lage and ravishment of
women is a thing more dread and awful--better, methinks, to keep
Innocence pure and unspotted while we may, and leave hereafter in the
hands of God and His holy angels!"

Upon the tower there met them the Reeve, anxious of brow, who pointed
where the townsfolk talked together in fearful undertones or clustered,
mute and trembling, while every eye was turned where, in the open,
'twixt town and camp, a procession of black-robed priests advanced,
chanting very solemn and sweet.

"My lords," said the Reeve, looking round with haggard eyes, "an these
priests do come to pronounce the Church's awful malediction upon the
city--then woe betide! Already there be many--aye, some of our chiefest
citizens do fear the curse of Holy Church more than the rapine of Ivo's
vile soldiery, fair women shamed, O Christ! Lords--ha, messires, there
is talk afoot of seizing the gates, of opening to this churchman and
praying his intercession to Ivo's mercy--to Ivo the Black, that knoweth
nought of mercy. Alas, my lords, once they do ope the gates--"

"That can they in nowise do!" said Sir Benedict gently, but with face
grim and hawk-like. "Every gate is held by stout fellows of my own
following, moreover I have good hope yon churchman may leave us yet
uncursed." And Sir Benedict smiled his wry and twisted smile. "Be you
our tongue, good Reeve, and speak this churchman as thy bold heart
dictateth."

Solemn and sweet rose the chanting voices growing ever more loud, where
paced the black-robed priests. First came acolytes swinging censers,
and next, others bearing divers symbolic flags and standards, and after
these again, in goodly chair borne on the shoulders of brawny monks, a
portly figure rode, bedight in full canonicals, a very solid cleric he,
and mightily round; moreover his nose was bulbous and he had a drooping
lip.

Slow and solemn the procession advanced, and ever as they came the
choristers chanted full melodiously what time the white-robed acolytes
swung their censers to and fro; and ever as they came, the folk of
Belsaye, from wall and turret, eyed these slow-pacing, sweet-singing
monks with fearful looks and hearts cold and full of dire misgiving.
Beyond the moat over against the main gate, the procession halted, the
chair with its portly burden was set down, and lifting up a white,
be-ringed hand, the haughty cleric spake thus, in voice high-pitched,
mellifluous and sweet:

"Whereas it hath pleased ye