It was the early hour of summer sunrise, and the distant sound of a
convent bell varied the monotony of the scene, as it called the
faithful to prayer. A sudden sound, as of many riders riding
briskly, and a band of lances--the avant garde of a mighty
army--drew rein at the verge of the yawning and smoking furnace
which had been the castle. There they paused abruptly, and one who
seemed almost overwhelmed by surprise and disappointment, gazed as
if stupefied upon the wreck of his fortunes.
It was Etienne of Aescendune cum Malville.
As we have seen, the conflagration was yet at its heights when
Wilfred of Aescendune and his hundred men left the scene, and took
their road to the east, along the reddened waters of the river.
It was not without the deepest sorrow, that the English heir thus
abandoned his inheritance, but necessity left no choice; it was
plain that the force arrayed against him rendered resistance
hopeless, and it was far better to go where his sword was likely to
be of use in the struggle for freedom than to hide in the woods, as
he said, "like a brock, until the dogs hunt it out."
And he had hope, too, that when it was discovered that he and his
bravest men had fled eastward, pursuit would be attracted in that
direction, and the poor fugitives in the woods left unmolested, at
least for the present.
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