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.”

But the prior could not or would not then speak.

“Hola!” cried the abbat. “Is mine authority gone from me? Is the power I hold from Heaven, and from the sainted Confessor,[233] _Rex venerandus_, and by the one-voiced vote of this house, already usurped? Is my call to be disobeyed? Shall this false monk insult me before the brotherhood by refusing to answer me? I appeal to all the monks in chapter assembled.”

Several of the monks said that the prior was bound to answer the question which the abbat had put to him; but the chamberlain stood forward and said with an insolent tone, that in a chapter like the present every monk might speak or be silent as he thought best; that the question was irrelevant; and that, moreover, Brother Thurstan (mark ye, he called him _frater_, and not dominus or abbat!) had put the said question in a loud, angry, and unmannerly voice; and was, as he was but too apt to be, in a very fierce and ungodly passion of rage.

“Oh chamberlain!” cried the abbat, “thou art in the complot against me and thy country and the patrimony of Saint Etheldreda, and I have long thought it, and....” “And _I_,” said the chamberlain, audaciously interrupting the Lord Abbat while he was speaking, “And I have long thought that thou hast been leading this house into perdition, and that thou art not fit to be the head of it.”

A few of the cloister-monks started to their feet at these daring words, and recited the rules of the Order of Saint Benedict, and called upon the chamberlain and upon all present to remember their vows of obedience, and the respect due to every lord abbat that had been canonically elected and appointed; but alas! the number of these remonstrants was very small—much smaller than it would have been only the day before, for the faction had travailed hard during the night, and had powerfully worked upon the fears of the monks, more especially by telling them that neither bread nor wine could anywhere be had, and that a new legate was coming into England from the pope to excommunicate every Saxon priest and monk that did not submit to the Conqueror. Now when Thurstan saw how few there were in chapter that seemed to be steady to their duty, and true to their vows and to the rules of the order (promulgated by Saint Benedict and confirmed by so many pontiffs of Rome, and so many heads of the Benedictine Order, dwelling in the house on Mons Casinium, by the river Liris, where Saint Benedict himself dwelt, and fasted and prayed, when he was in the flesh), his heart, bold and stout as it was, sank within him, and he fell back in his carved seat and muttered to himself, “My pastoral crook is broken! My flock are turned into wolves!”

But, among the true-hearted Saxon monks, there was one that had the courage to defy the prior and his faction, and to stand forward and to speak roundly in defence of the oppressed Lord Abbat; and when he had spoken others found heart to do the same; and thereupon the weak and unsteady part of the chapter, who had no malice against Thurstan, and who had only taken counsel of their fears and craving stomachs, began to fall away from the line where the factious would have kept them, and even to reprove the chamberlain and the prior. This change of wind refreshed both the body and the soul of Thurstan, who knew as little of fear as any man that lived; and who had been borne down for a moment by the weight and agony of the thought that all his friends were either arrayed against him, or were too cowardly to defend him. Speaking again as one having authority and the power to enforce it, he commanded the prior and chamberlain to sit silent in their seats. And the two rebel monks sate silent while Thurstan, in a very long and earnest discourse, but more free from the passion of wrath than it had been, went once more over the history of his life and doings, from the day of his election down to the present troublous day; and spoke hopefully of the return of King Harold, and confidently of the ability of the Saxons to defend the Fen-country if they only remained true to themselves and to the Lord Hereward, without plots or machinations or cowardly and treacherous compacts with the enemy. The Lord Abbat’s discourse lasted so long that it was now near the hour of dinner; and, as much speaking bringeth on hunger and thirst, he was led to think about food and drink, and these thoughts made him say, “My children, ye all know that the Lord of Brunn hath gone forth of the Camp, at the point of day, to procure for us corn and wine. He hath sworn to me to bring us both—and when did the Lord of Brunn break his oath or fail in an enterprise? I tell ye one and all that he hath vowed to bring us wine and bread or die!”

