"No wonder that you can keep these knights together, if you can charm them
thus with song. Would that I could hear you singing thus in William's
hall."
"No more of that, Sir Abbot. The only music which I have for William is
the music of steel on steel."
Hereward answered sharply, because he was half of Thorold's mind.
"Now," said Torfrida, as it grew late, "we must ask our noble guest for
what he can give us as easily and well as he can song,--and that is news.
We hear naught here in the greenwood, and must throw oneself on the
kindness of a chance visitor."
The Abbot leapt at the bait, and told them news, court gossip, bringing in
great folks' names and his own, as often and as familiarly mingled as he
could.
"What of Richilda?" asked Torfrida.
"Ever since young Arnoul was killed at Cassel--"
"Arnoul killed?" shrieked Torfrida.
"Is it possible that you do not know?"
"How should I know, shut up in Ely for--years it seems."
"But they fought at Cassel three months before you went to Ely."
"Be it so. Only tell me. Arnoul killed!"
Then the Abbot told, not without feeling, a fearful story.
Robert the Frison and Richilda had come to open war, and Gerbod the
Fleming, Earl of Clueter, had gone over from England to help Robert.
William had sent Fitz-Osbern, Earl of Hereford, the scourge and tyrant of
the Welsh, to help Richilda.
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