no trifling labor. There was a considerable depth of mud and
water to fill, and stones and trunks of trees were brought for the
purpose from all the surrounding country, the trees being covered with
hides as a protection against fire. The work did not proceed in peace.
Hereward and his men contested its progress at every point, attacked the
workmen with darts and arrows from the light boats in which they
navigated the waters of the fens, and, despite the hides, succeeded in
setting fire to the woodwork of the causeway. More than once it had to
be rebuilt; more than once it broke down under the weight of the Norman
knights and men-at-arms, who crowded upon it in their efforts to reach
the island, and many of these eager warriors, weighed down by the burden
of their armor, met a dismal death in the mud and water of the marshes.

Hereward fought with his accustomed courage, warlike skill, and
incessant vigilance, and gave King William no easy task, despite the
strength of his army and the abundance of his resources. But such a
contest, against so skilled an enemy as William the Conqueror, and with
such disparity of numbers, could have but one termination. Hereward
struck so valiant a last blow for England that he won the admiration of
his great opponent; but William was not the man to rest content with
aught short of victory, and every successful act of defence on the part
of the English was met by a new movement of assault. Despite all
Hereward's efforts, the causeway slowly but surely moved forward across
the fens.

But Hereward's chief danger lay behind rather than before; in the island
rather than on the mainland. His accessions of nobles and commons had
placed a strong body of men under his command, with whom he might have
been able to meet William's approaches by ship and causeway, had not
treason laid intrenched in the island itself. With war in his front and
treachery in his rear the gallant Wake had a double danger to contend
with.

This brings us to a picturesque scene, deftly painted by the old
chroniclers. Ely had its abbey, a counterpart of that of Peterborough.
Thurston, the abbot, was English-born, as were the monks under his
pastoral charge; and long the cowled inmates of the abbey and the armed
patriots of the Camp of Refuge dwelt in sweet accord. In the refectory
of the abbey monks and warriors sat side by side at table, their
converse at meals being doubtless divided between affairs spiritual and
aff