“What? Where?” cried his comrades, and the monks who ran up. “The minster is full of flame. No use! too late! you cannot put it out! It must burn.” “You have been dreaming,” said one. “I have not,” said Hereward. “Is it Lammas night?” “What a question! It is the vigil of the Nativity of St. Peter and St. Paul.” “Thank heaven! I thought my old Lammas night’s dream was coming true at last.” Herluin heard, and knew what he meant. After which Hereward was silent, filled with many thoughts. The next morning, before the high mass, those three brave men walked up to the altar; laid thereon their belts and swords; and then knelt humbly at the foot of the steps till the Gospel was finished. Then came down from the altar Wilton of Ely, and laid on each man’s bare neck the bare blade, and bade him take back his sword in the name of God and of St. Peter and St. Paul, and use it like a true knight, for a terror and punishment to evil-doers, and a defence for women and orphans, and the poor and the oppressed, and the monks the servants of God. And then the monks girded each man with his belt and sword once more. And after mass was sung, they rose and went forth, each feeling himself--and surely not in vain--a better man. At least this is certain, that Hereward would say to his dying day, how he had often proved that none would fight so well as those who had received their sword from God’s knights the monks. And therefore he would have, in after years, almost all his companions knighted by the monks; and brought into Ely with him that same good custom which he had learnt at Peterborough, and kept it up as long as he held the isle. So says the chronicler Leofric, the minstrel and priest. It was late when they got back to Crowland. The good Abbot received them with a troubled face. “As I feared, my Lord, you have been too hot and hasty. The French have raised the country against you.” “I have raised it against them, my lord. But we have news that Sir Frederick--” “And who may he be?” “A very terrible Goliath of these French; old and crafty, a brother of old Earl Warrenne of Norfolk, whom God confound. And he has sworn to have your life, and has gathered knights and men-at-arms at Lynn in Norfolk.” “Very good; I will visit him as I go home, Lord Abbot. Not a word of this to any soul.” “I tremble for thee, thou young David.” “One cannot live forever, my lord. Farewell.”