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diff --git a/7815-h/7815-h.htm b/7815-h/7815-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b589908 --- /dev/null +++ b/7815-h/7815-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,24275 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + Hereward, by Charles Kingsley + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .side { float: right; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; margin-left: 0.8em; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Hereward, The Last of the English, by Charles Kingsley + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Hereward, The Last of the English + +Author: Charles Kingsley + + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7815] +This file was first posted on May 19, 2003 +Last Updated: November 8, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEREWARD, THE LAST OF THE ENGLISH *** + + + + +Text file produced by Anne Soulard, Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, +S.R.Ellison and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + HEREWARD + </h1> + <h3> + THE LAST OF THE ENGLISH + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Charles Kingsley + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>HEREWARD, THE LAST OF THE ENGLISH.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> PRELUDE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. — HOW HEREWARD WAS OUTLAWED, AND + WENT NORTH TO SEEK HIS FORTUNES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. — HOW HEREWARD SLEW THE BEAR. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. — HOW HEREWARD SUCCORED A + PRINCESS OF CORNWALL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. — HOW HEREWARD TOOK SERVICE + WITH RANALD, KING OF WATERFORD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. — HOW HEREWARD SUCCORED THE + PRINCESS OF CORNWALL A SECOND TIME. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. — HOW HEREWARD WAS WRECKED UPON + THE FLANDERS SHORE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. — HOW HEREWARD WENT TO THE WAR + AT GUISNES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. — HOW A FAIR LADY EXERCISED + THE MECHANICAL ART TO WIN HEREWARD’S LOVE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. — HOW HEREWARD WENT TO THE WAR + IN SCALDMARILAND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. — HOW HEREWARD WON THE MAGIC + ARMOR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. — HOW THE HOLLANDERS TOOK + HEREWARD FOR A MAGICIAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. — HOW HEREWARD TURNED BERSERK. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. — HOW HEREWARD WON MARE + SWALLOW. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. — HOW HEREWARD RODE INTO + BRUGES LIKE A BEGGARMAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. — HOW EARL TOSTI GODWINSSON + CAME TO ST. OMER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. — HOW HEREWARD WAS ASKED TO + SLAY AN OLD COMRADE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. — HOW HEREWARD TOOK THE NEWS + FROM STANFORD BRIGG AND HASTINGS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. — HOW EARL GODWIN’S WIDOW + CAME TO ST. OMER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. — HOW HEREWARD CLEARED BOURNE + OF FRENCHMEN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. — HOW HEREWARD WAS MADE A + KNIGHT AFTER THE FASHION OF THE ENGLISH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. — HOW IVO TAILLEBOIS MARCHED + OUT OF SPALDING TOWN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. — HOW HEREWARD SAILED FOE + ENGLAND ONCE AND FOR ALL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. — HOW HEREWARD GATHERED AN + ARMY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. — HOW ARCHBISHOP ALDRED DIED + OF SORROW. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. — HOW HEREWARD FOUND A WISER + MAN IN ENGLAND THAN HIMSELF. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. — HOW HEREWARD FULFILLED HIS + WORDS TO THE PRIOR OF THE GOLDEN BOROUGH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. — HOW THEY HELD A GREAT + MEETING IN THE HALL OF ELY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. — HOW THEY FOUGHT AT + ALDRETH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. — HOW SIR DADE BROUGHT NEWS + FROM ELY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. — HOW HEREWARD PLAYED THE + POTTER; AND HOW HE CHEATED THE KING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. — HOW THEY FOUGHT AGAIN AT + ALDRETH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. — HOW KING WILLIAM TOOK + COUNSEL OF A CHURCHMAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. — HOW THE MONKS OF ELY DID + AFTER THEIR KIND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. — HOW HEREWARD WENT TO THE + GREENWOOD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. — HOW ABBOT THOROLD WAS PUT + TO RANSOM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. — HOW ALFTRUDA WROTE TO + HEREWARD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. — HOW HEREWARD LOST SWORD + BRAIN-BITER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII. — HOW HEREWARD CAME IN TO + THE KING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX. — HOW TORFRIDA CONFESSED + THAT SHE HAD BEEN INSPIRED BY THE DEVIL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL. — HOW HEREWARD BEGAN TO GET HIS + SOUL’S PRICE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI. — HOW EARL WALTHEOF WAS MADE A + SAINT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XLII. — HOW HEREWARD GOT THE BEST + OF HIS SOUL’S PRICE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XLIII. — HOW DEEPING FEN WAS + DRAINED. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + HEREWARD, THE LAST OF THE ENGLISH. + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PRELUDE. + </h2> + <p> + The heroic deeds of Highlanders, both in these islands and elsewhere, have + been told in verse and prose, and not more often, nor more loudly, than + they deserve. But we must remember, now and then, that there have been + heroes likewise in the lowland and in the fen. Why, however, poets have so + seldom sung of them; why no historian, save Mr. Motley in his “Rise of the + Dutch Republic,” has condescended to tell the tale of their doughty deeds, + is a question not difficult to answer. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, they have been fewer in number. The lowlands of the + world, being the richest spots, have been generally the soonest conquered, + the soonest civilized, and therefore the soonest taken out of the sphere + of romance and wild adventure, into that of order and law, hard work and + common sense, as well as—too often—into the sphere of slavery, + cowardice, luxury, and ignoble greed. The lowland populations, for the + same reasons, have been generally the first to deteriorate, though not on + account of the vices of civilization. The vices of incivilization are far + worse, and far more destructive of human life; and it is just because they + are so, that rude tribes deteriorate physically less than polished + nations. In the savage struggle for life, none but the strongest, + healthiest, cunningest, have a chance of living, prospering, and + propagating their race. In the civilized state, on the contrary, the + weakliest and the silliest, protected by law, religion, and humanity, have + chance likewise, and transmit to their offspring their own weakliness or + silliness. In these islands, for instance, at the time of the Norman + Conquest, the average of man was doubtless superior, both in body and + mind, to the average of man now, simply because the weaklings could not + have lived at all; and the rich and delicate beauty, in which the women of + the Eastern Counties still surpass all other races in these isles, was + doubtless far more common in proportion to the numbers of the population. + </p> + <p> + Another reason—and one which every Scot will understand—why + lowland heroes “carent vate sacro,” is that the lowlands and those who + live in them are wanting in the poetic and romantic elements. There is in + the lowland none of that background of the unknown, fantastic, magical, + terrible, perpetually feeding curiosity and wonder, which still remains in + the Scottish highlands; which, when it disappears from thence, will remain + embalmed forever in the pages of Walter Scott. Against that half-magical + background his heroes stand out in vivid relief; and justly so. It was not + put there by him for stage purposes; it was there as a fact; and the men + of whom he wrote were conscious of it, were moulded by it, were not + ashamed of its influence. Nature among the mountains is too fierce, too + strong, for man. He cannot conquer her, and she awes him. He cannot dig + down the cliffs, or chain the storm-blasts; and his fear of them takes + bodily shape: he begins to people the weird places of the earth with weird + beings, and sees nixes in the dark linns as he fishes by night, dwarfs in + the caves where he digs, half-trembling, morsels of copper and iron for + his weapons, witches and demons on the snow-blast which overwhelms his + herd and his hut, and in the dark clouds which brood on the untrodden + mountain-peak. He lives in fear: and yet, if he be a valiant-hearted man, + his fears do him little harm. They may break out, at times, in + witch-manias, with all their horrible suspicions, and thus breed cruelty, + which is the child of fear; but on the whole they rather produce in man + thoughtfulness, reverence, a sense, confused yet precious, of the + boundless importance of the unseen world. His superstitions develop his + imagination; the moving accidents of a wild life call out in him sympathy + and pathos; and the mountaineer becomes instinctively a poet. + </p> + <p> + The lowlander, on the other hand, has his own strength, his own “virtues,” + or manfulnesses, in the good old sense of the word: but they are not for + the most part picturesque or even poetical. + </p> + <p> + He finds out, soon enough for his weal and his bane, that he is stronger + than Nature; and right tyrannously and irreverently he lords it over her, + clearing, delving, diking, building, without fear or shame. He knows of no + natural force greater than himself, save an occasional thunder-storm; and + against that, as he grows more cunning, he insures his crops. Why should + he reverence Nature? Let him use her, and eat. One cannot blame him. Man + was sent into the world (so says the Scripture) to fill and subdue the + earth. But he was sent into the world for other purposes, which the + lowlander is but too apt to forget. With the awe of Nature, the awe of the + unseen dies out in him. Meeting with no visible superior, he is apt to + become not merely unpoetical and irreverent, but somewhat of a sensualist + and an atheist. The sense of the beautiful dies out in him more and more. + He has little or nothing around him to refine or lift up his soul, and + unless he meet with a religion and with a civilization which can deliver + him, he may sink into that dull brutality which is too common among the + lowest classes of the English lowlands, and remain for generations gifted + with the strength and industry of the ox, and with the courage of the + lion, and, alas! with the intellect of the former, and the self-restraint + of the latter. + </p> + <p> + But there may be a period in the history of a lowland race when they, too, + become historic for a while. There was such a period for the men of the + Eastern Counties; for they proved it by their deeds. + </p> + <p> + When the men of Wessex, the once conquering race of Britain, fell at + Hastings once and for all, and struck no second blow, then the men of the + Danelagh disdained to yield to the Norman invader. For seven long years + they held their own, not knowing, like true Englishmen, when they were + beaten; and fought on desperate, till there were none left to fight. Their + bones lay white on every island in the fens; their corpses rotted on + gallows beneath every Norman keep; their few survivors crawled into + monasteries, with eyes picked out, or hands and feet cut off, or took to + the wild wood as strong outlaws, like their successors and + representatives, Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John, Adam Bell, and Clym of the + Cleugh, and William of Cloudeslee. But they never really bent their necks + to the Norman yoke; they kept alive in their hearts that proud spirit of + personal independence, which they brought with them from the moors of + Denmark and the dales of Norway; and they kept alive, too, though in + abeyance for a while, those free institutions which were without a doubt + the germs of our British liberty. + </p> + <p> + They were a changed folk since first they settled in that Danelagh;—since + first in the days of King Beorhtric, “in the year 787, three ships of + Northmen came from Haeretha land, and the King’s reeve rode to the place, + and would have driven them up to the King’s town, for he knew not what men + they were: but they slew him there and then”; and after the Saxons and + Angles began to find out to their bitter bale what men they were, those + fierce Vikings out of the dark northeast. + </p> + <p> + But they had long ceased to burn farms, sack convents, torture monks for + gold, and slay every human being they met, in mere Berserker lust of + blood. No Barnakill could now earn his nickname by entreating his + comrades, as they tossed the children on their spear-points, to “Na kill + the barns.” Gradually they had settled down on the land, intermarried with + the Angles and Saxons, and colonized all England north and east of Watling + Street (a rough line from London to Chester), and the eastern lowlands of + Scotland likewise. Gradually they had deserted Thor and Odin for “the + White Christ”; had their own priests and bishops, and built their own + minsters. The convents which the fathers had destroyed, the sons, or at + least the grandsons, rebuilt; and often, casting away sword and axe, they + entered them as monks themselves; and Peterborough, Ely, and above all + Crowland, destroyed by them in Alfred’s time with a horrible destruction, + had become their holy places, where they decked the altars with gold and + jewels, with silks from the far East, and furs from the far North; and + where, as in sacred fortresses, they, and the liberty of England with + them, made their last unavailing stand. + </p> + <p> + For a while they had been lords of all England. The Anglo-Saxon race was + wearing out. The men of Wessex, priest-ridden, and enslaved by their own + aristocracy, quailed before the free Norsemen, among whom was not a single + serf. The God-descended line of Cerdic and Alfred was worn out. Vain, + incapable, profligate kings, the tools of such prelates as Odo and + Dunstan, were no match for such wild heroes as Thorkill the tall, or Olaf + Trygvasson, or Swend Forkbeard. The Danes had gradually colonized, not + only their own Danelagh and Northumbria, but great part of Wessex. Vast + sums of Danegelt were yearly sent out of the country to buy off the fresh + invasions which were perpetually threatened. Then Ethelred the Unready, + Ethelred Evil-counsel, advised himself to fulfil his name, and the curse + which Dunstan had pronounced against him at the baptismal font. By his + counsel the men of Wessex rose against the unsuspecting Danes, and on St. + Brice’s eve, A.D. 1002, murdered them all with tortures, man, woman, and + child. It may be that they only did to the children as the fathers had + done to them: but the deed was “worse than a crime; it was a mistake.” The + Danes of the Danelagh and of Northumbria, their brothers of Denmark and + Norway, the Orkneys and the east coast of Ireland, remained unharmed. A + mighty host of Vikings poured from thence into England the very next year, + under Swend Forkbeard and the great Canute; and after thirteen fearful + campaigns came the great battle of Assingdown in Essex, where “Canute had + the victory; and all the English nation fought against him, and all the + nobility of the English race was there destroyed.” + </p> + <p> + That same year saw the mysterious death of Edmund Ironside, the last man + of Cerdic’s race worthy of the name. For the next twenty-five years, + Danish kings ruled from the Forth to the Land’s End. + </p> + <p> + A noble figure he was, that great and wise Canute, the friend of the + famous Godiva, and Leofric, Godiva’s husband, and Siward Biorn, the + conqueror of Macbeth; trying to expiate by justice and mercy the dark + deeds of his bloodstained youth; trying (and not in vain) to blend the two + races over which he ruled; rebuilding the churches and monasteries which + his father had destroyed; bringing back in state to Canterbury the body of + Archbishop Elphege—not unjustly called by the Saxons martyr and + saint—whom Tall Thorkill’s men had murdered with beef bones and + ox-skulls, because he would not give up to them the money destined for + God’s poor; rebuking, as every child has heard, his housecarles’ flattery + by setting his chair on the brink of the rising tide; and then laying his + golden crown, in token of humility, on the high altar of Winchester, never + to wear it more. In Winchester lie his bones unto this day, or what of + them the civil wars have left: and by him lie the bones of his son + Hardicanute, in whom, as in his half-brother Harold Harefoot before him, + the Danish power fell to swift decay, by insolence and drink and civil + war; and with the Danish power England fell to pieces likewise. + </p> + <p> + Canute had divided England into four great earldoms, each ruled, under + him, by a jarl, or earl—a Danish, not a Saxon title. + </p> + <p> + At his death in 1036, the earldoms of Northumbria and East Anglia—the + more strictly Danish parts—were held by a true Danish hero, Siward + Biorn, alias <i>Digre</i> “the Stout”, conqueror of Macbeth, and son of + the Fairy Bear; proving his descent, men said, by his pointed and hairy + ears. + </p> + <p> + Mercia, the great central plateau of England, was held by Earl Leofric, + husband of the famous Lady Godiva. + </p> + <p> + Wessex, which Canute had at first kept in his own hands, had passed into + those of the famous Earl Godwin, the then ablest man in England. Possessed + of boundless tact and cunning, gifted with an eloquence which seems, from + the accounts remaining of it, to have been rather that of a Greek than an + Englishman; himself of high—perhaps of royal—Sussex blood (for + the story of his low birth seems a mere fable of his French enemies), and + married first to Canute’s sister, and then to his niece, he was fitted, + alike by fortunes and by talents, to be the king-maker which he became. + </p> + <p> + Such a system may have worked well as long as the brain of a hero was + there to overlook it all. But when that brain was turned to dust, the + history of England became, till the Norman Conquest, little more than the + history of the rivalries of the two great houses of Godwin and Leofric. + </p> + <p> + Leofric had the first success in king-making. He, though bearing a Saxon + name, was the champion of the Danish party and of Canute’s son, or reputed + son, Harold Harefoot; and he succeeded, by the help of the “Thanes north + of Thames,” and the “lithsmen of London,” which city was more than half + Danish in those days, in setting his puppet on the throne. But the blood + of Canute had exhausted itself. Within seven years Harold Harefoot and + Hardicanute, who succeeded him, had died as foully as they lived; and + Godwin’s turn had come. + </p> + <p> + He, though married to a Danish princess, and acknowledging his Danish + connection by the Norse names which were borne by his three most famous + sons, Harold, Sweyn, and Tostig, constituted himself the champion of the + men of Wessex and the house of Cerdic. He had murdered, or at least caused + to be murdered, horribly, Alfred the Etheling, King Ethelred’s son and + heir-apparent, when it seemed his interest to support the claims of + Hardicanute against Harefoot. He now found little difficulty in persuading + his victim’s younger brother to come to England, and become at once his + king, his son-in-law and his puppet. + </p> + <p> + Edward the Confessor, if we are to believe the monks whom he pampered, was + naught but virtue and piety, meekness and magnanimity,—a model ruler + of men. Such a model ruler he was, doubtless, as monks would be glad to + see on every throne; because while he rules his subjects, they rule him. + No wonder, therefore, that (according to William of Malmesbury) the + happiness of his times (famed as he was both for miracles and the spirit + of prophecy) “was revealed in a dream to Brithwin, Bishop of Wilton, who + made it public”; who, meditating in King Canute’s time on “the near + extinction of the royal race of the English,” was “rapt up on high, and + saw St. Peter consecrating Edward king. His chaste life also was pointed + out, and the exact period of his reign (twenty-four years) determined; + and, when inquiring about his posterity, it was answered, ‘The kingdom of + the English belongs to God. After you, He will provide a king according to + his pleasure.’” But those who will look at the facts will see in the holy + Confessor’s character little but what is pitiable, and in his reign little + but what is tragical. + </p> + <p> + Civil wars, invasions, outlawry of Godwin and his sons by the Danish + party; then of Alfgar, Leofric’s son, by the Saxon party; the outlaws on + either side attacking and plundering the English shores by the help of + Norsemen, Welshmen, Irish, and Danes,—any mercenaries who could be + got together; and then,—“In the same year Bishop Aldred consecrated + the minster at Gloucester to the glory of God and of St. Peter, and then + went to Jerusalem with such splendor as no man had displayed before him”; + and so forth. The sum and substance of what was done in those “happy + times” may be well described in the words of the Anglo-Saxon chronicler + for the year 1058. “This year Alfgar the earl was banished; but he came in + again with violence, through aid of Griffin (the king of North Wales, his + brother-in-law). And this year came a fleet from Norway. It is tedious to + tell how these matters went.” These were the normal phenomena of a reign + which seemed, to the eyes of monks, a holy and a happy one; because the + king refused, whether from spite or superstition, to have an heir to the + house of Cerdic, and spent his time between prayer, hunting, the seeing of + fancied visions, the uttering of fancied prophecies, and the performance + of fancied miracles. + </p> + <p> + But there were excuses for him. An Englishman only in name,—a + Norman, not only of his mother’s descent (she was aunt of William the + Conqueror), but by his early education on the Continent,—he loved + the Norman better than the Englishman; Norman knights and clerks filled + his court, and often the high dignities of his provinces, and returned as + often as expelled; the Norman-French language became fashionable; Norman + customs and manners the signs of civilization; and thus all was preparing + steadily for the great catastrophe, by which, within a year of Edward’s + death, the Norman became master of the land. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it ought to have been so. Perhaps by no other method could + England, and, with England, Scotland, and in due time Ireland, have become + partakers of that classic civilization and learning, the fount whereof, + for good and for evil, was Rome and the Pope of Rome: but the method was + at least wicked; the actors in it tyrannous, brutal, treacherous, + hypocritical; and the conquest of England by William will remain to the + end of time a mighty crime, abetted—one may almost say made + possible, as too many such crimes have been before and since—by the + intriguing ambition of the Pope of Rome. + </p> + <p> + Against that tyranny the free men of the Danelagh and of Northumbria rose. + If Edward, the descendant of Cerdic, had been little to them, William, the + descendant of Rollo, was still less. That French-speaking knights should + expel them from their homes, French-chanting monks from their convents, + because Edward had promised the crown of England to William, his foreign + cousin, or because Harold Godwinsson of Wessex had sworn on the relics of + all the saints to be William’s man, was contrary to their common-sense of + right and reason. + </p> + <p> + So they rose and fought: too late, it may be, and without unity or + purpose; and they were worsted by an enemy who had both unity and purpose; + whom superstition, greed, and feudal discipline kept together, at least in + England, in one compact body of unscrupulous and terrible confederates. + </p> + <p> + But theirs was a land worth fighting for,—a good land and large: + from Humber mouth inland to the Trent and merry Sherwood, across to + Chester and the Dee, round by Leicester and the five burghs of the Danes; + eastward again to Huntingdon and Cambridge (then a poor village on the + site of an old Roman town); and then northward again into the wide fens, + the land of the Girvii and the Eormingas, “the children of the peat-bog,” + where the great central plateau of England slides into the sea, to form, + from the rain and river washings of eight shires, lowlands of a fertility + inexhaustible, because ever-growing to this day. + </p> + <p> + They have a beauty of their own, these great fens, even now, when they are + diked and drained, tilled and fenced,—a beauty as of the sea, of + boundless expanse and freedom. Much more had they that beauty eight + hundred years ago, when they were still, for the most part, as God had + made them, or rather was making them even then. The low rolling uplands + were clothed in primeval forest: oak and ash, beech and elm, with here and + there, perhaps, a group of ancient pines, ragged and decayed, and fast + dying out in England even then; though lingering still in the forests of + the Scotch highlands. + </p> + <p> + Between the forests were open wolds, dotted with white sheep and golden + gorse; rolling plains of rich though ragged turf, whether cleared by the + hand of man or by the wild fires which often swept over the hills. And + between the wood and the wold stood many a Danish “town,” with its + clusters of low straggling buildings round the holder’s house, stone or + mud below, and wood above; its high dikes round tiny fields; its flocks of + sheep ranging on the wold; its herds of swine in the forest; and below, a + more precious possession still,—its herds of mares and colts, which + fed with the cattle in the rich grass-fen. + </p> + <p> + For always, from the foot of the wolds, the green flat stretched away, + illimitable, to an horizon where, from the roundness of the earth, the + distant trees and islands were hulled down like ships at sea. The firm + horse-fen lay, bright green, along the foot of the wold; beyond it, the + browner peat, or deep fen; and among it, dark velvet alder beds, long + lines of reed-rond, emerald in spring, and golden under the autumn sun; + shining river-reaches; broad meres dotted with a million fowl, while the + cattle waded along their edges after the rich sedge-grass, or wallowed in + the mire through the hot summer’s day. Here and there, too, upon the far + horizon, rose a tall line of ashen trees, marking some island of firm rich + soil. Here and there, too, as at Ramsey and Crowland, the huge ashes had + disappeared before the axes of the monks, and a minster tower rose over + the fen, amid orchards, gardens, cornfields, pastures, with here and there + a tree left standing for shade. “Painted with flowers in the spring,” with + “pleasant shores embosomed in still lakes,” as the monk-chronicler of + Ramsey has it, those islands seemed to such as the monk terrestrial + paradises. + </p> + <p> + Overhead the arch of heaven spread more ample than elsewhere, as over the + open sea; and that vastness gave, and still gives, such “effects” of + cloudland, of sunrise, and sunset, as can be seen nowhere else within + these isles. They might well have been star worshippers, those Girvii, had + their sky been as clear as that of the East: but they were like to have + worshipped the clouds rather than the stars, according to the too + universal law, that mankind worship the powers which do them harm, rather + than the powers which do them good. + </p> + <p> + And therefore the Danelagh men, who feared not mortal sword, or axe, + feared witches, ghosts, Pucks, Will-o’-the-Wisps, werewolves, spirits of + the wells and of the trees, and all dark, capricious, and harmful beings + whom their fancy conjured up out of the wild, wet, and unwholesome + marshes, or the dark wolf-haunted woods. For that fair land, like all + things on earth, had its darker aspect. The foul exhalations of autumn + called up fever and ague, crippling and enervating, and tempting, almost + compelling, to that wild and desperate drinking which was the + Scandinavian’s special sin. Dark and sad were those short autumn days, + when all the distances were shut off, and the air choked with foul brown + fog and drenching rains from off the eastern sea; and pleasant the + bursting forth of the keen north-east wind, with all its whirling + snowstorms. For though it sent men hurrying out into the storm, to drive + the cattle in from the fen, and lift the sheep out of the snow-wreaths, + and now and then never to return, lost in mist and mire, in ice and snow;—yet + all knew that after the snow would come the keen frost and the bright sun + and cloudless blue sky, and the fenman’s yearly holiday, when, work being + impossible, all gave themselves up to play, and swarmed upon the ice on + skates and sledges, and ran races, township against township, or visited + old friends full forty miles away; and met everywhere faces as bright and + ruddy as their own, cheered by the keen wine of that dry and bracing + frost. + </p> + <p> + Such was the Fenland; hard, yet cheerful; rearing a race of hard and + cheerful men; showing their power in old times in valiant fighting, and + for many a century since in that valiant industry which has drained and + embanked the land of the Girvii, till it has become a very “Garden of the + Lord.” And the Scotsman who may look from the promontory of Peterborough, + the “golden borough” of old time; or from the tower of Crowland, while + Hereward and Torfrida sleep in the ruined nave beneath; or from the + heights of that Isle of Ely which was so long “the camp of refuge” for + English freedom; over the labyrinth of dikes and lodes, the squares of + rich corn and verdure,—will confess that the lowland, as well as the + highland, can at times breed gallant men. [Footnote: The story of Hereward + (often sung by minstrels and old-wives in succeeding generations) may be + found in the “Metrical Chronicle of Geoffrey Gaimar,” and in the prose + “Life of Hereward” (paraphrased from that written by Leofric, his + house-priest), and in the valuable fragment “Of the family of Hereward.” + These have all three been edited by Mr. T. Wright. The account of Hereward + in Ingulf seems taken, and that carelessly, from the same source as the + Latin prose, “De Gestis Herewardi.” A few curious details may be found in + Peter of Blois’s continuation of Ingulf; and more, concerning the sack of + Peterborough, in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. I have followed the + contemporary authorities as closely as I could, introducing little but + what was necessary to reconcile discrepancies, or to illustrate the + history, manners, and sentiments of the time.—C. K.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. — HOW HEREWARD WAS OUTLAWED, AND WENT NORTH TO SEEK HIS + FORTUNES. + </h2> + <p> + Known to all is Lady Godiva, the most beautiful as well as the most + saintly woman of her day; who, “all her life, kept at her own expense + thirteen poor folk wherever she went; who, throughout Lent, watched in the + church at triple matins, namely, one for the Trinity, one for the Cross, + and one for St. Mary; who every day read the Psalter through, and so + persevered in good and holy works to her life’s end,”—the “devoted + friend of St. Mary, ever a virgin,” who enriched monasteries without + number,—Leominster, Wenlock, Chester, St. Mary’s Stow by Lincoln, + Worcester, Evesham; and who, above all, founded the great monastery in + that town of Coventry, which has made her name immortal for another and a + far nobler deed; and enriched it so much “that no monastery in England + possessed such abundance of gold, silver, jewels, and precious stones,” + beside that most precious jewel of all, the arm of St. Augustine, which + not Lady Godiva, but her friend, Archbishop Ethelnoth, presented to + Coventry, “having bought it at Pavia for a hundred talents of silver and a + talent of gold.” [Footnote: William of Malmesbury.] + </p> + <p> + Less known, save to students, is her husband, Leofric the great Earl of + Mercia and Chester, whose bones lie by those of Godiva in that same + minster of Coventry; how “his counsel was as if one had opened the Divine + oracles”; very “wise,” says the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, “for God and for + the world, which was a blessing to all this nation”; the greatest man, + save his still greater rival, Earl Godwin, in Edward the Confessor’s + court. + </p> + <p> + Less known, again, are the children of that illustrious pair: Algar, or + Alfgar, Earl of Mercia after his father, who died, after a short and + stormy life, leaving two sons, Edwin and Morcar, the fair and hapless + young earls, always spoken of together, as if they had been twins; a + daughter, Aldytha, or Elfgiva, married first (according to some) to + Griffin, King of North Wales, and certainly afterwards to Harold, King of + England; and another, Lucia (as the Normans at least called her), whose + fate was, if possible, more sad than that of her brothers. + </p> + <p> + Their second son was Hereward, whose history this tale sets forth; their + third and youngest, a boy whose name is unknown. + </p> + <p> + They had, probably, another daughter beside; married, it may be, to some + son of Leofric’s stanch friend old Siward Biorn, the Viking Earl of + Northumberland, and conqueror of Macbeth; and the mother, may be, of the + two young Siwards, the “white” and the “red,” who figure in chronicle and + legend as the nephews of Hereward. But this pedigree is little more than a + conjecture. + </p> + <p> + Be these things as they may, Godiva was the greatest lady in England, save + two: Edith, Harold’s sister, the nominal wife of Edward the Confessor; and + Githa, or Gyda, as her own Danes called her, Harold’s mother, niece of + Canute the Great. Great was Godiva; and might have been proud enough, had + she been inclined to that pleasant sin. And even then (for there is a + skeleton, they say, in every house) she carried that about her which might + well keep her humble; namely, shame at the misconduct of Hereward, her + son. + </p> + <p> + Her favorite residence, among the many manors and “villas,” or farms which + Leofric possessed, was neither the stately hall at Loughton by + Bridgenorth, nor the statelier castle of Warwick, but the house of Bourne + in South Lincolnshire, between the great woods of the Bruneswald and the + great level of the fens. It may have been her own paternal dowry, and have + come down to her in right of her Danish ancestors, and that great and + “magnificent” Jarl Oslac, from whom she derived her all-but-royal blood. + This is certain, that Leofric, her husband, went in East Anglia by the + name of Leofric, Lord of Bourne; that, as Domesday Book testifies, his son + Alfgar, and his grandson Morcar, held large lands there and thereabout. + Alfgar’s name, indeed, still lives in the village of Algar-Kirk; and Lady + Godiva, and Algar after her, enriched with great gifts Crowland, the + island sanctuary, and Peterborough, where Brand, either her brother or + Leofric’s, was a monk, and in due time an abbot. + </p> + <p> + The house of Bourne, as far as it can be reconstructed by imagination, was + altogether unlike one of the tall and gloomy Norman castles which twenty + years later reared their evil donjons over England. It was much more like + a house in a Chinese painting; an irregular group of low buildings, almost + all of one story, stone below and timber above, with high-peaked roofs,—at + least in the more Danish country,—affording a separate room, or + rather house, for each different need of the family. Such a one may be + seen in the illuminations of the century. In the centre of the building is + the hall, with door or doors opening out into the court; and sitting + thereat, at the top of a flight of steps, the lord and lady, dealing + clothes to the naked and bread to the hungry. On one side of the hall is a + chapel; by it a large room or “bower” for the ladies; behind the hall a + round tower, seemingly the strong place of the whole house; on the other + side a kitchen; and stuck on to bower, kitchen, and every other principal + building, lean-to after lean-to, the uses of which it is impossible now to + discover. The house had grown with the wants of the family,—as many + good old English houses have done