"Well, well, we'll take a goose till we can get our swan. But no great harm would have been done. They're jolly fellows, those monks, and know what's what, I warrant. The wench wouldn't have suffered, exchanging sniffling priests for a valiant knight." Alice shuddered, and made haste to change the subject. "What says the Saxon knight to your latest summons?" "'Saxon whelp,' is much more like it, I trow. Well, he struts himself upon his trumpery battlements like a valiant scarecrow. I would he were a true knight and worthy of my prowess, I would challenge him to single combat, and you should see how he would fare when matched with Norman valour. But let him boast himself a day or two until we get our gear ready; then, if he does not get a short shrift in the _mêlée_, we'll have a little sport with him and make him dance to the music these Saxons like least best." "Have you offered him honourable terms?" "Honourable terms to a dog of a Saxon! He'll get the same terms as other Saxons, a sudden exit at the sword's point, or a slower process but a rougher passage. I am hoping we shall see sport yet." Alice shuddered, for she knew too well that instruments of torture were meant; and she well knew that the Baron would not only use them, but would derive positive pleasure in watching the agonies of his victim. "I don't care about such practices; they are hideous and barbarous. What good it can do to massacre and torture helpless men and women I can't tell; indeed, I cannot help despising those who indulge in such detestable things." "You have been trained in too gentle a school to relish these rough times, Alice. We must exterminate these Saxon pests, especially the leaders, and those who have spirit in them. The churls may serve some useful purpose, when we have knocked their freemen manners out of them. But they will need to be well knocked about, and ground into shape." "When will it all end? And if this castle is taken is it to be our resting-place? I am aweary of being dragged at the heels of a soldiery thirsting like wild beasts for blood and plunder." "Ha, ha! Softly, softly, my sweet one! This is to be the end of it for us. Then comes love and downy pillows--eh, my queen, is it not so?" said he, endeavouring to chuck her under the chin. Alice hastily fled, followed by her maid; for, sickening as was Vigneau's general conversation, his amorous advances begat in her an overpowering disgust. A horrible scowl spread itself over Vigneau's base countenance, and he stood as though petrified with rage. Then his tongue gave vent to this pent-up storm, and, with a volley of oaths and threatenings, he strode out of the tent, demoniacal hatred of his betrothed raging in his heart. CHAPTER VIII. VILLAINS PLOTTING. "And my imaginations are as foul As Vulcan's stithy." Shakespeare.