They hurried on; but stopped once more, at the galloping of another horse.
“Who comes, friend or foe?”
“Alwyn, son of Orgar!” cried a voice under breath. “Don’t make such a noise, men! The French are within half a mile of you.”
“Then one traitor monk shall die ere I retreat,” cried Hereward, seizing him by the throat.
“For Heaven’s sake, hold!” cried Torfrida, seizing his arm. “You know not what he may have to say.”
“I am no traitor, Hereward; I have fought by your side as well as the best; and if any but you had called Alwyn—”
“A curse on your boasting. Tell us the truth.”
“The Abbot has made peace with the King. He would give up the island, and St. Etheldreda should keep all her lands and honors. I said what I could; but who was I to resist the whole chapter? Could I alone brave St. Etheldreda’s wrath?”
“Alwyn, the valiant, afraid of a dead girl!”
“Blaspheme not, Hereward! She may hear you at this moment! Look there!” and pointing up, the monk cowered in terror, as a meteor flashed through the sky.