to this day. Round it would be scattered + barns and stables, in which grooms and herdsmen slept side by side with + their own horses and cattle; and outside all, the “yard,” “garth,” or + garden-fence, high earth-bank with palisades on top, which formed a strong + defence in time of war. Such was most probably the “villa,” “ton,” or + “town” of Earl Leofric, the Lord of Bourne, the favorite residence of + Godiva,—once most beautiful, and still most holy, according to the + holiness of those old times. + </p> + <p> + Now on a day—about the year 1054—while Earl Siward was helping + to bring Birnam wood to Dunsinane, to avenge his murdered brother-in-law, + Lady Godiva sat, not at her hall door, dealing food and clothing to her + thirteen poor folk, but in her bower, with her youngest son, a two-years’ + boy, at her knee. She was listening with a face of shame and horror to the + complaint of Herluin, Steward of Peterborough, who had fallen in that + afternoon with Hereward and his crew of “housecarles.” + </p> + <p> + To keep a following of stout housecarles, or men-at-arms, was the pride as + well as the duty of an Anglo-Danish Lord, as it was, till lately, of a + Scoto-Danish Highland Laird. And Hereward, in imitation of his father and + his elder brother, must needs have his following from the time he was but + fifteen years old. All the unruly youths of the neighborhood, sons of free + “holders,” who owed some sort of military service to Earl Leofric; Geri, + his cousin; Winter, whom he called his brother-in-arms; the Wulfrics, the + Wulfards, the Azers, and many another wild blade, had banded themselves + round a young nobleman more unruly than themselves. Their names were + already a terror to all decent folk, at wakes and fairs, alehouses and + village sports. They atoned, be it remembered, for their early sins by + making those names in after years a terror to the invaders of their native + land: but as yet their prowess was limited to drunken brawls and + faction-fights; to upsetting old women at their work, levying blackmail + from quiet chapmen on the high road, or bringing back in triumph, sword in + hand and club on shoulder, their leader Hereward from some duel which his + insolence had provoked. + </p> + <p> + But this time, if the story of the sub-prior was to be believed, Hereward + and his housecarles had taken an ugly stride forward toward the pit. They + had met him riding along, intent upon his psalter, in a lonely path of the + Bruneswald,—“Whereon your son, most gracious lady, bade me stand, + saying that his men were thirsty and he had no money to buy ale withal, + and none so likely to help him thereto as a fat priest,—for so he + scandalously termed me, who, as your ladyship knows, am leaner than the + minster bell-ropes, with fasting Wednesdays and Fridays throughout the + year, beside the vigils of the saints, and the former and latter Lents. + </p> + <p> + “But when he saw who I was, as if inspired by a malignant spirit, he + shouted out my name, and bade his companions throw me to the ground.” + </p> + <p> + “Throw you to the ground?” shuddered the Lady Godiva. + </p> + <p> + “In much mire, madam. After which he took my palfrey, saying that heaven’s + gate was too lowly for men on horseback to get in thereat; and then my + marten’s fur gloves and cape which your gracious self bestowed on me, + alleging that the rules of my order allowed only one garment, and no furs + save catskins and such like. And lastly—I tremble while I relate, + thinking not of the loss of my poor money, but the loss of an immortal + soul—took from me a purse with sixteen silver pennies, which I had + collected from our tenants for the use of the monastery, and said, + blasphemously, that I and mine had swindled your ladyship, and therefore + him, your son, out of many a fair manor ere now; and it was but fair that + he should tithe the rents thereof, as he should never get the lands out of + our claws again; with more of the like, which I blush to repeat,—and + so left me to trudge hither in the mire.” + </p> + <p> + “Wretched boy!” said the Lady Godiva, and hid her face in her hands; “and + more wretched I, to have brought such a son into the world!” + </p> + <p> + The monk had hardly finished his doleful story, when there was a pattering + of heavy feet, a noise of men shouting and laughing outside, and a voice, + above all, calling for the monk by name, which made that good man crouch + behind the curtain of Lady Godiva’s bed. The next moment the door of the + bower was thrown violently open, and in walked, or rather reeled, a noble + lad eighteen years old. His face was of extraordinary beauty, save that + the lower jaw was too long and heavy, and that his eyes wore a strange and + almost sinister expression, from the fact that the one of them was gray + and the other blue. He was short, but of immense breadth of chest and + strength of limb; while his delicate hands and feet and long locks of + golden hair marked him of most noble, and even, as he really was, of + ancient royal race. He was dressed in a gaudy costume, resembling on the + whole that of a Highland chieftain. His knees, wrists, and throat were + tattoed in bright blue patterns; and he carried sword and dagger, a gold + ring round his neck, and gold rings on his wrists. He was a lad to have + gladdened the eyes of any mother: but there was no gladness in the Lady + Godiva’s eyes as she received him; nor had there been for many a year. She + looked on him with sternness,—with all but horror; and he, his face + flushed with wine, which he had tossed off as he passed through the hall + to steady his nerves for the coming storm, looked at her with smiling + defiance, the result of long estrangement between mother and son. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my lady,” said he, ere she could speak, “I heard that this good + fellow was here, and came home as fast as I could, to see that he told you + as few lies as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “He has told me,” said she, “that you have robbed the Church of God.” + </p> + <p> + “Robbed him, it may be, an old hoody crow, against whom I have a grudge of + ten years’ standing.” + </p> + <p> + “Wretched, wretched boy! What wickedness next? Know you not, that he who + robs the Church robs God himself?” + </p> + <p> + “And he who harms God’s people,” put in the monk from behind the chair, + “harms his Maker.” + </p> + <p> + “His Maker?” said the lad, with concentrated bitterness. “It would be a + gay world, if the Maker thereof were in any way like unto you, who call + yourselves his people. Do you remember who told them to set the peat-stack + on fire under me ten years ago? Ah, ha, Sir Monk, you forget that I have + been behind the screen,—that I have been a monk myself, or should + have been one, if my pious lady mother here had had her will of me, as she + may if she likes of that doll there at her knee. Do you forget why I left + Peterborough Abbey, when Winter and I turned all your priest’s books + upside down in the choir, and they would have flogged us,—me, the + Earl’s son,—me, the Viking’s son,—me, the champion, as I will + be yet, and make all lands ring with the fame of my deeds, as they rung + with the fame of my forefathers, before they became the slaves of monks; + and how when Winter and I got hold of the kitchen spits, and up to the top + of the peat-stack, and held you all at bay there, a whole abbeyful of + cowards there, against two seven years’ children? It was you bade set the + peat-stack alight under us, and so bring us down; and would have done it, + too, had it not been for my Uncle Brand, the only man that I care for in + this wide world. Do you think I have not owed you a grudge ever since that + day, monk? And do you think I will not pay it? Do you think I would not + have burned Peterborough minster over your head before now, had it not + been for Uncle Brand’s sake? See that I do not do it yet. See that when + there is another Prior in Borough you do not find Hereward the Berserker + smoking you out some dark night, as he would smoke a wasps’ nest. And I + will, by—” + </p> + <p> + “Hereward, Hereward!” cried his mother, “godless, god-forgotten boy, what + words are these? Silence, before you burden your soul with an oath which + the devils in hell will accept, and force you to keep!” and she sprung up, + and, seizing his arm, laid her hand upon his mouth. + </p> + <p> + Hereward looked at her majestic face, once lovely, now careworn, and + trembled for a moment. Had there been any tenderness in it, his history + might have been a very different one; but alas! there was none. Not that + she was in herself untender; but that her great piety (call it not + superstition, for it was then the only form known or possible to pure and + devout souls) was so outraged by this, or even by the slightest insult to + that clergy whose willing slave she had become, that the only method of + reclaiming the sinner had been long forgotten, in genuine horror at his + sin. “Is it not enough,” she went on, sternly, “that you should have + become the bully and the ruffian of all the fens?—that Hereward the + leaper, Hereward the wrestler, Hereward the thrower of the hammer—sports, + after all, only fit for the sons of slaves—should be also Hereward + the drunkard, Hereward the common fighter, Hereward the breaker of houses, + Hereward the leader of mobs of boon companions which bring back to us, in + shame and sorrow, the days when our heathen forefathers ravaged this land + with fire and sword? Is it not enough for me that my son should be a + common stabber—?” + </p> + <p> + “Whoever called me stabber to you, lies. If I have killed men, or had them + killed, I have done it in fair fight.” + </p> + <p> + But she went on unheeding,—“Is it not enough, that, after having + squandered on your fellows all the money that you could wring from my + bounty, or win at your brutal sports, you should have robbed your own + father, collected his rents behind his back, taken money and goods from + his tenants by threats and blows; but that, after outraging them, you must + add to all this a worse sin likewise,—outraging God, and driving me—me + who have borne with you, me who have concealed all for your sake—to + tell your father that of which the very telling will turn my hair to + gray?” + </p> + <p> + “So you will tell my father?” said Hereward, coolly. + </p> + <p> + “And if I should not, this monk himself is bound to do so, or his + superior, your Uncle Brand.” + </p> + <p> + “My Uncle Brand will not, and your monk dare not.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I must. I have loved you long and well; but there is one thing which + I must love better than you: and that is, my conscience and my Maker.” + </p> + <p> + “Those are two things, my lady mother, and not one; so you had better not + confound them. As for the latter, do you not think that He who made the + world is well able to defend his own property,—if the lands and + houses and cattle and money which these men wheedle and threaten and forge + out of you and my father are really His property, and not merely their + plunder? As for your conscience, my lady mother, really you have done so + many good deeds in your life, that it might be beneficial to you to do a + bad one once in a way, so as to keep your soul in a wholesome state of + humility.” + </p> + <p> + The monk groaned aloud. Lady Godiva groaned; but it was inwardly. There + was silence for a moment. Both were abashed by the lad’s utter + shamelessness. + </p> + <p> + “And you will tell my father?” said he again. “He is at the old + miracle-worker’s court at Westminster. He will tell the miracle-worker, + and I shall be outlawed.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you be, wretched boy, whom have you to blame but yourself? Can you + expect that the king, sainted even as he is before his death, dare pass + over such an atrocity towards Holy Church?” + </p> + <p> + “Blame? I shall blame no one. Pass over? I hope he will not pass over it, + I only want an excuse like that for turning kempery-man—knight-errant, + as those Norman puppies call it,—like Regnar Lodbrog, or Frithiof, + or Harold Hardraade; and try what man can do for himself in the world with + nothing to help him in heaven and earth, with neither saint nor angel, + friend or counsellor, to see to him, save his wits and his good sword. So + send off the messenger, good mother mine: and I will promise you I will + not have him ham-strung on the way, as some of my housecarles would do for + me if I but held up my hand; and let the miracle-monger fill up the + measure of his folly, by making an enemy of one more bold fellow in the + world.” + </p> + <p> + And he swaggered out of the room. + </p> + <p> + And when he was gone, the Lady Godiva bowed her head into her lap and wept + long and bitterly. Neither her maidens nor the priest dare speak to her + for nigh an hour; but at the end of that time she lifted up her head, and + settled her face again, till it was like that of a marble saint over a + minster door; and called for ink and paper, and wrote her letter; and then + asked for a trusty messenger who should carry it up to Westminster. + </p> + <p> + “None so swift or sure,” said the house steward, “as Martin Lightfoot.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Godiva shook her head. “I mistrust that man,” she said. “He is too + fond of my poor—of the Lord Hereward.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a strange one, my lady, and no one knows whence he came, and, I + sometimes fancy, whither he may go either; but ever since my lord + threatened to hang him for talking with my young master, he has never + spoken to him, nor scarcely, indeed, to living soul. And one thing there + is makes him or any man sure, as long as he is well paid; and that is, + that he cares for nothing in heaven or earth save himself and what he can + get.” + </p> + <p> + So Martin Lightfoot was sent for. He came in straight into the lady’s + bedchamber, after the simple fashion of those days. He was a tall, lean, + bony man, as was to be expected from his nickname, with a long hooked + nose, a scanty brown beard, and a high conical head. His only garment was + a shabby gray woollen tunic, which served him both as coat and kilt, and + laced brogues of untanned hide. He might have been any age from twenty to + forty; but his face was disfigured with deep scars and long exposure to + the weather. He dropped on one knee, holding his greasy cap in his hand, + and looked, not at his lady’s face, but at her feet, with a stupid and + frightened expression. She knew very little of him, save that her husband + had picked him up upon the road as a wanderer some five years since; and + that he had been employed as a doer of odd jobs and runner of messages, + and that he was supposed, from his taciturnity and strangeness, to have + something uncanny about him. + </p> + <p> + “Martin,” said the lady, “they tell me that you are a silent and a prudent + man.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“That am I. ‘Tongue speaketh bane, + Though she herself hath nane.’” + </pre> + <p> + “I shall try you: do you know your way to London?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “To your lord’s lodgings in Westminster?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “How long shall you be going there with this letter?” + </p> + <p> + “A day and a half.” + </p> + <p> + “When shall you be back hither?” + </p> + <p> + “On the fourth day.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will go to my lord and deliver this letter safely?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, your Majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you call me Majesty? The King is Majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “You are my Queen.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, man?” + </p> + <p> + “You can hang me.” + </p> + <p> + “I hang thee, poor soul! Who did I ever hang, or hurt for a moment, if I + could help it?” + </p> + <p> + “But the Earl may.” + </p> + <p> + “He will neither hang nor hurt thee if thou wilt take this letter safely, + and bring me back the answer safely.” + </p> + <p> + “They will kill me.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” + </p> + <p> + “They,” said Martin, pointing to the bower maidens,—young ladies of + good family who stood round, chosen for their good looks, after the + fashion of those times, to attend on great ladies. There was a cry of + angry and contemptuous denial, not unmixed with something like laughter, + which showed that Martin had but spoken the truth. Hereward, in spite of + all his sins, was the darling of his mother’s bower; and there was not one + of the damsels but would have done anything short of murder to have + prevented Martin carrying the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Silence, man!” said Lady Godiva, so sternly that Martin saw that he had + gone too far. “How know’st such as thou what is in this letter?” + </p> + <p> + “Those others will know,” said Martin, sullenly, without answering the + last question. + </p> + <p> + “Who?” + </p> + <p> + “His housecarles outside there.” + </p> + <p> + “He has promised that they shall not touch thee. But how knowest thou what + is in this letter?” + </p> + <p> + “I will take it,” said Martin: he held out his hand, took it and looked at + it, but upside down, and without any attempt to read it. + </p> + <p> + “His own mother,” said he, after a while. + </p> + <p> + “What is that to thee?” said Lady Godiva, blushing and kindling. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing: I had no mother. But God has one!” + </p> + <p> + “What meanest thou, knave? Wilt thou take the letter or no?” + </p> + <p> + “I will take it.” And he again looked at it without rising off his knee. + “His own father, too.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that to thee, I say again?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing: I have no father. But God’s Son has one!” + </p> + <p> + “What wilt thou, thou strange man?” asked she, puzzled and + half-frightened; “and how camest thou to know what is in this letter?” + </p> + <p> + “Who does not know? A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. On the + fourth day from this I will be back.” + </p> + <p> + And Martin rose, and putting the letter solemnly into the purse at his + girdle, shot out of the door with clenched teeth, as a man upon a fixed + purpose which it would lighten his heart to carry out. He ran rapidly + through the large outer hall, past the long oak table, at which Hereward + and his boon companions were drinking and roistering; and as he passed the + young lord he cast on him a look so full of meaning, that though Hereward + knew not what the meaning was, it startled him, and for a moment softened + him. Did this man who had sullenly avoided him for more than two years, + whom he had looked on as a clod or a post in the field beneath his notice, + since he could be of no use to him,—did this man still care for him? + Hereward had reason to know better than most that there was something + strange and uncanny about the man. Did he mean him well? Or had he some + grudge against him, which made him undertake this journey willingly and + out of spite?—possibly with the will to make bad worse. For an + instant Hereward’s heart misgave him. He would stop the letter at all + risks. “Hold him!” he cried to his comrades. + </p> + <p> + But Martin turned to him, laid his finger on his lips, smiled kindly, and + saying “You promised!” caught up a loaf from the table, slipped from among + them like an eel, and darted out of the door, and out of the close. They + followed him to the great gate, and there stopped, some cursing, some + laughing. To give Martin Lightfoot a yard advantage was never to come up + with him again. Some called for bows to bring him down with a parting + shot. But Hereward forbade them; and stood leaning against the gate-post, + watching him trot on like a lean wolf over the lawn, till he was lost in + the great elm-woods which fringed the southern fen. + </p> + <p> + “Now, lads,” said Hereward, “home with you all, and make your peace with + your fathers. In this house you never drink ale again.” + </p> + <p> + They looked at him, surprised. + </p> + <p> + “You are disbanded, my gallant army. As long as I could cut long thongs + out of other men’s hides, I could feed you like earl’s sons: but now I + must feed myself; and a dog over his bone wants no company. Outlawed I + shall be before the week is out; and unless you wish to be outlawed too, + you will obey orders, and home.” + </p> + <p> + “We will follow you to the world’s end,” cried some. + </p> + <p> + “To the rope’s end, lads: that is all you will get in my company. Go home + with you, and those who feel a calling, let them turn monks; and those who + have not, let them learn + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘For to plough and to sow, + And to reap and to mow, + And to be a farmer’s boy.’ +</pre> + <p> + Good night.” + </p> + <p> + And he went in, and shut the great gates after him, leaving them + astonished. + </p> + <p> + To take his advice, and go home, was the simplest thing to be done. A few + of them on their return were soundly thrashed, and deserved it; a few were + hidden by their mothers for a week, in hay-lofts and hen-roosts, till + their father’s anger had passed away. But only one turned monk or clerk, + and that was Leofric the Unlucky, godson of the great earl, and + poet-in-ordinary to the band. + </p> + <p> + The next morning at dawn Hereward mounted his best horse, armed himself + from head to foot, and rode over to Peterborough. + </p> + <p> + When he came to the abbey-gate, he smote thereon with his lance-but, till + the porter’s teeth rattled in his head for fear. + </p> + <p> + “Let me in!” he shouted. “I am Hereward Leofricsson. I must see my Uncle + Brand.” + </p> + <p> + “O my most gracious lord!” cried the porter, thrusting his head out of the + wicket, “what is this that you have been doing to our Steward?” + </p> + <p> + “The tithe of what I will do, unless you open the gate!” + </p> + <p> + “O my lord!” said the porter, as he opened it, “if our Lady and St. Peter + would but have mercy on your fair face, and convert your soul to the fear + of God and man—” + </p> + <p> + “She would make me as good an old fool as you. Fetch my uncle, the Prior.” + </p> + <p> + The porter obeyed. The son of Earl Leofric was as a young lion among the + sheep in those parts; and few dare say him nay, certainly not the monks of + Peterborough; moreover, the good porter could not help being strangely + fond of Hereward—as was every one whom he did not insult, rob, or + kill. + </p> + <p> + Out came Brand, a noble elder: more fit, from his eye and gait, to be a + knight than a monk. He looked sadly at Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “‘Dear is bought the honey that is licked off the thorn,’ quoth Hending,” + said he. + </p> + <p> + “Hending bought his wisdom by experience, I suppose,” said Hereward, “and + so must I. So I am just starting out to see the world, uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “Naughty, naughty boy! If we had thee safe here again for a week, we would + take this hot blood out of thee, and send thee home in thy right mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring a rod and whip me, then. Try, and you shall have your chance. Every + one else has had, and this is the end of their labors.” + </p> + <p> + “By the chains of St. Peter,” quoth the monk, “that is just what thou + needest. Hoist thee on such another fool’s back, truss thee up, and lay it + on lustily, till thou art ashamed. To treat thee as a man is only to make + thee a more heady blown-up ass than thou art already.” + </p> + <p> + “True, most wise uncle. And therefore my still wiser parents are going to + treat me like a man indeed, and send me out into the world to seek my + fortunes!” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “They are going to prove how thoroughly they trust me to take care of + myself, by outlawing me. Eh? say I in return. Is not that an honor, and a + proof that I have not shown myself a fool, though I may have a madman?” + </p> + <p> + “Outlaw you? O my boy, my darling, my pride! Get off your horse, and don’t + sit there, hand on hip, like a turbaned Saracen, defying God and man; but + come down and talk reason to me, for the sake of St. Peter and all + saints.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward threw himself off his horse, and threw his arms round his uncle’s + neck. + </p> + <p> + “Pish! Now, uncle, don’t cry, do what you will, lest I cry too. Help me to + be a man while I live, even if I go to the black place when I die.” + </p> + <p> + “It shall not be!” .... and the monk swore by all the relics in + Peterborough minster. + </p> + <p> + “It must be. It shall be. I like to be outlawed. I want to be outlawed. It + makes one feel like a man. There is not an earl in England, save my + father, who has not been outlawed in his time. My brother Alfgar will be + outlawed before he dies, if he has the spirit of a man in him. It is the + fashion, my uncle, and I must follow it. So hey for the merry greenwood, + and the long ships, and the swan’s bath, and all the rest of it. Uncle, + you will lend me fifty silver pennies?” + </p> + <p> + “I? I would not lend thee one, if I had it, which I have not. And yet, old + fool that I am, I believe I would.” + </p> + <p> + “I would pay thee back honestly. I shall go down to Constantinople to the + Varangers, get my Polotaswarf [Footnote: See “The Heimskringla,” Harold + Hardraade’s Saga, for the meaning of this word.] out of the Kaiser’s + treasure, and pay thee back five to one.” + </p> + <p> + “What does this son of Belial here?” asked an austere voice. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Abbot Leofric, my very good lord. I have come to ask hospitality of + you for some three days. By that time I shall be a wolf’s head, and out of + the law: and then, if you will give me ten minutes’ start, you may put + your bloodhounds on my track, and see which runs fastest, they or I. You + are a gentleman, and a man of honor; so I trust to you to feed my horse + fairly the meanwhile, and not to let your monks poison me.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot’s face relaxed. He tried to look as solemn as he could; but he + ended in bursting into a very great laughter, and swearing likewise. + </p> + <p> + “The insolence of this lad passes the miracles of all saints. He robs St. + Peter on the highway, breaks into his abbey, insults him to his face, and + then asks him for hospitality; and—” + </p> + <p> + “And gets it,” quoth Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “What is to be done with him, Brand, my friend? If we turn him out—” + </p> + <p> + “Which we cannot do,” said Brand, looking at the well-mailed and armed + lad, “without calling in half a dozen of our men-at-arms.” + </p> + <p> + “In which case there would be blood shed, and scandal made in the holy + precincts.” + </p> + <p> + “And nothing gained; for yield he would not till he was killed outright, + which God forbid!” + </p> + <p> + “Amen. And if he stay here, he may be persuaded to repentance.” + </p> + <p> + “And restitution.” + </p> + <p> + “As for that,” quoth Hereward (who had remounted his horse from prudential + motives, and set him athwart the gateway, so that there was no chance of + the doors being slammed behind him), “if either of you will lend me + sixteen pence, I will pay it back to you and St. Peter before I die, with + interest enough to satisfy any Jew, on the word of a gentleman and an + earl’s son.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot burst again into a great laughter. “Come in, thou graceless + renegade, and we will see to thee and thy horse; and I will pray to St. + Peter; and I doubt not he will have patience with thee, for he is very + merciful; and after all, thy parents have been exceeding good to us, and + the righteousness of the father, like his sins, is sometimes visited on + the children.” + </p> + <p> + Now, why were the two ecclesiastics so uncanonically kind to this wicked + youth? + </p> + <p> + Perhaps because both the old bachelors were wishing from their hearts that + they had just such a son of their own. And beside, Earl Leofric was a very + great man indeed; and the wind might change; for it is an unstable world. + </p> + <p> + “Only, mind, one thing,” said the naughty boy, as he dismounted, and + halloed to a lay-brother to see to his horse,—“don’t let me see the + face of that Herluin.” + </p> + <p> + “And why? You have wronged him, and he will forgive you, doubtless, like a + good Christian as he is.” + </p> + <p> + “That is his concern. But if I see him, I cut off his head. And, as Uncle + Brand knows, I always sleep with my sword under my pillow.” + </p> + <p> + “O that such a mother should have borne such a son.” groaned the Abbot, as + they went in. + </p> + <p> + On the fifth day came Martin Lightfoot, and found Hereward in Prior + Brand’s private cell. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Hereward coolly. + </p> + <p> + “Is he—? Is he—?” stammered Brand, and could not finish his + sentence. + </p> + <p> + Martin nodded. + </p> + <p> + Hereward laughed,—a loud, swaggering, hysterical laugh. + </p> + <p> + “See what it is to be born of just and pious parents. Come, Master + Trot-alone, speak out and tell us all about it. Thy lean wolf’s legs have + run to some purpose. Open thy lean wolf’s mouth and speak for once, lest I + ease thy legs for the rest of thy life by a cut across the hams. Find thy + lost tongue, I say!” + </p> + <p> + “Walls have ears, as well as the wild-wood,” said Martin. + </p> + <p> + “We are safe here,” said the Prior; “so speak, and tell us the whole + truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, when the Earl read the letter, he turned red, and pale again, and + then naught but, ‘Men, follow me to the King at Westminster.’ So we went, + all with our weapons, twenty or more, along the Strand, and up into the + King’s new hall; and a grand hall it is, but not easy to get into, for the + crowd of monks and beggars on the stairs, hindering honest folks’ + business. And there sat the King on a high settle, with his pink face and + white hair, looking as royal as a bell-wether new washed; and on either + side of him, on the same settle, sat the old fox and the young wolf.” + </p> + <p> + “Godwin and Harold? And where was the Queen?” + </p> + <p> + “Sitting on a stool at his feet, with her hands together as if she were + praying, and her eyes downcast, as demure as any cat. And so is fulfilled + the story, how the sheep-dog went out to get married, and left the fox, + the wolf, and the cat to guard the flock.” + </p> + <p> + “If thou hast found thy tongue,” said Brand, “thou art like enough to lose + it again by slice of knife, talking such ribaldry of dignities. Dost not + know”—and he sank his voice—“that Abbot Leofric is Earl + Harold’s man, and that Harold himself made him abbot?” + </p> + <p> + “I said, walls have ears. It was you who told me that we were safe. + However, I will bridle the unruly one.” And he went on. “And your father + walked up the hall, his left hand on his sword-hilt, looking an earl all + over, as he is.” + </p> + <p> + “He is that,” said Hereward, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “And he bowed; and the most magnificent, powerful, and virtuous Godwin + would have beckoned him up to sit on the high settle; but he looked + straight at the King, as if there were never a Godwin or a Godwinsson on + earth, and cried as he stood,— + </p> + <p> + “‘Justice, my Lord the King!’ + </p> + <p> + “And at that the King turned pale, and said, ‘Who? What? O miserable + world! O last days drawing nearer and nearer! O earth, full of violence + and blood! Who has wronged thee now, most dear and noble Earl?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Justice against my own son.’ + </p> + <p> + “At that the fox looked at the wolf, and the wolf at the fox; and if they + did not smile it was not for want of will, I warrant. But your father went + on, and told all his story; and when he came to your robbing master monk,—‘O + apostate!’ cries the bell-wether, ‘O spawn of Beelzebub! excommunicate + him, with bell, book, and candle. May he be thrust down with Korah, + Balaam, and Iscariot, to the most Stygian pot of the sempiternal + Tartarus.’ + </p> + <p> + “And at that your father smiled. ‘That is bishops’ work,’ says he; ‘and I + want king’s work from you, Lord King. Outlaw me this young rebel’s sinful + body, as by law you can; and leave his sinful soul to the priests,—or + to God’s mercy, which is like to be more than theirs.’ + </p> + <p> + “Then the Queen looked up. ‘Your own son, noble Earl? Think of what you + are doing, and one whom all say is so gallant and so fair. O persuade him, + father,—persuade him, Harold my brother,—or, if you cannot + persuade him, persuade the King at least, and save this poor youth from + exile.’” + </p> + <p> + “Puss Velvet-paw knew well enough,” said Hereward, in a low voice, “that + the way to harden my father’s heart was to set Godwin and Harold on + softening it. They ask my pardon from the King? I would not take it at + their asking, even if my father would.” + </p> + <p> + “There spoke a true Leofricsson,” said Brand, in spite of himself. + </p> + <p> + “‘By the—‘” (and Martin repeated a certain very solemn oath), “said + your father, ‘justice I will have, my Lord King. Who talks to me of my own + son? You put me into my earldom to see justice done and law obeyed; and + how shall I make others keep within bound if I am not to keep in my own + flesh and blood? Here is this land running headlong to ruin, because every + nobleman—ay, every churl who owns a manor, if he dares—must + needs arm and saddle, and levy war on his own behalf, and harry and slay + the king’s lieges, if he have not garlic to his roast goose every time he + chooses,’—and there your father did look at Godwin, once and for + all;—‘and shall I let my son follow the fashion, and do his best to + leave the land open and weak for Norseman, or Dane, or Frenchman, or + whoever else hopes next to mount the throne of a king who is too holy to + leave an heir behind him?’” + </p> + <p> + “Ahoi! Martin the silent! Where learnt you so suddenly the trade of + preaching? I thought you kept your wind for your running this two years + past. You would make as good a talker among the Witan as Godwin himself. + You give it us all, word for word, and voice and gesture withal, as if you + were King Edward’s French Chancellor.” + </p> + <p> + Martin smiled. “I am like Falada the horse, my lords, who could only speak + to his own true princess. Why I held my tongue of late was only lest they + should cut my head off for talking, as they did poor Falada’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou art a very crafty knave,” said Brand, “and hast had clerk-learning + in thy time, I can see, and made bad use of it. I misdoubt very much that + thou art some runaway monk.” + </p> + <p> + “That am I not, by St. Peter’s chains!” said Martin, in an eager, + terrified voice. “Lord Hereward, I came hither as your father’s messenger + and servant. You will see me safe out of this abbey, like an honorable + gentleman!” + </p> + <p> + “I will. All I know of him, uncle, is that he used to tell me stories, + when I was a boy, of enchanters, and knights, and dragons, and such like, + and got into trouble for filling my head with such fancies. Now let him + tell his story in peace.” + </p> + <p> + “He shall; but I misdoubt the fellow very much. He talks as if he knew + Latin; and what business has a foot-running slave to do that?” + </p> + <p> + So Martin went on, somewhat abashed. “‘And,’ said your father, ‘justice I + will have, and leave injustice, and the overlooking of it, to those who + wish to profit thereby.’ + </p> + <p> + “And at that Godwin smiled, and said to the King, ‘The Earl is wise, as + usual, and speaks like a very Solomon. Your Majesty must, in spite of your + own tenderness of heart, have these letters of outlawry made out.’ + </p> + <p> + “Then all our men murmured,—and I as loud as any. But old + Surturbrand the housecarle did more; for out he stepped to your father’s + side, and spoke right up before the King. + </p> + <p> + “‘Bonny times,’ he said, ‘I have lived to see, when a lad of Earl Oslac’s + blood is sent out of the land, a beggar and a wolf’s head, for playing a + boy’s trick or two, and upsetting a shaveling priest! We managed such wild + young colts better, we Vikings who conquered the Danelagh. If Canute had + had a son like Hereward—as would to God he had had!—he would + have dealt with him as old Swend Forkbeard (God grant I meet him in + Valhalla, in spite of all priests!) did by Canute himself when he was + young, and kicked and plunged awhile at being first bitted and saddled.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘What does the man say?’ asked the King, for old Surturbrand was talking + broad Danish. + </p> + <p> + “‘He is a housecarle of mine, Lord King, a good man and true; but old age + and rough Danish blood has made him forget that he stands before kings and + earls.