"A pious and learned home, doubtless, but its fame has not reached
my ears."
"But it has mine," said Geoffrey, who started and listened with
great attention.
"It was founded and enriched by Offa, thane of that domain, in the
year of grace 940, and burnt in the second year of our misery, now
three years agone. In its place stood for a short time the priory
of St. Denys."
"Thou mayest well say 'stood,'" interrupted Geoffrey, "for I hear
that it has also been destroyed by fire."
"By fire also?" said the astonished Lanfranc.
"It is a sad and tragical story," replied Geoffrey, "and it would
weary you and sadden me to relate it now. Bloodshed and all the
horrors of midnight rapine and warfare are mingled in it, and there
is a deep mystery yet unsolved. Tell me, my brother, wert thou an
inmate of St. Wilfred's priory when it was so mysteriously
destroyed?"
"I was."
"And how didst thou escape?"
"Our prior, the sainted Elphege, despatched me to some of our poor
flock, who had taken refuge in the woods, that I might commit one
deeply loved to their care."
"His name?"
"Wilfred of Aescendune. It is on his behalf that I have sought his
grace the new archbishop, led by his reputation for charity and
justice, but hardly expecting to meet any one here who knew the
story of our misfortunes and wrongs.
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