"Ye mock us; he is dead."
"Nay, he lives," said a voice, and our youthful hero appeared on the scene, and addressed the astonished monk.
"Prior, go forth from the house thou and thy brethren have usurped, and make way for the true owners. By my side stands the sole survivor of the brethren whom Hugo de Malville slaughtered, Father Kenelm, a Benedictine like thyself. Admit him; he will tell thee all."
"Since it may be no better, he shall come in. If I open the gates for him, ye will not take advantage?"
"Stand back," cried Wilfred, "let the holy monk enter alone."
And, shortly after, Father Kenelm stood in the chapter house, and explained all to the astonished Norman brethren. He told the story of the destruction of their predecessors, and pointed out the danger of resisting the now triumphant English, who felt themselves the avengers of their slaughtered ministers and friends, the former monks of St. Wilfred.
"It is well," said the other; "we will go forth; thou speakest with justice, as brother to brother, and whatever befall thy companions, this shall be counted in thy favour if I have a tongue to speak."
So the Norman prior and his monks took their way unharmed to the nearest house of their order.
It was night and dark clouds of smoke rolled heavenward, blotting out the fair stars from sight. Silence dread and awful reigned over the Dismal Swamp, the scene of strife and suffering; the very beasts fled the spot, nor could the birds of night linger in the heated air.
But at Aescendune all was tumult and joy. The English had advanced against an undefended stronghold, and Wilfred was at last, as his fathers had been, Lord of Aescendune.