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"Nor did they ask us," exclaimed Stephen; "lubbers and idlers were the best words they had for us." "Ho! ho! That's the way with the brethren of Saint Grimbald! And your uncle?" "Alas, sir, he doteth with age," said Ambrose. "He took Stephen for his own brother, dead under King Harry of Windsor." "So! I had heard somewhat of his age and sickness. Who was it who thrust you out?"
Brother Shoveller did not seem to entertain a very high opinion of the monks of Saint Grimbald, and he asked the boys whether they were expected there. "No," they said; "tidings of their father's death had been sent by one of the woodmen, and the only answer that had been returned was that Master Richard Birkenholt was ill at ease, but would have masses said for his brother's soul."
Large meadows stretched away to the banks of the Itchen, with cattle grazing in them, but in one was a set of figures to whom the lay brother pointed with a laugh of exulting censure. "Long bows!" exclaimed Stephen. "Who be they?" "Brethren of Saint Grimbald, sir. Such rule doth my Lord of Hyde keep, mitred abbot though he be.
"Why, this is the young knight who struck down Sir Giles at the jousts," said Grimbald. "Strange! you should have two mortal enemies to deal with." "Is this Sir Jocelyn Mounchensey?" inquired Luke Hatton, with apparent curiosity. "You did not tell me so before." "Perhaps I ought not to have told you so now," returned the other. "But do you take any interest in him?"
Swithun's belonging to the Minster, as indeed their buildings were so close together that it was hardly possible to pass between them, and their bells jangled in each other's ears. Brother Shoveller did not seem to entertain a very high opinion of the monks of St. Grimbald, and he asked the boys whether they were expected there.
Here he remained up to the ankles in mud and water, while Grimbald unlocked the ponderous door, and with a grin revealed the interior of the cavernous recess. Nothing more dank and noisome could be imagined than the dungeon.
In the late campaign against the Huns, Charlemagne had called to his aid his son Pepin, King of Italy, who, notwithstanding he was himself embroiled with Grimbald, Duke of Beneventum, did not hesitate to obey.
"He occupied that cell for more than six months. Did he not, good Grimbald? You had charge of him, and ought to know?"
"What think you will be the judgment in that case?" inquired Grimbald. "I have my own opinion," returned the apothecary, with a significant smile; "but I care not to reveal it. I am a witness in the case myself, and something may depend on my evidence. You asked me just now whether I took any interest in this young man. I will tell you what surprised me to find him here.
"And thou wert condemned without a crime to a death of lingering agony within this horrible cell! The bare idea of it is madness. But Heaven, though its judgments be slow, will yet avenge thee upon thy murderers!" "Take heed what you say, prisoner," observed Grimbald, changing his manner, and speaking with great harshness.
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