The door of the chapter-house was closed and made fast, in order that none should go out or come in so long as the chapter lasted; but while Thurstan was saying his last words, the sub-sacrist, who was sitting near a window which looked into the quadrangle or open square of the abbey, very secretly and adroitly made a sign to some that were standing below in the quadrangle; and scarcely had the Lord Abbat pronounced the word “_die_” when a loud wailing and shouting was heard from without, and then the words “He is dead! He is dead! The Lord Hereward is killed!”

At these sounds Thurstan turned as pale as a white-washed wall, and others turned as pale as Thurstan; and the traitor-monks smote their breasts and made a show of being as much grieved and astounded as any of them.

“Ah woe!” said the abbat, “but this is fatal news! What fresh sorrow is this upon me! Hereward lost! He dead, whose arm and counsels formed our strength! Oh! that I had died yesterday, or an hour ago! But who brings the dire news? What and where is the intelligencer? Suspend this miserable chapter, and throw open the door that we may see and hear.”

The sub-sacrist was the first that rushed to the door, and threw it wide open and called upon a crowd of men without to come in and speak to the Lord Abbat.

The crowd rushed in. It was made up of hinds and serfs from the township of Ely, and of the gaping novices and lay brothers and serving men of the abbey; but in the head of it was an old fenner, who dwelt on the Stoke river between Hilgay and Downham-market, and who was well known for his skill in fowling and decoying birds, and for no other good deed: his name was Roger Lighthand, and he was afterwards hanged for stealing. He had his tale by rote, and he told it well. He was going that morning to look after some snares near Stoke-ferry, when, to his amazement, he saw a great band of Normans marching across the fens under the guidance of some of the fenners. He concealed himself and the Normans concealed themselves: and soon afterwards there came a band of Saxons headed by the Lord of Brunn, and these Saxons fell into the ambush which the Normans had laid for them; and the Lord of Brunn, after a desperate fight, was slain, and his head was cut off by the Normans and stuck upon a spear; and then the Normans marched away in the direction of Brandon, carrying with them as prisoners all the Saxons of Lord Hereward that they had not slain—all except _one_ man, who had escaped out of the ambush and was here to speak for himself. And now another fenner opened his mouth to give forth the lies which had been put into it; and this man said that, early in the morning, the Lord of Brunn, with a very thin attendance, had come across the fens where he dwelt, with a great blowing of horns, and with sundry gleemen, who sang songs about the victories of Hereward the Saxon, and who drew all the fenners of those parts, and himself among the rest, to join the Lord of Brunn, in order to march with him to the upland country and get corn and wine for the good monks of Ely. “When the Lord Hereward fell,” said this false loon, “I was close to him, and I afterwards saw his head upon the Norman lance.” “And I too,” quoth Roger Lighthand, “from my hiding-place among the rushes, saw the bleeding head of the Lord of Brunn as plainly as I now see the face of the Lord Abbat!”

The traitorous monks made a loud lamentation and outcry, but Thurstan could neither cry nor speak, and he sate with his face buried in his hands; while the prior ordered the crowd to withdraw, and then barred the door after them. As he returned from the door to his seat, the prior said, “Brethren, our last hope is gone!” And every monk then present, save only three, repeated the words, “Our last hope is gone!”

“The great captain hath perished,” said the chamberlain: “he will bring us no corn and wine! There is no help for us except only in tendering our submission to _King_ William, and in showing him how to get through the fens and fall upon the _rebel_ people in the Camp of Refuge, who have consumed our substance and brought us to these straits!”

Many voices said in a breath that there was no other chance of escaping famine or slaughter.

This roused the Saxon-hearted Lord Abbat, who had almost begun to weep in tenderness for brave Hereward’s death; and, striking the table until the hall rang again, he up and said, “Let me rather die the death of the wicked than have part in, or permit, so much base treachery! Let me die ten times over rather than be false to my country! Let me die a hundred deaths, or let me live in torture, rather than betray the noblest of the nobles of England that be in the Camp of Refuge; and the venerable archbishop and bishops, abbats and priors that have so long found a refuge in this house—a house ever famed for its hospitality. Let me, I say....”

