And he sang them the staves of the Olifant, the magic horn,--how Roland would not sound it in his pride, and sounded it at Turpin’s bidding, but too late; and how his temples burst with that great blast, and Charles and all his peers heard it through the gorges, leagues away in France. And then his “Aoi” rang forth so loud and clear, like any trumpet blast, under the oaken glades, that the wild men leaped to their feet, and shouted, “Health to the gleeman! Health to the Abbot Thorold!” “I have won them,” thought the Abbot to himself. Strange mixture that man must have been, if all which is told of him is true; a very typical Norman, compact of cunning and ferocity, chivalry and poetry, vanity and superstition, and yet able enough to help to conquer England for the Pope. Then he pressed Hereward to sing, with many compliments; and Hereward sang, and sang again, and all his men crowded round him as the outlaws of Judaea may have crowded round David in Carmel or Hebron, to hear, like children, old ditties which they loved the better the oftener they heard them. “No wonder that you can keep these knights together, if you can charm them thus with song. Would that I could hear you singing thus in William’s hall.” “No more of that, Sir Abbot. The only music which I have for William is the music of steel on steel.” Hereward answered sharply, because he was half of Thorold’s mind. “Now,” said Torfrida, as it grew late, “we must ask our noble guest for what he can give us as easily and well as he can song,--and that is news. We hear naught here in the greenwood, and must throw oneself on the kindness of a chance visitor.” The Abbot leapt at the bait, and told them news, court gossip, bringing in great folks’ names and his own, as often and as familiarly mingled as he could. “What of Richilda?” asked Torfrida. “Ever since young Arnoul was killed at Cassel--” “Arnoul killed?” shrieked Torfrida. “Is it possible that you do not know?” “How should I know, shut up in Ely for--years it seems.” “But they fought at Cassel three months before you went to Ely.” “Be it so. Only tell me. Arnoul killed!” Then the Abbot told, not without feeling, a fearful story. Robert the Frison and Richilda had come to open war, and Gerbod the Fleming, Earl of Clueter, had gone over from England to help Robert. William had sent Fitz-Osbern, Earl of Hereford, the scourge and tyrant of the Welsh, to help Richilda. Fitz Osbern had married her, there and then. She had asked help of her liege lord, the King of France, and he had sent her troops. Robert and Richilda had fought on St. Peter’s day, 1071,--nearly two years before, at Bavinchorum, by Cassel.