Igraine, walking in the van, listened to their words, and laughed with some scorn in her heart. "You are very wise, all of you," she said presently over her shoulder. "You speak of war and disruption as though the whole kingdom were in the dust. True, Kent is lost, the heathen have burnt defenceless places on the coast, and have stormed a few towns. The abbey of Avangel is not all Britain. Have we not Aurelius and the great Uther? Our folk will gather head anon, and push these whelps into the sea." "God grant it," said Claudia, with a smirk heavenward. "We need a man," quoth Igraine. "Perhaps you will find him, pert one." "Peril will," said the girl; "there is no hero when there is no dragon or giant in need of the sword. Britain will find her knight ere long." "Lud," said Malt, the cellaress, "I wish I could find my supper." Thereat they all laughed, Igraine as heartily as any. "Perhaps Claudia will pray for manna dew," she said. "Scoffer!" "It will be cranberries, and bread and water, till better seasons come. I have heard that there are wild grapes in the wold." "Bread!" quoth Malt; "did some kind soul say bread?" "I have a small loaf here under my habit." "Ah, Igraine, girl, I would chant twenty psalms for a morsel of that loaf." "Chant away, sister. Begin on the 'Attendite, popule.' I believe it is one of the longest." "Don't trifle with a hungry wretch." "The psalms, Malt, or not a crust." "Keep it yourself, greedy hussy; I can go without." "We will share it, all of us, presently," said the girl, "unless Malt wants to eat the whole." They held on under the ban of night, following the track like Theseus did his thread. At times the path struck out into a patch of open ground, covered with scrub and bracken, or bristling thick with furze. Igraine had never seen such timid folk as these nuns from Avangel. If a stick cracked they would start, huddle together, and vow they heard footsteps. They mistook an owl's hoot for a heathen cry, and a night-jar's creaking note made them swear they caught the chafe of steel. Once they suffered a most shrewd fright. They drove a herd of red deer from cover, and the rush and tumultuous sound of their galloping created a most holy panic among the women. It was some time before Igraine could get them on the march again. As the night wore on they began to lag from sheer weariness. Two or three were feeble as sickly children, and the abbey life had done little for the body, though it had done much to deform the mind. Igraine had to turn tyrant in very earnest. She knew the women looked to her for courage and guidance, and that they would be hopeless without her stronger mind to lead them. She put this knowledge to effect, and held it like a lash over their weakly spirits.