and our reward was a flight of
hunting-arrows which no man loves, and worse, a churl's jibe over
hard-fought, fair-lost Hastings fight. So, before the next beat, Hugh
and I assembled and called the beaters over by name, to steady them. The
greater part we knew, but among the Netherfield men I saw an old, old
man, in the dress of a pilgrim.

'The Clerk of Netherfield said he was well known by repute for twenty
years as a witless man that journeyed without rest to all the shrines of
England. The old man sits, Saxon fashion, head between fists. We Normans
rest our chin on our left palm.

'"Who answers for him?" said I. "If he fails in his duty, who will pay
his fine?"

'"Who will pay my fine?" the pilgrim said. "I have asked that of all
the Saints in England these forty years, less three months and nine
days! They have not answered!" When he lifted his thin face I saw he was
one-eyed, and frail as a rushlight.

'"Nay but, Father," I said, "to whom hast thou commended thyself?" He
shook his head, so I spoke in Saxon: "Whose man art thou?"

'"I think I have a writing from Rahere, the King's Jester," said he
after a while. "I am, as I suppose, Rahere's man."

'He pulled a writing from his scrip, and Hugh coming up, read it.

'It set out that the pilgrim was Rahere's man, and that Rahere was the
King's Jester. There was Latin writ at the back.

'"What a plague conjuration's here?" said Hugh, turning it over.
"_Pum-quum-sum oc-occ._ Magic?"

'"Black Magic," said the Clerk of Netherfield (he had been a monk at
Battle). "They say Rahere is more of a priest than a fool and more of a
wizard than either. Here's Rahere's name writ, and there's Rahere's red
cockscomb sign drawn below for such as cannot read." He looked slyly at
me.

'"Then read it," said I, "and show thy learning." He was a vain little
man, and he gave it us after much mouthing.

'"The charm, which I think is from Virgilius the Sorcerer, says: 'When
thou art once dead, and Minos (which is a heathen judge) has doomed
thee, neither cunning, nor speechcraft, nor good works will restore
thee!' A terrible thing! It denies any mercy to a man's soul!"

'"Does it serve?" said the pilgrim, plucking at Hugh's cloak. "Oh, man
of the King's blood, does it cover me?"

'Hugh was of Earl Godwin's blood, and all Sussex knew it, though no
Saxon dared call him kingly in a Norman's hearing. There can be but one
King.

'"It serves," said Hugh. "But the day will be long