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘By ——, Earl!’ says Surturbrand, ‘I have fought knee to knee + beside a braver king than that there, and nobler earls than ever a one + here; and was never afraid, like a free Dane, to speak my mind to them, by + sea or land. And if the King, with his French ways, does not understand a + plain man’s talk, the two earls yonder do right well, and I say,—Deal + by this lad in the good old fashion. Give him half a dozen long ships, and + what crews he can get together, and send him out, as Canute would have + done, to seek his fortune like a Viking; and if he comes home with plenty + of wounds, and plenty of plunder, give him an earldom as he deserves. Do + you ask your Countess, Earl Godwin:—she is of the right Danish + blood, God bless her! though she is your wife,—and see if she does + not know how to bring a naughty lad to his senses.’ + </p> + <p> + “Then Harold the Earl said: ‘The old man is right. King, listen to what he + says.’ And he told him all, quite eagerly.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know that? Can you understand French?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a poor idiot, give me a halfpenny,” said Martin, in a doleful voice, + as he threw into his face and whole figure a look of helpless stupidity + and awkwardness, which set them both laughing. + </p> + <p> + But Hereward checked himself. “And you think he was in earnest?” + </p> + <p> + “As sure as there are holy crows in Crowland. But it was of no use. Your + father got a parchment, with an outlandish Norman seal hanging to it, and + sent me off with it that same night to give to the lawman. So wolf’s head + you are, my lord, and there is no use crying over spilt milk.” + </p> + <p> + “And Harold spoke for me? It will be as well to tell Abbot Leofric that, + in case he be inclined to turn traitor, and refuse to open the gates. Once + outside them, I care not for mortal man.” + </p> + <p> + “My poor boy, there will be many a one whom thou hast wronged only too + ready to lie in wait for thee, now thy life is in every man’s hand. If the + outlawry is published, thou hadst best start to-night, and get past + Lincoln before morning.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall stay quietly here, and get a good night’s rest; and then ride out + to-morrow morning in the face of the whole shire. No, not a word! You + would not have me sneak away like a coward?” + </p> + <p> + Brand smiled and shrugged his shoulders: being very much of the same mind. + </p> + <p> + “At least, go north.” + </p> + <p> + “And why north?” + </p> + <p> + “You have no quarrel in Northumberland, and the King’s writ runs very + slowly there, if at all. Old Siward Digre may stand your friend.” + </p> + <p> + “He? He is a fast friend of my father’s.” + </p> + <p> + “What of that? the old Viking will like you none the less for having shown + a touch of his own temper. Go to him, I say, and tell him that I sent + you.” + </p> + <p> + “But he is fighting the Scots beyond the Forth.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better. There will be good work for you to do. And Gislebert + of Ghent is up there too, I hear, trying to settle himself among the + Scots. He is your mother’s kinsman; and as for your being an outlaw, he + wants hard hitters and hard riders, and all is fish that comes to his net. + Find him out, too, and tell him I sent you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a good old uncle,” said Hereward. “Why were you not a soldier?” + </p> + <p> + Brand laughed somewhat sadly. + </p> + <p> + “If I had been a soldier, lad, where would you have looked for a friend + this day? No. God has done what was merciful with me and my sins. May he + do the same by thee and thine.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward made an impatient movement. He disliked any word which seemed + likely to soften his own hardness of heart. But he kissed his uncle + lovingly on both cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “By the by, Martin,—any message from my lady mother?” + </p> + <p> + “None!” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right and pious. I am an enemy to Holy Church and therefore to her. + Good night, uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “Hey?” asked Brand; “where is that footman,—Martin you call him? I + must have another word with him.” + </p> + <p> + But Martin was gone. + </p> + <p> + “No matter. I shall question him sharply enough to-morrow, I warrant.” + </p> + <p> + And Hereward went out to his lodging; while the good Prior went to his + prayers. + </p> + <p> + When Hereward entered his room, Martin started out of the darkness, and + followed him in. Then he shut to the door carefully, and pulled out a bag. + </p> + <p> + “There was no message from my lady: but there was this.” + </p> + <p> + The bag was full of money. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you not tell me of this before?” + </p> + <p> + “Never show money before a monk.” + </p> + <p> + “Villain! would you mistrust my uncle?” + </p> + <p> + “Any man with a shaven crown. St. Peter is his God and Lord and + conscience; and if he saw but the shine of a penny, for St. Peter he would + want it.” + </p> + <p> + “And he shall have it,” quoth Hereward; and flung out of the room, and + into his uncle’s. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle, I have money. I am come to pay back what I took from the Steward, + and as much more into the bargain.” And he told out eight-and-thirty + pieces. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God and all his saints!” cried Brand, weeping abundantly for joy; + for he had acquired, by long devotion, the <i>donum lachrymarum</i>,—that + lachrymose and somewhat hysterical temperament common among pious monks, + and held to be a mark of grace. + </p> + <p> + “Blessed St. Peter, thou art repaid; and thou wilt be merciful!” + </p> + <p> + Brand believed, in common with all monks then, that Hereward had robbed, + not merely the Abbey of Peterborough, but, what was more, St. Peter + himself; thereby converting into an implacable and internecine foe the + chief of the Apostles, the rock on which was founded the whole Church. + </p> + <p> + “Now, uncle,” said Hereward, “do me one good deed in return. Promise me + that, if you can help it, none of my poor housecarles shall suffer for my + sins. I led them into trouble. I am punished. I have made restitution,—at + least to St. Peter. See that my father and mother, if they be the + Christians they call themselves, forgive and forget all offences except + mine.” + </p> + <p> + “I will; so help me all saints and our Lord. O my boy, my boy, thou + shouldst have been a king’s thane, and not an outlaw!” + </p> + <p> + And he hurried off with the news to the Abbot. + </p> + <p> + When Hereward returned to his room, Martin was gone. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, good men of Peterborough,” said Hereward, as he leapt into the + saddle next morning. “I had made a vow against you, and came to try you; + to see whether you would force me to fulfil it or not. But you have been + so kind that I have half repented of it; and the evil shall not come in + the days of Abbot Leofric, nor of Brand the Prior, though it may come in + the days of Herluin the Steward, if he live long enough.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, you incarnate fiend, only fit to worship Thor and + Odin?” asked Brand. + </p> + <p> + “That I would burn Goldenborough, and Herluin the Steward within it, ere I + die. I fear I shall do it; I fear I must do it. Ten years ago come Lammas, + Herluin bade light the peat-stack under me. Do you recollect?” + </p> + <p> + “And so he did, the hound!” quoth Brand. “I had forgotten that.” + </p> + <p> + “Little Hereward never forgets foe or friend. Ever since, on Lammas night,—hold + still, horse!—I dream of fire and flame, and of Goldenborough in the + glare of it. If it is written in the big book, happen it must; if not, so + much the better for Goldenborough, for it is a pretty place, and honest + Englishmen in it. Only see that there be not too many Frenchmen crept in + when I come back, beside our French friend Herluin; and see, too, that + there be not a peat-stack handy: a word is enough to wise men like you. + Good by!” + </p> + <p> + “God help thee, thou sinful boy!” said the Abbot. + </p> + <p> + “Hereward, Hereward! Come back!” cried Brand. + </p> + <p> + But the boy had spurred his horse through the gateway, and was far down + the road. + </p> + <p> + “Leofric, my friend,” said Brand, sadly, “this is my sin, and no man’s + else. And heavy penance will I do for it, till that lad returns in peace.” + </p> + <p> + “Your sin?” + </p> + <p> + “Mine, Abbot. I persuaded his mother to send him hither to be a monk. + Alas! alas! How long will men try to be wiser than Him who maketh men?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand thee,” quoth the Abbot. And no more he did. + </p> + <p> + It was four o’clock on a May morning, when Hereward set out to see the + world, with good armor on his back, good weapon by his side, good horse + between his knees, and good money in his purse. What could a lad of + eighteen want more, who under the harsh family rule of those times had + known nothing of a father’s, and but too little of a mother’s, love? He + rode away northward through the Bruneswald, over the higher land of + Lincolnshire, through primeval glades of mighty oak and ash, holly and + thorn, swarming with game, which was as highly preserved then as now, + under Canute’s severe forest laws. The yellow roes stood and stared at him + knee-deep in the young fern; the pheasant called his hens out to feed in + the dewy grass; the blackbird and thrush sang out from every bough; the + wood-lark trilled above the high oak-tops, and sank down on them as his + song sank down. And Hereward rode on, rejoicing in it all. It was a fine + world in the Bruneswald. What was it then outside? Not to him, as to us, a + world circular, sailed round, circumscribed, mapped, botanized, + zoologized; a tiny planet about which everybody knows, or thinks they know + everything: but a world infinite, magical, supernatural,—because + unknown; a vast flat plain reaching no one knew whence or where, save that + the mountains stood on the four corners thereof to keep it steady, and the + four winds of heaven blew out of them; and in the centre, which was to him + the Bruneswald, such things as he saw; but beyond, things unspeakable,—dragons, + giants, rocs, orcs, witch-whales, griffins, chimeras, satyrs, enchanters, + Paynims, Saracen Emirs and Sultans, Kaisers of Constantinople, Kaisers of + Ind and of Cathay, and beyond them again of lands as yet unknown. At the + very least he could go to Brittany, to the forest of Brocheliaunde, where + (so all men said) fairies might be seen bathing in the fountains, and + possibly be won and wedded by a bold and dexterous knight after the + fashion of Sir Gruelan. [Footnote: Wace, author of the “Roman de Rou,” + went to Brittany a generation later, to see those same fairies: but had no + sport; and sang,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Fol i alai, fol m’en revins; + Folie quis, por fol me tins”] +</pre> + <p> + What was there not to be seen and conquered? Where would he go? Where + would he not go? For the spirit of Odin the Goer, the spirit which has + sent his children round the world, was strong within him. He would go to + Ireland, to the Ostmen, or Irish Danes men at Dublin, Waterford, or Cork, + and marry some beautiful Irish Princess with gray eyes, and raven locks, + and saffron smock, and great gold bracelets from her native hills. No; he + would go off to the Orkneys, and join Bruce and Ranald, and the Vikings of + the northern seas, and all the hot blood which had found even Norway too + hot to hold it; and sail through witch-whales and icebergs to Iceland and + Greenland, and the sunny lands which they said lay even beyond, across the + all but unknown ocean. He would go up the Baltic to the Jomsburg Vikings, + and fight against Lett and Esthonian heathen, and pierce inland, perhaps, + through Puleyn and the bison forests, to the land from whence came the + magic swords and the old Persian coins which he had seen so often in the + halls of his forefathers. No; he would go South, to the land of sun and + wine; and see the magicians of Cordova and Seville; and beard Mussulman + hounds worshipping their Mahomets; and perhaps bring home an Emir’s + daughter,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “With more gay gold about her middle, + Than would buy half Northumberlee.” + </pre> + <p> + Or he would go up the Straits, and on to Constantinople and the great + Kaiser of the Greeks, and join the Varanger Guard, and perhaps, like + Harold Hardraade in his own days, after being cast to the lion for + carrying off a fair Greek lady, tear out the monster’s tongue with his own + hands, and show the Easterns what a Viking’s son could do. And as he + dreamed of the infinite world and its infinite wonders, the enchanters he + might meet, the jewels he might find, the adventures he might essay, he + held that he must succeed in all, with hope and wit and a strong arm; and + forgot altogether that, mixed up with the cosmogony of an infinite flat + plain called the Earth, there was joined also the belief in a flat roof + above called Heaven, on which (seen at times in visions through clouds and + stars) sat saints, angels, and archangels, forevermore harping on their + golden harps, and knowing neither vanity nor vexation of spirit, lust nor + pride, murder nor war;—and underneath a floor, the name whereof was + Hell; the mouths whereof (as all men knew) might be seen on Hecla and + Aetna and Stromboli; and the fiends heard within, tormenting, amid fire, + and smoke, and clanking chains, the souls of the eternally lost. + </p> + <p> + As he rode on slowly though cheerfully, as a man who will not tire his + horse at the beginning of a long day’s journey, and knows not where he + shall pass the night, he was aware of a man on foot coming up behind him + at a slow, steady, loping, wolf-like trot, which in spite of its slowness + gained ground on him so fast, that he saw at once that the man could be no + common runner. + </p> + <p> + The man came up; and behold, he was none other than Martin Lightfoot. + </p> + <p> + “What! art thou here?” asked Hereward, suspiciously, and half cross at + seeing any visitor from the old world which he had just cast off. “How + gottest thou out of St. Peter’s last night?” + </p> + <p> + Martin’s tongue was hanging out of his mouth like a running hound’s, but + he seemed, like a hound, to perspire through his mouth, for he answered + without the least sign of distress, without even pulling in his tongue,— + </p> + <p> + “Over the wall, the moment the Prior’s back was turned. I was not going to + wait till I was chained up in some rat’s-hole with a half-hundred of iron + on my leg, and flogged till I confessed that I was what I am not,—a + runaway monk.” + </p> + <p> + “And why art here?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I am going with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Going with me?” said Hereward; “what can I do for thee?” + </p> + <p> + “I can do for you,” said Martin. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Groom your horse, wash your shirt, clean your weapons, find your inn, + fight your enemies, cheat your friends,—anything and everything. You + are going to see the world. I am going with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou canst be my servant? A right slippery one, I expect,” said Hereward, + looking down on him with some suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “Some are not the rogues they seem. I can keep my secrets and yours too.” + </p> + <p> + “Before I can trust thee with my secrets, I shall expect to know some of + thine,” said Hereward. + </p> + <p> + Martin Lightfoot looked up with a cunning smile. “A servant can always + know his master’s secrets if he likes. But that is no reason a master + should know his servant’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou shalt tell me thine, man, or I shall ride off and leave thee.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so easy, my lord. Where that heavy horse can go, Martin Lightfoot can + follow. But I will tell you one secret, which I never told to living man. + I can read and write like any clerk.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou read and write?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, good Latin enough, and Irish too, what is more. And now, because I + love you, and because you I will serve, willy nilly, I will tell you all + the secrets I have, as long as my breath lasts, for my tongue is rather + stiff after that long story about the bell-wether. I was born in Ireland, + in Waterford town. My mother was an English slave, one of those that Earl + Godwin’s wife—not this one that is now, Gyda, but the old one, King + Canute’s sister—used to sell out of England by the score, tied + together with ropes, boys and girls from Bristol town. Her master, my + father that was (I shall know him again), got tired of her, and wanted to + give her away to one of his kernes. She would not have that; so he hung + her up hand and foot, and beat her that she died. There was an abbey hard + by, and the Church laid on him a penance,—all that they dared get + out of him,—that he should give me to the monks, being then a + seven-years’ boy. Well, I grew up in that abbey; they taught me my fa fa + mi fa: but I liked better conning of ballads and hearing stories of ghosts + and enchanters, such as I used to tell you. I’ll tell you plenty more + whenever you’re tired. Then they made me work; and that I never could + abide at all. Then they beat me every day; and that I could abide still + less; but always I stuck to my book, for one thing I saw,—that + learning is power, my lord; and that the reason why the monks are masters + of the land is, they are scholars, and you fighting men are none. Then I + fell in love (as young blood will) with an Irish lass, when I was full + seventeen years old; and when they found out that, they held me down on + the floor and beat me till I was wellnigh dead. They put me in prison for + a month; and between bread-and-water and darkness I went nigh foolish. + They let me out, thinking I could do no more harm to man or lass; and when + I found out how profitable folly was, foolish I remained, at least as + foolish as seemed good to me. But one night I got into the abbey church, + stole therefrom that which I have with me now, and which shall serve you + and me in good stead yet,—out and away aboard a ship among the + buscarles, and off into the Norway sea. But after a voyage or two, so it + befell, I was wrecked in the Wash by Botulfston Deeps, and, begging my way + inland, met with your father, and took service with him, as I have taken + service now with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, what has made thee take service with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you are you.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me none of your parables and dark sayings, but speak out like a man. + What canst see in me that thou shouldest share an outlaw’s fortune with + me?” + </p> + <p> + “I had run away from a monastery, so had you; I hated the monks, so did + you; I liked to tell stories,—since I found good to shut my mouth I + tell them to myself all day long, sometimes all night too. When I found + out you liked to hear them, I loved you all the more. Then they told me + not to speak to you; I held my tongue. I bided my time. I knew you would + be outlawed some day. I knew you would turn Viking and kempery-man, and + kill giants and enchanters, and win yourself honor and glory; and I knew I + should have my share in it. I knew you would need me some day; and you + need me now, and here I am; and if you try to cut me down with your sword, + I will dodge you, and follow you, and dodge you again, till I force you to + let me be your man, for with you I will live and die. And now I can talk + no more.” + </p> + <p> + “And with me thou shalt live and die,” said Hereward, pulling up his + horse, and frankly holding out his hand to his new friend. + </p> + <p> + Martin Lightfoot took his hand, kissed it, licked it almost as a dog would + have done. “I am your man,” he said, “amen; and true man I will prove to + you, if you will prove true to me.” And he dropped quietly back behind + Hereward’s horse, as if the business of his life was settled, and his mind + utterly at rest. + </p> + <p> + “There is one more likeness between us,” said Hereward, after a few + minutes’ thought. “If I have robbed a church, thou hast robbed one too. + What is this precious spoil which is to serve me and thee in such mighty + stead?” + </p> + <p> + Martin drew from inside his shirt and under his waistband a small + battle-axe, and handed it up to Hereward. It was a tool the like of which + in shape Hereward had seldom seen, and never its equal in beauty. The + handle was some fifteen inches long, made of thick strips of black + whalebone, curiously bound with silver, and butted with narwhal ivory. + This handle was evidently the work of some cunning Norseman of old. But + who was the maker of the blade? It was some eight inches long, with a + sharp edge on one side, a sharp crooked pick on the other; of the finest + steel, inlaid with strange characters in gold, the work probably of some + Circassian, Tartar, or Persian; such a battle-axe as Rustum or Zohrab may + have wielded in fight upon the banks of Oxus; one of those magic weapons, + brought, men knew not how, out of the magic East, which were hereditary in + many a Norse family and sung of in many a Norse saga. + </p> + <p> + “Look at it,” said Martin Lightfoot. “There is magic on it. It must bring + us luck. Whoever holds that must kill his man. It will pick a lock of + steel. It will crack a mail corslet as a nut-hatch cracks a nut. It will + hew a lance in two at a single blow. Devils and spirits forged it,—I + know that; Virgilius the Enchanter, perhaps, or Solomon the Great, or + whosoever’s name is on it, graven there in letters of gold. Handle it, + feel its balance; but no,—do not handle it too much. There is a + devil in it, who would make you kill me. Whenever I play with it I long to + kill a man. It would be so easy,—so easy. Give it me back, my lord, + give it me back, lest the devil come through the handle into your palm, + and possess you.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward laughed, and gave him back his battle-axe. But he had hardly less + doubt of the magic virtues of such a blade than had Martin himself. + </p> + <p> + “Magical or not, thou wilt not have to hit a man twice with that, Martin, + my lad. So we two outlaws are both well armed; and having neither wife nor + child, land nor beeves to lose, ought to be a match for any six honest men + who may have a grudge against us, and sound reasons at home for running + away.” + </p> + <p> + And so those two went northward through the green Bruneswald, and + northward again through merry Sherwood, and were not seen in that land + again for many a year. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. — HOW HEREWARD SLEW THE BEAR. + </h2> + <p> + Of Hereward’s doings for the next few months naught is known. He may very + likely have joined Siward in the Scotch war. He may have looked, + wondering, for the first time in his life, upon the bones of the old + world, where they rise at Dunkeld out of the lowlands of the Tay; and have + trembled lest the black crags of Birnam should topple on his head with all + their pines. He may have marched down from that famous leaguer with the + Gospatricks and Dolfins, and the rest of the kindred of Crinan (abthane or + abbot,—let antiquaries decide),—of Dunkeld, and of Duncan, and + of Siward, and of the outraged Sibilla. He may have helped himself to + bring Birnam Wood to Dunsinane, “on the day of the Seven Sleepers,” and + heard Siward, when his son Asbiorn’s corpse was carried into camp, + [Footnote: Shakespeare makes young Siward his son. He, too, was slain in + the battle: but he was Siward’s nephew.] ask only, “Has he all his wounds + in front?” He may have seen old Siward, after Macbeth’s defeat (not death, + as Shakespeare relates the story), go back to Northumbria “with such booty + as no man had obtained before,”—a proof, if the fact be fact, that + the Scotch lowlands were not, in the eleventh century, the poor and + barbarous country which some have reported them to have been. + </p> + <p> + All this is not only possible, but probable enough, the dates considered: + the chroniclers, however, are silent. They only say that Hereward was in + those days beyond Northumberland with Gisebert of Ghent. + </p> + <p> + Gisebert, Gislebert, Gilbert, Guibert, Goisbricht, of Ghent, who + afterwards owned, by chance of war, many a fair manor about Lincoln city, + was one of those valiant Flemings who settled along the east and northeast + coast of Scotland in the eleventh century. They fought with the Celtic + princes, and then married with their daughters; got to themselves lands + “by the title-deed of the sword”; and so became—the famous “Freskin + the Fleming” especially—the ancestors of the finest aristocracy, + both physically and intellectually, in the world. They had their + connections, moreover, with the Norman court of Rouen, through the Duchess + Matilda, daughter of their old Seigneur, Baldwin, Marquis of Flanders; + their connections, too, with the English Court, through Countess Judith, + wife of Earl Tosti Godwinsson, another daughter of Baldwin’s. Their + friendship was sought, their enmity feared, far and wide throughout the + north. They seem to have been civilizers and cultivators and traders,—with + the instinct of true Flemings,—as well as conquerors; they were in + those very days bringing to order and tillage the rich lands of the + north-east, from the Frith of Moray to that of Forth; and forming a + rampart for Scotland against the invasions of Sweyn, Hardraade, and all + the wild Vikings of the northern seas. + </p> + <p> + Amongst them, in those days, Gilbert of Ghent seems to have been a notable + personage, to judge from the great house which he kept, and the <i>milites + tyrones,</i> or squires in training for the honor of knighthood, who fed + at his table. Where he lived, the chroniclers report not. To them the + country “ultra Northumbriam,” beyond the Forth, was as Russia or Cathay, + where + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Geographers on pathless downs + Put elephants for want of towns.” + </pre> + <p> + As indeed it was to that French map-maker who, as late as the middle of + the eighteenth century (not having been to Aberdeen or Elgin), leaves all + the country north of the Tay a blank, with the inscription: “<i>Terre + inculte et sauvage, habitée par les Higlanders.</i>” + </p> + <p> + Wherever Gilbert lived, however, he heard that Hereward was outlawed, and + sent for him, says the story. And there he lived, doubtless happily + enough, fighting Highlanders and hunting deer, so that as yet the pains + and penalties of exile did not press very hardly upon him. The handsome, + petulant, good-humored lad had become in a few weeks the darling of + Gilbert’s ladies, and the envy of all his knights and gentlemen. Hereward + the singer, harp-player, dancer, Hereward the rider and hunter, was in all + mouths; but he himself was discontented at having as yet fallen in with no + adventure worthy of a man, and looked curiously and longingly at the + menagerie of wild beasts enclosed in strong wooden cages, which Gilbert + kept in one corner of the great court-yard, not for any scientific + purposes, but to try with them, at Christmas, Easter, and Whitsuntide, the + mettle of the young gentlemen who were candidates for the honor of + knighthood. But after looking over the bulls and stags, wolves and bears, + Hereward settled it in his mind that there was none worthy of his steel, + save one huge white bear, whom no man had yet dared to face, and whom + Hereward, indeed, had never seen, hidden as he was all day within the old + oven-shaped Pict’s house of stone, which had been turned into his den. + There was a mystery about the uncanny brute which charmed Hereward. He was + said to be half-human, perhaps wholly human; to be the son of the Fairy + Bear, near kinsman, if not uncle or cousin, of Siward Digre. He had, like + his fairy father, iron claws; he had human intellect, and understood human + speech, and the arts of war,—at least so all in the place believed, + and not as absurdly as at first sight seems. + </p> + <p> + For the brown bear, and much more the white, was, among the Northern + nations, in himself a creature magical and superhuman. “He is God’s dog,” + whispered the Lapp, and called him “the old man in the fur cloak,” afraid + to use his right name, even inside the tent, for fear of his overhearing + and avenging the insult. “He has twelve men’s strength, and eleven men’s + wit,” sang the Norseman, and prided himself accordingly, like a true + Norseman, on outwitting and slaying the enchanted monster. + </p> + <p> + Terrible was the brown bear: but more terrible “the white sea-deer,” as + the Saxons called him; the hound of Hrymir, the whale’s bane, the seal’s + dread, the rider of the iceberg, the sailor of the floe, who ranged for + his prey under the six months’ night, lighted by Surtur’s fires, even to + the gates of Muspelheim. To slay him was a feat worthy of Beowulf’s self; + and the greatest wonder, perhaps, among all the wealth of Crowland, was + the twelve white bear-skins which lay before the altars, the gift of the + great Canute. How Gilbert had obtained his white bear, and why he kept him + there in durance vile, was a mystery over which men shook their heads. + Again and again Hereward asked his host to let him try his strength + against the monster of the North. Again and again the shrieks of the + ladies, and Gilbert’s own pity for the stripling youth, brought a refusal. + But Hereward settled it in his heart, nevertheless, that somehow or other, + when Christmas time came round, he would extract from Gilbert, drunk or + sober, leave to fight that bear; and then either make himself a name, or + die like a man. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Hereward made a friend. Among all the ladies of Gilbert’s + household, however kind they were inclined to be to him, he took a fancy + but to one,—and that was to a little girl of eight years old. + Alftruda was her name. He liked to amuse himself with this child, without, + as he fancied, any danger of falling in love; for already his dreams of + love were of the highest and most fantastic; and an Emir’s daughter, or a + Princess of Constantinople, were the very lowest game at which he meant to + fly. Alftruda was beautiful, too, exceedingly, and precocious, and, it may + be, vain enough to repay his attentions in good earnest. Moreover she was + English as he was, and royal likewise; a relation of Elfgiva, daughter of + Ethelred, once King of England, who, as all know, married Uchtred, prince + of Northumberland and grandfather of Gospatrick, Earl of Northumberland, + and ancestor of all the Dunbars. Between the English lad then and the + English maiden grew up in a few weeks an innocent friendship, which had + almost become more than friendship, through the intervention of the Fairy + Bear. + </p> + <p> + For as Hereward was coming in one afternoon from hunting, hawk on fist, + with Martin Lightfoot trotting behind, crane and heron, duck and hare, + slung over his shoulder, on reaching the court-yard gates he was aware of + screams and shouts within, tumult and terror among man and beast. Hereward + tried to force his horse in at the gate. The beast stopped and turned, + snorting with fear; and no wonder; for in the midst of the court-yard + stood the Fairy Bear; his white mane bristled up till he seemed twice as + big as any of the sober brown bears which Hereward yet had seen: his long + snake neck and cruel visage wreathed about in search of prey. A dead + horse, its back broken by a single blow of the paw, and two or three + writhing dogs, showed that the beast had turned (like too many of his + human kindred) “Berserker.” The court-yard was utterly empty: but from the + ladies’ bower came shrieks and shouts, not only of women, but of men; and + knocking at the bower door, adding her screams to those inside, was a + little white figure, which Hereward recognized as Alftruda’s. They had + barricaded themselves inside, leaving the child out; and now dared not + open the door, as the bear swung and rolled towards it, looking savagely + right and left for a fresh victim. + </p> + <p> + Hereward leaped from his horse, and, drawing his sword, rushed forward + with a shout which made the bear turn round. + </p> + <p> + He looked once back at the child; then round again at Hereward: and, + making up his mind to take the largest morsel first, made straight at him + with a growl which there was no mistaking. + </p> + <p> + He was within two paces; then he rose on his hind legs, a head and + shoulders taller than Hereward, and lifted the iron talons high in air. + Hereward knew that there was but one spot at which to strike; and he + struck true and strong, before the iron paw could fall, right on the + muzzle of the monster. + </p> + <p> + He heard the dull crash of the steel; he felt the sword jammed tight. He + shut his eyes for an instant, fearing lest, as in dreams, his blow had + come to naught; lest his sword had turned aside, or melted like water in + his hand, and the next moment would find him crushed to earth, blinded and + stunned. Something tugged at his sword. He opened his eyes, and saw the + huge carcass bend, reel, roll slowly over to one side dead, tearing out of + his hand the sword, which was firmly fixed into the skull. + </p> + <p> + Hereward stood awhile staring at the beast like a man astonished at what + he himself had done. He had had his first adventure, and he had conquered. + He was now a champion in his own right,—a hero of the heroes,—one + who might take rank, if he went on, beside Beowulf, Frotho, Ragnar + Lodbrog, or Harald Hardraade. He had done this deed. What was there after + this which he might not do? And he stood there in the fulness of his + pride, defiant of earth and heaven, while in his heart arose the thought + of that old Viking who cried, in the pride of his godlessness: “I never on + earth met him whom I feared, and why should I fear Him in heaven? If I met + Odin, I would fight with Odin. If Odin were the stronger, he would slay + me; if I were the stronger, I would slay him.” And there he stood, + staring, and dreaming over renown to come,—a true pattern of the + half-savage hero of those rough times, capable of all vices except + cowardice, and capable, too, of all virtues save humility. + </p> + <p> + “Do you not see,” said Martin Lightfoot’s voice, close by, “that there is + a fair lady trying to thank you, while you are so rude or so proud that + you will not vouchsafe her one look?” + </p> + <p> + It was true. Little Alftruda had been clinging to him for five minutes + past. He took the child up in his arms and kissed her with pure kisses, + which for a moment softened his hard heart; then, setting her down, he + turned to Martin. + </p> + <p> + “I have done it, Martin.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you have done it; I spied you. What will the old folks at home say + to this?” + </p> + <p> + “What care I?” + </p> + <p> + Martin Lightfoot shook his head, and drew out his knife. + </p> + <p> + “What is that for?” said Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “When the master kills the game, the knave can but skin it. We may sleep + warm under this fur in many a cold night by sea and moor.