Within an hour all Canterbury was in commotion. A friar had been murdered,--two friars--ten--twenty; a whole convent had been assaulted,--sacked,--burnt,--all the monks had been killed, and all the nuns had been kissed!--Murder!--fire!--sacrilege! Never was city in such an uproar. From St. George's gate to St. Dunstan's suburb, from the Donjon to the borough of Staplegate, all was noise and hubbub. "Where was it?"--"When was it?"--"How was it?" The Mayor caught up his chain, the Aldermen donned their furred gowns, the Town-clerk put on his spectacles. "Who was he?"--"What was he?"--"Where was he?"--he should be hanged,--he should be burned,--he should be broiled,--he should be fried,--he should be scraped to death with red-hot oyster-shells! "Who was he?"--"What was his name?" The Abbot's Apparitor drew forth his roll and read aloud:--"Sir Robert de Shurland, Knight banneret, Baron of Shurland and Minster, and Lord of Sheppey." The Mayor put his chain in his pocket, the Aldermen took off their gowns, the Town Clerk put his pen behind his ear.--It was a county business altogether:--the Sheriff had better call out the _posse comitatus_. While saints and sinners were thus leaguing against him, the Baron de Shurland was quietly eating his breakfast. He had passed a tranquil night, undisturbed by dreams of cowl or capuchin; nor was his appetite more affected than his conscience. On the contrary, he sat rather longer over his meal than usual: luncheon-time came, and he was ready as ever for his oysters: but scarcely had Dame Martin opened his first half-dozen when the warder's horn was heard from the barbican. "Who the devil's that?" said Sir Robert. "I'm not at home, Periwinkle. I hate to be disturbed at meals, and I won't be at home to anybody." "An't please your lordship," answered the Seneschal, "Paul Prior hath given notice that there is a body--" "Another body!" roared the Baron. "Am I to be everlastingly plagued with bodies? No time allowed me to swallow a morsel. Throw it into the moat!" "So please you, my lord, it is a body of horse,--and--and Paul says there is a still larger body of foot behind it; and he thinks, my lord,--that is, he does not know, but he thinks--and we all think, my lord, that they are coming to--to besiege the castle!" "Besiege the castle! Who? What? What for?" "Paul says, my lord, that he can see the banner of St. Austin, and the bleeding heart of Hamo de Crevecœur, the Abbot's chief vassal; and there is John de Northwood, the sheriff, with his red-cross engrailed; and Hever, and Leybourne, and Heaven knows how many more; and they are all coming on as fast as ever they can." "Periwinkle," said the Baron, "up with the drawbridge; down with the portcullis; bring me a cup of canary, and my nightcap. I won't be bothered with them. I shall go to bed." "To bed, my lord?" cried Periwinkle, with a look that seemed to say, "He's crazy!"