Scarcely, however, had William become cognizant of his brother's project, when he returned from Normandy, and meeting the prelate in the Isle of Wight, caused him to be immediately arrested. Then, reassembling his council, he enumerated before the barons his grievances against the Bishop of Bayeux, his cruelties, his extortions, his secret manœuvres. "What does such a brother deserve?" he asked in conclusion. No one replied. "Let him be arrested," said the king, "and I will see to him." The barons hesitated: William himself advanced towards his brother. "Thou hast not the right to touch me," exclaimed Odo, "I am a priest and a bishop; the Pope alone is empowered to condemn me." "I am not judging the Bishop of Bayeux, but the Earl of Kent," replied William; and having sent him across the sea into Normandy, he imprisoned his brother in a dungeon, to the great satisfaction of the English, who detested him. William had lost his wife Queen Matilda in 1083; the only softening influence which had tempered that imperious will had disappeared. His two remaining sons, William and Henry, quarrelled with each other: the Danes were again threatening the shores of England, where they could easily have found support, and the English, sullen and subjected, nourished in their hearts a deep hatred towards the sovereign who had despoiled them, not only to enrich his Norman adherents, but in favor of the stags and deer, "whom (says the chronicle) he loved like his children," and for whose sake he had created or enlarged forests, while he had destroyed towns, villages, and monasteries which interfered with the preservation of game, or the pleasures of the chase, the passion for which he transmitted to his descendants. {113}