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Hereward, laughing; “when the master kills the game he must + first carry it home. Let us take him and set him up against the bower door + there, to astonish the brave knights inside.” And stooping down, he + attempted to lift the huge carcass; but in vain. At last, with Martin’s + help, he got it fairly on his shoulders, and the two dragged their burden + to the bower and dashed it against the door, shouting with all their might + to those within to open it. + </p> + <p> + Windows, it must be remembered, were in those days so few and far between + that the folks inside had remained quite unaware of what was going on + without. + </p> + <p> + The door was opened cautiously enough; and out looked, to the shame of + knighthood, be it said, two or three knights who had taken shelter in the + bower with the ladies. Whatever they were going to say the ladies + forestalled, for, rushing out across the prostrate bear, they overwhelmed + Hereward with praises, thanks, and, after the straightforward custom of + those days, with substantial kisses. + </p> + <p> + “You must be knighted at once,” cried they. “You have knighted yourself by + that single blow.” + </p> + <p> + “A pity, then,” said one of the knights to the others, “that he had not + given that accolade to himself, instead of to the bear.” + </p> + <p> + “Unless some means are found,” said another, “of taking down this boy’s + conceit, life will soon be not worth having here.” + </p> + <p> + “Either he must take ship,” said a third, “and look for adventures + elsewhere, or I must.” + </p> + <p> + Martin Lightfoot heard those words; and knowing that envy and hatred, like + all other vices in those rough-hewn times, were apt to take very startling + and unmistakeable shapes, kept his eye accordingly on those three knights. + </p> + <p> + “He must be knighted,—he shall be knighted, as soon as Sir Gilbert + comes home,” said all the ladies in chorus. + </p> + <p> + “I should be sorry to think,” said Hereward, with the blundering mock + humility of a self-conceited boy, “that I had done anything worthy of such + an honor. I hope to win my spurs by greater feats than these.” + </p> + <p> + A burst of laughter from the knights and gentlemen followed. + </p> + <p> + “How loud the young bantam crows after his first little scuffle!” + </p> + <p> + “Hark to him! What will he do next? Eat a dragon? Fly to the moon? Marry + the Sophy of Egypt’s daughter?” + </p> + <p> + This last touched Hereward to the quick, for it was just what he thought + of doing; and his blood, heated enough already, beat quicker, as some one + cried, with the evident intent of picking a quarrel: + </p> + <p> + “That was meant for us. If the man who killed the bear has not earned + knighthood, what must we be, who have not killed him? You understand his + meaning, gentlemen,—don’t forget it!” + </p> + <p> + Hereward looked down, and setting his foot on the bear’s head, wrenched + out of it the sword which he had left till now, with pardonable pride, + fast set in the skull. + </p> + <p> + Martin Lightfoot, for his part, drew stealthily from his bosom the little + magic axe, keeping his eye on the brain-pan of the last speaker. + </p> + <p> + The lady of the house cried “Shame!” and ordered the knights away with + haughty words and gestures, which, because they were so well deserved, + only made the quarrel more deadly. + </p> + <p> + Then she commanded Hereward to sheathe his sword. + </p> + <p> + He did so; and turning to the knights, said with all courtesy: “You + mistake me, sirs. You were where brave knights should be, within the + beleaguered fortress, defending the ladies. Had you remained outside, and + been eaten by the bear, what must have befallen them, had he burst open + the door? As for this little lass, whom you left outside, she is too young + to requite knight’s prowess by lady’s love; and therefore beneath your + attention, and only fit for the care of a boy like me.” And taking up + Alftruda in his arms, he carried her in and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Who now but Hereward was in all men’s mouths? The minstrels made ballads + on him; the lasses sang his praises (says the chronicler) as they danced + upon the green. Gilbert’s lady would need give him the seat, and all the + honors, of a belted knight, though knight he was none. And daily and + weekly the valiant lad grew and hardened into a valiant man, and a + courteous one withal, giving no offence himself, and not over-ready to + take offence at other men. + </p> + <p> + The knights were civil enough to him, the ladies more than civil; he + hunted, he wrestled, he tilted; he was promised a chance of fighting for + glory, as soon as a Highland chief should declare war against Gilbert, or + drive off his cattle,—an event which (and small blame to the + Highland chiefs) happened every six months. + </p> + <p> + No one was so well content with himself as Hereward; and therefore he + fancied that the world must be equally content with him, and he was much + disconcerted when Martin drew him aside one day, and whispered: “If I were + my lord, I should wear a mail shirt under my coat to-morrow out hunting.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “The arrow that can go through a deer’s bladebone can go through a man’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Who should harm me?” + </p> + <p> + “Any man of the dozen who eat at the same table.” + </p> + <p> + “What have I done to them? If I had my laugh at them, they had their laugh + at me; and we are quits.” + </p> + <p> + “There is another score, my lord, which you have forgotten, and that is + all on your side.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “You killed the bear. Do you expect them to forgive you that, till they + have repaid you with interest?” + </p> + <p> + “Pish!” + </p> + <p> + “You do not want for wit, my lord. Use it, and think. What right has a + little boy like you to come here, killing bears which grown men cannot + kill? What can you expect but just punishment for your insolence,—say, + a lance between your shoulders while you stoop to drink, as Sigfried had + for daring to tame Brunhild? And more, what right have you to come here, + and so win the hearts of the ladies, that the lady of all the ladies + should say, ‘If aught happen to my poor boy,—and he cannot live + long,—I would adopt Hereward for my own son, and show his mother + what a fool some folks think her?’ So, my lord, put on your mail shirt + to-morrow, and take care of narrow ways, and sharp corners. For to-morrow + it will be tried, that I know, before my Lord Gilbert comes back from the + Highlands; but by whom I know not, and care little, seeing that there are + half a dozen in the house who would be glad enough of the chance.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward took his advice, and rode out with three or four knights the next + morning into the fir-forest; not afraid, but angry and sad. He was not yet + old enough to estimate the virulence of envy, to take ingratitude and + treachery for granted. He was to learn the lesson then, as a wholesome + chastener to the pride of success. He was to learn it again in later + years, as an additional bitterness in the humiliation of defeat; and find + out, as does many a man, that if he once fall, or seem to fall, a hundred + curs spring up to bark at him, who dared not open their mouths while he + was on his legs. + </p> + <p> + So they rode into the forest, and parted, each with his footman and his + dogs, in search of boar and deer; and each had his sport without meeting + again for some two hours or more. + </p> + <p> + Hereward and Martin came at last to a narrow gully, a murderous place + enough. Huge fir-trees roofed it in, and made a night of noon. High banks + of earth and great boulders walled it in right and left for twenty feet + above. The track, what with pack-horses’ feet, and what with the wear and + tear of five hundred years’ rain-fall, was a rut three feet deep and two + feet broad, in which no horse could turn. Any other day Hereward would + have cantered down it with merely a tightened rein. Today he turned to + Martin and said,— + </p> + <p> + “A very fit and proper place for this same treason, unless you have been + drinking beer and thinking beer.” + </p> + <p> + But Martin was nowhere to be seen. + </p> + <p> + A pebble thrown from the right bank struck him, and he looked up. Martin’s + face was peering through the heather overhead, his finger on his lips. + Then he pointed cautiously, first up the pass, then down. + </p> + <p> + Hereward felt that his sword was loose in the sheath, and then gripped his + lance, with a heart beating, but not with fear. + </p> + <p> + The next moment he heard the rattle of a horse’s hoofs behind him; looked + back; and saw a knight charging desperately down the gully, his bow in + hand, and arrow drawn to the head. + </p> + <p> + To turn was impossible. To stop, even to walk on, was to be ridden over + and hurled to the ground helplessly. To gain the mouth of the gully, and + then turn on his pursuer, was his only chance. For the first and almost + the last time in his life, he struck spurs into his horse, and ran away. + As he went, an arrow struck him sharply in the back, piercing the corslet, + but hardly entering the flesh. As he neared the mouth, two other knights + crashed their horses through the brushwood from right and left, and stood + awaiting him, their spears ready to strike. He was caught in a trap. A + shield might have saved him; but he had none. + </p> + <p> + He did not flinch. Dropping his reins, and driving in the spurs once more, + he met them in full shock. With his left hand he hurled aside the + left-hand lance, with his right he hurled his own with all his force at + the right-hand foe, and saw it pass clean through the felon’s chest, while + his lance-point dropped, and passed harmlessly behind his knee. + </p> + <p> + So much for lances in front. But the knight behind? Would not his sword + the next moment be through his brain? + </p> + <p> + There was a clatter, a crash, and looking back Hereward saw horse and man + rolling in the rut, and rolling with them Martin Lightfoot. He had already + pinned the felon knight’s head against the steep bank, and, with uplifted + axe, was meditating a pick at his face which would have stopped alike his + love-making and his fighting. + </p> + <p> + “Hold thy hand,” shouted Hereward. “Let us see who he is; and remember + that he is at least a knight.” + </p> + <p> + “But one that will ride no more to-day. I finished his horse’s going as I + rolled down the bank.” + </p> + <p> + It was true. He had broken the poor beast’s leg with a blow of the axe, + and they had to kill the horse out of pity ere they left. + </p> + <p> + Martin dragged his prisoner forward. + </p> + <p> + “You?” cried Hereward. “And I saved your life three days ago!” + </p> + <p> + The knight answered nothing. + </p> + <p> + “You will have to walk home. Let that be punishment enough for you,” and + he turned. + </p> + <p> + “He will have to ride in a woodman’s cart, if he have the luck to find + one.” + </p> + <p> + The third knight had fled, and after him the dead man’s horse. Hereward + and his man rode home in peace, and the third knight, after trying vainly + to walk a mile or two, fell and lay, and was fain to fulfil Martin’s + prophecy, and be brought home in a cart, to carry for years after, like + Sir Lancelot, the nickname of the Chevalier de la Charette. + </p> + <p> + And so was Hereward avenged of his enemies. Judicial, even private, + inquiry into the matter there was none. That gentlemen should meet in the + forest and commit, or try to commit, murder on each other’s bodies, was + far too common a mishap in the ages of faith to stir up more than an extra + gossiping and cackling among the women, and an extra cursing and + threatening among the men; and as the former were all but unanimously on + Hereward’s side, his plain and honest story was taken as it stood. + </p> + <p> + “And now, fair lady,” said Hereward to his hostess, “I must thank you for + all your hospitality, and bid you farewell forever and a day.” + </p> + <p> + She wept, and entreated him only to stay till her lord came back; but + Hereward was firm. + </p> + <p> + “You, lady, and your good lord will I ever love; and at your service my + sword shall ever be: but not here. Ill blood I will not make. Among + traitors I will not dwell. I have killed two of them, and shall have to + kill two of their kinsmen next, and then two more, till you have no + knights left; and pity that would be. No; the world is wide, and there are + plenty of good fellows in it who will welcome me without forcing me to + wear mail under my coat out hunting.” + </p> + <p> + And he armed himself <i>cap-à -pié</i>, and rode away. Great was the + weeping in the bower, and great the chuckling in the hall: but never saw + they Hereward again upon the Scottish shore. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. — HOW HEREWARD SUCCORED A PRINCESS OF CORNWALL. + </h2> + <p> + The next place in which Hereward appeared was far away on the southwest, + upon the Cornish shore. How he came there, or after how long, the + chronicles do not say. All that shall be told is, that he went into port + on board a merchant ship carrying wine, and intending to bring back tin. + The merchants had told him of one Alef, a valiant <i>regulus</i> or + kinglet of those parts, who was indeed a distant connection of Hereward + himself, having married, as did so many of the Celtic princes, the + daughter of a Danish sea-rover, of Siward’s blood. They told him also that + the kinglet increased his wealth, not only by the sale of tin and of red + cattle, but by a certain amount of autumnal piracy in company with his + Danish brothers-in-law from Dublin and Waterford; and Hereward, who + believed, with most Englishmen of the East Country, that Cornwall still + produced a fair crop of giants, some of them with two and even three + heads, had hopes that Alef might show him some adventure worthy of his + sword. He sailed in, therefore, over a rolling bar, between jagged points + of black rock, and up a tide river which wandered away inland, like a + land-locked lake, between high green walls of oak and ash, till they saw + at the head of the tide Alef’s town, nestling in a glen which sloped + towards the southern sun. They discovered, besides, two ships drawn up + upon the beach, whose long lines and snake-heads, beside the stoat carved + on the beak-head of one and the adder on that of the other, bore witness + to the piratical habits of their owner. The merchants, it seemed, were + well known to the Cornishmen on shore, and Hereward went up with them + unopposed; past the ugly dikes and muddy leats, where Alef’s slaves were + streaming the gravel for tin ore; through rich alluvial pastures spotted + with red cattle, and up to Alef’s town. Earthworks and stockades + surrounded a little church of ancient stone, and a cluster of granite + cabins thatched with turf, in which the slaves abode, and in the centre of + all a vast stone barn, with low walls and high sloping roof, which + contained Alef’s family, treasures, fighting tail, horses, cattle, and + pigs. They entered at one end between the pigsties, passed on through the + cow-stalls, then through the stables, and saw before them, dim through the + reek of thick peat-smoke, a long oaken table, at which sat huge + dark-haired Cornishmen, with here and there among them the yellow head of + a Norseman, who were Alef’s following or fighting men. Boiled meat was + there in plenty, barley cakes, and ale. At the head of the table, on a + high-backed settle, was Alef himself, a jolly giant, who was just setting + to work to drink himself stupid with mead made from narcotic heather + honey. By his side sat a lovely dark-haired girl, with great gold torcs + upon her throat and wrists, and a great gold brooch fastening a shawl + which had plainly come from the looms of Spain or of the East, and next to + her again, feeding her with titbits cut off with his own dagger, and laid + on barley cake instead of a plate, sat a more gigantic personage even than + Alef, the biggest man that Hereward had ever seen, with high cheek bones, + and small ferret eyes, looking out from a greasy mass of bright red hair + and beard. + </p> + <p> + No questions were asked of the new-comers. They set themselves down in + silence in empty places, and, according to the laws of the good old + Cornish hospitality, were allowed to eat and drink their fill before they + spoke a word. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome here again, friend,” said Alef at last, in good enough Danish, + calling the eldest merchant by name. “Do you bring wine?” + </p> + <p> + The merchant nodded. + </p> + <p> + “And you want tin?” + </p> + <p> + The merchant nodded again, and lifting his cup drank Alef’s health, + following it up by a coarse joke in Cornish, which raised a laugh all + round. + </p> + <p> + The Norse trader of those days, it must be remembered, was none of the + cringing and effeminate chapmen who figure in the stories of the Middle + Ages. A free Norse or Dane, himself often of noble blood, he fought as + willingly as he bought; and held his own as an equal, whether at the court + of a Cornish kinglet or at that of the Great Kaiser of the Greeks. + </p> + <p> + “And you, fair sir,” said Alef, looking keenly at Hereward, “by what name + shall I call you, and what service can I do for you? You look more like an + earl’s son than a merchant, and are come here surely for other things + besides tin.” + </p> + <p> + “Health to King Alef,” said Hereward, raising the cup. “Who I am I will + tell to none but Alef’s self; but an earl’s son I am, though an outlaw and + a rover. My lands are the breadth of my boot-sole. My plough is my sword. + My treasure is my good right hand. Nothing I have, and nothing I need, + save to serve noble kings and earls, and win me a champion’s fame. If you + have battles to fight, tell me, that I may fight them for you. If you have + none, thank God for his peace; and let me eat and drink, and go in peace.” + </p> + <p> + “King Alef needs neither man nor boy to fight his battle as long as + Ironhook sits in his hall.” + </p> + <p> + It was the red-bearded giant who spoke in a broken tongue, part Scotch, + part Cornish, part Danish, which Hereward could hardly understand; but + that the ogre intended to insult him he understood well enough. + </p> + <p> + Hereward had hoped to find giants in Cornwall: and behold he had found one + at once; though rather, to judge from his looks, a Pictish than a Cornish + giant; and, true to his reckless determination to defy and fight every man + and beast who was willing to defy and fight him, he turned on his elbow + and stared at Ironhook in scorn, meditating some speech which might + provoke the hoped-for quarrel. + </p> + <p> + As he did so his eye happily caught that of the fair Princess. She was + watching him with a strange look, admiring, warning, imploring; and when + she saw that he noticed her, she laid her finger on her lip in token of + silence, crossed herself devoutly, and then laid her finger on her lips + again, as if beseeching him to be patient and silent in the name of Him + who answered not again. + </p> + <p> + Hereward, as is well seen, wanted not for quick wit, or for chivalrous + feeling. He had observed the rough devotion of the giant to the Lady. He + had observed, too, that she shrank from it; that she turned away with + loathing when he offered her his own cup, while he answered by a dark and + deadly scowl. + </p> + <p> + Was there an adventure here? Was she in duress either from this Ironhook + or from her father, or from both? Did she need Hereward’s help? If so, she + was so lovely that he could not refuse it. And on the chance, he swallowed + down his high stomach, and answered blandly enough,— + </p> + <p> + “One could see without eyes, noble sir, that you were worth any ten common + men; but as every one has not like you the luck of so lovely a lady by + your side, I thought that perchance you might hand over some of your + lesser quarrels to one like me, who has not yet seen so much good fighting + as yourself, and enjoy yourself in pleasant company at home, as I should + surely do in your place.” + </p> + <p> + The Princess shuddered and turned pale; then looked at Hereward and smiled + her thanks. Ironhook laughed a savage laugh. + </p> + <p> + Hereward’s jest being translated into Cornish for the benefit of the + company, was highly approved by all; and good humor being restored, every + man got drunk save Hereward, who found the mead too sweet and sickening. + </p> + <p> + After which those who could go to bed went to bed, not as in England, + [Footnote: Cornwall was not then considered part of England.] among the + rushes on the floor, but in the bunks or berths of wattle which stood two + or three tiers high along the wall. + </p> + <p> + The next morning as Hereward went out to wash his face and hands in the + brook below (he being the only man in the house who did so), Martin + Lightfoot followed him. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Martin? Hast thou had too much of that sweet mead last night + that thou must come out to cool thy head too?” + </p> + <p> + “I came out for two reasons,—first, to see fair play, in case that + Ironhook should come to wash his ugly visage, and find you on all fours + over the brook—you understand? And next, to tell you what I heard + last night among the maids.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you hear?” + </p> + <p> + “Fine adventures, if we can but compass them. You saw that lady with the + carrot-headed fellow?—I saw that you saw. Well, if you will believe + me, that man has no more gentle blood than I have,—has no more right + to sit on the settle than I. He is a No-man’s son, a Pict from Galloway, + who came down with a pirate crew and has made himself the master of this + drunken old Prince, and the darling of all his housecarles, and now will + needs be his son-in-law whether he will or not.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought as much,” said Hereward; “but how didst thou find out this?” + </p> + <p> + “I went out and sat with the knaves and the maids, and listened to their + harp-playing, and harp they can, these Cornish, like very elves; and then + I, too, sang songs and told them stories, for I can talk their tongue + somewhat, till they all blest me for a right good fellow. And then I fell + to praising up old Ironhook to the women.” + </p> + <p> + “Praising him up, man?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, just because I suspected him; for the women are so contrary, that if + you speak evil of a man they will surely speak good of him; but if you + will only speak good of him, then you will hear all the evil of him he + ever has done, and more beside. And this I heard; that the King’s daughter + cannot abide him, and would as lief marry a seal.” + </p> + <p> + “One did not need to be told that,” said Hereward, “as long as one has + eyes in one’s head. I will kill the fellow, and carry her off, ere + four-and-twenty hours be past.” + </p> + <p> + “Softly, softly, my young master. You need to be told something that your + eyes would not tell you, and that is, that the poor lass is betrothed + already to a son of old King Ranald the Ostman, of Waterford, son of old + King Sigtryg, who ruled there when I was a boy.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a kinsman of mine, then,” said Hereward. “All the more reason that + I should kill this ruffian.” + </p> + <p> + “If you can,” said Martin Lightfoot. + </p> + <p> + “If I can?” retorted Hereward, fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, wilful heart must have its way; only take my counsel: speak + to the poor young lady first, and see what she will tell you, lest you + only make bad worse, and bring down her father and his men on her as well + as you.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward agreed, and resolved to watch his opportunity of speaking to the + princess. + </p> + <p> + As they went in to the morning meal they met Alef. He was in high good + humor with Hereward; and all the more so when Hereward told him his name, + and how he was the son of Leofric. + </p> + <p> + “I will warrant you are,” he said, “by the gray head you carry on green + shoulders. No discreeter man, they say, in these isles than the old earl.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak truth, sir,” said Hereward, “though he be no father of mine + now; for of Leofric it is said in King Edward’s court, that if a man ask + counsel of him, it is as though he had asked it of the oracles of God.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are his true son, young man. I saw how you kept the peace with + Ironhook, and I owe you thanks for it; for though he is my good friend, + and will be my son-in-law erelong, yet a quarrel with him is more than I + can abide just now, and I should not like to have seen my guest and my + kinsman slain in my house.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward would have said that he thought there was no fear of that; but he + prudently held his tongue, and having an end to gain, listened instead of + talking. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty years ago, of course, I could have thrashed him as easily as—; + but now I am getting old and shaky, and the man has been a great help in + need. Six kings of these parts has he killed for me, who drove off my + cattle, and stopped my tin works, and plundered my monks’ cells too, which + is worse, while I was away sailing the seas; and he is a right good fellow + at heart, though he be a little rough. So be friends with him as long as + you stay here, and if I can do you a service I will.” + </p> + <p> + They went in to their morning meal, at which Hereward resolved to keep the + peace which he longed to break, and therefore, as was to be expected, + broke. + </p> + <p> + For during the meal the fair lady, with no worse intention, perhaps, than + that of teasing her tyrant, fell to open praises of Hereward’s fair face + and golden hair; and being insulted therefore by the Ironhook, retaliated + by observations about his personal appearance, which were more common in + the eleventh century than they happily are now. He, to comfort himself, + drank deep of the French wine which had just been brought and broached, + and then went out into the court-yard, where, in the midst of his admiring + fellow-ruffians, he enacted a scene as ludicrous as it was pitiable. All + the childish vanity of the savage boiled over. He strutted, he shouted, he + tossed about his huge limbs, he called for a harper, and challenged all + around to dance, sing, leap, fight, do anything against him: meeting with + nothing but admiring silence, he danced himself out of breath, and then + began boasting once more of his fights, his cruelties, his butcheries, his + impossible escapes and victories; till at last, as luck would have it, he + espied Hereward, and poured out a stream of abuse against Englishmen and + English courage. + </p> + <p> + “Englishmen,” he said, “were naught. Had he not slain three of them + himself with one blow?” + </p> + <p> + “Of your mouth, I suppose,” quoth Hereward, who saw that the quarrel must + come, and was glad to have it done and over. + </p> + <p> + “Of my mouth?” roared Ironhook; “of my sword, man!” + </p> + <p> + “Of your mouth,” said Hereward. “Of your brain were they begotten, of the + breath of your mouth they were born, and by the breath of your mouth you + can slay them again as often as you choose.” + </p> + <p> + The joke, as it has been handed down to us by the old chroniclers, seems + clumsy enough; but it sent the princess, say they, into shrieks of + laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Were it not that my Lord Alef was here,” shouted Ironhook, “I would kill + you out of hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Promise to fight fair, and do your worst. The more fairly you fight, the + more honor you will win,” said Hereward. + </p> + <p> + Whereupon the two were parted for the while. + </p> + <p> + Two hours afterwards, Hereward, completely armed with helmet and mail + shirt, sword and javelin, hurried across the great court-yard, with Martin + Lightfoot at his heels, towards the little church upon the knoll above. + The two wild men entered into the cool darkness, and saw before them, by + the light of a tiny lamp, the crucifix over the altar, and beneath it that + which was then believed to be the body of Him who made heaven and earth. + They stopped, trembling, for a moment, bowed themselves before that, to + them, perpetual miracle, and then hurried on to a low doorway to the + right, inside which dwelt Alef’s chaplain, one of those good Celtic + priests who were supposed to represent a Christianity more ancient than, + and all but independent of, the then all-absorbing Church of Rome. + </p> + <p> + The cell was such a one as a convict would now disdain to inhabit. A low + lean-to roof; the slates and rafters unceiled; the stone walls and floor + unplastered; ill-lighted by a hand-broad window, unglazed, and closed with + a shutter at night. A truss of straw and a rug, the priest’s bed, lay in a + corner. The only other furniture was a large oak chest, containing the + holy vessels and vestments and a few old books. It stood directly under + the window for the sake of light, for it served the good priest for both + table and chair; and on it he was sitting reading in his book at that + minute, the sunshine and the wind streaming in behind his head, doing no + good to his rheumatism of thirty years’ standing. + </p> + <p> + “Is there a priest here?” asked Hereward, hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + The old man looked up, shook his head, and answered in Cornish. + </p> + <p> + “Speak to him in Latin, Martin! Maybe he will understand that.” + </p> + <p> + Martin spoke. “My lord, here, wants a priest to shrive him, and that + quickly. He is going to fight the great tyrant Ironhook, as you call him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ironhook?” answered the priest in good Latin enough. “And he so young! + God help him, he is a dead man! What is this,—a fresh soul sent to + its account by the hands of that man of Belial? Cannot he entreat him,—can + he not make peace, and save his young life? He is but a stripling, and + that man, like Goliath of old, a man of war from his youth up.” + </p> + <p> + “And my master,” said Martin Lightfoot, proudly, “is like young David,—one + that can face a giant and kill him; for he has slain, like David, his lion + and his bear ere now. At least, he is one that will neither make peace, + nor entreat the face of living man. So shrive him quickly, Master Priest, + and let him be gone to his work.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Martin Lightfoot spoke thus bravely only to keep up his spirits and + his young lord’s; for, in spite of his confidence in Hereward’s prowess, + he had given him up for a lost man: and the tears ran down his rugged + cheeks, as the old priest, rising up and seizing Hereward’s two hands in + his, besought him, with the passionate and graceful eloquence of his race, + to have mercy upon his own youth. + </p> + <p> + Hereward understood his meaning, though not his words. + </p> + <p> + “Tell him,” he said to Martin, “that fight I must, and tell him that + shrive me he must, and that quickly. Tell him how the fellow met me in the + wood below just now, and would have slain me there, unarmed as I was; and + how, when I told him it was a shame to strike a naked man, he told me he + would give me but one hour’s grace to go back, on the faith of a + gentleman, for my armor and weapons, and meet him there again, to die by + his hand. So shrive me quick, Sir Priest.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward knelt down. Martin Lightfoot knelt down by him, and with a + trembling voice began to interpret for him. + </p> + <p> + “What does he say?” asked Hereward, as the priest murmured something to + himself. + </p> + <p> + “He said,” quoth Martin, now fairly blubbering, “that, fair and young as + you are, your shrift should be as short and as clean as David’s.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward was touched. “Anything but that,” said he, smiting on his breast, + “Mea culpa,—mea culpa,—mea maxima culpa.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him how I robbed my father.” + </p> + <p> + The priest groaned as Martin did so. + </p> + <p> + “And how I mocked at my mother, and left her in a rage, without ever a + kind word between us. And how I have slain I know not how many men in + battle, though that, I trust, need not lay heavily on my soul, seeing that + I killed them all in fair fight.” + </p> + <p> + Again the priest groaned. + </p> + <p> + “And how I robbed a certain priest of his money and gave it away to my + housecarles.” + </p> + <p> + Here the priest groaned more bitterly still. + </p> + <p> + “O my son! my son! where hast thou found time to lay all these burdens on + thy young soul?” + </p> + <p> + “It will take less time,” said Martin, bluntly, “for you to take the + burdens off again.” + </p> + <p> + “But I dare not absolve him for robbing a priest. Heaven Help him! He must + go to the bishop for that. He is more fit to go on pilgrimage to Jerusalem + than to battle.” + </p> + <p> + “He has no time,” quoth Martin, “for bishops or Jerusalem.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him,” says Hereward, “that in this purse is all I have, that in it + he will find sixty silver pennies, beside two strange coins of gold.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Priest,” said Martin Lightfoot, taking the purse from Hereward, and + keeping it in his own hand, “there are in this bag moneys.” + </p> + <p> + Martin had no mind to let the priest into the secret of the state of their + finances. + </p> + <p> + “And tell him,” continued Hereward, “that if I fall in this battle I give + him all that money, that he may part it among the poor for the good of my + soul.” + </p> + <p> + “Pish!” said Martin to his lord; “that is paying him for having you + killed. You should pay him for keeping you alive.” And without waiting for + the answer, he spoke in Latin,— + </p> + <p> + “And if he comes back safe from this battle, he will give you ten pennies + for yourself and your church, Priest, and therefore expects you to pray + your very loudest while he is gone.” + </p> + <p> + “I will pray, I will pray,” said the holy man; “I will wrestle in prayer. + Ah that he could slay the wicked, and reward the proud according to his + deservings! Ah that he could rid me and my master, and my young lady, of + this son of Belial,—this devourer of widows and orphans,—this + slayer of the poor and needy, who fills this place with innocent blood,—him + of whom it is written, ‘They stretch forth their mouth unto the heaven, + and their tongue goeth through the world. Therefore fall the people unto + them, and thereout suck they no small advantage.’ I will shrive him, + shrive him of all save robbing the priest, and for that he must go to the + bishop, if he live; and if not, the Lord have mercy on his soul.” + </p> + <p> + And so, weeping and trembling, the good old man pronounced the words of + absolution. + </p> + <p> + Hereward rose, thanked him, and then hurried out in silence. + </p> + <p> + “You will pray your very loudest, Priest,” said Martin, as he followed his + young lord. + </p> + <p> + “I will, I will,” quoth he, and kneeling down began to chant that noble + seventy-third Psalm, “Quam bonus Israel,” which he had just so fitly + quoted. + </p> + <p> + “Thou gavest him the bag, Martin?” said Hereward, as they hurried on. + </p> + <p> + “You are not dead yet. ‘No pay, no play,’ is as good a rule for priest as + for layman.” + </p> + <p> + “Now then, Martin Lightfoot, good-bye. Come not with me. It must never be + said, even slanderously, that I brought two into the field against one; + and if I die, Martin—” + </p> + <p> + “You won’t die!” said Lightfoot, shutting his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “If I die, go back to my people somehow, and tell them that I died like a + true earl’s son.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward held out his hand; Martin fell on his knees and kissed it; + watched him with set teeth till he disappeared in the wood; and then + started forward and entered the bushes at a different spot. + </p> + <p> + “I must be nigh at hand to see fair play,” he muttered to himself, “in + case any of his ruffians be hanging about. Fair play I’ll see, and fair + play I’ll give, too, for the sake of my lord’s honor, though I be bitterly + loath to do it. So many times as I have been a villain when it was of no + use, why mayn’t I be one now, when it would serve the purpose indeed? Why + did we ever come into this accursed place? But one thing I will do,” said + he, as he ensconced himself under a thick holly, whence he could see the + meeting of the combatants upon an open lawn some twenty yards away; “if + that big bull-calf kills my master, and I do not jump on his back and pick + his brains out with this trusty steel of mine, may my right arm—” + </p> + <p> + And Martin Lightfoot swore a fearful oath, which need not here be written. + </p> + <p> + The priest had just finished his chant of the seventy-third Psalm, and had + betaken himself in his spiritual warfare, as it was then called, to the + equally apposite fifty-second, “Quid gloriaris?” + </p> + <p> + “Why boastest thou thyself, thou tyrant, that thou canst do mischief, + whereas the goodness of God endureth yet daily?” + </p> + <p> + “Father! father!” cried a soft voice in the doorway, “where are you?” + </p> + <p> + And in hurried the Princess. + </p> + <p> + “Hide this,” she said, breathless, drawing from beneath her mantle a huge + sword; “hide it, where no one dare touch it, under the altar behind the + holy rood: no place too secret.