Here the prior, with great boldness and insolence, interrupted the Lord Abbat, and said with a sneer, “The few servants of the church that now be in this house shall be looked to in our compact with the Normans; but for the fighting-lords that be in the Camp of Refuge, let them look to themselves! They have arms and may use them, or by laying down their arms they may hope to be admitted to quarter and to the _King’s_ peace; or ... or they may save their lives by timeous flight ... they may get them back into Scotland or to their own countries from which they came, for our great sorrow, to devour our substance and bring down destruction upon our house. We, the monks of Ely, owe them nothing!”

“Liar that thou art,” said Thurstan, “we owe them years of liberty and the happy hope of being for ever free of Norman bondage and oppression. If ye bring the spoilers among us, ye will soon find what we have owed to these valorous lords and knights! We owe to them and to their fathers much of the treasure which is gone and much of the land which remains to this monastery: we owe to them the love and good faith which all true Englishmen owe to one another; and in liberal minds this debt of affection only grows the stronger in adverse seasons. We are pledged to these lords and knights by every pledge that can have weight and value between man and man!”

“All this,” quoth the chamberlain, “may or may not be true; but we cannot bargain for the lives and properties of those that are in the Camp of Refuge: and we are fully resolved to save our own lives, with such property as yet remains to this, by thee misgoverned, monastery. Nevertheless we will entreat the King to be merciful unto the rebels.”

“What rebels! what king!” roared the Lord Abbat again, smiting the table; “oh chamberlain! oh prior! oh ye back-sliding monks that sit there with your chins in your hands, not opening your lips for the defence of your superior, to whom ye have all vowed a constant obedience, it is ye that are the rebels and traitors! _Deo regnante et Rege expectante_, by the great God that reigns, and by King Harold that is expected, this Norman bastard is no king of ours! There is no king of England save only King Harold, who will yet come back to claim his own, and to give us our old free laws!”

“We tell thee again, oh Thurstan! that Harold lies buried in Waltham Abbey, and that there be those who have seen...”

“Brother,” quoth the prior to the chamberlain, “brother, we but lose our time in this idle and angry talk with a man who was ever too prone to wrath, and too headstrong. The moments of time are precious! Let us put the question.”

“Do it thyself, oh prior,” said the chamberlain, who then sat down, looking very pale.

“It is a painful duty,” said the prior, “but I will do it.”

And having so said, the prior stood up, right before the Lord Abbat, though not without fear and trembling, and, after stammering for some time, he spoke in this strain, looking rather at the abbat’s feet than in his face:—“Thurstan, it is better that one man should suffer a temporary evil than that many men should perish! It is better that thou shouldest cease to rule over this house than that the house, and all of us in it, should be destroyed! I, the prior, and next in authority unto thee, and with the consent and advice of all the chief obedientiarii of the convent, do invite and intreat thee voluntarily to suspend thyself from all the duties of thine office!”

“Chick of the fens, art so bold as this?” cried Thurstan, “hast thrown thy respect for the canons of the church and the rules of this order of St. Benedict into the same hell-pit where thou hast thrown the rest of thy conscience? Children! brothers! ye, the ancient members of the convent, what say ye this?”

Three monks who had grown grey in the house, without ever acquiring, or wishing to acquire, any of the posts of eminence, to wit, Father Kynric, Father Elsin, and Father Celred, raised their voices and said, that such things had not been heard of before; that the prior, unmindful of his vows, and of the deep debt of gratitude he owed unto the Lord Abbat, was seeking to thrust him from his seat, that he might sit upon it himself; and that if such things were allowed there would be an end to the glory of the house of Ely, an end to all subordination and obedience, an end to the rule under which the house had flourished ever since the days of King Edgar, _Rex piissimus_.

Thus spoke the three ancient men; but no other monks supported them, albeit a few of the younger members of the convent whispered in each other’s ears that the prior was dealing too harsh a measure to the bountiful Lord Thurstan.

