The Saxons cut down branches of trees, and with the branches and their fen poles, and some of the lances which had been taken from the Normans, they made a rude catafalk or bier, and placing the Salernitan upon it, with many a De profundis, and many expressions of wonderment that he should have died, they carried him from the thicket and over the Thetford road and across the plashy meadows. The bier was followed by the surviving Norman prisoners, all expecting to be offered up as an holocaust, and crying Misericorde and Nôtre Dame. The pursuit and the fight, the capture and the woe which had followed it, had altogether filled a very short space of time; and Hereward, who had crossed the river with all his forces, and having embarked in the boats all that remained to be embarked, was congratulating Elfric on his speed, when he saw that the body stretched upon the bier was no less a man than Girolamo of Salerno. At first the Lord of Brunn thought or hoped that Girolamo was only wounded; but when his sword-bearer told him that he was dead, he started as one that hears a great and unexpected calamity, and he put his hand to his brow and said, “Then, by all the saints of Ely, we have bought the corn and wine for the monks at too dear a price!”
Some short season Hereward passed in silent and sad reflections. Then approaching the bier whereon the body of Girolamo lay with the face turned to the skies, and the little silver cross lying on the breast, and the limbs decently composed, all through the pious care of Elfric, the Lord of Brunn muttered a De profundis and a Requiescat in pace, and then said, “Elfric, I never loved that man! Perhaps, at times, I almost feared him, with the reach of his skill and the depth and darkness of his passions. I never could hate the foul fiend himself so much as Girolamo hated these Normans! But, be it said, his wrongs and sufferings have far exceeded mine. England and I stand deeply indebted to him!”
“He bade me give thee this his sword, and to tell thee that he died thy friend,” said Elfric.
“There never yet was sword deeper in the gore of our foes,” said Hereward; “I know he was my friend, and in many things my instructor, and I reproach my heart for that it never could love him, albeit it was ever grateful towards him! But, Elfric, we must down the river without delay, for the monks of Ely will be clamorous for their wine, and traitors may take advantage of mine absence from the camp. See to it, Elfric, for a heaviness is upon my heart such as I have never known before. I had bad dreams in my last sleep, visions of surprisings and burnings by the Normans, and now the great loss and bad omen of Girolamo’s death bring those dreams back upon my mind with more force than they had before.”
“I have had my dreams too of late,” said the sword-bearer; “but dreams, good my lord, are to be read contrariwise. Let me give your lordship a slice of wheaten bread and a cup of wine.”
Quoth the Lord of Brunn, “’Tis not badly thought, for I am fasting since last sunset, and the monks of Ely must hold us excused if we broach one cask. Elfric, I say again, we have paid all too dearly for this corn and wine.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
A CHAPTER AND A GREAT TREASON.
No sooner had the Lord of Brunn quitted the Camp of Refuge, the day before that on which the Salernitan was slain, than the prior and the chamberlain and their faction called upon the Lord Abbat to summon a chapter of the house, in order to deliberate upon the perilous state of affairs; and notably upon the emptiness of the granaries and wine-cellars of the convent, there being, they said, barely red wine enough in the house to suffice for the service of the mass through another week. Now, good Thurstan, nothing daunted by the malice and plots of the prior (of which he knew but a part), readily convoked the chapter, and gave to every official and every cloister-monk full liberty to speak and vote according to his conscience and the best of his knowledge. But much was the Lord Abbat grieved when he saw that a good many of the monks did not rise and greet him as they ought to do, and turned their faces from him as he entered the chapter-house and gave them his benedicite, and pax vobiscum. And the abbat was still more grieved and astonished when he heard the prior taking up the foul accusation of Girolamo which had been disposed of the day before, and talking about witchcraft and necromancy, instead of propounding some scheme for the defence of the house and the Camp of Refuge against the Norman invaders. Much did the good Thurstan suffer in patient silence; but when the atrabilious[[232]] prior went on to repeat his accusations against Elfric, the whilom novice of Spalding, and against himself, the Lord Abbat of Ely, as defensors, fautors, and abettors of the necromancer, and said that it was now known unto the holy Father of the church at Rome, and throughout all Christendom, that last year an attempt had been made to compass the life of King William by witchcraft (the Norman duke having only had a taste of our fen-fever, as aforesaid!), Thurstan could remain silent no longer, and striking the table with his honest Saxon hand until his abbatial ring was broken on his finger (a sad omen of what was coming!), he raised his voice and made the hanging roof of the chapter-house re-echo, and the cowardly hearts of the wicked monks quiver and shake within them.
“There is a malice,” cried Thurstan, “worse than maleficium! There is a crime worse than witchcraft, and that is—ingratitude! Prior, when I was but a young cloister-monk, I found thee a sickly beggar in the fens, and brought thee into this house! It was I that raised thee to thy present eminence and illustration, and now thou wouldst sting me to the heart! Prior, I say, there is worse guilt even than ingratitude, and that is treason to one’s country! Prior, I have long suspected thee of a traitorous correspondence with the Normans, or at least of a traitorous wish to benefit thine own worldly fortune by serving them by the damnable acts of betraying thy country and this house. I have been but a fool, a compassionating, weak-hearted fool not to have laid thee fast in a dungeon long ago. Remember! it is more than a year since I threatened thee within these walls. But I relied upon the Saxon honesty and the conscience and the solemn oaths of this brotherhood, and so thought that thou couldst do no mischief, and mightest soon repent of thy wickedness. And tell me, oh prior, and look me in the face, and throw back thy cowl that all may see thy face; tell me, have I not a hundred times taken pains to show thee what, even in this world and in mere temporalities, hath been the hard fate of the Saxon monks and clergy that betrayed their flocks and submitted to the Normans? Speak, prior; I wait for thine answer.”