Wulf the Saxon | Page 2

was a stately abbey, rivalling
the most famous of the English fanes of the period.
From his palace hard by King Edward had watched with the deepest
interest the erection of the minster that was the dearest object of his life.
The King was surrounded by Normans, the people among whom he had
lived until called from his retirement to ascend the throne of England,
and whom he loved far better than those over whom he reigned. He
himself still lived almost the life of a recluse. He was sincerely anxious
for the good of his people, but took small pains to ensure it, his life
being largely passed in religious devotions, and in watching over the
rise of the abbey he had founded.
A town had risen around minster and palace, and here the workmen
employed found their lodgings, while craftsmen of all descriptions
administered to the wants both of these and of the nobles of Edward's
court.
From one of the side doors of the palace a page, some fifteen or sixteen
years of age, ran down the steps in haste. He was evidently a Saxon by

his fair hair and fresh complexion, and any observer of the time would
have seen that he must, therefore, be in the employment of Earl Harold,
the great minister, who had for many years virtually ruled England in
the name of its king.
The young page was strongly and sturdily built. His garb was an
English one, but with some admixture of Norman fashions. He wore
tightly-fitting leg coverings, a garment somewhat resembling a blouse
of blue cloth girded in by a belt at the waist, and falling in folds to the
knee. Over his shoulders hung a short mantle of orange colour with a
hood. On his head was a cap with a wide brim that was turned up
closely behind, and projected in a pointed shovel shape in front. In his
belt was a small dagger. He wore shoes of light yellow leather fastened
by bands over the insteps. As he ran down the steps of the palace he
came into sharp contact with another page who had just turned the
corner of the street.
"I crave your pardon, Walter Fitz-Urse," he said hurriedly, "but I was in
haste and saw you not."
The other lad was as clearly Norman as the speaker was Saxon. He was
perhaps a year the senior in point of age, and taller by half a head, but
was of slighter build. The expression of his face differed as widely
from that of the Saxon as did his swarthy complexion and dark hair, for
while the latter face wore a frank and pleasant expression, that of the
Norman was haughty and arrogant.
"You did it on purpose," he said angrily, "and were we not under the
shadow of the palace I would chastise you as you deserve."
The smile died suddenly out from the Saxon's face. "Chastise me!" he
repeated. "You would find it somewhat difficult, Master Fitz-Urse. Do
you think you are talking to a Norman serf? You will please to
remember you are in England; but if you are not satisfied with my
apology, I will ride with you a few miles into the country, and we will
then try with equal arms where the chastisement is to fall."
The Norman put his hand to his dagger, but there was an ominous

growl from some men who had paused to listen to the quarrel.
"You are an insolent boor, Wulf of Steyning, and some day I will
punish you as you deserve."
"Some day," the Saxon laughed, "we shall, I hope, see you and all your
tribe sent across the Channel. There are few of us here who would not
see your backs with pleasure."
"What is this?" an imperious voice demanded; and turning round, Wulf
saw William, the Norman Bishop of London, who, followed by several
monks and pages, had pushed his way through the crowd. "Walter
Fitz-Urse, what means this altercation?"
"The Saxon ran against me of set purpose, my lord," Walter Fitz-Urse
said, in tones of deep humility, "and because I complained he
challenged me to ride with him into the country to fight, and then he
said he hoped that some day all the Normans would be sent across the
Channel."
"Is this so?" the prelate said sternly to Wulf; "did you thus insult not
only my page, but all of us, his countrymen?"
"I ran against him by accident," Wulf said, looking up fearlessly in the
prelate's face. "I apologized, though I know not that I was more in fault
than he; but instead of taking my apology as one of gentle blood should
do, he spoke like a churl, and threatened me with chastisement, and
then I did