The prior, glad to address anybody rather than the Lord Abbat, turned round and spoke to Kynric, Elsin, and Celred: “Brothers,” said he, “ye are mistaken as to my meaning. I, the humblest born of this good community, wish not for higher promotion, and feel that I am all unworthy of that which I hold. I propose not a forcible deprivation, nor so much as a forcible suspension. I, in mine own name, and in the names of the sub-prior, the cellarer, the sacrist, the sub-sacrist, the chamberlain, the sub-chamberlain, the refectorarius, the precentor, and others the obedientiarii, or officials of this goodly and godly house of Ely, do only propound that Thurstan, our Lord Abbat, do, for a season and until these troubles be past, quietly and of his own free will, cease to exercise the functions of his office. Now, such a thing as this hath been heard of aforetime. Have we not a recent instance and precedent of it in our own house, in the case and conduct of Abbat Wilfric, the immediate predecessor of my Lord Thurstan? But let me tell that short tale, and let him whom it most concerneth take it for a warning and example.—The Lord Abbat Wilfric was a high-born man, as high-born as my Lord Thurstan himself, for there was royal Danish and Saxon blood in his veins. Many were the hides of land, and many the gifts he gave to this community and church: my Lord Thurstan hath not given more! Many were the years that he lived in credit and reputation, and governed the abbey with an unblemished character. Our refectory was never better supplied than in the days of Abbat Wilfric; and, albeit there were wars and troubles, and rumours of many wars in his days, our cellars were never empty, nor was the house ever obliged to eat roast and baked meats without any wheaten bread. It was a happy time for him and for us! But, in an evil hour, Guthmund, the brother of my Lord Abbat Wilfric, came unto this house with a greedy hand and a woeful story about mundane loves and betrothals—a story unmeet for monastic ears to hear. Guthmund, had paid his court to the daughter of one of the greatest noblemen of East Anglia, and had gained her love. Now Guthmund, though of so noble a family, and related to princes, was not entitled to the privileges of prime nobility, neither took he rank with them, forasmuch as that he had not in actual possession a sufficient estate, to wit, forty hides of land. This being the case, the father of the maiden forbade the troth-plight, and bade Guthmund fly his hawks in another direction, and come no more to the house. So Guthmund came with his piteous tale to his brother the Abbat Wilfric, who, thinking of temporalities when he ought to have been thinking of spiritualities, and preferring the good of a brother to the good of this house, did, without consulting with any of the convent, but in the utmost privacy, convey unto the said Guthmund sundry estates and parcels of land appurtenant to this monastery, to wit, Acholt, part of Mereham,[234] Livermere, Nachentune, Bedenestede, and Gerboldesham, to the end that, being possessed of them, Guthmund might hold rank with the prime nobility and renew his love-suit with a certainty of success.[235] Wot ye well this pernicious brother of the abbat went away not with the sad face he had brought to the abbey, but with a very joyous countenance, for he took with him from our cartularies, the title-deeds of those broad lands which had been given to the abbey by sundry pious lords. Yes! Guthmund went his way, and was soon happy with his bride and the miserable pleasures of the flesh, and the pomps and vanities of the world. But the abbat, his brother, was never happy again, for his conscience reproached him, and the secret of the foul thing which he had done was soon discovered. The brotherhood assembled in chapter, even as it is now assembled, denounced the robbery, the spoliation, and sacrilege, and asked whether it were fit that such an abbat should continue to hold rule over the house? Wilfric, not hardened in sin, but full of remorse, felt that he could no longer be, or act as Lord Abbat, and therefore went he away voluntarily from the abbey, renouncing all authority. Yea, he went his way unto Acholt, where, from much sorrow and perturbation of mind, he soon fell sick and died: and, as he died very penitent, we brought back his body for sepulture in the abbey church; and then proposed that our brother Thurstan should be our Abbat and ruler.”

