He was a native of Rheims, his name was Clarembald, and he was one of the mercenary leaders who had come with Louis to conquer England, bringing with him a rather remarkable surname, which, no doubt, he hoped to exchange for a territorial title derived from some earldom or barony on the Thames, or the Humber, or the Tweed. In fact, from his nocturnal excursions into towns and villages in Anjou and Normandy during the wars of King John and Philip Augustus, Clarembald had won the surname of “Eveille-chiens,” or Wake-dog, and he had rendered the surname very terrible to such as had learned what it was to have the misfortune to be the foe of his friends. When Louis seized the castles of the king’s adherents in Sussex, Clarembald was appointed governor of Lewes, one of the castles of the Warrens, and he began to rule the neighbourhood with a rod of iron. Nowhere did the inhabitants of England find the invaders so tyrannical and so merciless. In vain the unfortunate English endeavoured to soften his heart by rendering him every possible honour. It only made him worse. He vexed them, tormented them, plundered them, hounded his dogs on their cattle so as to drive them into the marshes, and by breaking their limbs or backs killed or rendered them worthless. Nay more, he lamed their horses, slaughtered their sheep, and treated them very much as the French magnates of the fourteenth century treated Jacques Bonhomme, till the said Jacques, rendered furious by cruel treatment, turned on his persecutors, and proved to the world, during that outbreak known as the “Jacquerie,” how much worse than the beasts of the forest a human being can become when brutalised by long and continuous oppression. Now Clarembald Eveille-chiens received very peremptory orders from Prince Louis to attack and destroy the camp of refuge in Sussex, and the bold warrior immediately prepared for the enterprise, only regretting, as far as he was concerned, that it was not one in which there was any chance of plunder. It was late in autumn when Clarembald Eveille-chiens left the castle of Lewes, encamped in the wood, set up his standard, which was the colour of blood, and, investing the camp of refuge on all sides, constructed dykes and gangways over the marshes, and commenced on one side a causeway through the waters, so that his soldiers might enter the islet and put its occupants to the sword. But he soon found that the work in which he was engaged was no child’s play. Not only were the workmen harassed and interrupted in their operations by mocking jests and flights of arrows, but, night after night, Oliver Icingla, in spite of the watch that was kept, contrived to cross the marshes in his white jacket, and made attacks so sudden and unforeseen that the French at length verily suspected that he dealt in magic.