At this indiscreet observation, the abbot, the monks, and all the priestly bystanders looked grim and gloomy, for each had his own special design upon the peace of poor Hugoline, the treasurer, and liked not to see him the prey of a layman.
“Inprinis!” quoth the abbot, puffing out the word with great scorn; “thinkest thou, son of Mammon, that our good King sets his pious heart on gew-gaw, and gems, and such vanities? Thou shouldst take the goods to Count Baldwin of Flanders; or Tostig, the proud Earl’s proud son.”
“Marry!” said the cheapman, with a smile; “my treasure will find small price with Baldwin the scoffer, and Tostig the vain! Nor need ye look at me so sternly, my fathers; but rather vie with each other who shall win this wonder of wonders for his own convent; know, in a word, that it is the right thumb of St. Jude, which a worthy man bought at Rome for me, for 3000 lb. weight of silver; and I ask but 500 lb. over the purchase for my pains and my fee.” [119]
“Humph!” said the abbot.
“Humph!” said the aspiring young monk; the rest gathered wistfully round the linen cloth.
A fiery exclamation of wrath and disdain was here heard; and all turning, saw a tall, fierce-looking thegn, who had found his way into that group, like a hawk in a rookery.
“Dost thou tell me, knave,” quoth the thegn, in a dialect that bespoke him a Dane by origin, with the broad burr still retained in the north; “Dost thou tell me that the King will waste his gold on such fooleries, while the fort built by Canute at the flood of the Humber is all fallen into ruin, without a man in steel jacket to keep watch on the war fleets of Swede and Norwegian?”
“Worshipful minister,” replied the cheapman, with some slight irony in his tone, “these reverend fathers will tell thee that the thumb of St. Jude is far better aid against Swede and Norwegian than forts of stone and jackets of steel; nathless, if thou wantest jackets of steel, I have some to sell at a fair price, of the last fashion, and helms with long nose-pieces, as are worn by the Normans.”
“The thumb of a withered old saint,” cried the Dane, not heeding the last words, “more defence at the mouth of the Humber than crenellated castles and mailed men!”
“Surely, naught son,” said the abbot, looking shocked, and taking part with the cheapman. “Dost thou not remember that, in the pious and famous council of 1014, it was decreed to put aside all weapons of flesh against thy heathen countrymen, and depend alone on St. Michael to fight for us? Thinkest thou that the saint would ever suffer his holy thumb to fall into the hands of the Gentiles?—never! Go to, thou art not fit to have conduct of the King’s wars. Go to, and repent, my son, or the King shall hear of it.”