“Saint Etheldreda give me patience!” said Thurstan, “Oh prior, what have I to do with this tale? Why revive the memory of the sins of a brother, and once superior and father, who died of grief for that which he had done, and which an excess of brotherly love had urged him to do? How doth this tale apply to me? what have I had to do in it or with it, save only to recover for this house the lands which my unhappy predecessor conveyed away? I have brought ye hides of land, but have given none to any of my kindred. That which hath been spent since the black day of Hastings, hath been spent for the defence of the patrimony of Saint Etheldreda, and for the service of the country. Have I not brought Guthmund to compound with me, and to agree to hold from, and under the abbey, and during his lifetime only, and with payment of dues and services to the abbey, all the lands which his brother, the Abbat Wilfric,—may his soul find pardon and rest!—alienated by that wicked conveyance? and hath not the same Guthmund given us the dues and services; and will not the lands of Acholt, Mereham, Livermere, Nachentune, Bedenestede, and Gerboldesham revert to the house so soon as he dies? Oh prior, that hast the venom of the serpent without the serpent’s cunning, if ye bring in the son of the harlot of Falaise, and if some pauper of a Norman knight get hold of these lands, the abbey will never get them back again!” [And as Thurstan said, so it happened. The demesnes were given to one Hugo de Montfort, and the church was never able to recover possession of them.][236]

“Brethren,” said the prior, “I put it to ye, whether we be not now in greater tribulation and want than ever we were before? Abbat Wilfric gave away five manors and a part of a sixth; but the convent was still left rich.”

“Aye! and the cellars full, and the granaries full,” said the cellarius.

“And nothing was taken from our treasury or from the shrines of our saints,” said the sub-sacrist.

“Nor was there any dealing and pledging with the accursed Israelites,” said the chamberlain.

“Nor did we then bring upon ourselves the black guilt of robbing other religious houses to give the spoils to the half-converted, drunken Danes,” said the sub-chamberlain.

“Slanderers and traitors all,” shouted Thurstan, “ye all know how these things were brought about! There is not one of ye but had more to do in that of which ye now complain than I had! Ye forced me into those dealings with Jews and Danes.”

“Thou wast abbat and ruler of the house, and as such thou art still answerable for all;” said the prior with a very insolent and diabolical sneer.

Thurstan could no longer control his mighty wrath, and springing upon the prior and seizing him by the neck he shouted, “Dog, I will answer upon thy throat! Nay, viper, that stingest thy benefactor, I will crush thee under my heel!”

And before the cellarer and chamberlain or any of that faction could come to the rescue, the puny prior, with a blackened face, was cast on his back upon the floor of the chapter-house, and the Lord Abbat had his foot upon him.

The prior moaned and then screamed and yelled like a whipped cur: the faction rose from their seats and came to his aid, but as they all knew and dreaded the stalwart strength that was in Thurstan’s right arm, each of them wished some other monk to go foremost, and so the cellarer pushed forward the chamberlain, and the chamberlain pushed forward the sub-chamberlain, the sacrist, the sub-sacrist, and so with the rest; and maugre all this pushing, not one of them would venture to lay his hand upon the sleeve of the abbat’s gown, or to get within reach of Thurstan’s strong right arm.

But the Lord Abbat cooling in his wrath, and feeling scorn and contempt instead of anger, took his foot from the hollow breast of the recreant prior, and bade him rise and cease his yelling: and the prior rose, and the abbat returned to his seat.

Now those of the faction who had not felt the tight grip of Thurstan’s right hand, nor the weight of his foot, were greatly rejoiced at what had happened, as they thought it would give them a handle whereby to move a vote of the chapter for the forcible suspension of the Lord Abbat; and to this end they raised a loud clamour that Thurstan had acted uncanonically, tyrannically, and indecently, in beating a monk who was next in dignity to himself, and that by this one act he had merited suspension.

“Babblers and fools,” cried Thurstan, growing wroth again; “Fools that ye are, though with more malice than folly, and with more treachery than ignorance, it is not unto me that ye can expound the canons of the church, or the rules of the order of Saint Benedict! Was I not bred up in this house from mine infancy? Was I not reputed sufficiently learned both in English and in Latin, many years before I became your abbat? Have I not read and gotten by heart the laws and institutes? Ye have a rule if ye would read it! and is it not this—that it is your duty to obey your Lord Abbat in all things, and that your abbat may impose upon each and all of ye such penance as he thinks fit, _secundum delictum_, even to the chastising of ye with his own hand? Chamberlain! I have seen Abbat Wilfric cudgel thee with his fen-pole until thy back was as black as thy heart now is. Sacrist! thou art old now, but thou wilt remember how Abbat Wilfric’s predecessor knocked thee down in the refectory on the eve of Saint John, for being drunk before evening-song, and thine offence was small compared to that which this false prior hath given me before the whole house!”

