One of the Norman prelates lifted up his voice and asked, whether the offer of a free pardon, and the promise of a large sum of money, would not make Hereward the Saxon abandon the Saxon cause, and desert from the Camp of Refuge? “By Notre Dame of Bayeux!” said Bishop Odo, the warlike and always fighting brother of Duke William, “by Notre Dame, and by my own sword and soul, this young man Hereward is not like other men! He hath been offered a free pardon, with possession of his lands, whether his by marriage or by inheritance, and he hath been promised as much gold and silver as would pay for a king’s ransom; and yet he hath rejected all this with scorn, and hath vowed, by his uncouth Saxon saints, that so long as a hundred men can be kept together in the Fen-country, he will never submit, or cease his warfare against the Normans!” “But that devil from beyond the Alps,” said the Norman prelate who had spoken before, “that rebel to the house of Guiscard, that necromancer, Girolamo of Salerno, is he not to be bought?” “It hath been tried,” said Bishop Odo, “but to no effect. That Italian devil is more athirst for Norman blood than is the Saxon devil. Before he quitted his home and fled beyond seas to seek out new enemies to our race, he gained a name which still makes the bravest of our Normans in Italie say a _Libera nos_ when they utter it! We will burn him alive when we catch him, but until that hour comes there is nothing to hope and much to fear from him, for he hath given up his life and soul to vengeance, and he hath more skill in the art of war, and is more versed in the diabolical arts of magic, than any other man upon earth.” “But what of the Saxon Abbat of Ely?” said the prelate who had before spoken about the efficacy of bribes, “what of this Thurstan?” “There is not a stubborner Saxon out of hell,” replied Odo, Bishop of Bayeux; “he hath been tried long since. Thou mightest as well attempt to bribe the raging sea! Thou mightest grill him on a gridiron like Saint Lawrence, or tear him into small pieces with iron pincers like Saint Agatha, and he would only curse us and our conquest, and pray for the usurper Harold, whom the fools firmly believe to be alive!” “But,” said the other prelate, “among the other clownish monks of Ely, may there not be found a——” “Peace!” said Duke William, “that hath been thought of already, and perhaps something may come of it—that is, if ye be but silent and discreet. Ye are all too loud-tongued, and overmuch given to talking; and these walls, though raised by Norman hands, may yet have Saxon ears! Retire we to the innermost council chamber.”