Now this was the last he said, for a great spurt of blood coming from his side, he raised himself a moment on his arm, and then fell back upon the sand.
We knew not what face of horror we should gaze upon as we essayed to pull the helm from the head of Le Grand Sarrasin, that never showed his face to men.
The helm came off in our hands. It was no hideous countenance that it had masked, nor did we fear to gaze on it in death.
It was the face of my Lord Archbishop of Rouen, whom I had visited in his house hard by, and whom I had seen disguised in Normandy, that I now plainly saw.
Where, then, was Le Grand Sarrasin? Le Grand Sarrasin had been none other than this exiled man, that among the most evil of mankind had sought to raise a power that might one day overthrow William himself.
And in this ruin of his glory, achieved by grace of Heaven through our hands, Le Grand Sarrasin was brought to naught.
"Thou knowest who this was?" said Hugo, calmly.
"Ay, well I know," I said.
"Thou and I alone know this dark thing," he said. "Is it well that it should enter into men's mouths and minds?"
"Thou knowest best, Hugo," I said.