But soon he had to take care of himself. Earl Warrenne’s commands to feed him were construed by the cook-boys and scullions into a command to make him drunk likewise. To make a laughing-stock of an Englishman was too tempting a jest to be resisted; and Hereward was drenched (says the chronicler) with wine and beer, and sorely baited and badgered. At last one rascal hit upon a notable plan. “Pluck out the English hog’s hair and beard, and put him blindfold in the midst of his pots, and see what a smash we shall have.” Hereward pretended not to understand the words, which were spoken in French; but when they were interpreted to him, he grew somewhat red about the ears. Submit he would not. But if he defended himself, and made an uproar in the king’s Court, he might very likely find himself riding Odin’s horse before the hour was out. However, happily for him, the wine and beer had made him stout of heart, and when one fellow laid hold of his beard, he resisted sturdily. The man struck him, and that hard. Hereward, hot of temper, and careless of life, struck him again, right under the ear. The fellow dropped for dead. Up leapt cook-boys, scullions, _lécheurs_ (who hung about the kitchen to _lécher,_ lick the platters), and all the foul-mouthed rascality of a great mediaeval household; and attacked Hereward _cum fureis et tridentibus,_ with forks and flesh-hooks. Then was Hereward aware of a great broach, or spit, before the fire; and recollecting how he had used such a one as a boy against the monks of Peterborough, was minded to use it against the cooks of Brandon; which he did so heartily, that in a few moments he had killed one, and driven the others backward in a heap. But his case was hopeless. He was soon overpowered by numbers from outside, and dragged into the hall, to receive judgment for the mortal crime of slaying a man within the precincts of the Court. He kept up heart. He knew that the king was there; he knew that he should most likely get justice from the king. If not, he could but discover himself, and so save his life: for that the king would kill him knowingly, he did not believe. So he went in boldly and willingly, and up the hall, where, on the dais, stood William the Norman. William had finished his luncheon, and was standing at the board side. A page held water in a silver basin, in which he was washing his hands. Two more knelt, and laced his long boots, for he was, as always, going a-hunting. Then Hereward looked at the face of the great man, and felt at once that it was the face of the greatest man whom he had ever met. “I am not that man’s match,” said he to himself. “Perhaps it will all end in being his man, and he my master.” “Silence, knaves!” said William, “and speak one of you at a time. How came this?”