"Nay," he said quickly, raising his hand as I tried to find some
words of thanks for this honour; "you know the ways of Owen, and
men know you, and it will be as if there had been no change, and
that will mean that we shall have no grumbling in the palace, and
the right men will be sent to do what they are best fitted for--and
all that, so that there will be quiet about the court as ever. It
is a matter off my mind, let me tell you, and no thanks are
needed."
So he laughed and let me kiss his hand, patting me on the shoulder
as I rose, and then bade me sit down again. He had yet more to say.
"With Erpwald who is dead, men would hold that you had a blood
feud. That is done with; but his son yet lives. I do not think it
is your way, or Owen's, to hold that a feud must be carried on in
the old heathen way of our forefathers."
"Most truly not," I said. "What ill has a son of Erpwald done to me
or mine?"
"None! Nay, rather has he done well, for I know that he has
honoured the grave of your father, and even now is ready to do what
he can to make amends for the old wrong. He brought me this."
He took up the parchment that he had shewn me before. It was a
grant of the manors of Eastdean to Erpwald, gained by those means
of utmost craft whereby the king thought that indeed the last of
our line had perished by other hands than those of the heathen
thane.
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