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked the priest, springing up from his knees. + </p> + <p> + “His sword,—the Ogre’s,—his magic sword, which kills + whomsoever it strikes. I coaxed the wretch to let me have it last night + when he was tipsy, for fear he should quarrel with the young stranger; and + I have kept it from him ever since by one excuse or another; and now he + has sent one of his ruffians in for it, saying, that if I do not give it + up at once he will come back and kill me.” + </p> + <p> + “He dare not do that,” said the priest. + </p> + <p> + “What is there that he dare not?” said she. “Hide it at once; I know that + he wants it to fight with this Hereward.” + </p> + <p> + “If he wants it for that,” said the priest, “it is too late; for half an + hour is past since Hereward went to meet him.” + </p> + <p> + “And you let him go? You did not persuade him, stop him? You let him go + hence to his death?” + </p> + <p> + In vain the good man expostulated and explained that it was no fault of + his. + </p> + <p> + “You must come with me this instant to my father,—to them; they must + be parted. They shall be parted. If you dare not, I dare. I will throw + myself between them, and he that strikes the other shall strike me.” + </p> + <p> + And she hurried the priest out of the house, down the knoll, and across + the yard. There they found others on the same errand. The news that a + battle was toward had soon spread, and the men-at-arms were hurrying down + to the fight; kept back, however, by Alef, who strode along at their head. + </p> + <p> + Alef was sorely perplexed in mind. He had taken, as all honest men did, a + great liking to Hereward. Moreover, he was his kinsman and his guest. Save + him he would if he could but how to save him without mortally offending + his tyrant Ironhook he could not see. At least he would exert what little + power he had, and prevent, if possible, his men-at-arms from helping their + darling leader against the hapless lad. + </p> + <p> + Alef’s perplexity was much increased when his daughter bounded towards + him, seizing him by the arm, and hurried him on, showing by look and word + which of the combatants she favored, so plainly that the ruffians behind + broke into scornful murmurs. They burst through the bushes. Martin + Lightfoot, happily, heard them coming, and had just time to slip away + noiselessly, like a rabbit, to the other part of the cover. + </p> + <p> + The combat seemed at the first glance to be one between a grown man and a + child, so unequal was the size of the combatants. But the second look + showed that the advantage was by no means with Ironhook. Stumbling to and + fro with the broken shaft of a javelin sticking in his thigh, he vainly + tried to seize and crush Hereward in his enormous arms. Hereward, + bleeding, but still active and upright, broke away, and sprang round him, + watching for an opportunity to strike a deadly blow. The housecarles + rushed forward with yells. Alef shouted to the combatants to desist; but + ere the party could reach them, Hereward’s opportunity had come. Ironhook, + after a fruitless lunge, stumbled forward. Hereward leapt aside, and + spying an unguarded spot below the corslet, drove his sword deep into the + giant’s body, and rolled him over upon the sward. Then arose shouts of + fury. + </p> + <p> + “Foul play!” cried one. + </p> + <p> + And others taking up the cry, called out, “Sorcery!” and “Treason!” + </p> + <p> + Hereward stood over Ironhook as he lay writhing and foaming on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Killed by a boy at last!” groaned he. “If I had but had my own sword,—my + Brain-biter which that witch stole from me but last night!”—and amid + foul curses and bitter tears of shame his mortal spirit fled to its doom. + </p> + <p> + The housecarles rushed in on Hereward, who had enough to do to keep them + at arm’s length by long sweeps of his sword. + </p> + <p> + Alef entreated, threatened, promised a fair trial if the men would give + fair play; when, to complete the confusion, the Princess threw herself + upon the corpse, shrieking and tearing her hair; and to Hereward’s + surprise and disgust, bewailed the prowess and the virtues of the dead, + calling upon all present to avenge his murder. + </p> + <p> + Hereward vowed inwardly that he would never again trust woman’s fancy or + fight in woman’s quarrel. He was now nigh at his wits’ end; the + housecarles had closed round him in a ring with the intention of seizing + him; and however well he might defend his front, he might be crippled at + any moment from behind: but in the very nick of time Martin Lightfoot + burst through the crowd, set himself heel to heel with his master, and + broke out, not with threats, but with a good-humored laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Here is a pretty coil about a red-headed brute of a Pict! Danes, Ostmen,” + he cried, “are you not ashamed to call such a fellow your lord, when you + have such a true earl’s son as this to lead you if you will?” + </p> + <p> + The Ostmen in the company looked at each other. Martin Lightfoot saw that + his appeal to the antipathies of race had told, and followed it up by a + string of witticisms upon the Pictish nation in general, of which the only + two fit for modern ears to be set down were the two old stories, that the + Picts had feet so large that they used to lie upon their backs and hold up + their legs to shelter them from the sun; and that when killed, they could + not fall down, but died as they were, all standing. + </p> + <p> + “So that the only foul play I can see is, that my master shoved the fellow + over after he had stabbed him, instead of leaving him to stand upright + there, like one of your Cornish Dolmens, till his flesh should fall off + his bones.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward saw the effect of Martin’s words, and burst out in Danish + likewise. + </p> + <p> + “Look at me!” he said; “I am Hereward the outlaw, I am the champion, I am + the Berserker, I am the Viking, I am the land thief, the sea thief, the + ravager of the world, the bear-slayer, the ogre-killer, the + raven-fattener, the darling of the wolf, the curse of the widow. Touch me, + and I will give you to the raven and to the wolf, as I have this ogre. Be + my men, and follow me over the swan’s road, over the whale’s bath, over + the long-snake’s leap, to the land where the sea meets the sun, and golden + apples hang on every tree; and we will freight our ships with Moorish + maidens, and the gold of Cadiz and Algiers.” + </p> + <p> + “Hark to the Viking! Hark to the right earl’s son!” shouted some of the + Danes, whose blood had been stirred many a time before by such wild words, + and on whom Hereward’s youth and beauty had their due effect. And now the + counsels of the ruffians being divided, the old priest gained courage to + step in. Let them deliver Hereward and his serving man into his custody. + He would bring them forth on the morrow, and there should be full + investigation and fair trial. And so Hereward and Martin, who both refused + stoutly to give up their arms, were marched back into the town, locked in + the little church, and left to their meditations. + </p> + <p> + Hereward sat down on the pavement and cursed the Princess. Martin + Lightfoot took off his master’s corslet, and, as well as the darkness + would allow, bound up his wounds, which happily were not severe. + </p> + <p> + “Were I you,” said he at last, “I should keep my curses till I saw the end + of this adventure.” + </p> + <p> + “Has not the girl betrayed me shamefully?” + </p> + <p> + “Not she. I saw her warn you, as far as looks could do, not to quarrel + with the man.” + </p> + <p> + “That was because she did not know me. Little she thought that I could—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t hollo till you are out of the wood. This is a night for praying + rather than boasting.” + </p> + <p> + “She cannot really love that wretch,” said Hereward, after a pause. “You + saw how she mocked him.” + </p> + <p> + “Women are strange things, and often tease most where they love most.” + </p> + <p> + “But such a misbegotten savage.” + </p> + <p> + “Women are strange things, say I, and with some a big fellow is a pretty + fellow, be he uglier than seven Ironhooks. Still, just because women are + strange things, have patience, say I.” + </p> + <p> + The lock creaked, and the old priest came in. Martin leapt to the open + door; but it was slammed in his face by men outside with scornful + laughter. + </p> + <p> + The priest took Hereward’s head in his hands, wept over him, blessed him + for having slain Goliath like young David, and then set food and drink + before the two; but he answered Martin’s questions only with sighs and + shakings of the head. + </p> + <p> + “Let us eat and drink, then,” said Martin, “and after that you, my lord, + sleep off your wounds while I watch the door. I have no fancy for these + fellows taking us unawares at night.” + </p> + <p> + Martin lay quietly across the door till the small hours, listening to + every sound, till the key creaked once more in the lock. He started at the + sound, and seizing the person who entered round the neck, whispered, “One + word, and you are dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not hurt me,” half shrieked a stifled voice; and Martin Lightfoot, to + his surprise, found that he had grasped no armed man, but the slight frame + of a young girl. + </p> + <p> + “I am the Princess,” she whispered; “let me in.” + </p> + <p> + “A very pretty hostage for us,” thought Martin, and letting her go seized + the key, locking the door in the inside. + </p> + <p> + “Take me to your master,” she cried, and Martin led her up the church + wondering, but half suspecting some further trap. + </p> + <p> + “You have a dagger in your hand,” said he, holding her wrist. + </p> + <p> + “I have. If I had meant to use it, it would have been used first on you. + Take it, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + She hurried up to Hereward, who lay sleeping quietly on the altar-steps; + knelt by him, wrung his hands, called him her champion, her deliverer. + </p> + <p> + “I am not well awake yet,” said he, coldly, “and don’t know whether this + may not be a dream, as more that I have seen and heard seems to be.” + </p> + <p> + “It is no dream. I am true. I was always true to you. Have I not put + myself in your power? Am I not come here to deliver you, my deliverer?” + </p> + <p> + “The tears which you shed over your ogre’s corpse seem to have dried + quickly enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Cruel! What else could I do? You heard him accuse me to those ruffians of + having stolen his sword. My life, my father’s life, were not safe a + moment, had I not dissembled, and done the thing I loathed. Ah!” she went + on, bitterly, “you men, who rule the world and us by cruel steel, you + forget that we poor women have but one weapon left wherewith to hold our + own, and that is cunning; and are driven by you day after day to tell the + lie which we detest.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you really stole his sword?” + </p> + <p> + “And hid it here, for your sake!” and she drew the weapon from behind the + altar. + </p> + <p> + “Take it. It is yours now. It is magical. Whoever smites with it, need + never smite again. Now, quick, you must be gone. But promise one thing + before you go.” + </p> + <p> + “If I leave this land safe, I will do it, be it what it may. Why not come + with me, lady, and see it done?” + </p> + <p> + She laughed. “Vain boy, do you think that I love you well enough for + that?” + </p> + <p> + “I have won you, and why should I not keep you?” said Hereward, sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you not know that I am betrothed to your kinsman? And—though + that you cannot know—that I love your kinsman?” + </p> + <p> + “So I have all the blows, and none of the spoil.” + </p> + <p> + “Tush! you have the glory,-and the sword,—and the chance, if you + will do my bidding, of being called by all ladies a true and gentle + knight, who cared not for his own pleasure, but for deeds of chivalry. Go + to my betrothed,—to Waterford over the sea. Take him this ring, and + tell him by that token to come and claim me soon, lest he run the danger + of losing me a second time, and lose me then forever; for I am in hard + case here, and were it not for my father’s sake, perhaps I might be weak + enough, in spite of what men might say, to flee with you to your kinsman + across the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Trust me and come,” said Hereward, whose young blood kindled with a + sudden nobleness,—“trust me, and I will treat you like my sister, + like my queen. By the holy rood above I will swear to be true to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I do trust you, but it cannot be. Here is money for you in plenty to hire + a passage if you need: it is no shame to take it from me. And now one + thing more. Here is a cord,—you must bind the hands and feet of the + old priest inside, and then you must bind mine likewise.” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” quoth Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “It must be. How else can I explain your having got the key? I made them + give me the key on the pretence that with one who had most cause to hate + you, it would be safe; and when they come and find us in the morning I + shall tell them how I came here to stab you with my own hands,—you + must lay the dagger by me,—and how you and your man fell upon us and + bound us, and you escaped. Ah! Mary Mother,” continued the maiden with a + sigh, “when shall we poor weak women have no more need of lying?” + </p> + <p> + She lay down, and Hereward, in spite of himself, gently bound her hands + and feet, kissing them as he bound them. + </p> + <p> + “I shall do well here upon the altar steps,” said she. “How can I spend my + time better till the morning light than to lie here and pray?” + </p> + <p> + The old priest, who was plainly in the plot, submitted meekly to the same + fate; and Hereward and Martin Lightfoot stole out, locking the door, but + leaving the key in it outside. To scramble over the old earthwork was an + easy matter; and in a few minutes they were hurrying down the valley to + the sea, with a fresh breeze blowing behind them from the north. + </p> + <p> + “Did I not tell you, my lord,” said Martin Lightfoot, “to keep your curses + till you had seen the end of this adventure?” + </p> + <p> + Hereward was silent. His brain was still whirling from the adventures of + the day, and his heart was very deeply touched. His shrift of the morning, + hurried and formal as it had been, had softened him. His danger—for + he felt how he had been face to face with death—had softened him + likewise; and he repented somewhat of his vainglorious and bloodthirsty + boasting over a fallen foe, as he began to see that there was a purpose + more noble in life than ranging land and sea, a ruffian among ruffians, + seeking for glory amid blood and flame. The idea of chivalry, of succoring + the weak and the opprest, of keeping faith and honor not merely towards + men who could avenge themselves, but towards women who could not; the dim + dawn of purity, gentleness, and the conquest of his own fierce passions,—all + these had taken root in his heart during his adventure with the fair + Cornish girl. The seed was sown. Would it he cut down again by the bitter + blasts of the rough fighting world, or would it grow and bear the noble + fruit of “gentle very perfect knighthood”? + </p> + <p> + They reached the ship, clambered on hoard without ceremony, at the risk of + being taken and killed as robbers, and told their case. The merchants had + not completed their cargo of tin. Hereward offered to make up their loss + to them if they would set sail at once; and they, feeling that the place + would be for some time to come too hot to hold them, and being also in + high delight, like honest Ostmen, with Hereward’s prowess, agreed to sail + straight for Waterford, and complete their cargo there. But the tide was + out. It was three full hours before the ship could float; and for three + full hours they waited in fear and trembling, expecting the Cornishmen to + be down upon them in a body every moment, under which wholesome fear some + on board prayed fervently who had never been known to pray before. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. — HOW HEREWARD TOOK SERVICE WITH RANALD, KING OF + WATERFORD. + </h2> + <p> + The coasts of Ireland were in a state of comparative peace in the middle + of the eleventh century. The ships of Loghlin, seen far out at sea, no + longer drove the population shrieking inland. Heathen Danes, whether + fair-haired Fiongall from Norway, or brown-haired Dubgall from Denmark + proper, no longer burned convents, tortured monks for their gold, or (as + at Clonmacnoise) set a heathen princess, Oda, wife of Thorgill, son of + Harold Harfager, aloft on the high altar to receive the homage of the + conquered. The Scandinavian invaders had become Christianized, and + civilized also,—owing to their continual intercourse with foreign + nations,—more highly than the Irish whom they had overcome. That was + easy; for early Irish civilization seems to have existed only in the + convents and for the religious; and when they were crushed, mere barbarism + was left behind. And now the same process went on in the east of Ireland, + which went on a generation or two later in the east of Scotland. The Danes + began to settle down into peaceful colonists and traders. Ireland was + poor; and the convents plundered once could not be plundered again. The + Irish were desperately brave. Ill-armed and almost naked, they were as + perfect in the arts of forest warfare as those modern Maories whom they so + much resembled; and though their black skenes and light darts were no + match for the Danish swords and battle-axes which they adopted during the + middle age, or their plaid trousers and felt capes for the Danish helmet + and chain corslet, still an Irishman was so ugly a foe, that it was not + worth while to fight with him unless he could be robbed afterwards. The + Danes, who, like their descendants of Northumbria, the Lowlands, and + Ulster, were canny common-sense folk, with a shrewd eye to interest, + found, somewhat to their regret, that there were trades even more + profitable than robbery and murder. They therefore concentrated themselves + round harbors and river mouths, and sent forth their ships to all the + western seas, from Dublin, Waterford, Wexford, Cork, or Limerick. Every + important seaport in Ireland owes its existence to those sturdy Vikings’ + sons. In each of these towns they had founded a petty kingdom, which + endured until, and even in some cases after, the conquest of Ireland by + Henry II. and Strongbow. They intermarried in the mean while with the + native Irish. Brian Boru, for instance, was so connected with Danish + royalty, that it is still a question whether he himself had not Danish + blood in his veins. King Sigtryg Silkbeard, who fought against him at + Clontarf, was actually his step-son,—and so too, according to + another Irish chronicler, was King Olaff Kvaran, who even at the time of + the battle of Clontarf was married to Brian Boru’s daughter,—a + marriage which (if a fact) was startlingly within the prohibited degrees + of consanguinity. But the ancient Irish were sadly careless on such + points; and as Giraldus Cambrensis says, “followed the example of men of + old in their vices more willingly than in their virtues.” + </p> + <p> + More than forty years had elapsed since that famous battle of Clontarf, + and since Ragnvald, Reginald, or Ranald, son of Sigtryg the Norseman, had + been slain therein by Brian Boru. On that one day, so the Irish sang, the + Northern invaders were exterminated, once and for all, by the Milesian + hero, who had craftily used the strangers to fight his battles, and then, + the moment they became formidable to himself, crushed them, till “from + Howth to Brandon in Kerry there was not a threshing-floor without a Danish + slave threshing thereon, or a quern without a Danish woman grinding + thereat.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, in spite of the total annihilation of the Danish power in + the Emerald isle, Ranald seemed to the eyes of men to be still a hale old + warrior, ruling constitutionally—that is, with a wholesome fear of + being outlawed or murdered if he misbehaved—over the Danes in + Waterford; with five hundred fair-haired warriors at his back, two-edged + axe on shoulder and two-edged sword on thigh. His ships drove a thriving + trade with France and Spain in Irish fish, butter, honey, and furs. His + workmen coined money in the old round tower of Dundory, built by his + predecessor and namesake about the year 1003, which stands as Reginald’s + tower to this day. He had fought many a bloody battle since his death at + Clontarf, by the side of his old leader Sigtryg Silkbeard. He had been + many a time to Dublin to visit his even more prosperous and formidable + friend; and was so delighted with the new church of the Holy Trinity, + which Sigtryg and his bishop Donatus had just built, not in the Danish or + Ostman town, but in the heart of ancient Celtic Dublin, (plain proof of + the utter overthrow of the Danish power,) that he had determined to build + a like church in honor of the Holy Trinity, in Waterford itself. A + thriving, valiant old king he seemed, as he sat in his great house of pine + logs under Reginald’s Tower upon the quay, drinking French and Spanish + wines out of horns of ivory and cups of gold; and over his head hanging, + upon the wall, the huge doubled-edged axe with which, so his flatterers + had whispered, Brian Boru had not slain him, but he Brian Boru. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, then as since, alas! the pleasant theory was preferred by + the Milesian historians to the plain truth. And far away inland, monks + wrote and harpers sung of the death of Ranald, the fair-haired Fiongall, + and all his “mailed swarms.” + </p> + <p> + One Teague MacMurrough, indeed, a famous bard of those parts, composed + unto his harp a song of Clontarf, the fame whereof reached Ranald’s ears, + and so amused him that he rested not day or night till he had caught the + hapless bard and brought him in triumph into Waterford. There he compelled + him, at sword’s point, to sing, to him and his housecarles the Milesian + version of the great historical event: and when the harper, in fear and + trembling, came to the story of Ranald’s own death at Brian Boru’s hands, + then the jolly old Viking laughed till the tears ran down his face; and + instead of cutting off Teague’s head, gave him a cup of goodly wine, made + him his own harper thenceforth, and bade him send for his wife and + children, and sing to him every day, especially the song of Clontarf and + his own death; treating him very much, in fact, as English royalty, during + the last generation, treated another Irish bard whose song was even more + sweet, and his notions of Irish history even more grotesque, than those of + Teague MacMurrough. + </p> + <p> + It was to this old king, or rather to his son Sigtryg, godson of Sigtryg + Silkbeard, and distant cousin of his own, that Hereward now took his way, + and told his story, as the king sat in his hall, drinking “across the + fire,” after the old Norse fashion. The fire of pine logs was in the midst + of the hall, and the smoke went out through a louver in the roof. On one + side was a long bench, and in the middle of it the king’s high arm-chair; + right and left of him sat his kinsmen and the ladies, and his sea-captains + and men of wealth. Opposite, on the other side of the fire, was another + bench. In the middle of that sat his marshal, and right and left all his + housecarles. There were other benches behind, on which sat more freemen, + but of lesser rank. + </p> + <p> + And they were all drinking ale, which a servant poured out of a bucket + into a great bull’s horn, and the men handed round to each other. + </p> + <p> + Then Hereward came in, and sat down on the end of the hindermost bench, + and Martin stood behind him, till one of the ladies said,— + </p> + <p> + “Who is that young stranger, who sits behind there so humbly, though, he + looks like an earl’s son, more fit to sit here with us on the high bench?” + </p> + <p> + “So he does,” quoth King Ranald. “Come forward hither, young sir, and + drink.” + </p> + <p> + And when Hereward came forward, all the ladies agreed that he must be an + earl’s son; for he had a great gold torc round his neck, and gold rings on + his wrists; and a new scarlet coat, bound with gold braid; and scarlet + stockings, cross-laced with gold braid up to the knee; and shoes trimmed + with martin’s fur; and a short blue silk cloak over all, trimmed with + martin’s fur likewise; and by his side, in a broad belt with gold studs, + was the Ogre’s sword Brain-biter, with its ivory hilt and velvet sheath; + and all agreed that if he had but been a head taller, they had never seen + a properer man. + </p> + <p> + “Aha! such a gay young sea-cock does not come hither for naught. Drink + first, man, and tell us thy business after,” and he reached the horn to + Hereward. + </p> + <p> + Hereward took it, and sang,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “In this Braga-beaker, + Brave Ranald I pledge; + In good liquor, which lightens + Long labor on oar-bench; + Good liquor, which sweetens + The song of the scald.” + </pre> + <p> + “Thy voice is as fine as thy feathers, man. Nay, drink it all. We + ourselves drink here by the peg at midday; but a stranger is welcome to + fill his inside all hours of the day.” + </p> + <p> + Whereon Hereward finished the horn duly; and at Ranald’s bidding, sat him + down on the high settle. He did not remark, that as he sat down two + handsome youths rose and stood behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, Sir Priest,” quoth the king, “go on with your story.” + </p> + <p> + A priest, Irish by his face and dress, who sat on the high bench, rose, + and renewed an oration which Hereward’s entrance had interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “So, O great King, as says Homerus, this wise king called his earls, + knights, sea-captains, and housecarles, and said unto them, ‘Which of + these two kings is in the right, who can tell? But mind you, that this + king of the Enchanters lives far away in India, and we never heard of him + more than his name; but this king Ulixes and his Greeks live hard by; and + which of the two is it wiser to quarrel with, him that lives hard by or + him that lives far off? Therefore, King Ranald, says, by the mouth of my + humility, the great O’Brodar, Lord of Ivark, ‘Take example by Alcinous, + the wise king of Fairy, and listen not to the ambassadors of those lying + villains, O’Dea Lord of Slievardagh, Maccarthy King of Cashel, and + O’Sullivan Lord of Knockraffin, who all three between them could not raise + kernes enough to drive off one old widow’s cow. Make friends with me, who + live upon your borders; and you shall go peaceably through my lands, to + conquer and destroy them, who live afar off; as they deserve, the sons of + Belial and Judas.’” + </p> + <p> + And the priest crost himself, and sat down. At which speech Hereward was + seen to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you laugh, young sir? The priest seems to talk like a wise man, + and is my guest and an ambassador.” + </p> + <p> + Then rose up Hereward, and bowed to the king. “King Ranald Sigtrygsson, it + was not for rudeness that I laughed, for I learnt good manners long ere I + came here, but because I find clerks alike all over the world.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “Quick at hiding false counsel under learned speech. I know nothing of + Ulixes, king, nor of this O’Brodar either; and I am but a lad, as you see: + but I heard a bird once in my own country who gave a very different + counsel from the priest’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak on, then. This lad is no fool, my merry men all.” + </p> + <p> + “There were three copses, King, in our country, and each copse stood on a + hill. In the first there built an eagle, in the second there built a + sparhawk, in the third there built a crow. + </p> + <p> + “Now the sparhawk came to the eagle, and said, ‘Go shares with me, and we + will kill the crow, and have her wood to ourselves.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Humph!’ says the eagle, ‘I could kill the crow without your help; + however, I will think of it.’ + </p> + <p> + “When the crow heard that, she came to the eagle herself. ‘King Eagle,’ + says she, ‘why do you want to kill me, who live ten miles from you, and + never flew across your path in my life? Better kill that little rogue of a + sparhawk who lives between us, and is always ready to poach on your + marches whenever your back is turned. So you will have her wood as well as + your own.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You are a wise crow,’ said the eagle; and he went out and killed the + sparhawk, and took his wood.” + </p> + <p> + Loud laughed King Ranald and his Vikings all. “Well spoken, young man! We + will take the sparhawk, and let the crow bide.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, but,” quoth Hereward, “hear the end of the story. After a while the + eagle finds the crow beating about the edge of the sparhawk’s wood. + </p> + <p> + “‘Oho!’ says he, ‘so you can poach as well as that little hooknosed + rogue?’ and he killed her too. + </p> + <p> + “‘Ah!’ says the crow, when she lay a-dying, ‘my blood is on my own head. + If I had but left the sparhawk between me and this great tyrant!’ + </p> + <p> + “And so the eagle got all three woods to himself.” + </p> + <p> + At which the Vikings laughed more loudly than ever; and King Ranald, + chuckling at the notion of eating up the hapless Irish princes one by one, + sent back the priest (not without a present for his church, for Ranald was + a pious man) to tell the great O’Brodar, that unless he sent into + Waterford by that day week two hundred head of cattle, a hundred pigs, a + hundredweight of clear honey, and as much of wax, Ranald would not leave + so much as a sucking-pig alive in Ivark. + </p> + <p> + The cause of quarrel, of course, was too unimportant to be mentioned. Each + had robbed and cheated the other half a dozen times in the last twenty + years. As for the morality of the transaction, Ranald had this salve for + his conscience,—that as he intended to do to O’Brodar, so would + O’Brodar have gladly done to him, had he been living peaceably in Norway, + and O’Brodar been strong enough to invade and rob him. Indeed, so had + O’Brodar done already, ever since he wore beard, to every chieftain of his + own race whom he was strong enough to ill-treat. Many a fair herd had he + driven off, many a fair farm burnt, many a fair woman carried off a slave, + after that inveterate fashion of lawless feuds which makes the history of + Celtic Ireland from the earliest times one dull and aimless catalogue of + murder and devastation, followed by famine and disease; and now, as he had + done to others, so it was to be done to him. + </p> + <p> + “And now, young sir, who seem as witty as you are good looking, you may, + if you will, tell us your name and your business. As for the name, + however, if you wish to keep it to yourself, Ranald Sigtrygsson is not the + man to demand it of an honest guest.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward looked round and saw Teague MacMurrough standing close to him, + harp in hand. He took it from him courteously enough, put a silver penny + into the minstrel’s hand, and running his fingers over the strings, rose + and began,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Outlaw and free thief, + Landless and lawless + Through the world fare I, + Thoughtless of life. + Soft is my beard, but + Hard my Brain-biter. + Wake, men me call, whom + Warrior or watchman + Never caught sleeping, + Far in Northumberland + Slew I the witch-bear, + Cleaving his brain-pan, + At one stroke I felled him.” + </pre> + <p> + And so forth, chanting all his doughty deeds, with such a voice and spirit + joined to that musical talent for which he was afterwards so famous, till + the hearts of the wild Norsemen rejoiced, and “Skall to the stranger! + Skall to the young Viking!” rang through the hall. + </p> + <p> + Then showing proudly the fresh wounds on his bare arms, he sang of his + fight with the Cornish ogre, and his adventure with the Princess. But + always, though he went into the most minute details, he concealed the name + both of her and of her father, while he kept his eyes steadily fixed on + Ranald’s eldest son, Sigtryg, who sat at his father’s right hand. + </p> + <p> + The young man grew uneasy, red, almost angry; till at last Hereward sang,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A gold ring she gave me + Right royally dwarf-worked, + To none will I pass it + For prayer or for sword-stroke, + Save to him who can claim it + By love and by troth plight, + Let that hero speak + If that hero be here.” + </pre> + <p> + Young Sigtryg half started from his feet: but when Hereward smiled at him, + and laid his finger on his lips, he sat down again. Hereward felt his + shoulder touched from behind. One of the youths who had risen when he sat + down bent over him, and whispered in his ear,— + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Hereward, we know you. Do you not know us? We are the twins, the sons + of your sister, Siward the White and Siward the Red, the orphans of + Asbiorn Siwardsson, who fell at Dunsinane.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward sprang up, struck the harp again, and sang,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Outlaw and free thief, + My kinsfolk have left me, + And no kinsfolk need I + Till kinsfolk shall need me. + My sword is my father, + My shield is my mother, + My ship is my sister, + My horse is my brother.” + </pre> + <p> + “Uncle, uncle,” whispered one of them, sadly, “listen now or never, for we + have bad news for you and us. Your father is dead, and Earl Algar, your + brother, here in Ireland, outlawed a second time.” + </p> + <p> + A flood of sorrow passed through Hereward’s heart. He kept it down, and + rising once more, harp in hand,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Hereward, king, hight I, + Holy Leofric my father, + In Westminster wiser + None walked with King Edward. + High minsters he builded, + Pale monks he maintained. + Dead is he, a bed-death, + A leech-death, a priest-death, + A straw-death, a cow’s death. + Such doom I desire not. + To high heaven, all so softly, + The angels uphand him, + In meads of May flowers + Mild Mary will meet him. + Me, happier, the Valkyrs + Shall waft from the war-deck, + Shall hail from the holmgang + Or helmet-strewn moorland. + And sword-strokes my shrift be, + Sharp spears be my leeches, + With heroes’ hot corpses + High heaped for my pillow.” + </pre> + <p> + “Skall to the Viking!” shouted the Danes once more, at this outburst of + heathendom, common enough among their half-converted race, in times when + monasticism made so utter a divorce between the life of the devotee and + that of the worldling, that it seemed reasonable enough for either party + to have their own heaven and their own hell. After all, Hereward was not + original in his wish. He had but copied the death-song which his father’s + friend and compeer, Siward Digre, the victor of Dunsinane, had sung for + himself some three years before. + </p> + <p> + All praised his poetry, and especially the quickness of his alliterations + (then a note of the highest art); and the old king filling not this time + the horn, but a golden goblet, bid him drain it and keep the goblet for + his song. + </p> + <p> + Young Sigtryg leapt up, and took the cup to Hereward. “Such a scald,” he + said, “ought to have no meaner cup-bearer than a king’s son.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward drank it dry; and then fixing his eyes meaningly on the Prince, + dropt the Princess’s ring into the cup, and putting it back into Sigtryg’s + hand, sang,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The beaker I reach back + More rich than I took it. + No gold will I grasp + Of the king’s, the ring-giver, + Till, by wit or by weapon, + I worthily win it. + When brained by my biter + O’Brodar lies gory, + While over the wolf’s meal + Fair widows are wailing.” + </pre> + <p> + “Does he refuse my gift?” grumbled Ranald. + </p> + <p> + “He has given a fair reason,” said the Prince, as he hid the ring in his + bosom; “leave him to me; for my brother in arms he is henceforth.” + </p> + <p> + After which, as was the custom of those parts, most of them drank too much + liquor. But neither Sigtryg nor Hereward drank; and the two Siwards stood + behind their young uncle’s seat, watching him with that intense admiration + which lads can feel for a young man. + </p> + <p> + That night, when the warriors were asleep, Sigtryg and Hereward talked out + their plans. They would equip two ships; they would fight all the kinglets + of Cornwall at once, if need was; they would carry off the Princess, and + burn Alef’s town over his head, if he said nay. Nothing could be more + simple than the tactics required in an age when might was right. + </p> + <p> + Then Hereward turned to his two nephews who lingered near him, plainly big + with news. + </p> + <p> + “And what brings you here, lads?” He had hardened his heart, and made up + his mind to show no kindness to his own kin. The day might come when they + might need him; then it would be his turn. + </p> + <p> + “Your father, as we told you, is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better for him, and the worse for England. And Harold and the + Godwinssons, of course, are lords and masters far and wide?” + </p> + <p> + “Tosti has our grandfather Siward’s earldom.