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A fierce blast came howling off the fen, screeched through the minster towers, swept along the dark aisles; and then, so say the chroniclers, caught up the pall from off the tomb, and hurled it far away into a corner. "A miracle!" cried all the monks at once; and honestly enough, like true Englishmen as they were. "The Holy heart refuses the gift, Countess," said old Ulfketyl in a voice of awe.
And Leofric, in the midst of Crowland Yard, tore off his belt and trusty sword, his hauberk and helm also, and letting down his monk's frock, which he wore trussed to the mid-knee, he went to the Abbot's lodgings, and asked to see old Ulfketyl.
Abbot Ulfketyl, forced in his own abbey, great and august lord though he was, to obey any upstart of a Norman priest who came backed by the King and Lanfranc, sent for the lass.
He would send them bread, meat, ale, all they needed. But woe to the man who set foot upon his ground." Hereward sent off messengers to Crowland, warning all to be ready to escape into the fens; and entreating Ulfketyl to empty his storehouses into his barges, and send food to the Danes, ere a day was past.
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