And here our narrative must perforce leave him for the space of two years, sharing the fortunes of the famous Hereward, until the fall of the last refuge of English liberty:  the events of those two years are matters of history {xxii}.

CHAPTER XXI.  TWO DOCUMENTS.

Two years had passed away since his last visit, and Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances, was again a visitor in England, this time the guest of the new primate of the conquered country, Archbishop Lanfranc, a native of Pavia, and formerly abbot of the famed monastery of Bec in Normandy, to whom the king had been greatly indebted for his services as negotiator with the Court of Rome, while the conquest was in deliberation.

He was a man of deep learning and great personal piety, yet not without some of the faults of the race, under whose auspices he had come to England.  Still, in spite of his deep prejudices, he was often, as we shall see in these pages, the protector of the oppressed English.

Lanfranc was seated with his episcopal brother in the embrasure of a deep window, looking out upon the cathedral close of Canterbury.

“It was sad, indeed, my brother,” said the archbishop.  “I scarcely have known a sadder day than that of my installation.  The cathedral which thou seest slowly rising from its ruins yonder, had been destroyed by fire, with all its ornaments, charters, and title deeds.  One would think that the heathen Danes had once more overspread the land, instead of our own Christian countrymen.”

“And yet we two are answerable to some extent for this conquest.  Without thee it had never been; thou didst gain the sanction of the Pope and then preach it as a crusade.  I followed the army to Hastings, absolved the troops, and blessed its banners on the day of the great victory.”

“Heaven grant we may not have done wrong; but the sheep are scattered abroad, as when a wolf entereth the fold.”

“Thou mayest yet be the means of reconciling the conquerors and the conquered—­the Church is their natural mediator.”

“God helping me, I will do justice between them; but the task is a heavy one—­it is hard, nay, terrible, to stand against the will of this Conqueror.”

“For this cause, perhaps, thou, who fearest not the face of man, art chosen of Heaven.”

A low knock at the door interrupted them.

“Enter,” cried Lanfranc; and a monk of the Benedictine order, who discharged the duty of chamberlain, appeared.

“A brother of our order craves an audience.”

It must be remembered that Lanfranc was the abbot of a Benedictine monastery ere he was called to Canterbury {xxiii}.

“Is he English or Norman?  Hath he told thee his errand?”

“English.  He hath travelled far, and says that his errand is one of life or death.”

“Let him enter,” said the primate.

A man in a faded Benedictine habit, evidently spent with travel, appeared at the door.  His beard was of long growth, his hair was uncombed, and his whole appearance that of a man who had passed through perils of no small difficulty and danger.