“To read? No; why should I?” asked the girl in surprise. “Granther knew not how; nor does Denewulf, nor Adiva; nor any of the gentles. In truth, none I have ever known, save thee, have known how. Why should they? There was no need. Granther said that it was only for priests or monks. The gleemen need it not for singing or the harp. The ceorl needs it neither for ploughing, or for sowing, or for tending his herds. And how would it help the gentle in hunting or any of his pastimes? Weaving and embroidery for women, sports and war for men. There is no need of reading.”
Wilfred smiled and sighed as he answered: “As thou speakest so do most think. In truth, I misdoubt if there are not priests even of thy way of thinking. Few are they south of the Humber who can translate their daily prayers into English. Yet once in all Gaul could not be found the learning of our land. Alack! that Bede, Alucin, and Aldhelm were not now alive. Yet, perchance, it is better so. Mayhap they would not have flourished had they lived at this time. Dark, dark is the outlook.”
He relapsed into a moody silence. Egwina timidly approached him.
“I meant not to offend thee, good Wilfred,” she spake, gently.
“Nay, little one; thou hast not offended me. I thought not of thy words, but only of the decay of that learning for which we were once so famed.”
“Dost thou think so much of learning?” inquired she. “Prithee show me the book, that I may see what it is that so charms thee.”
She took the book, and looked at it intently before handing it back to him.
“I see naught in it,” she remarked, with a sigh; “that would hold me for hours as it doth thee. What is its spell? It sings not, neither does it speak, nor is it illuminated.”
“But it does speak, Egwina. Listen, and thou shalt hear something that it says: ‘Go now, ye brave! where the lofty way of a great example leads you. Why should you, inert, uncover your backs? The earth, when conquered, gives us the stars.’”
“Does it truly say that?” cried Egwina, in delight. “Show me, Wilfred.”