“But peace,” continued the King, “be between thine and mine, as between thee and me!”
“Amen,” said the Duke, “and I leave thee at least free from the proud rebels who so long disturbed thy reign. This House of Godwin, thou wilt not again let it tower above thy palace?”
“Nay, the future is with God and his saints;” answered Edward, feebly. “But Godwin is old—older than I, and bowed by many storms.”
“Ay, his sons are more to be dreaded and kept aloof—mostly Harold!”
“Harold,—he was ever obedient, he alone of his kith; truly my soul mourns for Harold,” said the King, sighing.
“The serpent’s egg hatches but the serpent. Keep thy heel on it,” said William, sternly.
“Thou speakest well,” said the irresolute prince, who never seemed three days or three minutes together in the same mind. “Harold is in Ireland—there let him rest: better for all.”
“For all,” said the Duke; “so the saints keep thee, O royal saint!”
He kissed the King’s hand, and strode away to the hall where Odo, Fitzosborne, and the priest Lanfranc awaited him. And so that day, halfway towards the fair town of Dover, rode Duke William, and by the side of his roan barb ambled the priest’s palfrey.
Behind came his gallant train, and with tumbrils and sumpter-mules laden with baggage, and enriched by Edward’s gifts; while Welch hawks, and steeds of great price from the pastures of Surrey and the plains of Cambridge and York, attested no less acceptably than zimme, and golden chain, and embroidered robe, the munificence of the grateful King. [68]