“I would give up that bot for a little of their blood!” said Wybert’s brother. But, nevertheless, he was obliged to rest satisfied; for who should dare gainsay the young Lord of Brunn?
Girolamo of Salerno, who understood nought of the debate between Hereward and the brother of Wybert, thought that the intrusive monks ought to be put into sacks and thrown into the river, inasmuch as that the Normans, when they conquered Salerno, threw a score of good monks of that town and vicinity into the sea; but when he delivered this thought unto the Lord Hereward, that bold-hearted and kind-hearted Saxon said that it was not the right way to correct cruelties by committing cruelties, and that it was not in the true English nature to be prone to revenge. All this while, and a little longer, the false alien monks, with their hands tied behind them, lay sprawling and crying Misericorde: howbeit, when they saw and understood that death was not intended, they plucked up their courage and began to complain and reprove.
“This is a foul deed,” said one of them, “a very foul deed, to disturb and break in upon, and smite with the edge of the sword, the servants of the Lord.”
“Not half so foul a deed,” quoth Hereward, “as that done by Ivo Taille-Bois, the cousin of ye all, and the man who put ye here, and thrust out the Saxon brotherhood at the dead of night, slaying their cook. Ye may or may not have been servants of the Lord in the countries from which ye came, but here are ye nought but intruders and usurpers, and the devourers of better men’s goods.”
Here the prior from Angers spoke from the heap in the corner, and said, “For this night’s work thou wilt be answerable unto the king.”
“That will I,” quoth the Lord of Brunn, “when bold King Harold returns.”
“I will excommunicate thee and thy fautors,” said the intrusive prior.
“Thou hadst better not attempt it,” said Hereward, “for among my merry men be some that know enough of church Latin to make out the difference between a Maledicite and a Benedicite; and I might find it difficult to prevent their cutting your weazens.”[[123]]
“Yet would I do it by bell, book and candle, if I could get the bell and candle, and read the book,” said the intrusive prior.
“Thou hadst better not attempt it,” said two or three voices from the heap; but another voice, which seemed buried under stout bodies and habits and hoods, said, “There is no danger, for our prior cannot read, and never had memory enough to say by heart more Latin than lies in a Credo. Beshrew you, brothers all, bespeak these Saxons gently, so that they may give us leave to go back into Normandie. If I had bethought me that I was to play the monk in this fashion, Ivo Taille-Bois should never have brought me from the plough-tail!”