"Thou knowest naught of these papers, lad?" he said at length.
"Naught, my lord, in good faith, save that I bore them hither."
"And thou didst well to do that," he said, "for here is a matter dangerous to me, as thou sawest by mine anger. Your good abbot hath done well to send me this letter by thee."
I answered not, since it was not for me to speak, and yet I craved to know what could be in the second scroll to move him so.
"May I return with your grace's greeting or other message to my lord?" I said.
"Ay, and by word of mouth," he said. "We exiled men well-nigh forget to write, nor have much practice in the tools of the clerk. Tell the abbot the Archbishop of Rouen thanks him for his courtesy, and that this paper—this paper was written by some foe of other days that chooses thus to strike the fallen. Canst thou carry that."
I said I could, but I thought that there was an ill lie behind his words.
"Hist, good lad, what is thy name?" said he.
"Nigel de Bessin, nephew of the Vicomte of St. Sauveur," I answered.
He pondered and gazed at me curiously. "Ay, well I knew thy grandsire, the old vicomte," said he. "And thine uncle has had of me other gifts than shriving."