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that. I know, too, that he will not keep it long, unless he learns + that Northumbrians are free men, and not Wessex slaves.” + </p> + <p> + “And Algar our uncle is outlawed again, after King Edward had given him + peaceably your father’s earldom.” + </p> + <p> + “And why?” + </p> + <p> + “Why was he outlawed two years ago?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the Godwinssons hate him, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “And Algar is gone to Griffin, the Welshman, and from him on to Dublin to + get ships, just as he did two years ago; and has sent us here to get ships + likewise.” + </p> + <p> + “And what will he do with them when he has got them? He burnt Hereford + last time he was outlawed, by way of a wise deed, minster and all, with + St. Ethelbert’s relics on board; and slew seven clergymen: but they were + only honest canons with wives at home, and not shaveling monks, so I + suppose that sin was easily shrived. Well, I robbed a priest of a few + pence, and was outlawed; he plunders and burns a whole minster, and is + made a great earl for it. One law for the weak and one for the strong, + young lads, as you will know when you are as old as I. And now I suppose + he will plunder and burn more minsters, and then patch up a peace with + Harold again; which I advise him strongly to do; for I warn you, young + lads, and you may carry that message from me to Dublin to my good brother + your uncle, that Harold’s little finger is thicker than his whole body; + and that, false Godwinsson as he is, he is the only man with a head upon + his shoulders left in England, now that his father, and my father, and + dear old Siward, whom I loved better than my father, are dead and gone.” + </p> + <p> + The lads stood silent, not a little awed, and indeed imposed on, by the + cynical and worldly-wise tone which their renowned uncle had assumed. + </p> + <p> + At last one of them asked, falteringly, “Then you will do nothing for us?” + </p> + <p> + “For you, nothing. Against you, nothing. Why should I mix myself up in my + brother’s quarrels? Will he make that white-headed driveller at + Westminster reverse my outlawry? And if he does, what shall I get thereby? + A younger brother’s portion; a dirty ox-gang of land in Kesteven. Let him + leave me alone as I leave him, and see if I do not come back to him some + day, for or against him as he chooses, with such a host of Vikings’ sons + as Harold Hardraade himself would be proud of. By Thor’s hammer, boys, I + have been an outlaw but five years now, and I find it so cheery a life, + that I do not care if I am an outlaw for fifty more. The world is a fine + place and a wide place; and it is a very little corner of it that I have + seen yet; and if you were of my mettle, you would come along with me and + see it throughout to the four corners of heaven, instead of mixing + yourselves up in these paltry little quarrels with which our two families + are tearing England in pieces, and being murdered perchance like dogs at + last by treachery, as Sweyn Godwinsson murdered Biorn.” + </p> + <p> + The boys listened, wide-eyed and wide-eared. Hereward knew to whom he was + speaking; and he had not spoken in vain. + </p> + <p> + “What do you hope to get here?” he went on. “Ranald will give you no + ships: he will have enough to do to fight O’Brodar; and he is too cunning + to thrust his head into Algar’s quarrels.” + </p> + <p> + “We hoped to find Vikings here, who would go to any war on the hope of + plunder.” + </p> + <p> + “If there be any, I want them more than you; and, what is more, I will + have them. They know that they will do finer deeds with me for their + captain than burning a few English homesteads. And so may you. Come with + me, lads. Once and for all, come. Help me to fight O’Brodar. Then help me + to another little adventure which I have on hand,—as pretty a one as + ever you heard a minstrel sing,—and then we will fit out a longship + or two, and go where fate leads,—to Constantinople, if you like. + What can you do better? You never will get that earldom from Tosti. Lucky + for young Waltheof, your uncle, if he gets it,—if he, and you too, + are not murdered within seven years; for I know Tosti’s humor, when he has + rivals in his way——” + </p> + <p> + “Algar will protect us,” said one. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, Algar is no match for the Godwinssons. If the monk-king died + to-morrow, neither his earldom nor his life would be safe. When I saw your + father Asbiorn lie dead at Dunsinane, I said, ‘There ends the glory of the + house of the bear;’ and if you wish to make my words come false, then + leave England to founder and rot and fall to pieces,—as all men say + she is doing,—without your helping to hasten her ruin; and seek + glory and wealth too with me around the world! The white bear’s blood is + in your veins, lads. Take to the sea like your ancestor, and come over the + swan’s bath with me!” + </p> + <p> + “That we will!” said the two lads. And well they kept their word. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. — HOW HEREWARD SUCCORED THE PRINCESS OF CORNWALL A SECOND + TIME. + </h2> + <p> + Fat was the feasting and loud was the harping in the halls of Alef the + Cornishman, King of Gweek. Savory was the smell of fried pilchard and + hake; more savory still that of roast porpoise; most savory of all that of + fifty huge squab pies, built up of layers of apples, bacon, onions, and + mutton, and at the bottom of each a squab, or young cormorant, which + diffused both through the pie and through the ambient air a delicate odor + of mingled guano and polecat. And the occasion was worthy alike of the + smell and of the noise; for King Alef, finding that after the Ogre’s death + the neighboring kings were but too ready to make reprisals on him for his + champion’s murders and robberies, had made a treaty of alliance, offensive + and defensive, with Hannibal the son of Gryll, King of Marazion, and had + confirmed the same by bestowing on him the hand of his fair daughter. + Whether she approved of the match or not, was asked neither by King Alef + nor by King Hannibal. + </p> + <p> + To-night was the bridal-feast. To-morrow morning the church was to hallow + the union, and after that Hannibal Grylls was to lead home his bride, + among a gallant company. + </p> + <p> + And as they ate and drank, and harped and piped, there came into that hall + four shabbily drest men,—one of them a short, broad fellow, with + black elf-locks and a red beard,—and sat them down sneakingly at the + very lowest end of all the benches. + </p> + <p> + In hospitable Cornwall, especially on such a day, every guest was welcome; + and the strangers sat peaceably, but ate nothing, though there was both + hake and pilchard within reach. + </p> + <p> + Next to them, by chance, sat a great lourdan of a Dane, as honest, brave, + and stupid a fellow as ever tugged at oar; and after a while they fell + talking, till the strangers had heard the reason of this great feast, and + all the news of the country side. + </p> + <p> + “But whence did they come, not to know it already; for all Cornwall was + talking thereof?” + </p> + <p> + “O, they came out of Devonshire, seeking service down west, with some + merchant or rover, being seafaring men.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger with the black hair had been, meanwhile, earnestly watching + the Princess, who sat at the board’s head. He saw her watching him in + return, and with a face sad enough. + </p> + <p> + At last she burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “What should the bride weep for, at such a merry wedding?” asked he of his + companion. + </p> + <p> + “O, cause enough;” and he told bluntly enough the Princess’s story. “And + what is more,” said he, “the King of Waterford sent a ship over last week, + with forty proper lads on board, and two gallant Holders with them, to + demand her; but for all answer, they were put into the strong house, and + there they lie, chained to a log, at this minute. Pity it is and shame, I + hold, for I am a Dane myself; and pity, too, that such a bonny lass should + go to an unkempt Welshman like this, instead of a tight smart Viking’s + son, like the Waterford lad.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger answered nothing, but kept his eyes upon the Princess, till + she looked at him steadfastly in return. + </p> + <p> + She turned pale and red again; but after a while she spoke:— + </p> + <p> + “There is a stranger there; and what his rank may be I know not; but he + has been thrust down to the lowest seat, in a house that used to honor + strangers, instead of treating them like slaves. Let him take this dish + from my hand, and eat joyfully, lest when he goes home he may speak scorn + of bridegroom and bride, and our Cornish weddings.” + </p> + <p> + The servant brought the dish down: he gave a look at the stranger’s shabby + dress, turned up his nose, and pretending to mistake, put the dish into + the hand of the Dane. + </p> + <p> + “Hold, lads,” quoth the stranger. “If I have ears, that was meant for me.” + </p> + <p> + He seized the platter with both hands; and therewith the hands both of the + Cornishman and of the Dane. There was a struggle; but so bitter was the + stranger’s grip, that (says the chronicler) the blood burst from the + nails of both his opponents. + </p> + <p> + He was called a “savage,” a “devil in man’s shape,” and other dainty + names; but he was left to eat his squab pie in peace. + </p> + <p> + “Patience, lads,” quoth he, as he filled his mouth. “Before I take my + pleasure at this wedding, I will hand my own dish round as well as any of + you.” + </p> + <p> + Whereat men wondered, but held their tongues. + </p> + <p> + And when the eating was over and the drinking began, the Princess rose, + and came round to drink the farewell health. + </p> + <p> + With her maids behind her, and her harper before her (so was the Cornish + custom), she pledged one by one each of the guests, slave as well as free, + while the harper played a tune. + </p> + <p> + She came down at last to the strangers. Her face was pale, and her eyes + red with weeping. + </p> + <p> + She filled a cup of wine, and one of her maids offered it to the stranger. + </p> + <p> + He put it back, courteously, but firmly. “Not from your hand,” said he. + </p> + <p> + A growl against his bad manners rose straightway; and the minstrel, who + (as often happened in those days) was jester likewise, made merry at his + expense, and advised the company to turn the wild beast out of the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Silence, fool!” said the Princess. “Why should he know our west-country + ways? He may take it from my hand, if not from hers.” + </p> + <p> + And she held out to him the cup herself. + </p> + <p> + He took it, looking her steadily in the face; and it seemed to the + minstrel as if their hands lingered together round the cup-handle, and + that he saw the glitter of a ring. + </p> + <p> + Like many another of his craft before and since, he was a vain, meddlesome + vagabond, and must needs pry into a secret which certainly did not concern + him. + </p> + <p> + So he could not leave the stranger in peace: and knowing that his + privileged calling protected him from that formidable fist, he never + passed him by without a sneer or a jest, as he wandered round the table, + offering his harp, in the Cornish fashion, to any one who wished to play + and sing. + </p> + <p> + “But not to you, Sir Elf-locks: he that is rude to a pretty girl when she + offers him wine, is too great a boor to understand my trade.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a fool’s trick,” answered the stranger at last, “to put off what + you must do at last. If I had but the time, I would pay you for your tune + with a better one than you ever heard.” + </p> + <p> + “Take the harp, then, boor!” said the minstrel, with a laugh and a jest. + </p> + <p> + The stranger took it, and drew from it such music as made all heads turn + toward him at once. Then he began to sing, sometimes by himself, and + sometimes his comrades, “<i>more Girviorum tripliciter canentes</i>” + joined their voices in a three-man-glee. + </p> + <p> + In vain the minstrel, jealous for his own credit, tried to snatch the harp + away. The stranger sang on, till all hearts were softened; and the + Princess, taking the rich shawl from her shoulders, threw it over those of + the stranger, saying that it was a gift too poor for such a scald. + </p> + <p> + “Scald!” roared the bridegroom (now well in his cups) from the head of the + table; “ask what thou wilt, short of my bride and my kingdom, and it is + thine.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me, then, Hannibal Grylls, King of Marazion, the Danes who came from + Ranald, of Waterford.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have them! Pity that you have asked for nothing better than + such tarry ruffians!” + </p> + <p> + A few minutes after, the minstrel, bursting with jealousy and rage, was + whispering in Hannibal’s ear. + </p> + <p> + The hot old Punic [Footnote: Hannibal, still a common name in Cornwall, is + held—and not unlikely—to have been introduced there by the + ancient Phoenician colonists.] blood flushed up in his cheeks, and his + thin Punic lips curved into a snaky smile. Perhaps the old Punic treachery + in his heart; for all that he was heard to reply was, “We must not disturb + the good-fellowship of a Cornish wedding.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger, nevertheless, and the Princess likewise, had seen that + bitter smile. + </p> + <p> + Men drank hard and long that night; and when daylight came, the strangers + were gone. + </p> + <p> + In the morning the marriage ceremony was performed; and then began the + pageant of leading home the bride. The minstrels went first, harping and + piping; then King Hannibal, carrying his bride behind him on a pillion; + and after them a string of servants and men-at-arms, leading country + ponies laden with the bride’s dower. Along with them, unarmed, sulky, and + suspicious, walked the forty Danes, who were informed that they should go + to Marazion, and there be shipped off for Ireland. + </p> + <p> + Now, as all men know, those parts of Cornwall, flat and open furze-downs + aloft, are cut, for many miles inland, by long branches of tide river, + walled in by woods and rocks, which rivers join at last in the great basin + of Falmouth harbor; and by crossing one or more of these, the bridal party + would save many a mile on their road towards the west. + </p> + <p> + So they had timed their journey by the tides: lest, finding low water in + the rivers, they should have to wade to the ferry-boats waist deep in mud; + and going down the steep hillside, through oak and ash and hazel copse, + they entered, as many as could, a great flat-bottomed barge, and were + rowed across some quarter of a mile, to land under a jutting crag, and go + up again by a similar path into the woods. + </p> + <p> + So the first boat-load went up, the minstrels in front, harping and piping + till the greenwood rang, King Hannibal next, with his bride, and behind + him spear-men and axe-men, with a Dane between every two. + </p> + <p> + When they had risen some two hundred feet, and were in the heart of the + forest, Hannibal turned, and made a sign to the men behind him. + </p> + <p> + Then each pair of them seized the Dane between them, and began to bind his + hands behind his back. “What will you do with us?” + </p> + <p> + “Send you back to Ireland,—a king never breaks his word,—but + pick out your right eyes first, to show your master how much I care for + him. Lucky for you that I leave you an eye apiece, to find your friend the + harper, whom if I catch, I flay alive.” + </p> + <p> + “You promised!” cried the Princess. + </p> + <p> + “And so did you, traitress!” and he gripped her arm, which was round his + waist, till she screamed. “So did you promise: but not to me. And you + shall pass your bridal night in my dog-kennel, after my dog-whip has + taught you not to give rings again to wandering harpers.” + </p> + <p> + The wretched Princess shuddered; for she knew too well that such an + atrocity was easy and common enough. She knew it well. Why should she not? + The story of the Cid’s Daughters and the Knights of Carrion; the far more + authentic one of Robert of Belesme; and many another ugly tale of the + early middle age, will prove but too certainly that, before the days of + chivalry began, neither youth, beauty, nor the sacred ties of matrimony, + could protect women from the most horrible outrages, at the hands of those + who should have been their protectors. It was reserved for monks and + inquisitors, in the name of religion and the Gospel, to continue, through + after centuries, those brutalities toward women of which gentlemen and + knights had grown ashamed, save when (as in the case of the Albigense + crusaders) monks and inquisitors bade them torture, mutilate, and burn, in + the name of Him who died on the cross. + </p> + <p> + But the words had hardly passed the lips of Hannibal, ere he reeled in the + saddle, and fell to the ground, a javelin through his heart. + </p> + <p> + A strong arm caught the Princess. A voice which she knew bade her have no + fear. + </p> + <p> + “Bind your horse to a tree, for we shall want him; and wait!” + </p> + <p> + Three well-armed men rushed on the nearest Cornishmen, and hewed them + down. A fourth unbound the Dane, and bade him catch up a weapon, and fight + for his life. + </p> + <p> + A second pair were dispatched, a second Dane freed, ere a minute was over; + the Cornishmen, struggling up the narrow path toward the shouts above, + were overpowered in detail by continually increasing numbers; and ere half + an hour was over, the whole party were freed, mounted on the ponies, and + making their way over the downs toward the west. + </p> + <p> + “Noble, noble Hereward!” said the Princess, as she sat behind him on + Hannibal’s horse. “I knew you from the first moment; and my nurse knew you + too. Is she here? Is she safe?” + </p> + <p> + “I have taken care of that. She has done us too good service to be left + here, and be hanged.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew you, in spite of your hair, by your eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Hereward. “It is not every man who carries one gray eye and + one blue. The more difficult for me to go mumming when I need.” + </p> + <p> + “But how came you hither, of all places in the world?” + </p> + <p> + “When you sent your nurse to me last night, to warn me that treason was + abroad, it was easy for me to ask your road to Marazion; and easier too, + when I found that you would go home the very way we came, to know that I + must make my stand here or nowhere.” + </p> + <p> + “The way you came? Then where are we going now?” + </p> + <p> + “Beyond Marazion, to a little cove,—I cannot tell its name. There + lies Sigtryg, your betrothed, and three good ships of war.” + </p> + <p> + “There? Why did he not come for me himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Why? Because we knew nothing of what was toward. We meant to have sailed + straight up your river to your father’s town, and taken you out with a + high hand. We had sworn an oath,—which, as you saw, I kept,—neither + to eat nor drink in your house, save out of your own hands. But the + easterly wind would not let us round the Lizard; so we put into that cove, + and there I and these two lads, my nephews, offered to go forward as + spies, while Sigtryg threw up an earthwork, and made a stand against the + Cornish. We meant merely to go back to him, and give him news. But when I + found you as good as wedded, I had to do what I could while I could; and I + have done it.” + </p> + <p> + “You have, my noble and true champion,” said she, kissing him. + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” quoth Hereward, laughing. “Do not tempt me by being too grateful. + It is hard enough to gather honey, like the bees, for other folks to eat. + What if I kept you myself, now I have got you?” + </p> + <p> + “Hereward!” + </p> + <p> + “O, there is no fear, pretty lady. I have other things to think of than + making love to you,—and one is, how we are to get to our ships, and + moreover, past Marazion town.” + </p> + <p> + And hard work they had to get thither. The country was soon roused and up + in arms; and it was only by wandering a three days’ circuit through bogs + and moors, till the ponies were utterly tired out, and left behind (the + bulkier part of the dowry being left behind with them), that they made + their appearance on the shore of Mount’s Bay, Hereward leading the + Princess in triumph upon Hannibal’s horse. + </p> + <p> + After which they all sailed away for Ireland, and there, like young + Beichan,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Prepared another wedding, + With all their hearts so full of glee.” + </pre> + <p> + And this is the episode of the Cornish Princess, as told by Leofric of + Bourne, the cunning minstrel and warlike priest. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. — HOW HEREWARD WAS WRECKED UPON THE FLANDERS SHORE. + </h2> + <p> + Hereward had drunk his share at Sigtryg’s wedding. He had helped to harry + the lands of O’Brodar till (as King Ranald had threatened) there was not a + sucking-pig left in Ivark, and the poor folk died of famine, as they did + about every seven years; he had burst (says the chronicler) through the + Irish camp with a chosen band of Berserkers, slain O’Brodar in his tent, + brought off his war-horn as a trophy, and cut his way back to the Danish + army,—a feat in which the two Siwards were grievously wounded; and + had in all things shown himself a daring and crafty captain, as careless + of his own life as of other folks’. + </p> + <p> + Then a great home-sickness had seized him. He would go back and see the + old house, and the cattle-pastures, and the meres and fens of his boyhood. + He would see his widowed mother. Perhaps her heart was softened to him by + now, as his was toward her; and if not, he could show her that he could do + without her; that others thought him a fine fellow if she did not. + Hereward knew that he had won honor and glory for himself; that his name + was in the mouths of all warriors and sea-rovers round the coasts as the + most likely young champion of the time, able to rival, if he had the + opportunity, the prowess of Harold Hardraade himself. Yes, he would go and + see his mother: he would be kind if she was kind; if she were not, he + would boast and swagger, as he was but too apt to do. That he should go + back at the risk of his life; that any one who found him on English ground + might kill him; and that many would certainly try to kill him, he knew + very well. But that only gave special zest to the adventure. + </p> + <p> + Martin Lightfoot heard this news with joy. + </p> + <p> + “I have no more to do here,” said he. “I have searched and asked far and + wide for the man I want, and he is not on the Irish shores. Some say he is + gone to the Orkneys, some to Denmark. Never mind; I shall find him before + I die.” + </p> + <p> + “And for whom art looking?” + </p> + <p> + “For one Thord Gunlaugsson, my father.” + </p> + <p> + “And what wantest with him?” + </p> + <p> + “To put this through his brain.” And he showed his axe. + </p> + <p> + “Thy father’s brain?” + </p> + <p> + “Look you, lord. A man owes his father naught, and his mother all. At + least so hold I. ‘Man that is of woman born,’ say all the world; and they + say right. Now, if any man hang up that mother by hands and feet, and flog + her to death, is not he that is of that mother born bound to revenge her + upon any man, and all the more if that man had first his wicked will of + that poor mother? Considering that last, lord, I do not know but what I am + bound to avenge my mother’s shame upon the man, even if he had never + killed her. No, lord, you need not try to talk this out of my head. It has + been there nigh twenty years; and I say it over to myself every night + before I sleep, lest I should forget the one thing which I must do before + I die. Find him I will, and find him I shall, if there be justice in + heaven above.” + </p> + <p> + So Hereward asked Ranald for ships, and got at once two good vessels as + payment for his doughty deeds. + </p> + <p> + One he christened the <i>Garpike</i>, from her narrow build and long beak, + and the other the <i>Otter</i>, because, he said, whatever she grappled + she would never let go till she heard the bones crack. They were + excellent, new “snekrs,” nearly eighty feet long each; with double banks + for twelve oars a side in the waist, which was open, save a fighting + gangway along the sides; with high poop and forecastle decks; and with one + large sail apiece, embroidered by Sigtryg’s Princess and the other ladies + with a huge white bear, which Hereward had chosen as his ensign. + </p> + <p> + As for men, there were fifty fellows as desperate as Hereward himself, to + take service with him for that or any other quest. So they ballasted their + ships with great pebbles, stowed under the thwarts, to be used as + ammunition in case of boarding; and over them the barrels of ale and pork + and meal, well covered with tarpaulins. They stowed in the cabins, fore + and aft, their weapons,—swords, spears, axes, bows, chests of + arrow-heads, leather bags of bowstrings, mail-shirts, and helmets, and + fine clothes for holidays and fighting days. They hung their shields, + after the old fashion, out-board along the gunwale, and a right gay show + they made; and so rowed out of Waterford harbor amid the tears of the + ladies and the cheers of the men. + </p> + <p> + But, as it befell, the voyage did not prosper. Hereward found his vessels + under-manned, and had to sail northward for fresh hands. He got none in + Dublin, for they were all gone to the Welsh marches to help Earl Alfgar + and King Griffin. So he went on through the Hebrides, intending, of + course, to plunder as he went: but there he got but little booty, and lost + several men. So he went on again to the Orkneys, to try for fresh hands + from the Norse Earl Hereof; but there befell a fresh mishap. They were + followed by a whale, which they made sure was a witch-whale, and boded + more ill luck; and accordingly they were struck by a storm in the Pentland + Frith, and the poor <i>Garpike</i> went on shore on Hoy, and was left + there forever and a day, her crew being hardly saved, and very little of + her cargo. + </p> + <p> + However, the <i>Otter</i> was now not only manned, but over manned; and + Hereward had to leave a dozen stout fellows in Kirkwall, and sail + southward again, singing cheerily to his men,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Lightly the long-snake + Leaps after tempests, + Gayly the sun-gleam + Glows after rain + In labor and daring + Lies luck for all mortals, + Foul winds and foul witch-wives + Fray women alone.” + </pre> + <p> + But their mishaps were not over yet. They were hardly out of Stronsay + Frith when they saw the witch-whale again, following them up, rolling and + spouting and breaching in most uncanny wise. Some said that they saw a + gray woman on his back; and they knew—possibly from the look of the + sky, but certainly from the whale’s behavior—that there was more + heavy weather yet coming from the northward. + </p> + <p> + From that day forward the whale never left them, nor the wild weather + neither. They were beaten out of all reckoning. Once they thought they saw + low land to the eastward, but what or where who could tell? and as for + making it, the wind, which had blown hard from northeast, backed against + the sun and blew from west; from which, as well as from the witch-whale, + they expected another gale from north and round to northeast. + </p> + <p> + The men grew sulky and fearful. Some were for trying to run the witch down + and break her back, as did Frithiof in like case, when hunted by a whale + with two hags upon his back,—an excellent recipe in such cases, but + somewhat difficult in a heavy sea. Others said that there was a doomed man + on board, and proposed to cast lots till they found him out, and cast him + into the sea, as a sacrifice to Aegir the wave-god. But Hereward scouted + that as unmanly and cowardly, and sang,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “With blood of my bold ones, + With bale of my comrades, + Thinks Aegir, brine-thirsty, + His throat he can slake? + Though salt spray, shrill-sounding, + Sweep in swan’s-flights above us, + True heroes, troth-plighted, + Together we’ll die.” + </pre> + <p> + At last, after many days, their strength was all but worn out. They had + long since given over rowing, and contented themselves with running under + a close-reefed canvas whithersoever the storm should choose. At night a + sea broke over them, and would have swamped the <i>Otter</i>, had she not + been the best of sea-boats. But she only rolled the lee shields into the + water and out again, shook herself, and went on. Nevertheless, there were + three men on the poop when the sea came in, who were not there when it + went out. + </p> + <p> + Wet and wild dawned that morning, showing naught but gray sea and gray + air. Then sang Hereward,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Cheerly, my sea-cocks + Crow for the day-dawn. + Weary and wet are we, + Water beladen. + Wetter our comrades, + Whelmed by the witch-whale. + Us Aegir granted + Grudging, to Gondul, + Doomed to die dry-shod, + Daring the foe.” + </pre> + <p> + Whereat the hearts of the men were much cheered. + </p> + <p> + All of a sudden, as is the wont of gales at dawn, the clouds rose, tore up + into ribbons, and with a fierce black shower or two, blew clean away; + disclosing a bright blue sky, a green rolling sea, and, a few miles off to + leeward, a pale yellow line, seen only as they topped a wave, but seen + only too well. To keep the ship off shore was impossible; and as they + drifted nearer and nearer, the line of sand-hills rose, uglier and more + formidable, through the gray spray of the surf. + </p> + <p> + “We shall die on shore, but not dry-shod,” said Martin. “Do any of you + knights of the tar-brush know whether we are going to be drowned in + Christian waters? I should like a mass or two for my soul, and shall die + the happier within sight of a church-tower.” + </p> + <p> + “One Dune is as like another as one pea; we may be anywhere between the + Texel and Cap Gris Nez, but I think nearer the latter than the former.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the worse for us,” said another. “If we had gone ashore among + those Frieslanders, we should have been only knocked on the head outright; + but if we fall among the Frenchmen, we shall be clapt in prison strong, + and tortured till we find ransom.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see that,” said Martin. “We can all be drowned if we like, I + suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Drowned we need not be, if we be men,” said the old sailing-master to + Hereward. “The tide is full high, and that gives us one chance for our + lives. Keep her head straight, and row like fiends when we are once in the + surf, and then beach her up high and dry, and take what befalls after.” + </p> + <p> + And what was likely to befall was ugly enough. Then, as centuries after, + all wrecks and wrecked men were public prey; shipwrecked mariners were + liable to be sold as slaves; and the petty counts of the French and + Flemish shores were but too likely to extract ransom by prison and + torture, as Guy Earl of Penthieu would have done (so at least William Duke + of Normandy hinted) by Harold Godwinsson, had not William, for his own + politic ends, begged the release of the shipwrecked earl. + </p> + <p> + Already they had been seen from the beach. The country folk, who were + prowling about the shore after the waifs of the storm, deserted “jetsom + and lagend,” and crowded to meet the richer prize which was coming in + “flotsom,” to become “jetsom” in its turn. + </p> + <p> + “Axe-men and bow-men, put on your harness, and be ready; but neither + strike nor shoot till I give the word. We must land peaceably if we can; + if not, we will die fighting.” + </p> + <p> + So said Hereward, and took the rudder into his own hand. “Now then,” as + she rushed into the breakers, “pull together, rowers all, and with a + will.” + </p> + <p> + The men yelled, and sprang from the thwarts as they tugged at the oars. + The sea boiled past them, surged into the waist, blinded them with spray. + She grazed the sand once, twice, thrice, leaping forward gallantly each + time; and then, pressed by a huge wave, drove high and dry upon the beach, + as the oars snapt right and left, and the men tumbled over each other in + heaps. + </p> + <p> + The peasants swarmed down like flies to a carcass; but they recoiled as + there rose over the forecastle bulwarks, not the broad hats of peaceful + buscarles, but peaked helmets, round red shields, and glittering axes. + They drew back, and one or two arrows flew from the crowd into the ship. + But at Hereward’s command no arrows were shot in answer. + </p> + <p> + “Bale her out quietly; and let us show these fellows that we are not + afraid of them. That is the best chance of peace.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment a mounted party came down between the sandhills; it might + be, some twenty strong. Before them rode a boy on a jennet, and by him a + clerk, as he seemed, upon a mule. They stopped to talk with the peasants, + and then to consult among themselves. Suddenly the boy turned from his + party; and galloping down the shore, while the clerk called after him in + vain, reined up his horse, fetlock deep in water, within ten yards of the + ship’s bows. + </p> + <p> + “Yield yourselves!” he shouted, in French, as he brandished a hunting + spear. “Yield yourselves, or die!” + </p> + <p> + Hereward looked at him smiling, as he sat there, keeping the head of his + frightened horse toward the ship with hand and heel, his long locks + streaming in the wind, his face full of courage and command, and of + honesty and sweetness withal; and thought that he had never seen so fair a + lad. + </p> + <p> + “And who art thou, thou pretty, bold boy?” asked Hereward, in French. + </p> + <p> + “I,” said he, haughtily enough, as resenting Hereward’s familiar “thou,” + “am Arnulf, grandson and heir of Baldwin, Marquis of Flanders, and lord of + this land. And to his grace I call on you to surrender yourselves.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward looked, not only with interest, but respect, upon the grandson of + one of the most famous and prosperous of northern potentates, the + descendant of the mighty Charlemagne himself. He turned and told the men + who the boy was. + </p> + <p> + “It would be a good trick,” quoth one, “to catch that young whelp, and + keep him as a hostage.” + </p> + <p> + “Here is what will have him on board before he can turn,” said another, as + he made a running noose in a rope. + </p> + <p> + “Quiet, men! Am I master in this ship or you?” + </p> + <p> + Hereward saluted the lad courteously. “Verily the blood of Baldwin of the + Iron Arm has not degenerated. I am happy to behold so noble a son of so + noble a race.” + </p> + <p> + “And who are you, who speak French so well, and yet by your dress are + neither French nor Fleming?” + </p> + <p> + “I am Harold Naemansson, the Viking; and these my men. I am here, sailing + peaceably for England; as for yielding,—mine yield to no living man, + but die as we are, weapon in hand. I have heard of your grandfather, that + he is a just man and a bountiful; therefore take this message to him, + young sir. If he have wars toward, I and my men will fight for him with + all our might, and earn hospitality and ransom with our only treasure, + which is our swords. But if he be at peace, then let him bid us go in + peace, for we are Vikings, and must fight, or rot and die.” + </p> + <p> + “You are Vikings?” cried the boy, pressing his horse into the foam so + eagerly, that the men, mistaking his intent, had to be represt again by + Hereward. “You are Vikings! Then come on shore, and welcome. You shall be + my friends. You shall be my brothers. I will answer to my grandfather. I + have longed to see Vikings. I long to be a Viking myself.” + </p> + <p> + “By the hammer of Thor,” cried the old master, “and thou wouldst make a + bonny one, my lad.