"
"That is not fair," quoth Hereward, and clove him to the chine.
It was wild work. But the Golden Borough was won.
"We must in now and save the monks," said Hereward, and dashed over the
embers.
He was only just in time. In the midst of the great court were all the
monks, huddled together like a flock of sheep, some kneeling, most weeping
bitterly, after the fashion of monks.
Only Herluin stood in front of them, at bay, a lofty crucifix in his hand.
He had no mind to weep. But with a face of calm and bitter wrath, he
preferred words of peace and entreaty. They were what the time needed.
Therefore they should be given. To-morrow he would write to Bishop
Egelsin, to excommunicate with bell, book, and candle, to the lowest pit
of Tartarus, all who had done the deed.
But to-day he spoke them fair. However, his fair speeches profited little,
not being understood by a horde of Letts and Finns, who howled and bayed
at him, and tried to tear the crucifix from his hands; but feared "the
white Christ."
They were already gaining courage from their own yells; in a moment more
blood would have been shed, and then a general massacre must have ensued.
Hereward saw it, and shouting, "After me, Hereward's men! a bear! a bear!"
swung Letts and Finns right and left like corn-sheaves, and stood face to
face with Herluin.
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