As
he came into the great court, whom should he meet but Martin Lightfoot, in
a lay brother's frock.
"Aha? And are you come home likewise? Have you renounced the Devil and
this last work of his?"
"What work? What devil?" asked Leofric, who saw method in Martin's
madness. "And what do you here, in a long frock?"
"Devil? Hereward the devil. I would have killed him with my axe; but she
got it from me, and threw it in among the holy sisters, and I had work to
get it again. Shame on her, to spoil my chance of heaven! For I should
have surely won heaven, you know, if I had killed the devil."
After much beating, about, Leofric got from Martin the whole tragedy.
And when he heard it, he burst out weeping.
"O Hereward, Hereward! O knightly honor! O faith and troth and gratitude,
and love in return for such love as might have tamed lions, and made
tyrants mild! Are they all carnal vanities, works of the weak flesh,
bruised reeds which break when they are leaned upon? If so, you are right,
Martin, and there is naught left, but to flee from a world in which all
men are liars."
And Leofric, in the midst of Crowland Yard, tore off his belt and trusty
sword, his hauberk and helm also, and letting down his monk's frock, which
he wore trussed to the mid-knee, he went to the Abbot's lodgings, and
asked to see old Ulfketyl.
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