Early in 1067 William returned to celebrate his triumph in Normandy, and while he was absent the government of the conquered country was committed to his half brother, Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, and William Fitz-Osborne. These rulers heard no cry for redress on the part of the poor English, scorned their complaints, and repulsed them with severity, as if they wished by provoking rebellion to justify further confiscations and exactions; in short, they made it impossible for the Conqueror to pursue his policy of conciliation. Rebellions arose and were stifled in fire and blood, and henceforth there was simply a reign of terror for the conquered; on one side insolence and pride, on the other, misery and despair. Many of the English fled to the woods for refuge, and were hunted down, when their tyrants could accomplish their wishes, like beasts of prey, stigmatised with the title of "robbers" or "outlaws." Such, as we have seen, was the case at Aescendune; and after the supposed death of Wilfred, no bounds were set to the cruelties and oppressions of Hugo and his satellites; their dungeons were full, their torture chamber in constant use, so long as there were Englishmen to suffer oppression and wrong. Autumn, the autumn of 1068, came with all its wealth of golden store; the crops were safely housed in the barns, the orchards were laden with fruit, the woods had put on those brilliant hues with which they prepare for the sleep of winter--never so fair as when they assume the garb of decay. Wilfred of Aescendune was gone. His tragical fate had aroused little sympathy amongst his Norman companions, hardened as they were by familiarity with scenes of violence; the burning of the abbey and the fiery fate of its inmates had been but a nine days' wonder. Etienne and his fellow pages spoke of their lost companion with little regard to the maxim, "nihil nisi bonum de mortuis," and seemed, indeed, to think that he was well out of the way. There were few English left to mourn him: the baron would trust none in the castle, and the churls and thralls of the village had perished or taken refuge in the greenwoods, which lay, like a sea of verdure, to the north of the domain of Aescendune, where it was shrewdly suspected they might be found, enjoying the freedom of the forests, and making free with the red deer.