"And this letter assures me that thou art a fitting person, and skilled in the use of carnal weapons."
"I trust I am."
"Then thou shalt share our humble fare this night, and then thou shalt on the morrow take the vow and receive the Cross from my own hands, after the Mass which follows Terce."
Osric bowed in joyful assent. And that night he dined at the monastic table of Lollingdune Grange. The humble fare was the most sumptuous he had ever known; for at Wallingford Castle they paid small attention to the culinary art—quantity, not quality, was their motto; they ate of meat half raw, thinking it increased their ferocity; and "drank the red wine through the helmet barred."
But it was not so here; the weakness of the monastic orders, if it was a weakness, was good cooking.
"Why should we waste or spoil the good things God has given us?" they asked.
We wish our space permitted us to relate the conversation which had place at that table. The Abbot of Reading was devoted more or less to King Stephen, for Maude, in one of her progresses, had spoiled the abbey and irritated the brethren by exacting heavy tribute. So they told many stories of the misdeeds of the party of the Empress, and many more of the cruelties of Brian Fitz-Count, whose lordly towers were visible in the distance.
Osric sat at table next to the lord Abbot, which was meant for a great distinction.
"In what school, my son, hast thou studied the warlike art and the science of chivalry?" asked the Abbot.
"In the Castle of Wallingford, my lord."