"Quod a quibusdam parrochianis vestris bona et possessiones elyensis ecclesie, precipue dum ipse ab episcopatu expulsus esset, direpta sunt et occupata et contra justitiam teneantur. Quidam etiam sub nomine _tenseriarum_ villas et homines suos spoliant et injustis operationibus et exaccionibus opprimunt."[668] But the bishop was not the only sufferer who turned to Rome for help. When Stephen installed the ambitious Daniel as Abbot of Ramsey in person, Walter, the late abbot, had sought "the threshold of the Apostles." Daniel, whether implicated or not in Geoffrey's sacrilegious deeds, found himself virtually deposed when the abbey became a fortress of the earl. Alarmed also for the possible consequence of Walter's appeal to Rome, he resolved to follow his example and betake himself to the pope, trusting to the treasure that he was able to bring.[669] The guileless simplicity of Walter, however, carried the day; he found favour in the eyes of the curia and returned to claim his abbey.[670] But though he had been absent only three months, the scene was changed indeed. That which he had left "the House of God," he found, as we have seen, "a den of thieves." But the "dove" who had pleaded before the papal court could show himself, at need, a lion. Filled, we are told, with the Holy Spirit, he entered, undaunted, the earl's camp, seized a flaming torch, and set fire not only to the tents of his troopers, but also to the outer gate of the abbey, which they had made the barbican of their stronghold. But neither this novel adaptation of the orthodox "tongues of fire," nor yet the more appropriate anathemas which he scattered as freely as the flames, could convert the mailed sinners from the error of their unhallowed ways. Indeed, it was almost a miracle that he escaped actual violence, for the enraged soldiery threatened him with death and brandished their weapons in his face.[671] In the excited state of the minds of those by whom such sights were witnessed, portents would be looked for, and found, as signs of the wrath of Heaven. Before long it was noised abroad that the very walls of the abbey were sweating blood, as a mark of Divine reprobation on the deeds of its impious garrison.[672] Far and wide the story spread; and men told with bated breath how they had themselves seen and touched the abbey's bleeding walls. Among those attracted by the wondrous sight was Henry, Archdeacon of Huntingdon, who has recorded for all time that he beheld it with his own eyes.[673] And as they spoke to one another of the miracle, in which they saw the finger of God, the starving peasants whispered their hopes that the hour of their deliverance was at hand.