The prior, who had now recovered his breath and removed himself to the farthest end of the hall, spoke and said—“But what say the canons of Ælfric?—‘Let not a priest wear weapons nor work strife, nor let him swear oaths, but with gentleness and simplicity ever speak truly as a learned servant of God:’—and what sayeth Ælfric in his pastoral epistle?—‘No priest shall be too proud nor too boastful. He shall not be violent and quarrelsome, nor stir up strife, but he shall pacify quarrels always if he can; and he may not who is God’s soldier lawfully wear weapons, nor go into any battle:’—and what say the canons enacted under King Edgar, the great benefactor of this our house?—‘Let each of God’s servants be to other a support and a help both before God and before men: and we enjoin that each respect the other.’”

“Say on,” cried the abbat; “thou sayest not all the canons of good King Edgar, for it ordains that all junior priests or monks shall respect and obey their elders and superiors. But I will not lose more time and temper in talking with thee and such as thou art; and since the major part of the convent have fallen off from their duty and the respect and obedience they owe me, I, Thurstan, by the grace of God Lord Abbat of Ely, entering my solemn protest against the wrong which hath been done me, and making my appeal to God against this injustice and rebellion, do here, for this time being, take off my mitre and dalmatic, and lay down my crosier, and take my departure for the Camp of Refuge, to take my chance with those whom ye are betraying.”

And so saying, Thurstan laid mitre, dalmatic, and crosier upon the table, and then strode down the hall towards the door.

“Oh Thurstan,” cried the chamberlain with a voice of great joy, “thou hast done wisely! but it would not be wisely done in us to let thee go forth of this house for this present! Sub-prior, cellarer, friends, all that would save the abbey and your own lives, look to the door! Prior, put it to the vote that the house in chapter assembled do accept the voluntary resignation of Thurstan, and that he, our whilom abbat, be closely confined within his own innermost chamber, until another chapter ordain otherwise, or until this exceeding great danger be past.”

The door was more than secured; and save only the feeble voices of those three old and good monks, Fathers Kynric, Elsin, and Celred, not a voice was heard to speak against these wicked proposals, or in favour of the bountiful Lord Abbat, whose heart died within him at the sight of so much ingratitude, and who stood, as if rooted to the ground, at the end of the hall near the door, muttering to himself, “Hereward, my son, if thou hadst lived it ne’er had come to this! Oh noble lords and knights and warriors true in the Camp,—no longer a Camp of Refuge, but _Castra Doloris_, a Camp of Woe,—ye will be betrayed and butchered, and in ye will be betrayed and butchered the liberties of England and the last rights of the English church, before warning can be given ye! Oh Stigand, my spiritual lord, and all ye Saxon bishops and abbats that came hither as to a sanctuary, ye have but thrown yourselves into the lion’s den! Hereward, dear, brave Hereward, thou art happy, thou art happy in this, that thou hast at least died like a soldier! The rest of us will die like sheep in the shambles!”

