There was nothing in the letter that he should not have read. She called
him her best and dearest friend, twice the savior of her life. What could
she do in return, but, at any risk to herself, try and save his life? The
French were upon him. The _posse comitatus_ of seven counties was
raising. "Northampton, Cambridge, Lincoln, Holland, Leicester, Huntingdon,
Warwick," were coming to the Bruneswald to root him out.
"Lincoln?" thought Hereward. "That must be Gilbert of Ghent, and Oger the
Breton. No! Gilbert is not coming, Sir Ascelin is coming for him. Holland?
That is my friend Ivo Taillebois. Well, we shall have the chance of paying
off old scores. Northampton? The earl thereof just now is the pious and
loyal Waltheof, as he is of Huntingdon and Cambridge. Is he going to join
young Fitz-Osbern from Warwick and Leicester, to root out the last
Englishman? Why not? That would be a deed worthy of the man who married
Judith, and believes in the powers that be, and eats dirt daily at
William's table."
Then he read on.
Ascelin had been mentioned, he remarked, three or four times in the
letter, which was long, as from one lingering over the paper, wishing to
say more than she dared. At the end was a hint of the reason:--
"O, that having saved me twice, you could save me once more.
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