A Thane of Wessex | Page 5

they
are brought against me, or by whom. Let them speak--there are those
here who will answer for my loyalty."
Now, as I spoke thus quietly, Eanulf's brows relaxed, and I saw, too,
that the bishop looked more kindly on me. Eanulf spoke again.
"Know you not by whom these charges are brought?"
"Truly, I know not, Lord Eanulf," I answered, "for no man may say
these things of me, save he lies."
"Have you enemies?" he asked.
"None known to me," I told him truthfully, for I had, as my father,
lived at peace with all.

"Then is the testimony of those against you the heavier," said the
ealdorman.
And with that he turned to the bishop before I could make reply; and
they spoke together for a while in Latin, which I knew not.
So I looked to my friend Matelgar for comfort, but he seemed to see me
not, looking away elsewhere. And I thought him plainly troubled for
me, for his face was white, and the hand on which his chin rested was
turning the ends of his beard between his teeth, so that he bit it--as I
had seen him do before when in doubt or perplexity.
As I watched him, the bishop spoke in Saxon, saying that it would be
well to call the accusers first and hear them, that I might make such
reply as was possible to me.
"For," said he, "it seems to me that this Heregar speaks truth in saying
that he knows not his accusers."
Then Eanulf bowed gravely, and all the circle was hushed, for a little
talk had murmured round as these two spoke in private.
And now I will forbear, lest the rage and shame of it should get the
mastery of me again, and I should again think and speak things for
which (as once before, at the bidding of the man I love best on earth) I
must do long penance, if that may avail. For, truly, I forgave once, and
I would not recall that forgiveness. Yet I must tell somewhat.
Eanulf bade the accusers stand forward and give their evidence; and
slowly, and, as it were, unwillingly, rose Matelgar, my friend, as I had
deemed him, and behind him a score of those friends of his who had
kept me company for long days on moor and in forest, and had feasted
in my hall.
Again that warning grasp on my shoulder, and I thought that surely
either I or they had mistaken the summons, and that my defenders had
come forward.

Then, as in a dream, I listened to words that I will not recall, making
good those accusations. And through all that false witness there seemed
to me to run, as it were, a thread of those foolish, boy-wise words of
mine that had, and meant, no harm, but on which were now built
mountains of seeming proof. So that, when at last all those men had
spoken I was dumb, and knew that I had no defence. For no proof of
loyalty had I to give--for proof had never been required of me. And a
man may live a quiet life, and yet conspire most foully.
As my accusers went back to their seats there ran a murmur among the
folk, and then a silence fell. The level afternoon sun seemed to blaze on
me alone, while to me the air seemed thick and close, and full of
whispers.
Ealhstan the Bishop broke the silence.
"The proof is weighty, and Matelgar the Thane is an honourable man,"
he said, sadly enough; "but if a man conspires, there needs must be one
other, at least, in the plot. Surely we have heard little of this."
Then was added more evidence. And men proved lonely journeys of
mine, with evasion of notice thereof, and disavowal of the same. Yet I
thought that Matelgar the Thane knew of my love for Alswythe, his
daughter, whom I would meet, as lovers will meet, unobserved if they
may, in all honour.
Yet, as I listened, it was of these meetings they spoke, saying only that
I had been able to concord whom I met, and where, though Matelgar
must have known it. When that was finished, Eanulf bade me call men
to disprove these things. And I could not. For my accusers were my
close companions, and of Alswythe I would not speak, and I must fain
hold my peace.
Only, after a silence, I could forbear no longer, and cried:
"Will none speak for me?"
Then one by one my father's friends rose and told what they knew of

my boyhood and training; but of these last few years of my manhood
they, alas for my own folly could not speak. What they might they did,