it!"

The man rolled upon the ground screaming in pain and terror till some
one dragged the cage off his head, leaving his face barred like a
grilled herring. None took further heed of what became of him, for now
Thomas Bolle stood in front of the stakes waving his great axe, and
repeating, "In the King's name, stay! In the King's name, stay!"

"What mean you, knave?" exclaimed the furious Abbot.

"What I say, Priest. One step nearer and I'll split your crown."

The Abbot fell back and Thomas went on--

"A Foterell! A Foterell! A Harflete! A Harflete! O ye who have eaten
their bread, come, scatter these faggots and save their flesh. Who'll
stand with me against Maldon and his butchers?"

"I," answered voices, "and I, and I, and I!"

"And I too," hallooed the yeoman by the oak stump, "only I watch
the child. Nay, by God I'll bring it with me!" and, snatching up the
screaming babe under his left arm, he ran to him.

On came the others also, hurling the faggots this way and that.

"Break the chains," roared Bolle again, and somehow those strong hands
did it; indeed, the only hurt that Cicely took that day was from their
hacking at these chains. They were loose. Cicely snatched the child from
the yeoman, who was glad enough to be rid of it, having other work to
do, for now the Abbot's men-at-arms were coming on.

"Ring the women round," roared Bolle, "and strike home for Foterell,
strike home for Harflete! Ah, priest's dog, in the King's name--this!"
and the axe sank up to the haft into the breast of the captain who had
told Cicely that she would be warm enough that day without her cloak.

Then there began a great fight. The party of Foterell, of whom there
may have been a score, captained by Bolle, made a circle round the three
green oak stakes, within which stood Cicely and Emlyn and old Bridget,
still tied to her post, for no one had thought or found time to cut her
loose. These were attacked by the Abbot's guard, thirty or more of
them, urged on by Maldon himself, who was maddened by the rescue of his
victims and full of fear lest Cicely's words should be fulfilled and
she herself set down henceforth, not as a witch, but as a prophetess
favoured by God.

On came the soldiers and were beaten back. Thrice they came on and
thrice they were beaten back with loss, for Bolle's axe was terrible to
face and, now that they had found a leader and their courage, the yeoman
lads who stood with him were sturdy fighters.