The last evil deed was speedily done, and superior, monks, novices, lay-brothers, were all thrust out of the gateway, and driven across the bridge. If the well-directed arrow of Elfric had slain one man-at-arms and the folk of Spalding town had slightly wounded two or three others, the Normans had killed Father Cedric, Hubert the porter, and the man that assisted him, had killed the cook, and cut off the ears of the cellarer. The conquerors therefore sought to shed no more blood, and the Taille-Bois was satisfied when he saw the brotherhood dispossessed and turned out upon the wide world with nothing they could call their own, except the sandals on their feet, and the torn clothes on their backs, and two or three church books. When a little beyond the moat they all shook the dust from their feet against the sons of the everlasting fire; and the superior, leisurely and in a low tone of voice, finished the malediction which he had begun in the chapel against Ivo Taille-Bois. This being over, Father Adhelm counted his little flock and said, “But oh, my children, where is the good Cedric?” “Cedric was killed on the house-top, and lies dead in the moat,” said one of the lay-brothers who had learned his fate when the rest of the community were ignorant of it. “Peace to his soul, and woe to him that slew him!” said the superior; “but where is Elfric? I see not the brave boy Elfric.” “I saw Elfric outside the walls of our house and running for the Welland, just as the Normans were admitted,” said the lay-brother who had before spoken, “and it must have been he that sent the arrow through the brain of the man-at-arms that lies there on the green sward.” “He will send his arrows through the brains of many more of them,” said the superior. “My children, I feel the spirit of prophecy speaking within me, and I tell ye all that Elfric, our whilome novice, will live to do or cause to be done more mischief to the oppressors of his country than all the chiefs that have taken up arms against them. He hath a head to plan, and a heart to dare, and a strong hand to execute. I know the course he will take. He will return to the Isle of Ely, the place of his birth, in the midst of the many waters, and throw himself into the Camp of Refuge, where the Saxon motto is ‘Death or Independence.’” Before moving to the near bank of the Welland, or to the spot to which the Normans had sent down the ferry-boat, Father Adhelm again counted his little flock, and said, “Cedric lies dead in the moat, Hubert and Bracho lie cold under the archway, Elfric the novice is fled to be a thorn in the sides of these Normans, but, oh tell me! where is good Oswald the cook?” “After they had dragged your reverence into the hall, a man-at-arms cut his throat, even as Oswald used to cut the throats of swine; and he lies dead by the chapel-door.” “_Misericordia!_ (O mercy on us!) Go where we will, we shall never find so good a cook again!”