Hereupon the Normans all rose from the cold ground, and began to run with all the speed and strength that was left in them along the narrow road, the hindmost hardly ever ceasing to cry “Misericordia,” or “Have pity upon us, gentle Saxons!” But run as they would, the cry of “Hereward for England” was close behind them; and the horses, being put into a trot, broke in among them. More than one of the men-at-arms had the mortification of being knocked down and ridden over by a Crowland man mounted on his own war-horse; several of the monks got fresh immersions in the canals. Had the Saxons so disposed, not a Norman of all that company would have escaped with his life, for they were all as helpless as babes in their swaddling-clothes. But Hereward of the true English heart had conjured Elfric and the Salernitan to shed as little blood and destroy as few lives as possible; and Girolamo well knew that the terror and panic these fugitives would carry into whatsoever Norman camp or station they went would do far more good to the good cause than was to be done by despatching or by making prisoners of this score or two of obscure rogues. Thus Elfric, who led the van on a stately horse, called a halt when he had carried his pursuit to some three miles from Crowland abbey. “And now,” said he, “with the permission of good Guthlacus, we will cut such a trench as shall prevent these robbers from returning to Crowland. So dig and pull away, ye lusty fenners and nimble boys of Crowland that lately made such good sham devils! Dig away for one good hour by this bright moonlight, and to-morrow ye may make the trench broader and deeper by daylight! Oh, Guthlacus, we will repair thy good work when the good times come back again, and when honest men may walk along the road in peace, without any fear of Norman cut-throats!” Two score and more lusty hinds came forward with axes and spades and mattocks; and within the hour a trench was dug quite broad and deep enough to stop the march of any heavily armed man or war-horse. The Saxons then returned to Crowland, and as they went they sang in chorus a joyous war-song, and shouted “Hereward for England!” Girolamo the Salernitan, who had remained in the abbey with the Saxon lay-brothers, had put the house so completely in order and had so cleansed it of the foul odours he had made by his art, and had so sweetened it with frankincense brought from the church, and with barks and fragrant spirits taken from his own packets, that no man could have conceived that anything extraordinary had taken place. Save that the good Lord Abbat and his cloister monks were missing, the whole house looked just as it did before the Normans broke in upon it and drove away the Lord Abbat and his brethren. Honest and merry English voices rang again through hall, corridor, and cloister, instead of Norman speech that whistles in the nose; and Saxon saints were once more invoked instead of the unknown saints of France.