It will be as well to repeat the story, as told by the two Chroniclers who give the fullest account, with all its omens and apparitions. The King had gone to bed on the evening of the 1st of August, and was suddenly awoke by a fearful vision. He dreamt that he was bled, and the stream of blood, pouring up to heaven, clouded the very day. His attendants, hearing his cries to the Virgin, rushed in with lights, and stayed with him all that night. Morning dawned: and Robert Fitz Hamon, his special friend, came to him with another dream, dreamt also that very night by a foreign monk then staying at the court, who had seen the King enter a church, and there seize the rood, tearing apart its legs and arms. For a time the image bore the insult, but suddenly struck the King. He fell, and flames and smoke issued from his mouth, putting out the light of the stars. The Red King’s courage, however, had by this time returned. With a laugh, he cried, “He is a monk, and dreams for money like a monk: give him this,” handing Fitz Hamon a hundred shillings. Still the two dreams had their effect, and William hesitated to test their truth.[114] At dinner that day he drank more than usual. His spirits once more returned. He defied the dreams. In spite of their warnings, he determined to hunt. As he was preparing, his armourer approached with six brand-new arrows. Choosing out two, he cried, as he gave them to Walter Tiril, Lord of Poix and Pontoise, who had lately come from Normandy, “The best arrows to the best marksman.” The small hunting-party, consisting of his brother Henry, William of Breteuil, Walter Tiril, and Fitz Hamon, and a few more, set out. As they are leaving the courtyard, a monk from St. Peter’s Abbey at Gloucester arrives. He gives the King a letter from Serlo, the abbot. It told how a monk of that abbey had dreamt that he had seen the Saviour and all the host of heaven standing round the great white throne. Then, too, came the Virgin robed in light, and flung herself at the feet of her Son, and prayed Him, by his precious blood and agony on the cross, to take pity on the English; prayed Him, too, as He was judge of all men, and avenger of all wickedness, to punish the King. The Saviour answered her, “You must be patient and wait: due retribution will in time befall the wicked.” The King read it and laughed. “Does Serlo,” he asked, “think that I believe the visions of every snoring monk? Does he take me for an Englishman, who puts faith in the dreams of every old woman?”[115] With this the party once more sets out into the Forest, the woods still green with all their deep summer foliage.