“Hey?” said Hereward, “a very clerkly letter. I did not think she was so good a scholar. Almost as good a one as Torfrida.” That was all he said; and as for thinking, he had the _posse comitatus_ of seven counties to think of. But what could those great fortunes and joys be, which Alftruda did not dare to describe? She growing old, too? Impossible, that was woman’s vanity. It was but two years since she was as fair as a saint in a window. “She shall not marry Ascelin. I will cut his head off. She shall have her own choice for once, poor child.” And Hereward found himself worked up to a great height of paternal solicitude for Alftruda, and righteous indignation against Ascelin. He did not confess to himself that he disliked much, in his selfish vanity, the notion of Alftruda’s marrying any one at all. He did not want to marry her himself,--of course not. But there is no dog in the manger so churlish on such points as a vain man. There are those who will not willingly let their own sisters, their own daughters, their own servants marry. Why should a woman wish to marry any one but them? But Hereward, however vain, was no dreamer or sluggard. He set to work, joyfully, cheerfully, scenting battle afar off, like Job’s war-horse, and pawing for the battle. He sent back Alftruda’s messenger, with this answer:-- “Tell your lady that I kiss her hands and feet. That I cannot write, for outlaws carry no pen and ink. But that what she has commanded, that will I perform.” It is noteworthy, that when Hereward showed Torfrida (which he did frankly) Alftruda’s letter, he did not tell her the exact words of his answer, and stumbled and varied much, vexing her thereby, when she, naturally, wished to hear them word for word. Then he sent out spies to the four airts of heaven. And his spies, finding a friend and a meal in every hovel, brought home all the news he needed. He withdrew Torfrida and his men into the heart of the forest,--no hint of the place is given by the chronicler,--cut down trees, formed an abattis of trunks and branches, and awaited the enemy. CHAPTER XXXV. HOW ABBOT THOROLD WAS PUT TO RANSOM. Though Hereward had as yet no feud against “Bysshoppes and Archbysshoppes,” save Egelsin of Selsey, who had excommunicated him, but who was at the other end of England, he had feud, as may be supposed, against Thorold, Abbot of Peterborough, and Thorold feud likewise against him. When Thorold had entered the “Golden Borough,” hoping to fatten himself with all its treasures, he had found it a smoking ruin, and its treasures gone to Ely to pay Sweyn and his Danes. And such a “sacrilege,” especially when he was the loser thereby, was the unpardonable sin itself in the eyes of Thorold, as he hoped it might be in the eyes of St. Peter. Joyfully therefore he joined his friend Ivo Taillebois; when, “with his usual pompous verbosity,” saith Peter of Blois, writing on this very matter, he asked him to join in destroying Hereward.