“So I fear they may if we do not attack,” replied Jacob.  “Moreover, Lady, to tell the truth, there are other things to be thought of.  For instance, the King’s cause and honour, which we are bound to forward, and the lives and goods of all those who through us have declared themselves for him.  If we lie idle Abbot Maldon will send messengers to the north and within a few days bring down thousands upon us, against whom we cannot hope to stand.  Indeed, it is probable that he has already sent.  But if they hear that the Abbey has fallen the rebels will scarcely come for revenge alone.  Lastly, if we sit with folded hands, our own people may grow cold with doubts and fears and melt away, who now are hot as fire.”

“If it must be, so let it be.  In God’s hands I leave his life,” said Cicely in a heavy voice.

That day the King’s men, under the captaincy of Bolle, advanced and invested the Abbey, setting their camp in Blossholme village.  Cicely, who would not be left behind, came with them and once more took up her quarters in the Priory, which on a formal summons opened its gates to her, its only guard, the deaf gardener, surrendering at discretion.  He was set to work as a camp servant, and never in his life did he labour so hard before, since Emlyn, who owed him many a grudge, saw to it that he did not lack for tasks that were mean and heavy.

Now that day Thomas and others spied out the Abbey and returned shaking their heads, for without cannon—­and as yet they had none—­the great building of hewn stone seemed almost impregnable.  At but one spot indeed was attack possible, from the back where once stood the dormers and farm steadings which Emlyn had egged on Thomas to burn.  These had been built up to the inner edge of the moat, making, as it were, part of the Abbey wall, but the fierce fire had so cracked and crumbled their masonry that several rods of it had fallen forward into the water.

For purposes of defence the gap this formed was now closed by a double palisade of stout stakes, filled in with faggots, the charred beams of the old buildings and other rubbish.  Yet to carry this palisade, protected as it was by the broad and deep moat and commanded from the windows and the corner tower, was more than they dared try, since if it could be done at all it would certainly cost them very many lives.  One thing they had learned, however, from the monk Basil and others, that in the Abbey there was but small store of food to feed so many:  three days’ supply, said Basil, and none put it at over four.

That evening, then, they held another council, at which it was determined to starve the place out and only attempt an onslaught if their spies reported to them that the rebels were marching to its relief.

“But,” urged Cicely, “then my lord and Jeffrey Stokes will starve also,” whereon they went away sadly, saying there was no choice, seeing that they were but two men and the lives of many lay at stake.