"Let the Norman come," said the sage solemnly; "he shall perish in his pride."
"In what manner shall he die?"
"By the death meet for the sacrilegious destroyer of the priory--by fire--it is God's will, revealed to me in visions of the night."
"Fire? how?" cried several; then one common idea seemed to strike them all.
"The reeds. Once entangled in the marshes, we might fire them all round."
"But how shall we get him to enter the marshes where the dry rushes are thickest?"
"There is a bed of rushes and weeds half a mile across, around the heron's pool, and it is now so dry just there, that it would bear the accursed foe, horses, and armour, could they be enticed to follow the path which traverses it."
"Who shall entice them and prevail?" said Beorn.
"Will any of our men risk their own lives and volunteer as guides to the Normans? They are seeking guides everywhere."
There was a dead silence. At length a man arose--Ordgar, son of Haga.