Hereward came back on the third day, and found his wife and daughter gone.
His guilty conscience told him in the first instant why. For he went into
the chamber, and there, upon the floor, lay the letter which he had looked
for in vain.
No one had touched it where it lay. Perhaps no one had dared to enter the
chamber. If they had, they would not have dared to meddle with writing,
which they could not read, and which might contain some magic spell.
Letters were very safe in those old days.
There are moods of man which no one will dare to describe, unless, like
Shakespeare, he is Shakespeare, and like Shakespeare knows it not.
Therefore what Hereward thought and felt will not be told. What he did was
this. He raged and blustered. He must hide his shame. He must justify
himself to his knights; and much more to himself; or if not justify
himself, must shift some of the blame over to the opposite side. So he
raged and blustered. He had been robbed of his wife and daughter. They had
been cajoled away by the monks of Crowland. What villains were those, to
rob an honest man of his family while he was fighting for his country?
So he rode down to the river, and there took two great barges, and rowed
away to Crowland, with forty men-at-arms.
And all the while he thought of Alftruda, as he hai seen her at
Peterborough.
Pages:
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587