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. Also tumult broke out
among the hundreds who watched, some of them taking one side and some
the other, so that they fell upon each other with sticks and stones
and fists, even the women joining in the fray, biting and tearing like
bagged cats. The scene was hideous and the sounds those of a sacked
city, for many were hurt and all gave tongue, while shrill and clear
above this hateful music rose the yells of Bridget, who had awakened
from her faint and imagined all was over and that she fathomed hell.

Thrice the attackers were rolled back, but of those who defended a third
were down, and now the Abbot took another counsel.

"Bring bows," he cried, "and shoot them, for they have none!" and men