“It is God’s work,” said I, “and we may not falter.”

Yet I felt my own heart weak.

But for the red light, which shone even through the shade of the forest, we could not have pursued our path.  But plainer and plainer the wind brought the fierce shouts of the assailants to our ears, until, emerging from a dark belt of underwood, the whole horror of the scene burst upon us.

Before us, at the distance of a few hundred yards, defended by a mound and a ditch, rose the irregular and fortified dwelling of Anlaf.  It was wrapped in flames from top to basement, and even as we looked one of the towers gave way, and fell upon the hall beneath, with hideous din, in headlong ruin.

Around the blazing pile stood some two or three hundred men, who completely encircled it, and who had doubtless prevented the escape of the inmates.  We were evidently too late; the passive attitude of the assailants showed that their bloody work was done.

We learned afterwards that the domestics, who were English serfs, had betrayed the place to the foe, while the Danish lords were revelling in the great hall, and half drunk with wine.  Surprised at the banquet, they fell an easy prey, and were slaughtered almost without resistance, after which the house was plundered of everything worth carrying away, and then set on fire in every part.  Further details we could not gather.  All was over when we arrived.

Full of indignation, I and my brethren advanced straight upon the group surrounding the sheriff, the crafty and cruel Edric Streorn, and in the name of God denounced the cruelty and sin of which they had been guilty.

“Sir monk,” was the reply, “are you traitor to your king that you thus league yourself with his deadly enemies?  All that is done this night is done by his order.”

“God will avenge the deed,” said I.  “Ye have not fought like men, but crept on like serpents, and slain those who, trusting to the faith of Christians, dwelt blindly in our midst.  And now, what can we say?  How can we hope to win our foes to God and Christ when we set at naught his precepts and despise his example?”

“Sir monk, I have not time to listen to a homily; keep it for next Sunday, when I will try to attend.  For the present—­”

Here he was interrupted by a loud cry which arose near us.

“The wolf cub! the wolf cub!  Slay him, and the work is complete.”

The cry, “Slay him! slay him!” was taken up by a dozen voices, when I recognised Alfgar, who by some means had learned the danger of his kinsfolk, and had come to share their fate.

“Save him, sheriff!” I cried; “save him!  He is a Christian.  His mother was English.”

And I rushed forward myself, and saw that the poor lad had already been brought on his knees by more than one fell stroke.

I held up the crucifix, which hung at my girdle, on high; I threw my arm over his head, and abjured them under the name of Christ, and as they feared the curse of the Church, to forbear.  My brethren all aided me.