"All this," quoth the chamberlain, "may or may not be true; but we cannot bargain for the lives and properties of those that are in the Camp of Refuge: and we are fully resolved to save our own lives, with such property as yet remains to this, by thee misgoverned, monastery. Nevertheless we will entreat the King to be merciful unto the rebels."
"What rebels! what king!" roared the Lord Abbat again, smiting the table; "oh chamberlain! oh prior! oh ye back-sliding monks that sit there with your chins in your hands, not opening your lips for the defence of your superior, to whom ye have all vowed a constant obedience, it is ye that are the rebels and traitors! _Deo regnante et Rege expectante_, by the great God that reigns, and by King Harold that is expected, this Norman bastard is no king of ours! There is no king of England save only King Harold, who will yet come back to claim his own, and to give us our old free laws!"
"We tell thee again, oh Thurstan! that Harold lies buried in Waltham Abbey, and that there be those who have seen..."
"Brother," quoth the prior to the chamberlain, "brother, we but lose our time in this idle and angry talk with a man who was ever too prone to wrath, and too headstrong. The moments of time are precious! Let us put the question."
"Do it thyself, oh prior," said the chamberlain, who then sat down, looking very pale.
"It is a painful duty," said the prior, "but I will do it."
And having so said, the prior stood up, right before the Lord Abbat, though not without fear and trembling, and, after stammering for some time, he spoke in this strain, looking rather at the abbat's feet than in his face:--"Thurstan, it is better that one man should suffer a temporary evil than that many men should perish! It is better that thou shouldest cease to rule over this house than that the house, and all of us in it, should be destroyed! I, the prior, and next in authority unto thee, and with the consent and advice of all the chief obedientiarii of the convent, do invite and intreat thee voluntarily to suspend thyself from all the duties of thine office!"
"Chick of the fens, art so bold as this?" cried Thurstan, "hast thrown thy respect for the canons of the church and the rules of this order of St. Benedict into the same hell-pit where thou hast thrown the rest of thy conscience? Children! brothers! ye, the ancient members of the convent, what say ye this?"