“Poor child!” said Duke Alan, as Richard rose up, startled, “he is over-wearied with this day’s work. Take care of him, Count Bernard; thou a kindly nurse, but a rough one for such a babe. Ha! my young Lord, your colour mantles at being called a babe! I crave your pardon, for you are a fine spirit. And hark you, Lord Richard of Normandy, I have little cause to love your race, and little right, I trow, had King Charles the Simple to call us free Bretons liegemen to a race of plundering Northern pirates. To Duke Rollo’s might, my father never gave his homage; nay, nor did I yield it for all Duke William’s long sword, but I did pay it to his generosity and forbearance, and now I grant it to thy weakness and to his noble memory. I doubt not that the recreant Frank, Louis, whom he restored to his throne, will strive to profit by thy youth and helplessness, and should that be, remember that thou hast no surer friend than Alan of Brittany. Fare thee well, my young Duke.”
“Farewell, Sir,” said Richard, willingly giving his hand to be shaken by his kind vassal, and watching him as Sir Eric attended him from the hall.
“Fair words, but I trust not the Breton,” muttered Bernard; “hatred is deeply ingrained in them.”
“He should know what the Frank King is made of,” said Rainulf de Ferrières; “he was bred up with him in the days that they were both exiles at the court of King Ethelstane of England.”
“Ay, and thanks to Duke William that either Louis or Alan are not exiles still. Now we shall see whose gratitude is worth most, the Frank’s or the Breton’s. I suspect the Norman valour will be the best to trust to.”
“Yes, and how will Norman valour prosper without treasure? Who knows what gold is in the Duke’s coffers?”
There was some consultation here in a low voice, and the next thing Richard heard distinctly was, that one of the Nobles held up a silver chain and key, [9] saying that they had been found on the Duke’s neck, and that he had kept them, thinking that they doubtless led to something of importance.
“Oh, yes!” said Richard, eagerly, “I know it. He told me it was the key to his greatest treasure.”
The Normans heard this with great interest, and it was resolved that several of the most trusted persons, among whom were the Archbishop of Rouen, Abbot Martin of Jumièges, and the Count of Harcourt, should go immediately in search of this precious hoard. Richard accompanied them up the narrow rough stone stairs, to the large dark apartment, where his father had slept. Though a Prince’s chamber, it had little furniture; a low uncurtained bed, a Cross on a ledge near its head, a rude table, a few chairs, and two large chests, were all it contained. Harcourt tried the lid of one of the chests: it opened, and proved to be full of wearing apparel; he went to the other, which was smaller, much more carved, and ornamented with very handsome iron-work. It was locked, and putting in the key, it fitted, the lock turned, and the chest was opened. The Normans pressed eagerly to see their Duke’s greatest treasure.
It was a robe of serge, and a pair of sandals, such as were worn in the Abbey of Jumièges.