‘“You would have held him prisoner again—as the Great Duke did,” Rahere answered.
‘“True,” said our King. “He is nothing except his name. Yet that name might have been used by stronger men to trouble my England. Yes. I must have made him my life’s guest—as I shall make Robert.”
‘“I knew it,” said Rahere. “But while this man wandered mad by the wayside, none cared what he called himself.”
‘“I learned to cease talking before the stones flew,” says the old man, and Hugh groaned.
‘“Ye have heard!” said Rahere. “Witless, landless, nameless, and, but for my protection, masterless, he can still make shift to bide his doom under the open sky.”
‘“Then wherefore didst thou bring him here for a mock and a shame?" cried Hugh, beside himself with woe.
‘“A right mock and a just shame!” said William of Exeter.
‘“Not to me,” said Nigel of Ely. “I see and I tremble, but I neither mock nor judge."
‘“Well spoken, Ely.” Rahere falls into the pure fool again. “I’ll pray for thee when I turn monk. Thou hast given thy blessing on a war between two most Christian brothers.” He meant the war forward ’twixt Henry and Robert of Normandy. “I charge you, Brother,” he says, wheeling on the King, “dost thou mock my fool?”
‘The King shook his head, and so then did smooth William of Exeter.