Poor Wilfred! he needed all his courage, for he stood almost alone, a mere youth, amidst many enemies. At the most there were but three hearts present which beat with any sympathy for him.
Lanfranc had, however, possessed the king with certain general facts, which disposed William to give the accused a patient hearing, and when his "starkness" was not roused, William could be just.
And so Wilfred, his face pale, his lips compressed, his hands clasped upon the desk before him, gazed into the face of this awful Conqueror, whose frown so few dared to meet--the very incarnation of brute force and mental daring combined.
On his head was the crown of England, which he wore only on state occasions, four times yearly as a rule, at certain great festivals. One of these had just been held at Abingdon, and on this occasion, as we see, he again assumed it. The sceptre was borne beneath by a page who stood by his side.
William's voice first broke the silence--a stern, deep voice.
"Wilfred of Aescendune, we have chosen to hear thy defence in person--if thou hast any defence becoming thee to make and us to hear."
"Of what am I accused?" said the prisoner.
It was noticed that he omitted the royal title.
"Of rebellion, parricide, and sacrilege."
"I admit that I have fought against the invaders of my country, and am nowise ashamed of it," said the brave youth, in a tone which, without being defiant, was yet manly; "but I deny, as base and wicked lies, the other charges made against me."