It was a strange gathering that night at the castle; for corpse after corpse was borne in from the woods to receive Christian burial at the priory, all killed by arrows, and those arrows--which the slayers had not troubled to remove, as if they disdained reprisals--all of the clumsy sort used by the "aborigines"
[CHAPTER IX]. A HUNT IN THE WOODS.
The winter of the year 1068 was setting in with great severity, sharp winds from the north and east had already stripped the faded leaves from the trees of the forest, and the heavens were frequently veiled by dark masses of cloud, from whence fast-falling snow ever and anon descended.
The winter opened drearily for the inhabitants of Aescendune, for the "mystery of the forest" was yet unsolved; none knew whence those incendiaries had issued who had given Yew Farm, with all its inmates, to the vengeful flames; but that this latter conflagration was in some way connected with the earlier destruction of St. Wilfred's Priory seemed not unlikely to most men.
Hugo de Malville cum Aescendune was not the man to sit calmly on the battlements of his newly-built towers and survey the destruction of his property, although he was not free from a terrible dread that his sins were finding him out, at which times he was like a haunted man who sees spectres, invisible to the world around.
Well did he surmise from whom the deadly provocation came, the loss of his farm, the death of a noble lad committed to his care; not to mention the loss of some common men, who could easily be replaced: for there were ever fresh swarms of Normans, French, and Bretons pouring into poor old England, as though it were some newly discovered and uninhabited land.
The aggressors, he doubted not, were the outlaws his tyranny had driven to the forests, the forerunners of the Robin Hoods and Little Johns of later days, whose exploits against the Norman race awoke the enthusiasm of so many minstrels and ballad makers {[x]}.
But all his efforts were in vain: neither men nor dogs could track the fugitives, although all the woods were explored, save only that impassable Dismal Swamp, where all seemed rottenness and slime, and where it could scarcely be imagined aught human could live.
Day after day the vengeful baron ranged the woods with his dogs and men-at-arms, but all in vain.
Neither would Etienne forbear his woodland sports, although the stragglers in the forest were constantly cut off by their unseen foe; but in his hunts, accompanied by Pierre, his sole surviving companion, he sought more eagerly for the tracks of men than of beasts, and vowed he would some day avenge poor Louis.