“_Sic est_, my Lord Abbat,” said the youth, bowing reverentially to the dignitary of the church and the best of Saxon patriots, “so is it my lord! and dragons and devils are these Normans all! Scarcely had the decision of the king’s council reached our house at Crowland, ere it was surrounded by armed men, and burst open at the dead of night, as our poor cell at Spalding had been, and Father Adhelm and all those who had lived under his rule at Spalding, were driven out as disturbers of the king’s peace! I should have come hither sooner, but those to whom my obedience was due begged me to tarry awhile. Now I am only the forerunner of Father Adhelm and his brethren, and of my Lord Abbat of Crowland himself; for the abbat can no longer bear the wrongs that are put upon him, and can see no hope upon earth, and no resting-place in broad England, except in the Camp of Refuge.” “Another abbat an outcast and a wanderer! This spacious house will be all too full of Saxon abbats and bishops: but I shall make room for this new comer,” said Frithric of Saint Albans to Egelwin, Bishop of Durham.[70] Divers of the monks of Ely, and _specialiter_ the chamberlain, who kept the accounts of the house, and the cellarer, who knew the daily drain made on the winebutts, looked blank at this announcement of more guests; but the bounteous and big-hearted Abbat of Ely said, “Our brother of Crowland, and Father Adhelm of Spalding, shall be welcome here—yea, and all they may bring with them; but tell me, oh youth, are they near at hand, or afar off in the wilderness?” “The feet of age travel not so fast as the feet of youth,” said Elfric, “age thinks, youth runs. I wot I was at Ramsey[71] mere before they got to the Isle of Thorney, and crossed the Ouse before they came to the Nene, but as, by the blessing of the saints,” and the youth might have said, in consequence of exercise and low living, “Father Adhelm’s podagra hath left him, they can hardly fail of being here on the day of Saint Edmund,[72] our blessed king and martyr, and that saint’s day is the next day after to-morrow.” “It shall be a feast-day,” said Thurstan; “for albeit Saint Edmund be not so great a saint as our own saint, Etheldreda, the founder of this house, and the monks of Saint Edmund-Bury (the loons have submitted to the Norman!) have more to do with his worship than we have, King Edmund is yet a great saint—a true Saxon saint, whose worship is old in the land; and it hath been the custom of this house to exercise hospitality on his festival. Therefore will we hold that day as we have been wont to hold it; and our brothers from Crowland and Spalding, who must be faring but badly in the fens, shall be welcomed with a feast.” So bounteous and open-handed was the true Saxon Abbat of Ely. But the chamberlain set his worldly head to calculate the expense, and the cellarer muttered to himself, “By Saint Withburga[73] and her holy well, our cellars will soon be dry!”