While Thurstan, a sadder man than ever was Marius among the ruins of Carthage, was thus standing motionless, and communing with his own sad heart, the prior put to the vote the resolution which the chamberlain had moved; and the large majority of the house, some being deep in the plot, but more being carried by the dread of the Normans and the dread of famine, or being thrown into despair by the reported death of the Lord of Brunn, voted as the prior and chamberlain wished they would vote. The prior would fain have cast Thurstan into that subterranean dungeon into which Thurstan had once threatened,[237] but unluckily only threatened, to cast him; and he took much pains to show that it was needful to keep the deposed abbat in a place of great strength and security, to keep his imprisonment a secret, and to prevent all possibility of access to him or correspondence with him; but when he came to name the dark damp cold cells in the foundations of the abbey, wherein the rebellious son of an old East Anglian king had been immured, after having been deprived of his eyes, the monks testified compunction and disgust, and even sundry monks that had long been the most desperate of his faction spoke against the barbarity, and therefore the astute prior had not put it to the vote, and Thurstan was merely conveyed to the inner chamber of his own apartment; and this being done, and a strong guard being left in the abbat’s apartment, the monks all went to their long delayed dinner, and as soon as the dinner was over, the prior, the cellarer, the chamberlain, the sacrist, and a large attendance of monks and lay brothers went forth to complete their treason, leaving behind them rigorous orders that all the gates of the abbey should be kept closed, and that none should be admitted therein until they returned from Cam-Bridge.[238] The way which the traitors took across the fens and broad waters of Ely was indirect and long, for they feared to be seen of any Saxon, and so shunned the good folk of the township of Ely, the faithful vassals and loaf-eaters of the abbey. Nevertheless they got to the causey which the Normans had made before compline, or second vespers, and finding fleet horses there waiting for them, they got to the castle at Cam-Bridge, and into the presence of Duke William and his fiercer half-brother, Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, two good hours before the beginning of lauds.[239] The false Saxons kneeled at the feet of the Normans, kissed their hands—mailed hands both, for the bishop, heedless of the canons of the church, wore armour and carried arms as frequently as his brother the duke, and, like the duke, intended to take the field against the last of the Saxons, and was only waiting for the summons and the sign which the monks of Ely were to give. The compact had been propounded many nights before this; but now the duke, speaking as lawful sovereign of England, and the Bishop of Bayeux, speaking as one that had authority from the primate Lanfranc and from the Pope of Rome himself, laid their hands upon the relics of some Saxon saints which the traitor monks had brought with them, and solemnly promised and vowed that, in consideration of the said monks showing them a safe byway to the Camp of Refuge, and in consideration of their other services, they would do no harm, nor suffer any to be done either to Ely Abbey, or to any monk, novice, lay brother, or other servant soever of that house. Aye, they promised and vowed that the whole patrimony of Saint Etheldreda should remain and be confirmed to the Saxon brotherhood, and that not a hide of land should be taken from them, nor a single Norman knight, soldier, abbat, or monk be forced upon them, or enriched by their spoils. Aye, and they promised and vowed to enrich the shrines of the saints, and to restore to the abbey its pristine splendour and all its ancient possessions, not excepting those for which Guthmund, the brother of Abbat Wilfric, had compounded; and they opened unto the delighted eyes of the prior the sure and brilliant prospect of the mitre and crosier. And upon this the false monks of Ely swore upon the same relics to do all and more than they had promised to do; and so kneeled again and kissed the mailed hands, and took their departure from that ill-omened castle on the hill that stood and stands near to Cam-Bridge; and riding along the causey as fast as the best English horses could carry them, and then stealing over the waters, across the fens, and through the woods of willows, like night thieves that blow no horn, because they will not that their going and coming be known to honest men, they got back to the abbey, and went to their several cells about the same hour of prime on which Elfric the sword-bearer, and Girolamo the Salernitan, got down as far as to Brandon with corn and wine for the house.

The order was again given that all the gates of the abbey should be kept closed; and during the whole of that day, or from the rising of the sun to the setting thereof, no living soul was allowed either to enter the house or to issue therefrom. So much did the traitors fear lest their treasons and the wrongs they had done unto the good Lord Abbat should become known to the good folk of Ely town, and through them to the warriors in the Camp of Refuge. Some of the Saxon prelates had gone forth for the Camp several days before, and had not yet returned; but such as remained in the house (only a few sick and aged men) were told that the Lord Abbat was sick, and could not be spoken with, and that the doors and gates were kept closed in order that he might not be disturbed. Nor was this all false. Thurstan’s wrath, and then his grief and perturbations, had brought on a fever and ague and he was lying on his bed in a very helpless and very hopeless state, with none to help him or hear him, for the sub-prior had made fast the door of the inner chamber, and the door of the chamber which led into it; and the guard was stationed at a distance in the corridor.