This was the end of his time-serving and king-making. And he said many
prayers, and beat his breast; and then called to his chaplain for
blankets, for he was very cold. "I have slain my own sheep!" he moaned,
"slain my own sheep!"
His chaplain hapt him up in bed, and looked out of the window at the
fight. There was no lull, neither was there any great advantage on either
side. Only from the southward he could see fresh bodies of Danes coming
across the plain.
"The carcass is here, and the eagles are gathered together. Fetch me the
holy sacrament, Chaplain, and God be merciful to an unfaithful shepherd."
The chaplain went.
"I have slain my own sheep!" moaned the archbishop. "I have given them up
to the wolves,--given my own minster, and all the treasures of the saints;
and--and--I am very cold."
When the chaplain came back with the blessed sacrament, Archbishop Aldred
was more than cold; for he was already dead and stiff.
But William Malet would not yield. He and his Normans fought, day after
day, with the energy of despair. They asked leave to put forth the body of
the archbishop; and young Waltheof, who was a pious man, insisted that
leave should be given.
So the archbishop's coffin was thrust forth of the castle-gate, and the
monks from the abbey came and bore it away, and buried it in the Cathedral
church.
Pages:
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391