And he came to Brandon, to the “king’s court,”--probably Weeting Hall, or castle, from which William could command the streams of Wissey and Little Ouse, with all their fens,--and cast about for a night’s lodging, for it was dark. Outside the town was a wretched cabin of mud and turf,--such a one as Irish folk live in to this day; and Hereward said to himself, “This is bad enough to be good enough for me.” So he knocked at the door, and knocked till it was opened, and a hideous old crone put out her head. “Who wants to see me at this time of night?” “Any one would, who had heard how beautiful you are. Do you want any pots?” “Pots! What have I to do with pots, thou saucy fellow? I thought it was some one wanting a charm.” And she shut the door. “A charm?” thought Hereward. “Maybe she can tell me news, if she be a witch. They are shrewd souls, these witches, and know more than they tell. But if I can get any news, I care not if Satan brings it in person.” So he knocked again, till the old woman looked out once more, and bade him angrily be off. “But I am belated here, good dame, and afraid of the French. And I will give thee the best bit of clay on my mare’s back,--pot,--pan,--pansion,--crock,--jug, or what thou wilt, for a night’s lodging.” “Have you any little jars,--jars no longer than my hand?” asked she; for she used them in her trade, and had broken one of late: but to pay for one, she had neither money nor mind. So she agreed to let Hereward sleep there, for the value of two jars. “But what of that ugly brute of a horse of thine?” “She will do well enough in the turf-shed.” “Then thou must pay with a pannikin.” “Ugh!” groaned Hereward; “thou drivest a hard bargain, for an Englishwoman, with a poor Englishman.” “How knowest thou that I am English?” “So much the better if thou art not,” thought Hereward; and bargained with her for a pannikin against a lodging for the horse in the turf-house, and a bottle of bad hay. Then he went in, bringing his panniers with him with ostentatious care. “Thou canst sleep there on the rushes. I have naught to give thee to eat.” “Naught needs naught,” said Hereward; threw himself down on a bundle of rush, and in a few minutes snored loudly. But he was never less asleep. He looked round the whole cabin; and he listened to every word. The Devil, as usual, was a bad paymaster; for the witch’s cabin seemed only somewhat more miserable than that of other old women. The floor was mud, the rafters unceiled; the stars shone through the turf roof. The only hint of her trade was a hanging shelf, on which stood five or six little earthen jars, and a few packets of leaves. A parchment, scrawled with characters which the owner herself probably did not understand, hung against the cob wall; and a human skull--probably used only to frighten her patients--dangled from the roof-tree.