armour, some in long furred gowns, who had all been attending his
father's burial.  Richard, as he was desired by Sir Eric de
Centeville, took off his cap, and bowed low in reply to the
reverences with which they all greeted his entrance, and he then
slowly crossed the hall, and descended the steps from the door, while
they formed into a procession behind him, according to their ranks--
the Duke of Brittany first, and then all the rest, down to the
poorest knight who held his manor immediately from the Duke of
Normandy.

Thus, they proceeded, in slow and solemn order, till they came to the
church of our Lady.  The clergy were there already, ranged in ranks
on each side of the Choir; and the Bishops, in their mitres and rich
robes, each with his pastoral staff in his hand, were standing round
the Altar.  As the little Duke entered, there arose from all the
voices in the Chancel the full, loud, clear chant of Te Deum
Laudamus, echoing among the dark vaults of the roof.  To that sound,
Richard walked up the Choir, to a large, heavy, crossed-legged,
carved chair, raised on two steps, just before the steps of the Altar
began, and there he stood, Bernard de Harcourt and Eric de Centeville
on each side of him, and all his other vassals in due order, in the
Choir.

After the beautiful chant of the hymn was ended, the service for the
Holy Communion began.  When the time came for the offering, each
noble gave gold or silver; and, lastly, Rainulf of Ferrieres came up
to the step of the Altar with a cushion, on which was placed a
circlet of gold, the ducal coronet; and another Baron, following him
closely, carried a long, heavy sword, with a cross handle.  The
Archbishop of Rouen received both coronet and sword, and laid them on
the Altar.  Then the service proceeded.  At that time the rite of
Confirmation was administered in infancy, and Richard, who had been
confirmed by his godfather, the Archbishop of Rouen, immediately
after his baptism, knelt in solemn awe to receive the other Holy
Sacrament from his hands, as soon as all the clergy had communicated.
{8}

When the administration was over, Richard was led forward to the step
of the Altar by Count Bernard, and Sir Eric, and the Archbishop,
laying one hand upon both his, as he held them clasped together,
demanded of him, in the name of God, and of the people of Normandy,
whether he would be their good and true ruler, guard them from their
foes, maintain truth, punish iniquity, and protect the Church.

"I will!" answered Richard's young, trembling voice, "So help me
God!" and he knelt, and kissed the book of the Holy Gospels, which
the Archbishop offered him.

It was a great and awful oath, and he dreaded to think that he had
taken it.  He still knelt, put both hands over his face, and
whispered, "O God, my Father, help me to keep it."

The Archbishop waited till he rose, and then, turning him with his
face to the people, said, "Richard, by the grace of God, I invest
thee with the ducal mantle of Normandy!"

Two of the Bishops then hung round his shoulders a crimson velvet
mantle, furred with ermine, which, made as it was for a grown man,
hung heavily on the poor child's shoulders, and lay in heaps on the
ground.  The Archbishop then set the golden coronet on his long,
flowing hair, where it hung so loosely on the little head, that Sir
Eric was obliged to put his hand to it to hold it safe; and, lastly,
the long, straight, two-handed sword was brought and placed in his
hand, with another solemn bidding to use it ever in maintaining the
right.  It should have been girded to his side, but the great sword
was so much taller than the little Duke, that, as it stood upright by
him, he was obliged to raise his arm to put it round the handle.

He then had to return to his throne, which was not done without some
difficulty, encumbered as he was, but Osmond held up the train of his
mantle, Sir Eric kept the coronet on his head, and he himself held
fast and lovingly the sword, though the Count of Harcourt offered to
carry it for him.  He was lifted up to his throne, and then came the
paying him homage; Alan, Duke of Brittany, was the first to kneel
before him, and with his hand between those of the Duke, he swore to
be his man, to obey him, and pay him feudal service for his dukedom
of Brittany.  In return, Richard swore to be his good Lord, and to
protect him from all his foes.  Then followed Bernard the Dane, and
many another, each repeating the same formulary, as their large
rugged hands were clasped within those little soft fingers.  Many a
kind and loving eye was bent in compassion on the orphan child; many
a strong voice faltered with earnestness as it pronounced the vow,
and many a brave, stalwart heart heaved with grief for the murdered
father, and tears flowed down the war-worn cheeks which had met the
fiercest storms of the northern ocean, as they bent before the young
fatherless boy, whom they loved for the sake of his conquering
grandfather, and his brave and pious father.  Few Normans were there
whose hearts did not glow at the touch of those small hands, with a
love almost of a parent, for their young Duke.