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward hesitated, delighted with the boy, but by no means sure of his + power to protect them. + </p> + <p> + But the boy rode back to his companions, who had by this time ridden + cautiously down to the sea, and talked and gesticulated eagerly. + </p> + <p> + Then the clerk rode down and talked with Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “Are you Christians?” shouted he, before he would adventure himself near + the ship. + </p> + <p> + “Christians we are, Sir Clerk, and dare do no harm to a man of God.” + </p> + <p> + The Clerk rode nearer; his handsome palfrey, furred cloak, rich gloves and + boots, moreover his air of command, showed that he was no common man. + </p> + <p> + “I,” said he, “am the Abbot of St. Bertin of Sithiu, and tutor of yonder + prince. I can bring down, at a word, against you, the Châtelain of St. + Omer, with all his knights, besides knights and men-at-arms of my own. But + I am a man of peace, and not of war, and would have no blood shed if I can + help it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then make peace,” said Hereward. “Your lord may kill us if he will, or + have us for his guests if he will. If he does the first, we shall kill, + each of us, a few of his men before we die; if the latter, we shall kill a + few of his foes. If you be a man of God, you will counsel him + accordingly.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! alas!” said the Abbot, with a shudder, “that, ever since Adam’s + fall, sinful man should talk of nothing but slaying and being slain; not + knowing that his soul is slain already by sin, and that a worse death + awaits him hereafter than that death of the body of which he makes so + light!” + </p> + <p> + “A very good sermon, my Lord Abbot, to listen to next Sunday morning: but + we are hungry and wet and desperate just now; and if you do not settle + this matter for us, our blood will be on your head,—and maybe your + own likewise.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot rode out of the water faster than he had ridden in, and a fresh + consultation ensued, after which the boy, with a warning gesture to his + companions, turned and galloped away through the sand-hills. + </p> + <p> + “He is gone to his grandfather himself, I verily believe,” quoth Hereward. + </p> + <p> + They waited for some two hours, unmolested; and, true to their policy of + seeming recklessness, shifted and dried themselves as well as they could, + ate what provisions were unspoilt by the salt water, and, broaching the + last barrel of ale, drank healths to each other and to the Flemings on + shore. + </p> + <p> + At last down rode, with the boy, a noble-looking man, and behind him more + knights and men-at-arms. He announced himself as Manasses, Châtelain of + St. Omer, and repeated the demand to surrender. + </p> + <p> + “There is no need for it,” said Hereward. “We are already that young + prince’s guests. He has said that we shall be his friends and brothers. He + has said that he will answer to his grandfather, the great Marquis, whom I + and mine shall be proud to serve. I claim the word of a descendant of + Charlemagne.” + </p> + <p> + “And you shall have it!” cried the boy. “Châtelain! Abbot! these men are + mine. They shall come with me, and lodge in St. Bertin.” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forefend!” murmured the Abbot. + </p> + <p> + “They will be safe, at least, within your ramparts,” whispered the + Châtelain. + </p> + <p> + “And they shall tell me about the sea. Have I not told you how I long for + Vikings; how I will have Vikings of my own, and sail the seas with them, + like my Uncle Robert, and go to Spain and fight the Moors, and to + Constantinople and marry the Kaiser’s daughter? Come,” he cried to + Hereward, “come on shore, and he that touches you or your ship, touches + me!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Châtelain and my Lord Abbot,” said Hereward, “you see that, Viking + though I be, I am no barbarous heathen, but a French-speaking gentleman, + like yourselves. It had been easy for me, had I not been a man of honor, + to have cast a rope, as my sailors would have had me do, over that young + boy’s fair head, and haled him on board, to answer for my life with his + own. But I loved him, and trusted him, as I would an angel out of heaven; + and I trust him still. To him, and him only, will I yield myself, on + condition that I and my men shall keep all our arms and treasure, and + enter his service, to fight his foes, and his grandfather’s, wheresoever + they will, by land or sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Fair sir,” said the Abbot, “pirate though you call yourself, you speak so + courtly and clerkly, that I, too, am inclined to trust you; and if my + young lord will have it so, into St. Bertin I will receive you, till our + lord, the Marquis, shall give orders about you and yours.” + </p> + <p> + So promises were given all round; and Hereward explained the matter to the + men, without whose advice (for they were all as free as himself) he could + not act. + </p> + <p> + “Needs must,” grunted they, as they packed up each his little valuables. + </p> + <p> + Then Hereward sheathed his sword, and leaping from the bow, came up to the + boy. + </p> + <p> + “Put your hands between his, fair sir,” said the Châtelain. + </p> + <p> + “That is not the manner of Vikings.” + </p> + <p> + And he took the boy’s right hand, and grasped it in the plain English + fashion. + </p> + <p> + “There is the hand of an honest man. Come down, men, and take this young + lord’s hand, and serve him in the wars as I will do.” + </p> + <p> + One, by one the men came down; and each took Arnulf’s hand, and shook it + till the lad’s face grew red. But none of them bowed, or made obeisance. + They looked the boy full in the face, and as they stepped back, stared + round upon the ring of armed men with a smile and something of a swagger. + </p> + <p> + “These are they who bow to no man, and call no man master,” whispered the + Abbot. + </p> + <p> + And so they were: and so are their descendants of Scotland and + Northumbria, unto this very day. + </p> + <p> + The boy sprang from his horse, and walked among them and round them in + delight. He admired and handled their long-handled double axes; their + short sea-bows of horn and deer-sinew; their red Danish jerkins; their + blue sea-cloaks, fastened on the shoulder with rich brooches; and the gold + and silver bracelets on their wrists. He wondered at their long shaggy + beards, and still more at the blue patterns with which the English among + them, Hereward especially, were tattooed on throat and arm and knee. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are Vikings,—just such as my Uncle Robert tells me of.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward knew well the exploits of Robert le Frison in Spain and Greece. + “I trust that your noble uncle,” he asked, “is well? He was one of us poor + sea-cocks, and sailed the swan’s path gallantly, till he became a mighty + prince. Here is a man here who was with your noble uncle in Byzant.” + </p> + <p> + And he thrust forward the old master. + </p> + <p> + The boy’s delight knew no bounds. He should tell him all about that in St. + Bertin. + </p> + <p> + Then he rode back to the ship, and round and round her (for the tide by + that time had left her high and dry), and wondered at her long snake-like + lines, and carven stem and stern. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about this ship. Let me go on board of her. I have never seen a + ship inland at Mons there; and even here there are only heavy ugly busses, + and little fishing-boats. No. You must be all hungry and tired. We will go + to St. Bertin at once, and you shall be feasted royally. Hearken, + villains!” shouted he to the peasants. “This ship belongs to the fair sir + here,—my guest and friend; and if any man dares to steal from her a + stave or a nail, I will have his thief’s hand cut off.” + </p> + <p> + “The ship, fair lord,” said Hereward, “is yours, not mine. You should + build twenty more after her pattern, and man them with such lads as these, + and then go down to + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Miklagard and Spanialand, + That lie so far on the lee, O!’ +</pre> + <p> + as did your noble uncle before you.” + </p> + <p> + And so they marched inland, after the boy had dismounted one of his men, + and put Hereward on the horse. + </p> + <p> + “You gentlemen of the sea can ride as well as sail,” said the châtelain, + as he remarked with some surprise Hereward’s perfect seat and hand. + </p> + <p> + “We should soon learn to fly likewise,” laughed Hereward, “if there were + any booty to be picked up in the clouds there overhead”; and he rode on by + Arnulf’s side, as the lad questioned him about the sea, and nothing else. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my boy,” said Hereward at last, “look there, and let those be Vikings + who must.” + </p> + <p> + And he pointed to the rich pastures, broken by strips of corn-land and + snug farms, which stretched between the sea and the great forest of + Flanders. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + But Hereward was silent. It was so like his own native fens. For a moment + there came over him the longing for a home. To settle down in such a fair + fat land, and call good acres his own; and marry and beget stalwart sons, + to till the old estate when he could till no more. Might not that be a + better life—at least a happier one—than restless, homeless, + aimless adventure? And now, just as he had had a hope of peace,—a + hope of seeing his own land, his own folk, perhaps of making peace with + his mother and his king,—the very waves would not let him rest, but + sped him forth, a storm-tossed waif, to begin life anew, fighting he cared + not whom or why, in a strange land. + </p> + <p> + So he was silent and sad withal. + </p> + <p> + “What does he mean?” asked the boy of the Abbot. + </p> + <p> + “He seems a wise man: let him answer for himself.” + </p> + <p> + The boy asked once more. + </p> + <p> + “Lad! lad!” said Hereward, waking as from a dream. “If you be heir to such + a fair land as that, thank God for it, and pray to Him that you may rule + it justly, and keep it in peace, as they say your grandfather and your + father do; and leave glory and fame and the Vikings’ bloody trade to those + who have neither father nor mother, wife nor land, but live like the wolf + of the wood, from one meal to the next.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you for those words, Sir Harold,” said the good Abbot, while the + boy went on abashed, and Hereward himself was startled at his own saying, + and rode silent till they crossed the drawbridge of St. Bertin, and + entered that ancient fortress, so strong that it was the hiding-place in + war time for all the treasures of the country, and so sacred withal that + no woman, dead or alive, was allowed to defile it by her presence; so that + the wife of Baldwin the Bold, ancestor of Arnulf, wishing to lie by her + husband, had to remove his corpse from St. Bertin to the Abbey of + Blandigni, where the Counts of Flanders lay in glory for many a + generation. + </p> + <p> + The pirates entered, not without gloomy distrust, the gates of that + consecrated fortress; while the monks in their turn were (and with some + reason) considerably frightened when they were asked to entertain as + guests forty Norse rovers. Loudly did the elder among them bewail (in + Latin, lest their guests should understand too much) the present weakness + of their monastery, where St. Bertin was left to defend himself and his + monks all alone against the wicked world outside. Far different had been + their case some hundred and seventy years before. Then St. Valeri and St. + Riquier of Ponthieu, transported thither from their own resting-places in + France for fear of the invading Northmen, had joined their suffrages and + merits to those of St. Bertin, with such success that the abbey had never + been defiled by the foot of the heathen. But, alas! the saints, that is + their bodies, after a while became homesick; and St. Valeri appearing in a + dream to Hugh Capet, bade him bring them back to France in spite of + Arnulf, Count of those parts, who wished much to retain so valuable an + addition to his household gods. + </p> + <p> + But in vain. Hugh Capet was a man who took few denials. With knights and + men-at-arms he came, and Count Arnulf had to send home the holy corpses + with all humility, and leave St. Bertin all alone. + </p> + <p> + Whereon St. Valeri appeared in a dream to Hugh Capet, and said unto him, + “Because thou hast zealously done what I commanded, thou and thy + successors shall reign in the kingdom of France to everlasting + generations.” [Footnote: “Histoire des Comtes de Flandre,” par E. le Glay. + E. gestis SS. Richarii et Walerici.] + </p> + <p> + However, there was no refusing the grandson and heir of Count Baldwin; and + the hearts of the monks were comforted by hearing that Hereward was a good + Christian, and that most of his crew had been at least baptized. The Abbot + therefore took courage, and admitted them into the hospice, with solemn + warnings as to the doom which they might expect if they took the value of + a horse-nail from the patrimony of the blessed saint. Was he less powerful + or less careful of his own honor than St. Lieven of Holthem, who, not more + than fifty years before, had struck stone-blind four soldiers of the + Emperor Henry’s, who had dared, after warning, to plunder the altar? + [Footnote: Ibid.] Let them remember, too, the fate of their own + forefathers, the heathens of the North, and the check which, one hundred + and seventy years before, they had received under those very walls. They + had exterminated the people of Walcheren; they had taken prisoner Count + Regnier; they had burnt Ghent, Bruges, and St. Omer itself, close by; they + had left naught between the Scheldt and the Somme, save stark corpses and + blackened ruins. What could withstand them till they dared to lift + audacious hands against the heavenly lord who sleeps there in Sithiu? Then + they poured down in vain over the Heilig-Veld, innumerable as the locusts. + Poor monks, strong in the protection of the holy Bertin, sallied out and + smote them hip and thigh, singing their psalms the while. The ditches of + the fortress were filled with unbaptized corpses; the piles of vine-twigs + which they lighted to burn down the gates turned their flames into the + Norsemen’s faces at the bidding of St. Bertin; and they fled from that + temporal fire to descend into that which is eternal, while the gates of + the pit were too narrow for the multitude of their miscreant souls. + [Footnote: This gallant feat was performed in the A.D. 891.] + </p> + <p> + So the Norsemen heard, and feared; and only cast longing eyes at the gold + and tapestries of the altars, when they went in to mass. + </p> + <p> + For the good Abbot, gaining courage still further, had pointed out to + Hereward and his men that it had been surely by the merits and suffrages + of the blessed St. Bertin that they had escaped a watery grave. + </p> + <p> + Hereward and his men, for their part, were not inclined to deny the + theory. That they had miraculously escaped, from the accident of the tide + being high, they knew full well; and that St. Bertin should have done them + the service was probable enough. He, of course, was lord and master in his + own country, and very probably a few miles out to sea likewise. + </p> + <p> + So Hereward assured the Abbot that he had no mind to eat St. Bertin’s + bread, or accept his favors, without paying honestly for them; and after + mass he took from his shoulders a handsome silk cloak (the only one he + had), with a great Scotch Cairngorm brooch, and bade them buckle it on the + shoulders of the great image of St. Bertin. + </p> + <p> + At which St. Bertin was so pleased (being, like many saints, male and + female, somewhat proud after their death of the finery which they despised + during life), that he appeared that night to a certain monk, and told him + that if Hereward would continue duly to honor him, the blessed St. Bertin, + and his monks at that place, he would, in his turn, insure him victory in + all his battles by land and sea. + </p> + <p> + After which Hereward stayed quietly in the abbey certain days; and young + Arnulf, in spite of all remonstrances from the Abbot, would never leave + his side till he had heard from him and from his men as much of their + adventures as they thought it prudent to relate. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. — HOW HEREWARD WENT TO THE WAR AT GUISNES. + </h2> + <p> + The dominion of Baldwin of Lille,—Baldwin the Debonair,—Marquis + of Flanders, and just then the greatest potentate in Europe after the + Kaiser of Germany and the Kaiser of Constantinople, extended from the + Somme to the Scheldt, including thus much territory which now belongs to + France. His forefathers had ruled there ever since the days of the + “Foresters” of Charlemagne, who held the vast forests against the heathens + of the fens; and of that famous Baldwin Bras-de-fer,—who, when the + foul fiend rose out of the Scheldt, and tried to drag him down, tried cold + steel upon him (being a practical man), and made his ghostly adversary + feel so sorely the weight of the “iron arm,” that he retired into his + native mud,—or even lower still. + </p> + <p> + He, like a daring knight as he was, ran off with his (so some say) early + love, Judith, daughter of Charles the Bald of France, a descendant of + Charlemagne himself. Married up to Ethelwulf of England, and thus + stepmother of Alfred the Great,—after his death behaving, alas for + her! not over wisely or well, she had verified the saying: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Nous revenons toujours + À nos premiers amours,” + </pre> + <p> + and ran away with Baldwin. + </p> + <p> + Charles, furious that one of his earls, a mere lieutenant and creature, + should dare to marry a daughter of Charlemagne’s house, would have + attacked him with horse and foot, fire and sword, had not Baldwin been the + only man who could defend his northern frontier against the heathen + Norsemen. + </p> + <p> + The Pope, as Charles was his good friend, fulminated against Baldwin the + excommunication destined for him who stole a widow for his wife, and all + his accomplices. + </p> + <p> + Baldwin and Judith went straight to Rome, and told their story to the + Pope. + </p> + <p> + He, honest man, wrote to Charles the Bald a letter which still remains,—alike + merciful, sentimental, and politic, with its usual ingrained element of + what we now call (from the old monkish word “cantare”) cant. Of Baldwin’s + horrible wickedness there is no doubt. Of his repentance (in all matters + short of amendment of life, by giving up the fair Judith), still less. But + the Pope has “another motive for so acting. He fears lest Baldwin, under + the weight of Charles’s wrath and indignation, should make alliance with + the Normans, enemies of God and the holy Church; and thus an occasion + arise of peril and scandal for the people of God, whom Charles ought to + rule,” &c., &c., which if it happened, it would be worse for them + and for Charles’s own soul. + </p> + <p> + To which very sensible and humane missive (times and creeds being + considered), Charles answered, after pouting and sulking, by making + Baldwin <i>bona fide</i> king of all between Somme and Scheldt, and + leaving him to raise a royal race from Judith, the wicked and the fair. + </p> + <p> + This all happened about A.D. 863. Two hundred years after, there ruled + over that same land Baldwin the Debonair, as “Marquis of the Flamands.” + </p> + <p> + Baldwin had had his troubles. He had fought the Count of Holland. He had + fought the Emperor of Germany; during which war he had burnt the cathedral + of Nimeguen, and did other unrighteous and unwise things; and had been + beaten after all. + </p> + <p> + Baldwin had had his troubles, and had deserved them. But he had had his + glories, and had deserved them likewise. He had cut the Fossé Neuf, or new + dike, which parted Artois from Flanders. He had so beautified the + cathedral of Lille, that he was called Baldwin of Lille to his dying day. + He had married Adela, the queen countess, daughter of the King of France. + He had become tutor of Philip, the young King, and more or less thereby + regent of the north of France, and had fulfilled his office wisely and + well. He had married his eldest son, Baldwin the Good, to the terrible + sorceress Richilda, heiress of Hainault, wherefore the bridegroom was + named Baldwin of Mons. He had married one of his daughters, Matilda, to + William of Normandy, afterwards the Conqueror; and another, Judith, to + Tosti Godwinsson, the son of the great Earl Godwin of England. She + afterwards married Welf, Duke of Bavaria; whereby, it may be, the blood of + Baldwin of Flanders runs in the veins of Queen Victoria. + </p> + <p> + And thus there were few potentates of the North more feared and respected + than Baldwin, the good-natured Earl of Flanders. + </p> + <p> + But one sore thorn in the side he had, which other despots after him + shared with him, and with even worse success in extracting it,—namely, + the valiant men of Scaldmariland, which we now call Holland. Of them + hereafter. At the moment of Hereward’s arrival, he was troubled with a + lesser thorn, the Count of Guisnes, who would not pay him up certain dues, + and otherwise acknowledge his sovereignty. + </p> + <p> + Therefore when the châtelain of St. Omer sent him word to Bruges that a + strange Viking had landed with his crew, calling himself Harold + Naemansson, and offering to take service with him, he returned for answer + that the said Harold might make proof of his faith and prowess upon the + said Count, in which, if he acquitted himself like a good knight, Baldwin + would have further dealings with him. + </p> + <p> + So the châtelain of St. Omer, with all his knights and men-at-arms, and + Hereward with his sea-cocks, marched northwest up to Guisnes, with little + Arnulf cantering alongside in high glee; for it was the first war that he + had ever seen. + </p> + <p> + And they came to the Castle of Guisnes, and summoned the Count, by trumpet + and herald, to pay or fight. + </p> + <p> + Whereon, the Count preferring the latter, certain knights of his came + forth and challenged the knights of St. Omer to fight them man to man. + Whereon there was the usual splintering of lances and slipping up of + horses, and hewing at heads and shoulders so well defended in mail that no + one was much hurt. The archers and arbalisters, meanwhile, amused + themselves with shooting at the castle walls, out of which they chipped + several small pieces of stone. And when they were all tired, they drew off + on both sides, and went in to dinner. + </p> + <p> + At which Hereward’s men, who were accustomed to a more serious fashion of + fighting, stood by, mightily amused, and vowing it was as pretty a play as + ever they saw in their lives. + </p> + <p> + The next day the same comedy was repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go in against those knights, Sir châtelain,” asked Hereward, who + felt the lust of battle tingling in him from head to heel; “and try if I + cannot do somewhat towards deciding all this. If we fight no faster than + we did yesterday, our beards will be grown down to our knees before we + take Guisnes.” + </p> + <p> + “Let my Viking go!” cried Arnulf. “Let me see him fight!” as if he had + been a pet gamecock or bulldog. + </p> + <p> + “You can break a lance, fine sir, if it please you,” said the châtelain. + </p> + <p> + “I break more than lances,” quoth Hereward as he cantered off. + </p> + <p> + “You,” said he to his men, “draw round hither to the left; and when I + drive the Frenchmen to the right, make a run for it, and get between them + and the castle gate; and we will try the Danish axe against their horses’ + legs.” + </p> + <p> + Then Hereward spurred his horse, shouting, “A bear! a bear!” and dashed + into the press; and therein did mightily, like any Turpin or Roland, till + he saw lie on the ground, close to the castle gate, one of the châtelain’s + knights with four Guisnes knights around him. Then at those knights he + rode, and slew them every one; and mounted that wounded knight on his own + horse and led him across the field, though the archers shot sore at him + from the wall. And when the press of knights rode at him, his Danish men + got between them and the castle, and made a stand to cover him. Then the + Guisnes knights rode at them scornfully, crying,— + </p> + <p> + “What footpad churls have we here, who fancy they can face horsed + knights?” + </p> + <p> + But they did not know the stuff of the Danish men; who all shouted, “A + bear! A bear!” and turned the lances’ points with their targets, and hewed + off the horses’ heads, and would have hewed off the riders’ likewise, + crying that the bear must be fed, had not Hereward bidden them give + quarter according to the civilized fashion of France and Flanders. Whereon + all the knights who were not taken rode right and left, and let them pass + through in peace, with several prisoners, and him whom Hereward had + rescued. + </p> + <p> + At which little Arnulf was as proud as if he had done it himself; and the + châtelain sent word to Baldwin that the new-comer was a prudhomme of no + common merit; while the heart of the Count of Guisnes became as water; and + his knights, both those who were captives and those who were not, + complained indignantly of the unchivalrous trick of the Danes,—how + villanous for men on foot, not only to face knights, but to bring them + down to their own standing ground by basely cutting off their horses’ + heads! + </p> + <p> + To which Hereward answered, that he knew the rules of chivalry as well as + any of them; but he was hired, not to joust at a tournament, but to make + the Count of Guisnes pay his lord Baldwin, and make him pay he would. + </p> + <p> + The next day he bade his men sit still and look on, and leave him to + himself. And when the usual “monomachy” began, he singled out the burliest + and boldest knight whom he saw, rode up to him, lance point in air, and + courteously asked him to come and be killed in fair fight. The knight + being, says the chronicler, “magnificent in valor of soul and counsel of + war, and held to be as a lion in fortitude throughout the army,” and + seeing that Hereward was by no means a large or heavy man, replied as + courteously, that he should have great pleasure in trying to kill + Hereward. On which they rode some hundred yards out of the press, calling + out that they were to be left alone by both sides, for it was an honorable + duel, and, turning their horses, charged. + </p> + <p> + After which act they found themselves and their horses all four in a row, + sitting on their hind-quarters on the ground, amid the fragments of their + lances. + </p> + <p> + “Well ridden!” shouted they both at once, as they leaped up laughing and + drew their swords. + </p> + <p> + After which they hammered away at each other merrily in “the devil’s + smithy”; the sparks flew, and the iron rang, and all men stood still to + see that gallant fight. + </p> + <p> + So they watched and cheered, till Hereward struck his man such a blow + under the ear, that he dropped, and lay like a log. + </p> + <p> + “I think I can carry you,” quoth Hereward, and picking him up, he threw + him over his shoulder, and walked toward his men. + </p> + <p> + “A bear! a bear!” shouted they in delight, laughing at the likeness + between Hereward’s attitude, and that of a bear waddling off on his hind + legs with his prey in his arms. + </p> + <p> + “He should have killed his bullock outright before he went to carry him. + Look there!” + </p> + <p> + And the knight, awaking from his swoon, struggled violently (says Leofric) + to escape. + </p> + <p> + But Hereward, though the smaller, was the stronger man; and crushing him + in his arms, walked on steadily. + </p> + <p> + “Knights, to the rescue! Hoibricht is taken!” shouted they of Guisnes, + galloping towards him. + </p> + <p> + “A bear! a bear! To me, Biornssons! To me, Vikings all!” shouted Hereward. + And the Danes leapt up, and ran toward him, axe in hand. + </p> + <p> + The châtelain’s knights rode up likewise; and so it befell, that Hereward + carried his prisoner safe into camp. + </p> + <p> + “And who are you, gallant knight?” asked he of his prisoner. + </p> + <p> + “Hoibricht, nephew of Eustace, Count of Guisnes.” + </p> + <p> + “So I suppose you will be ransomed. Till then—Armorer!” + </p> + <p> + And the hapless Hoibricht found himself chained and fettered, and sent off + to Hereward’s tent, under the custody of Martin Lightfoot. + </p> + <p> + “The next day,” says the chronicler, “the Count of Guisnes, stupefied with + grief at the loss of his nephew, sent the due honor and service to his + prince, besides gifts and hostages.” + </p> + <p> + And so ended the troubles of Baldwin, and Eustace of Guisnes. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. — HOW A FAIR LADY EXERCISED THE MECHANICAL ART TO WIN + HEREWARD’S LOVE. + </h2> + <p> + The fair Torfrida sat in an upper room of her mother’s house in St. Omer, + alternately looking out of the window and at a book of mechanics. In the + garden outside, the wryneck (as is his fashion in May) was calling + Pi-pi-pi among the gooseberry bushes, till the cobwalls rang again. In the + book was a Latin recipe for drying the poor wryneck, and using him as a + philtre which should compel the love of any person desired. Mechanics, it + must be understood, in those days were considered as identical with + mathematics, and those again with astrology and magic; so that the old + chronicler, who says that Torfrida was skilled in “the mechanic art,” uses + the word in the same sense as does the author of the “History of Ramsey,” + who tells us how a certain holy bishop of St. Dunstan’s party, riding down + to Corfe through the forest, saw the wicked queen-mother Elfrida (her who + had St. Edward stabbed at Corfe Gate) exercising her “mechanic art,” under + a great tree; in plain English, performing heathen incantations; and how, + when she saw that she was discovered, she tempted him to deadly sin: but + when she found him proof against allurement, she had him into her bower; + and there the enchantress and her ladies slew him by thrusting red-hot + bodkins under his arms, so that the blessed man was martyred without any + sign of wound. Of all which let every man believe as much as he list. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida had had peculiar opportunities of learning mechanics. The fairest + and richest damsel in St. Omer, she had been left early by her father an + orphan, to the care of a superstitious mother and of a learned uncle, the + Abbot of St. Bertin. Her mother was a Provençale, one of those Arlesiennes + whose dark Greek beauty still shines, like diamonds set in jet, in the + doorways of the quaint old city. Gay enough in her youth, she had, like a + true Southern woman, taken to superstition in her old age; and spent her + days in the churches, leaving Torfrida to do and learn what she would. Her + nurse, moreover, was a Lapp woman, carried off in some pirating foray, and + skilled in all the sorceries for which the Lapps were famed throughout the + North. Her uncle, partly from good-nature, partly from a pious hope that + she might “enter religion,” and leave her wealth to the Church, had made + her his pupil, and taught her the mysteries of books; and she had proved + to be a strangely apt scholar. Grammar, rhetoric, Latin prose and poetry, + such as were taught in those days, she mastered ere she was grown up. Then + she fell upon romance, and Charlemagne and his Paladins, the heroes of + Troy, Alexander and his generals, peopled her imagination. She had heard, + too, of the great necromancer Virgilius (for into such the middle age + transformed the poet), and, her fancy already excited by her Lapp nurse’s + occult science, she began eagerly to court forbidden lore. + </p> + <p> + Forbidden, indeed, magic was by the Church in public; but as a reality, + not as an imposture. Those whose consciences were tough and their faith + weak, had little scruple in applying to a witch, and asking help from the + powers below, when the saints above were slack to hear them. Churchmen, + even, were bold enough to learn the mysteries of nature, Algebra, Judicial + Astrology, and the occult powers of herbs, stones, and animals, from the + Mussulman doctors of Cordova and Seville; and, like Pope Gerbert, mingle + science and magic, in a fashion excusable enough in days when true + inductive science did not exist. + </p> + <p> + Nature had her miraculous powers,—how far good, how far evil, who + could tell? The belief that God was the sole maker and ruler of the + universe was confused and darkened by the cross-belief, that the material + world had fallen under the dominion of Satan and his demons; that millions + of spirits, good and evil in every degree, exercised continually powers + over crops and cattle, mines and wells, storms and lightning, health and + disease. Riches, honors, and royalties, too, were under the command of the + powers of darkness. For that generation, which was but too apt to take its + Bible in hand upside down, had somehow a firm faith in the word of the + Devil, and believed devoutly his somewhat startling assertion, that the + kingdoms of the world were his, and the glory of them; for to him they + were delivered, and to whomsoever he would he gave them: while it had a + proportionally weak faith in our Lord’s answer, that they were to worship + and serve the Lord God alone. How far these powers extended, how far they + might be counteracted, how far lawfully employed, were questions which + exercised the minds of men and produced a voluminous literature for + several centuries, till the search died out, for very weariness of + failure, at the end of the seventeenth century. + </p> + <p> + The Abbot of St. Bertin, therefore, did not hesitate to keep in his + private library more than one volume which he would not have willingly + lent to the simple monks under his charge; nor to Torfrida either, had she + not acquired so complete a command over the good old man, that he could + deny her nothing. + </p> + <p> + So she read of Gerbert, Pope Silvester II., who had died only a generation + back: how (to quote William of Malmesbury) “he learned at Seville till he + surpassed Ptolemy with the astrolabe, Alcandrus in astronomy, and Julius + Firmicus in judicial astrology; how he learned what the singing and flight + of birds portended, and acquired the art of calling up spirits from hell; + and, in short, whatever—hurtful or healthful—human curiosity + had discovered, besides the lawful sciences of arithmetic and astronomy, + music and geometry”; how he acquired from the Saracens the abacus (a + counting table); how he escaped from the Moslem magician, his tutor, by + making a compact with the foul fiend, and putting himself beyond the power + of magic, by hanging himself under a wooden bridge so as to touch neither + earth nor water; how he taught Robert, King of France, and Otto the + Kaiser; how he made an hydraulic organ which played tunes by steam, which + stood even then in the Cathedral of Rheims; how he discovered in the + Campus Martius at Rome wondrous treasures, and a golden king and queen, + golden courtiers and guards, all lighted by a single carbuncle, and + guarded by a boy with a bent bow; who, when Gerbert’s servant stole a + golden knife, shot an arrow at that carbuncle, and all was darkness, and + yells of demons. + </p> + <p> + All this Torfrida had read; and read, too, how Gerbert’s brazen head had + told him that he should be Pope, and not die till he had sung mass at + Jerusalem; and how both had come true,—the latter in mockery; for he + was stricken with deadly sickness in Rome, as he sang mass at the church + called Jerusalem, and died horribly, tearing himself in pieces. + </p> + <p> + Which terrible warning had as little effect on Torfrida as other terrible + warnings have on young folk, who are minded to eat of the fruit of the + tree of knowledge of good and evil. + </p> + <p> + So Torfrida beguiled her lonely life in that dull town, looking out over + dreary flats and muddy dikes, by a whole dream-world of fantastic + imaginations, and was ripe and ready for any wild deed which her wild + brain might suggest. + </p> + <p> + Pure she was all the while, generous and noble-hearted, and with a deep + and sincere longing—as one soul in ten thousand has—after + knowledge for its own sake; but ambitious exceedingly, and that not of + monastic sanctity. She laughed to scorn the notion of a nunnery; and + laughed to scorn equally the notion of marrying any knight, however much + of a prudhomme, whom she had yet seen. Her uncle and Marquis Baldwin could + have between them compelled her, as an orphan heiress, to marry whom they + liked. But Torfrida had as yet bullied the Abbot and coaxed the Count + successfully. Lances had been splintered, helmets split, and more than one + life lost in her honor; but she had only, as the best safeguard she could + devise, given some hint of encouragement to one Ascelin, a tall knight of + St. Valeri, the most renowned bully of those parts, by bestowing on him a + scrap of ribbon, and bidding him keep it against all comers. By this means + she insured the personal chastisement of all other youths who dared to + lift their eyes to her, while she by no means bound herself to her + spadassin of St. Valeri. It was all very brutal, but so was the time; and + what better could a poor lady do in days when no man’s life or woman’s + honor was safe, unless—as too many were forced to do—she + retired into a cloister, and got from the Church that peace which this + world certainly could not give, and, happily, dared not take away? + </p> + <p> + The arrival of Hereward and his men had of course stirred the great + current of her life, and indeed that of St. Omer, usually as stagnant as + that of the dikes round its wall. Who the unknown champion was,—for + his name of “Naemansson” showed that he was concealing something at least,—whence + he had come, and what had been his previous exploits, busied all the + gossips of the town. Would he and his men rise and plunder the abbey? Was + not the châtelain mad in leaving young Arnulf with him all day? Madder + still, in taking him out to battle against the Count of Guisnes? He might + be a spy,—the <i>avant-courrier</i> of some great invading force. He + was come to spy out the nakedness of the land, and would shortly vanish, + to return with Harold Hardraade of Norway, or Sweyn of Denmark, and all + their hosts. Nay, was he not Harold Hardraade himself in disguise? And so + forth. All which Torfrida heard, and thought within herself that, be he + who he might, she should like to look on him again. + </p> + <p> + Then came the news how the very first day that he had gone out against the + Count of Guisnes he had gallantly rescued a wounded man. A day or two + after came fresh news of some doughty deed; and then another, and another. + And when Hereward returned, after a week’s victorious fighting, all St. + Omer was in the street to stare at him. + </p> + <p> + Then Torfrida heard enough, and, had it been possible, more than enough, + of Hereward and his prowess. + </p> + <p> + And when they came riding in, the great Marquis at the head of them all, + with Robert le Frison on one side of him, and on the other Hereward, + looking “as fresh as flowers in May,” she looked down on him out of her + little lattice in the gable, and loved him, once and for all, with all her + heart and soul. + </p> + <p> + And Hereward looked up at her and her dark blue eyes and dark raven locks, + and thought her the fairest thing that he had ever seen, and asked who she + might be, and heard; and as he heard he forgot all about the Sultan’s + daughter, and the Princess of Constantinople, and the Fairy of + Brocheliaunde, and all the other pretty birds which were still in the bush + about the wide world; and thought for many a day of naught but the pretty + bird which he held—so conceited was he of his own powers of winning + her—there safe in hand in St. Omer. + </p> + <p> + So he cast about to see her, and to win her love. And she cast about to + see him, and win his love. But neither saw the other for a while; and it + might have been better for one of them had they never seen the other + again. + </p> + <p> + If Torfrida could have foreseen, and foreseen, and foreseen——why, + if she were true woman, she would have done exactly what she did, and + taken the bitter with the sweet, the unknown with the known, as we all + must do in life, unless we wish to live and die alone. