when I looked, I saw that the pin of the wheel was broken, so that
the cart could go no further. And that made me fear that more than
the monks were penned inside those four walls.

I knocked loudly on the gate, and for a while was no answer, though
I thought the ringing of the bell grew more hurried. Then I beat on
the gate with my axe, crying:

"Open, in the name of Eadmund the King."

And I used his name because, though a Dane might well call in
subtlety on the name of Ethelred, none but a Saxon who knew how
well loved was the under-king of East Anglia would think of naming
him. And I was right, for at his name the little square wicket in
the midst of the gate opened, and through its bars an old monk
looked out, and at once I cried to him:

"Let me in, Father, for the Danes are at my heels."

He muttered a prayer in a voice that trembled, and let me in,
holding the gate fast, and closing and barring it after me.

And all the courtyard was full of terrified men, women, and
children, while among them stood the half-dozen monks of the place,
pale and silent, listening to the clang of the bell overhead.

When they saw me some of the women shrieked and clung to children
or husbands, scared at my arms. But one of the monks, a tall man on
whose breast was a golden cross, came quickly to me, asking: "Is
the sheriff at hand with the levy?"