She had run up to the borough hill,--which men call Cherry Hill at this day,--and one look to the northeast had shown her the river swarming with ships. She had rushed home, put on men’s clothes, hid a few jewels in her bosom, saddled Swallow, and ridden for her life thither. “And King Ranald?” He and his men had gone desperately out towards Haddenham, with what English they could muster; but all were in confusion. Some were getting the women and children into boats, to hide them in the reeds. Others battering the minster gates, vowing vengeance on the monks. “Then Ranald will be cut off! Alas for the day that ever brought his brave heart hither!” And when the men heard that, a yell of fury and despair burst from all throats. Should they go back to their boats? “No! onward,” cried Hereward. “Revenge first, and safety after. Let us leave nothing for the accursed Frenchmen but smoking ruins, and then gather our comrades, and cut our way back to the north.” “Good counsel,” cried Winter. “We know the roads, and they do not; and in such a dark night as is coming, we can march out of the island without their being able to follow us a mile.” They hurried on; but stopped once more, at the galloping of another horse. “Who comes, friend or foe?” “Alwyn, son of Orgar!” cried a voice under breath. “Don’t make such a noise, men! The French are within half a mile of you.” “Then one traitor monk shall die ere I retreat,” cried Hereward, seizing him by the throat. “For Heaven’s sake, hold!” cried Torfrida, seizing his arm. “You know not what he may have to say.” “I am no traitor, Hereward; I have fought by your side as well as the best; and if any but you had called Alwyn--” “A curse on your boasting. Tell us the truth.” “The Abbot has made peace with the King. He would give up the island, and St. Etheldreda should keep all her lands and honors. I said what I could; but who was I to resist the whole chapter? Could I alone brave St. Etheldreda’s wrath?” “Alwyn, the valiant, afraid of a dead girl!” “Blaspheme not, Hereward! She may hear you at this moment! Look there!” and pointing up, the monk cowered in terror, as a meteor flashed through the sky. “That is St. Etheldreda shooting at us, eh? Then all I can say is, she is a very bad marksman. And the French are in the island?” “They are.” “Then forward, men, for one half-hour’s pleasure; and then to die like Englishmen.” “On?” cried Alwyn. “You cannot go on. The King is at Whichford at this moment with all his army, half a mile off! Right across the road to Ely!” Hereward grew Berserk. “On! men!” shouted he, “we shall kill a few Frenchmen apiece before we die!”