They of Ely were now much straitened, being shut in both by land and water; and what was to be done, either by themselves or by the king, they knew not. Would William simply starve them; or at least inflict on them so perpetual a Lent,--for of fish there could be no lack, even if they ate or drove away all the fowl,--as would tame down their proud spirits; which a diet of fish and vegetables, from some ludicrous theory of monastic physicians, was supposed to do? [Footnote: The Cornish--the stoutest, tallest, and most prolific race of the South--live on hardly anything else but fish and vegetables.] Or was he gathering vast armies, from they knew not whence, to try, once and for all, another assault on the island,--it might be from several points at once? They must send out a spy, and find out news from the outer world, if news were to be gotten. But who would go? So asked the bishop, and the abbot, and the earls, in council in the abbot’s lodging. Torfrida was among them. She was always among them now. She was their Alruna-wife, their Vala, their wise woman, whose counsels all received as more than human. “I will go,” said she, rising up like a goddess on Olympus. “I will cut off my hair, and put on boy’s clothes, and smirch myself brown with walnut leaves; and I will go. I can talk their French tongue. I know their French ways; and as for a story to cover my journey and my doings, trust a woman’s wit to invent that.” They looked at her, with delight in her courage, but with doubt. “If William’s French grooms got hold of you, Torfrida, it would not be a little walnut brown which would hide you,” said Hereward. “It is like you to offer,--worthy of you, who have no peer.” “That she has not,” quoth churchmen and soldiers alike. “But--to send you would be to send Hereward’s wrong half. The right half of Hereward is going; and that is, himself.” “Uncle, uncle!” said the young earls, “send Winter, Geri, Leofwin Prat, any of your fellows: but not yourself. If we lose you, we lose our head and our king.” And all prayed Hereward to let any man go, rather than himself. “I am going, lords and knights; and what Hereward says he does. It is one day to Brandon. It may be two days back; for if I miscarry,--as I most likely shall,--I must come home round about. On the fourth day, you shall hear of me or from me. Come with me, Torfrida.” And he strode out. He cropped his golden locks, he cropped his golden beard; and Torfrida cried, as she cropped them, half with fear for him, half for sorrow over his shorn glories. “I am no Samson, my lady; my strength lieth not in my locks. Now for some rascal’s clothes,--as little dirty as you can get me, for fear of company.” And Hereward put on filthy garments, and taking mare Swallow with him, got into a barge and went across the river to Soham.