The ceremony of receiving homage lasted long and Richard, though
interested and touched at first, grew very weary; the crown and
mantle were so heavy, the faces succeeded each other like figures in
an endless dream, and the constant repetition of the same words was
very tedious.  He grew sleepy, he longed to jump up, to lean to the
right or left, or to speak something besides that regular form.  He
gave one great yawn, but it brought him such a frown from the stern
face of Bernard, as quite to wake him for a few minutes, and make him
sit upright, and receive the next vassal with as much attention as he
had shown the first, but he looked imploringly at Sir Eric, as if to
ask if it ever would be over.  At last, far down among the Barons,
came one at whose sight Richard revived a little.  It was a boy only
a few years older than himself, perhaps about ten, with a pleasant
brown face, black hair, and quick black eyes which glanced, with a
look between friendliness and respect, up into the little Duke's
gazing face.  Richard listened eagerly for his name, and was
refreshed at the sound of the boyish voice which pronounced, "I,
Alberic de Montemar, am thy liegeman and vassal for my castle and
barony of Montemar sur Epte."

When Alberic moved away, Richard followed him with his eye as far as
he could to his place in the Cathedral, and was taken by surprise
when he found the next Baron kneeling before him.

The ceremony of homage came to an end at last, and Richard would fain
have run all the way to the palace to shake off his weariness, but he
was obliged to head the procession again; and even when he reached
the castle hall his toils were not over, for there was a great state
banquet spread out, and he had to sit in the high chair where he
remembered climbing on his father's knee last Christmas-day, all the
time that the Barons feasted round, and held grave converse.
Richard's best comfort all this time was in watching Osmond de
Centeville and Alberic de Montemar, who, with the other youths who
were not yet knighted, were waiting on those who sat at the table.
At last he grew so very weary, that he fell fast asleep in the corner
of his chair, and did not wake till he was startled by the rough
voice of Bernard de Harcourt, calling him to rouse up, and bid the
Duke of Brittany farewell.

"Poor child!" said Duke Alan, as Richard rose up, startled, "he is
over-wearied with this day's work.  Take care of him, Count Bernard;
thou a kindly nurse, but a rough one for such a babe.  Ha! my young
Lord, your colour mantles at being called a babe!  I crave your
pardon, for you are a fine spirit.  And hark you, Lord Richard of
Normandy, I have little cause to love your race, and little right, I
trow, had King Charles the Simple to call us free Bretons liegemen to
a race of plundering Northern pirates.  To Duke Rollo's might, my
father never gave his homage; nay, nor did I yield it for all Duke
William's long sword, but I did pay it to his generosity and
forbearance, and now I grant it to thy weakness and to his noble
memory.  I doubt not that the recreant Frank, Louis, whom he restored
to his throne, will strive to profit by thy youth and helplessness,
and should that be, remember that thou hast no surer friend than Alan
of Brittany.  Fare thee well, my young Duke."

"Farewell, Sir," said Richard, willingly giving his hand to be shaken
by his kind vassal, and watching him as Sir Eric attended him from
the hall.

"Fair words, but I trust not the Breton," muttered Bernard; "hatred
is deeply ingrained in them."

"He should know what the Frank King is made of," said Rainulf de
Ferrieres; "he was bred up with him in the days that they were both
exiles at the court of King Ethelstane of England."

"Ay, and thanks to Duke William that either Louis or Alan are not
exiles still.  Now we shall see whose gratitude is worth most, the
Frank's or the Breton's.  I suspect the Norman valour will be the
best to trust to."

"Yes, and how will Norman valour prosper without treasure?  Who knows
what gold is in the Duke's coffers?"

There was some consultation here in a low voice, and the next thing
Richard heard distinctly was, that one of the Nobles held up a silver
chain and key, {9} saying that they had been found on the Duke's
neck, and that he had kept them, thinking that they doubtless led to
something of importance.

"Oh, yes!" said Richard, eagerly, "I know it.  He told me it was the
key to his greatest treasure."

The Normans heard this with great interest, and it was resolved that
several of the most trusted persons, among whom were the Archbishop
of Rouen, Abbot Martin of Jumieges, and the Count of Harcourt, should
go immediately in search of this precious hoard.  Richard accompanied
them up the narrow rough stone stairs, to the large dark apartment,
where his father had slept.  Though a Prince's chamber, it had little
furniture; a low uncurtained bed, a Cross on a ledge near its head, a

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