," said I, "the good brothers of St. Michael of the Vale in Guernsey are besieged and shut in this four weeks, nay, stormed and murdered by a most pestilent villain and an innumerable horde of Moorish devils that are settled in the isle. Men call him Le Grand Sarrasin, and as ye have doubtless heard, he is a caitiff without mercy, that wars on women as on men, on monks and husbandmen. This is he that calls himself the Lord of the Norman seas, in clear treachery to our lord the duke, and so cunning he is that he hath watchmen and spies at every harbour, that he may establish himself more stoutly ere help come."

"And didst thou escape his hands?" said mine uncle, pondering, head upon hand.

"Nay; he caught me and shut me in the womb of the earth, but by God's grace I escaped him--but this matters not. Give me your good aid to the duke, that in all haste I may return with a great host to save the brethren."

"How old art thou, my son?" asked Lanfranc.

"Father, but sixteen years," said I, as though I feared they might smile at me.

"And thou," said he, in admiration, "hast come through these terrors in such a spirit of courage, wisdom, and love. Verily, my lords, ye see here a child that God has led marvellously on an undoubted work of charity."

While their eyes rested on me with a wonder I loved not--for, indeed, what had I done above what any knightly youth should do for those he loves?--I spake on, telling them how few days' food remained at Vale, and how strait they were shut in, and begging them to see that I passed on to William swiftly.

"The duke is far north now," said the abbot, "gathering strength for the dangers that are looming from France. It is a sore ill time to beseech him. Yet matters will not wait. In this case," he said strangely, "thou wilt be thine own best advocate with him, for well he loves a brave and knightly deed. With all haste fit letters shall be written to win thee a ready entrance to his presence--to his heart thou must win thine own way, as thou hast with us."

"Teach him not, then," said Lanfranc, "too piteously of the sorrows of our brethren, for a few monks more or less matter not to him, but represent the arrogance of this Sarrasin, and how clearly he claims the title of Lord of the Seas. That will touch best our sovereign lord."

"Is not my Lord Maugher still in Guernsey?" asked the abbot, pondering.

"Yea, he is," I said.

"And how acts he in this trouble? Is he besieged with the brethren, or goes he free?"

"My lords," said I, "as I was led captive through the Sarrasin's castle, I saw the same evil beast that my lord calls Folly, but men his familiar demon. I saw it in the very presence of Geoffroy; therefore I think these evil men are hand and glove together."

"Nay--wilt thou swear this?" said Lanfranc.

"Ay, that I will," I said.

"Then this also must be made known the duke," said Lanfranc, darkly.

"Now, my dear son," said the abbot, "retire to our chamberlain. Cast off these poor weeds, and take from him aught in his presses that befits thy dignity, and then return to us, that we may see our vicomte's nephew in his bravery."

With a courtly bow I left them.

Now, the abbot's chamberlain found me a fair good suit, more courtly than I had ever worn, and I scarce knew myself in the glory of its rich, dyed cloth. Fair linen next my skin, fit for an abbot's wear, a long blue tunic broidered with gold, and a trim girdle, a grand surcoat of damask, and a gay red cloak over all, with an emerald brooch on my right shoulder. With bright stockings and a little ribboned hat I was no longer Nigel the scholar of the Vale, but Nigel de Bessin, gentleman and courtly soldier.

So drest and refreshed with food, I returned to my lord's chamber, where at mine uncle's footstool I heard these noble lords and churchmen speak of the circle of events from England to Italy, and through all their words the one great name of William seemed to be present as the centre of their surmisings. So deep had this son of Rollo stamped himself in the life of those rare days.

"Strange news from England, this," said one, "now that the Atheling is dead. We can guess of a truth whom the royal priest will light upon, as he grows near his end."

"He loves not Godwin's brood," said another.

"Then the prophecy that set Henry of France afire will yet be true in another way. William shall reign in London, not in Paris," said Lanfranc.

"And thou at Canterbury, good brother," said the abbot.

And, indeed, ere many years this came to pass.