§ 33. “I arrived,” said he, “at Durham, as it seemed, and was standing in the church, when I saw two men of great authority standing at the altar, with their faces turned to the East. The one was a middle-aged man, clothed in episcopal robes, venerable in manner and severe in countenance, and it was clear that he was a Bishop of great reverence. The other, standing at his right hand, with a red-coloured mantle, and of rather a long face, with a beard still tender, and tall in stature, presented the appearance of a handsome young man. After a short interval they turned their eyes towards the altar, and up and down the church: whereupon the Bishop, mourning its desolation, exclaimed, ‘Woe to thee, Cospatrick! woe to thee, Cospatrick! who hast stripped my church of its possessions, and hast turned it into a desert!’ Now it was this Cospatrick in particular who had given the advice that they should desert the church, and it was he who had taken with him the greatest part of its ornaments. During this time I wished to approach them, but was not able, whereupon the young man beckoning me with his finger, addressed me by my own name in a low voice, and asked me if I knew who that episcopal person was. When I replied, that I did not know, he answered, ‘That is your Master, St. Cuthbert.’ I immediately fell at his feet, and entreated him to aid his church and suffering followers. A short time after, they reverently bent their heads towards the altar, and walked away together with a slow and steady pace, until they came to the door, when the younger went out first and walked on a little, but the Bishop stopped at the door, and looking back on me, who was following at a distance, he called me, and said, ‘Do you know, Ernau, who that young man is?’ — ‘No, my Lord,’ said I, ‘I do not know.’ — ‘That,’ said he, ‘is St. Oswald.’ Then they went from thence a little further to the southern part of the city, where they stopped and called me. I accordingly went, and was told to look downwards. I did so, and beheld a valley of immense depth full of the souls of men, and among them was Gillo-Michael suffering most horrible torments. For he lay stretched out in a most horrid place, and a mower’s scythe was passing backwards and forwards through his body, which caused him dreadful pain. The wretched man cried aloud, uttering lamentation and woe without any intermission, and he was not allowed to rest a single hour: the same also was the case with the others. St. Cuthbert asked me if I recognized any of them. I answered that I recognized Gillo. ‘Yes,” said he, ‘this is he; he is dead, and this pain and misery is his portion.’ — ‘My Lord,’ said I, ‘he is not dead; he was not long ago feasting safe and sound in his own house to a late hour, and a great banquet is awaiting him in such and such a place.’ — ‘I tell you he is dead,’ replied the Bishop, ‘for he and the others, whom you saw with him, are enduring these torments, because they broke my peace, and injured me in the person of my followers.’