In an instant all was confusion; under cover of it the fat monk returned to his cup and the young master walked quietly to the door.
Homesick and heartsick, the waif in the page’s dress was left facing the unfriendly glances. Even in her bravest days, she had never known what it was to be disliked, and now—! Suddenly she limped after her friend and caught at his cloak.
“Let me go with you,” she cried. “I beseech it of you! I want not their service.”
After a moment, the Etheling threw his arm protectingly around the boyish figure.
“I do not blame you, poor youngling,” he said. “I was wrong to treat you as a child when you were bred up as a man. You shall have a bed in the closet off my chamber, and they shall not enter except as you will it. And you shall eat off my plate and drink from my cup. Come!”
CHAPTER XII. The Foreign Page
Early should rise
He who has few workers,
And go his work to see to;
Greatly is he retarded
Who sleeps the morn away;
Wealth half depends on energy.
Hávamál.
It was August, when Mother Earth had nearly completed her task of providing for her children, and the excitement of a mighty work drawing to its close was in the air; when the sun-warmed stillness was a-quiver with the pulse of growing things coming to their strength, and every cloudless day held in its golden heart a song of exultation. The grassy space around the Tower, which was wont to be thronged with joyous idlers, was to-day almost deserted. A single groom lounged in the shade of the wide-spreading trees as he kept a lazy eye on the croppings of two saddled horses, and an endless chain of fagot-laden serfs plodded joylessly across the open. On one side of the great entrance arch a half-dozen of the manor poor gabbled and basked in the sun while they waited to receive their daily dole of food; on the other, a dark-locked foreign page sat on the mossy step abiding the coming of his master.
Leaning back with one arm bent carelessly behind his head and one hand caressing a shaggy hound that pressed against his knee, the boy’s far-away gaze was designed to intimate his haughty oblivion to the castle-world in general and the movements of the almsfolk in particular. Seeing which, the people on the other side of the step had laid aside any reserve they might have felt and were indulging their curiosity with cheerful freedom.
“Six weeks he has been here, and this is the first good look I have had at him,” the buzzing whispers ran. “It is said that they were obliged to catch him between shields before they could take him.”... “Such hair on a Dane is more rare than a white crow.”... “I believe no good of any one with locks of that color.”... “Tibby, the weaving-woman, says he is skilful in magic.”... “It is by reason of that, that he has become my lord’s darling.”... “Why is he not in the hall, then, while the ethel-born is sitting at table?”... “Perhaps his luck is beginning to fail him.”... “Perhaps he has fallen out of favor.”