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,