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. — HOW HEREWARD WENT TO THE WAR IN SCALDMARILAND. + </h2> + <p> + It has been shown how the Count of Guisnes had been a thorn in the side of + Baldwin of Lille, and how that thorn was drawn out by Hereward. But a far + sharper thorn in his side, and one which had troubled many a Count before, + and was destined to trouble others afterward, was those unruly Hollanders, + or Frisians, who dwelt in Scaldmariland, “the land of the meres of the + Scheldt.” Beyond the vast forests of Flanders, in morasses and alluvial + islands whose names it is impossible now to verify, so much has the land + changed, both by inundations and by embankments, by the brute forces of + nature and the noble triumphs of art, dwelt a folk, poor, savage, living + mostly, as in Caesar’s time, in huts raised above the sea on piles or + mounds of earth; often without cattle or seedfield, half savage, half + heathen, but free. Free, with the divine instinct of freedom, and all the + self-help and energy which spring thereout. + </p> + <p> + They were a mongrel race; and, as most mongrel races are (when sprung from + parents not too far apart in blood), a strong race; the remnant of those + old Frisians and Batavians, who had defied, and all but successfully + resisted, the power of Rome; mingled with fresh crosses of Teutonic blood + from Frank, Sueve, Saxon, and the other German tribes, who, after the fall + of the Roman Empire, had swept across the land. + </p> + <p> + Their able modern historian has well likened the struggle between Civilis + and the Romans to that between William the Silent and the Spaniard. It + was, without doubt, the foreshadow of their whole history. They were + distinguished, above most European races, for sturdy independence, and, + what generally accompanies it, sturdy common sense. They could not + understand why they should obey foreign Frank rulers, whether set over + them by Dagobert or by Charlemagne. They could not understand why they + were to pay tithes to foreign Frank priests, who had forced on them, at + the sword’s point, a religion which they only half believed, and only half + understood. Many a truly holy man preached to them to the best of his + powers: but the cross of St. Boniface had too often to follow the sword of + Charles Martel; and for every Frisian who was converted another was + killed. + </p> + <p> + “Free Frisians,” nevertheless, they remained, at least in name and in + their statute-book, “as long as the wind blows out of the clouds, and the + world stands.” The feudal system never took root in their soil. [Footnote: + Motley. “Rise of the Dutch Republic.”] If a Frank Count was to govern + them, he must govern according to their own laws. Again and again they + rebelled, even against that seemingly light rule. Again and again they + brought down on themselves the wrath of their nominal sovereigns the + Counts of Flanders; then of the Kaisers of Germany; and, in the thirteenth + century, of the Inquisition itself. Then a crusade was preached against + them as “Stadings,” heretics who paid no tithes, ill-used monks and nuns, + and worshipped (or were said to worship) a black cat and the foul fiend + among the meres and fens. Conrad of Marpurg, the brutal Director of St. + Elizabeth of Hungary, burnt them at his wicked will, extirpating, it may + be, heresy, but not the spirit of the race. That, crushed down and + seemingly enslaved, during the middle age, under Count Dirk and his + descendants, still lived; destined at last to conquer. They were a people + who had determined to see for themselves and act for themselves in the + universe in which they found themselves; and, moreover (a necessary + corollary of such a resolution), to fight to the death against any one who + interfered with them in so doing. + </p> + <p> + Again and again, therefore, the indomitable spirit rose, founding free + towns with charters and guilds; embanking the streams, draining the meres, + fighting each other and the neighboring princes; till, in their last great + struggle against the Pope and Spain, they rose once and for all, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Heated hot with burning fears, + And bathed in baths of hissing tears, + And battered with the strokes of doom + To shape and use,” + </pre> + <p> + as the great Protestant Dutch Republic. + </p> + <p> + A noble errand it had been for such a man as Hereward to help those men + toward freedom, instead of helping Frank Counts to enslave them;—men + of his own blood, with laws and customs like those of his own Anglo-Danes, + living in a land so exactly like his own that every mere and fen and wood + reminded him of the scenes of his boyhood. The very names of the two lands + were alike,—“Holland,” the hollow land,—the one of England, + the other of Flanders. + </p> + <p> + But all this was hidden from Hereward. To do as he would be done by was a + lesson which he had never been taught. If men had invaded his land, he + would have cried, like the Frisians whom he was going to enslave, “I am + free as long as the wind blows out of the clouds!” and died where he + stood. But that was not the least reason why he should not invade any + other man’s land, and try whether or not he, too, would die where he + stood. To him these Frieslanders were simply savages, probably heathens, + who would not obey their lawful lord, who was a gentleman and a Christian; + besides, renown, and possibly a little plunder, might be got by beating + them into obedience. He knew not what he did; and knew not, likewise, that + as he had done to others, so would it be done to him. + </p> + <p> + Baldwin had at that time made over his troublesome Hollanders to his + younger son Robert, the Viking whom little Arnulf longed to imitate. + </p> + <p> + Florent, Count of Holland, and vassal of the great Marquis, had just died, + leaving a pretty young widow, to whom the Hollanders had no mind to pay + one stiver more than they were forced. All the isles of Zeeland, and the + counties of Eonham and Alost, were doing that which was right in the sight + of their own eyes, and finding themselves none the worse therefor,—though + the Countess Gertrude doubtless could buy fewer silks of Greece or gems of + Italy. But to such a distressed lady a champion could not long be wanting; + and Robert, after having been driven out of Spain by the Moors with + fearful loss, and in a second attempt wrecked with all his fleet as soon + as he got out of port, resolved to tempt the main no more, and leave the + swan’s path for that of the fat oxen and black dray-horses of Holland. + </p> + <p> + So he rushed to avenge the wrongs of the Countess Gertrude; and his + father, whose good-natured good sense foresaw that the fiery Robert would + raise storms upon his path,—happily for his old age he did not + foresee the worst,—let him go, with his blessing. + </p> + <p> + So Robert gathered to him valiant ruffians, as many as he could find; and + when he heard of the Viking who had brought Eustace of Guisnes to reason, + it seemed to him that he was a man who would do his work. So when the + great Marquis came down to St. Omer to receive the homage of Count Eustace + of Guisnes, Robert came thither too, and saw Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “You have done us good service, Harold Naemansson, as it pleases you to be + called,” said Baldwin, smiling. “But some man’s son you are, if ever I saw + a gallant knight earl-born by his looks as well as his deeds.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward bowed. + </p> + <p> + “And for me,” said Robert, “Naemansson or earl’s son, here is my Viking’s + welcome to all Vikings like myself.” And he held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + Hereward took it. + </p> + <p> + “You failed in Galicia, beausire, only because your foes were a hundred to + one. You will not fail where you are going, if (as I hear) they are but + ten to one.” + </p> + <p> + Robert laughed, vain and gratified. + </p> + <p> + “Then you know where I have been, and where I am going?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? As you know well, we Vikings are all brothers, and all know each + other’s counsel, from ship to ship and port to port.” + </p> + <p> + Then the two young men looked each other in the face, and each saw that + the other was a man who would suit him. + </p> + <p> + “Skall to the Viking!” cried Robert, aping, as was his fancy, the Norse + rovers’ slang. “Will you come with me to Holland?” + </p> + <p> + “You must ask my young lord there,” and he pointed to Arnulf. “I am his + man now, by all laws of honor.” + </p> + <p> + A flush of jealousy passed over Robert’s face. He, haplessly for himself, + thought that he had a grievance. + </p> + <p> + The rights of primogeniture—<i>droits d’ainesse</i>—were not + respected in the family of the Baldwins as they should have been, had + prudence and common sense had their way. + </p> + <p> + No sacred or divine right is conferred by the fact of a man’s being the + first-born son. If Scripture be Scripture, the “Lord’s anointed” was + usually rather a younger son of talent and virtue; one born, not according + to the flesh, but according to the spirit, like David and Solomon. And so + it was in other realms besides Flanders during the middle age. The father + handed on the work—for ruling was hard work in those days—to + the son most able to do it. Therefore we can believe Lambert of + Aschaffenbourg when he says, that in Count Baldwin’s family for many ages + he who pleased his father most took his father’s name, and was hereditary + prince of all Flanders; while the other brothers led an inglorious life of + vassalage to him. + </p> + <p> + But we can conceive, likewise, that such a method would give rise to + intrigues, envyings, calumnies, murders, fratracidal civil wars, and all + the train of miseries which for some years after this history made + infamous the house of Baldwin, as they did many another noble house, till + they were stopped by the gradual adoption of the rational rule of + primogeniture. + </p> + <p> + So Robert, who might have been a daring and useful friend to his brother, + had he been forced to take for granted from birth that he was nobody, and + his brother everybody,—as do all younger sons of English noblemen, + to their infinite benefit,—held himself to be an injured man for + life, because his father called his first-born Baldwin, and promised him + the succession,—which indeed he had worthily deserved, according to + the laws of Mammon and this world, by bringing into the family such an + heiress as Richilda and such a dowry as Mons. + </p> + <p> + But Robert, who thought himself as good as his brother,—though he + was not such, save in valor,—nursed black envy in his heart. Hard it + was to him to hear his elder brother called Baldwin of Mons, when he + himself had not a foot of land of his own. Harder still to hear him called + Baldwin the Good, when he felt in himself no title whatsoever to that + epithet. Hardest of all to see a beautiful boy grow up, as heir both of + Flanders and of Hainault. + </p> + <p> + Had he foreseen whither that envy would have led him; had he foreseen the + hideous and fratracidal day of February 22d, 1071, and that fair boy’s + golden locks rolling in dust and blood,—the wild Viking would have + crushed the growing snake within his bosom; for he was a knight and a + gentleman. But it was hidden from his eyes. He had to “dree his weird,”—to + commit great sins, do great deeds, and die in his bed, mighty and honored, + having children to his heart’s desire, and leaving the rest of his + substance to his babes. Heaven help him, and the like of him! + </p> + <p> + But he turned to young Arnulf. + </p> + <p> + “Give me your man, boy!” + </p> + <p> + Arnulf pouted. He wanted to keep his Viking for himself, and said so. + </p> + <p> + “He is to teach me to go ‘leding,’ as the Norsemen call it, like you.” + </p> + <p> + Robert laughed. A hint at his piratical attempts pleased his vanity, all + the more because they had been signal failures. + </p> + <p> + “Lend him me, then, my pretty nephew, for a month or two, till he has + conquered these Friesland frogs for me; and then, if thou wilt go leding + with him—” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you may never come back,” thought Robert to himself; but he did + not say it, + </p> + <p> + “Let the knight go,” quoth Baldwin. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go with him, then.” + </p> + <p> + “No, by all saints! I cannot have thee poked through with a Friesland + pike, or rotted with a Friesland ague.” + </p> + <p> + Arnulf pouted still. + </p> + <p> + “Abbot, what hast thou been at with the boy? He thinks of naught but blood + and wounds, instead of books and prayers.” + </p> + <p> + “He is gone mad after this—this knight.” + </p> + <p> + “The Abbot,” said Hereward, “knows by hearing of his ears that I bid him + bide at home, and try to govern lands in peace like his father and you, + Sir Marquis.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot told honestly what had passed between Hereward and the lad, as + they rode to St. Bertin. + </p> + <p> + Baldwin was silent, thinking, and smiling jollily, as was the wont of the + Debonair. + </p> + <p> + “You are a man of sense, beausire. Come with me,” said he at last. + </p> + <p> + And he, Hereward, and Robert went into an inner room. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down on the settle by me.” + </p> + <p> + “It is too great an honor.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, man! If I be who I am, I know enough of men to know that I need + not be ashamed of having you as bench-fellow. Sit down.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward obeyed of course. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me who you are.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward looked out of the corner of his eyes, smiling and perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me and Robert who you are, man; and be done with it. I believe I + know already. I have asked far and wide of chapmen, and merchants, and + wandering knights, and pirate rascals,—like yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “And you found that I was a pirate rascal?” + </p> + <p> + “I found a pirate rascal who met you in Ireland, three years since, and + will swear that if you have one gray eye and one blue—” + </p> + <p> + “As he has,” quoth Robert. + </p> + <p> + “That I am a wolf’s head, and a robber of priests, and an Esau on the face + of the earth; every man’s hand against me, and mine—for I never take + but what I give—against every man.” + </p> + <p> + “That you are the son of my old friend Leofric of Chester: and the + hottest-hearted, shrewdest-headed, hardest-handed Berserker in the North + Seas. You killed Gilbert of Ghent’s bear, Siward Digre’s cousin. Don’t + deny it.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t hang me, or send me to the Westminster miracle-worker to be hanged, + and I will confess.” + </p> + <p> + “I? Every man is welcome who comes hither with a bold hand and a strong + heart. ‘The Refuge for the Destitute,’ they call Flanders; I suppose + because I am too good-natured to turn rogues out. So do no harm to mine, + and mine shall do no harm to you.” + </p> + <p> + Baldwin’s words were true. He found house-room for everybody, helped + everybody against everybody else (as will be seen), and yet quarrelled + with nobody—at least in his old age—by the mere virtue of good + nature,—which blessed is the man who possesseth. + </p> + <p> + So Hereward went off to exterminate the wicked Hollanders, and avenge the + wrongs of the Countess Gertrude. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. — HOW HEREWARD WON THE MAGIC ARMOR. + </h2> + <p> + Torfrida had special opportunities of hearing about Hereward; for young + Arnulf was to her a pet and almost a foster-brother, and gladly escaped + from the convent to tell her the news. + </p> + <p> + He had now had his first taste of the royal game of war. He had seen + Hereward fight by day, and heard him tell stories over the camp-fire by + night. Hereward’s beauty, Hereward’s prowess, Hereward’s songs, Hereward’s + strange adventures and wanderings, were forever in the young boy’s mouth; + and he spent hours in helping Torfrida to guess who the great unknown + might be; and then went back to Hereward, and artlessly told him of his + beautiful friend, and how they had talked of him, and of nothing else; and + in a week or two Hereward knew all about Torfrida; and Torfrida knew—what + filled her heart with joy—that Hereward was bound to no lady-love, + and owned (so he had told Arnulf) no mistress save the sword on his thigh. + </p> + <p> + Whereby there had grown up in the hearts of both the man and the maid a + curiosity, which easily became the parent of love. + </p> + <p> + But when Baldwin the great Marquis came to St. Omer, to receive the homage + of Eustace of Guisnes, young Arnulf had run into Torfrida’s chamber in + great anxiety. “Would his grandfather approve of what he had done? Would + he allow his new friendship with the unknown?” + </p> + <p> + “What care I?” said Torfrida. “But if your friend wishes to have the + Marquis’s favor, he would be wise to trust him, at least so far as to tell + his name.” + </p> + <p> + “I have told him so. I have told him that you would tell him so.” + </p> + <p> + “I? Have you been talking to him about me?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “That is not well done, Arnulf, to talk of ladies to men whom they do not + know.” + </p> + <p> + Arnulf looked up, puzzled and pained; for she spoke haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “I know naught of your new friend. He may be a low-born man, for anything + that I can tell.” + </p> + <p> + “He is not! He is as noble as I am. Everything he says and does—every + look—shows it.” + </p> + <p> + “You are young,—as you have shown by talking of me to him. But I + have given you my advice”; and she moved languidly away. “Let him tell + your grandfather who he is, or remain suspected.” + </p> + <p> + The boy went away sadly. + </p> + <p> + Early the next morning he burst into Torfrida’s room as she was dressing + her hair. + </p> + <p> + “How now? Are these manners for the heir of Flanders?” + </p> + <p> + “He has told all!” + </p> + <p> + “He has!” and she started and dropt her comb. + </p> + <p> + “Pick up that comb, girl. You need not go away. I have no secrets with + young gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you would be glad to hear.” + </p> + <p> + “I? What can I want in the matter, save that your grandfather should be + satisfied that you are entertaining a man worthy to be your guest?” + </p> + <p> + “And he is worthy: he has told my grandfather who he is.” + </p> + <p> + “But not you?” + </p> + <p> + “No. They say I must not know yet. But this I know, that they welcomed + him, when he told them, as if he had been an earl’s son; and that he is + going with my Uncle Robert against the Frieslanders.” + </p> + <p> + “And if he be an earl’s son, how comes he here, wandering with rough + seamen, and hiding his honest name? He must have done something of which + he is ashamed.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall tell you nothing,” said Arnulf, pouting. + </p> + <p> + “What care I? I can find out by art magic if I like.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe all that. Can you find out, for instance, what he has on + his throat?” + </p> + <p> + “A beard.” + </p> + <p> + “But what is under that beard?” + </p> + <p> + “A gôitre.” + </p> + <p> + “You are laughing at me.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am, as I shall at any one who challenges me to find out + anything so silly, and so unfit.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall go.” + </p> + <p> + “Go then.” For she knew very well that he would come back again. + </p> + <p> + “Nurse,” said Torfrida to the old Lapp woman, when they were alone, “find + out for me what is the name of this strange champion, and what he has + beneath his beard.” + </p> + <p> + “Beneath his beard?” + </p> + <p> + “Some scar, I suppose, or secret mark. I must know. You will find out for + your Torfrida, will you not, nurse?” + </p> + <p> + “I will make a charm that will bring him to you, were all the icebergs of + Quenland between you and him: and then you can see for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no! not yet, nurse!” and Torfrida smiled. “Only find me out that + one thing: that I must know.” + </p> + <p> + And yet why she wanted to know, she could not tell herself. + </p> + <p> + The old woman came back to her, ere she went to bed. + </p> + <p> + “I have found it out all, and more. I know where to get scarlet + toadstools, and I put the juice in his men’s ale: they are laughing and + roaring now, merry-mad every one of them.” + </p> + <p> + “But not he?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. He is with the Marquis. But in madness comes out truth; and that + long hook-nosed body-varlet of his has told us all.” + </p> + <p> + And she told Torfrida who Hereward was, and the secret mark. + </p> + <p> + “There is a cross upon his throat, beneath his chin, pricked in after + their English fashion.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida started. + </p> + <p> + “Then,—then the spell will not work upon him; the Holy Cross will + turn it off.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be a great Cross and a holy one that will turn off my charms,” + said the old hag, with a sneer, “whatever it may do against yours. But on + the back of his hand,—that will be a mark to know him by,—there + is pricked a bear,—a white bear that he slew.” And she told the + story of the fairy bear; which Torfrida duly stored up in her heart. + </p> + <p> + “So he has the Cross on his throat,” thought Torfrida to herself. “Well, + if it keep off my charm, it will keep off others, that is one comfort; and + one knows not what fairies or witches or evil creatures he may meet with + in the forests and the fens.” + </p> + <p> + The discovery of Hereward’s rank did not, doubtless, lessen Torfrida’s + fancy for him. She was ambitious enough, and proud enough of her own + lineage, to be full glad that her heart had strayed away—as it must + needs stray somewhere—to the son of the third greatest man in + England. As for his being an outlaw, that mattered little. He might be + inlawed, and rich and powerful, any day in those uncertain, topsy-turvy + times; and, for the present, his being a wolf’s head only made him the + more interesting to her. Women like to pity their lovers. Sometimes—may + all good beings reward them for it—they love merely because they + pity. And Torfrida found it pleasant to pity the insolent young coxcomb, + who certainly never dreamed of pitying himself. + </p> + <p> + When Hereward went home that night, he found the Abbey of St. Bertin in + horrible confusion. His men were grouped outside the gate, chattering like + monkeys; the porter and the monks, from inside, entreating them, vainly, + to come in and go to bed quietly. + </p> + <p> + But they would not. They vowed and swore that a great gulf had opened all + down the road, and that one step more would tumble them in headlong. They + manifested the most affectionate solicitude for the monks, warning them, + on their lives, not to step across the threshold, or they would be + swallowed (as Martin, who was the maddest of the lot, phrased it) with + Korah, Dathan, and Abiram. In vain Hereward stormed; assured them that the + supposed abyss was nothing but the gutter; proved the fact by kicking + Martin over it. The men determined to believe their own eyes, and after a + while fell asleep, in heaps, in the roadside, and lay there till morning, + when they woke, declaring, as did the monks, that they had been all + bewitched. They knew not—and happily the lower orders, both in + England and on the Continent, do not yet know—the potent virtues of + that strange fungus, with which Lapps and Samoiedes have, it is said, + practised wonders for centuries past. + </p> + <p> + The worst of the matter was, that Martin Lightfoot, who had drank most of + the poison, and had always been dreamy and uncanny, in spite of his + shrewdness and humor, had, from that day forward, something very like a + bee in his bonnet. + </p> + <p> + But before Count Robert and Hereward could collect sufficient troops for + the invasion of Holland, another chance of being slain in fight arose, too + tempting to be overlooked; namely, the annual tournament at Pont de + l’Arche above Rouen, where all the noblest knights of Normandy would + assemble, to win their honor and ladies’ love by hewing at each other’s + sinful bodies. Thither, too, the best knights of Flanders must needs go, + and with them Hereward. Though no knight, he was allowed in Flanders, as + he had been in Scotland, to take his place among that honorable company. + For, though he still refused the honor of knighthood, on the ground that + he had, as yet, done no deed deserving thereof, he was held to have + deserved it again and again, and all the more from his modesty in + declining it. + </p> + <p> + So away they all went to Pont de l’Arche, a right gallant meinie: and + Torfrida watched them go from the lattice window. + </p> + <p> + And when they had passed down the street, tramping and jingling and + caracoling, young Arnulf ran into the house with eyes full of tears, + because he was not allowed to go likewise; and with a message for + Torfrida, from no other than Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “I was to tell you this and no more: that if he meets your favor in the + field, he that wears it will have hard work to keep it.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida turned pale as ashes; first with wild delight, and then with wild + fear. + </p> + <p> + “Ha?—does he know who—Sir Ascelin?” + </p> + <p> + “He knows well enough. Why not? Every one knows. Are you afraid that he is + not a match for that great bullock?” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid? Who said I was afraid? Sir Ascelin is no bullock either; but a + courteous and gallant knight.” + </p> + <p> + “You are as pale as death, and so—” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind what I am,” said she, putting her hands over his eyes, and + kissing him again and again, as a vent for her joy. + </p> + <p> + The next few days seemed years for length: but she could wait. She was + sure of him now. She needed no charms. “Perhaps,” thought she, as she + looked in the glass, “I was my own charm.” And, indeed, she had every fair + right to say so. + </p> + <p> + At last news came. + </p> + <p> + She was sitting over her books; her mother, as usual, was praying in the + churches; when the old Lapp nurse came in. A knight was at the door. His + name, he said, was Siward the White, and he came from Hereward. + </p> + <p> + From Hereward! He was at least alive: he might be wounded, though; and she + rushed out of the chamber into the hall, looking never more beautiful; her + color heightened by the quick beating of her heart; her dark hair, worn + loose and long, after the fashion of those days, streaming around her and + behind her. + </p> + <p> + A handsome young man stood in the door-way, armed from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “You are Siward, Hereward’s nephew?” + </p> + <p> + He bowed assent. She took him by the hands, and, after the fashion of + those days, kissed him on the small space on either cheek, which was left + bare between the nose-piece and the chain-mail. + </p> + <p> + “You are welcome. Hereward is—is alive?” + </p> + <p> + “Alive and gay, and all the more gay at being able to send to the Lady + Torfrida by me something which was once hers, and now is hers once more.” + </p> + <p> + And he drew from his bosom the ribbon of the knight of St. Valeri. + </p> + <p> + She almost snatched it from his hand, in her delight at recovering her + favor. + </p> + <p> + “How—where—did he get this?” + </p> + <p> + “He saw it, in the thick of the tournament, on the helm of a knight who, + he knew, had vowed to maim him or take his life; and, wishing to give him + a chance of fulfilling his vow, rode him down, horse and man. The knight’s + Norman friends attacked us in force; and we Flemings, with Hereward at our + head, beat them off, and overthrew so many, that we are almost all horsed + at the Norman’s expense. Three more knights, with their horses, fell + before Hereward’s lance.” + </p> + <p> + “And what of this favor?” + </p> + <p> + “He sends it to its owner. Let her say what shall be done with it.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida was on the point of saying, “He has won it; let him wear it for + my sake.” But she paused. She longed to see Hereward face to face; to + speak to him, if but one word. If she allowed him to wear the favor, she + must at least have the pleasure of giving it with her own hands. And she + paused. + </p> + <p> + “And he is killed?” + </p> + <p> + “Who? Hereward?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Ascelin.” + </p> + <p> + “Only bruised; but he shall be killed, if you will.” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid!” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Siward, mistaking her meaning, “all I have to tell Hereward + is, it seems, that he has wasted his blow. He will return, therefore, to + the Knight of St. Valeri his horse, and, if the Lady Torfrida chooses, the + favor which he has taken by mistake from its rightful owner.” And he set + his teeth, and could not prevent stamping on the ground, in evident + passion. There was a tone, too, of deep disappointment in his voice, which + made Torfrida look keenly at him. Why should Hereward’s nephew feel so + deeply about that favor? And as she looked,—could that man be the + youth Siward? Young he was, but surely thirty years old at least. His face + could hardly be seen, hidden by helmet and nose-piece above, and mailed up + to the mouth below. But his long mustache was that of a grown man; his + vast breadth of shoulder, his hard hand, his sturdy limbs,—these + surely belonged not to the slim youth whom she had seen from her lattice + riding at Hereward’s side. And, as she looked, she saw upon his hand the + bear of which her nurse had told her. + </p> + <p> + “You are deceiving me!” and she turned first deadly pale, and then + crimson. “You—you are Hereward himself!” + </p> + <p> + “I? Pardon me, my lady. Ten minutes ago I should have been glad enough to + have been Hereward. Now, I am thankful enough that I am only Siward; and + not Hereward, who wins for himself contempt by overthrowing a knight more + fortunate than he.” And he bowed, and turned away to go. + </p> + <p> + “Hereward! Hereward!” and, in her passion, she seized him by both his + hands. “I know you! I know that device upon your hand. At last! at last my + hero,—my idol! How I have longed for this moment! How I have toiled + for it, and not in vain! Good heavens! what am I saying?” And she tried, + in her turn, to escape from Hereward’s mailed arms. + </p> + <p> + “Then you do not care for that man?” + </p> + <p> + “For him? Here! take my favor, wear it before all the world, and guard it + as you only can; and let them all know that Torfrida is your love.” + </p> + <p> + And with hands trembling with passion, she bound the ribbon round his + helm. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! I am Hereward,” he almost shouted; “the Berserker, the brain-hewer, + the land-thief, the sea-thief, the feeder of wolf and raven,—Aoi! + Ere my beard was grown, I was a match for giants. How much more now, that + I am a man whom ladies love? Many a champion has quailed before my very + glance. How much more, now that I wear Torfrida’s gift? Aoi!” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida had often heard that wild battle-cry of Aoi! of which the early + minstrels were so fond,—with which the great poet who wrote the + “Song of Roland” ends every paragraph; which has now fallen (displaced by + our modern Hurrah), to be merely a sailor’s call or hunter’s cry. But she + shuddered as she heard it close to her ears, and saw, from the flashing + eye and dilated nostril, the temper of the man on whom she had thrown + herself so utterly. She laid her hand upon his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Silence! silence for pity’s sake. Remember that you are in a maiden’s + house; and think of her good fame.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward collected himself instantly, and then holding her at arm’s + length, gazed upon her. “I was mad a moment. But is it not enough to make + me mad to look at you?” + </p> + <p> + “Do not look at me so, I cannot bear it,” said she, hanging down her head. + “You forget that I am a poor weak girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! we are rough wooers, we sea-rovers. We cannot pay glozing French + compliments like your knights here, who fawn on a damsel with soft words + in the hall, and will kiss the dust off their queen’s feet, and die for a + hair of their goddess’s eyebrow; and then if they catch her in the forest, + show themselves as very ruffians as if they were Paynim Moors. We are + rough, lady, we English: but those who trust us, find us true.” + </p> + <p> + “And I can trust you?” she asked, still trembling. + </p> + <p> + “On God’s cross there round your neck,” and he took her crucifix and + kissed it. “You only I love, you only I will love, and you will I love in + all honesty, before the angels of heaven, till we be wedded man and wife. + Who but a fool would soil the flower which he means to wear before all the + world?” + </p> + <p> + “I knew Hereward was noble! I knew I had not trusted him in vain!” + </p> + <p> + “I kept faith and honor with the Princess of Cornwall, when I had her at + my will, and shall I not keep faith and honor with you?” + </p> + <p> + “The Princess of Cornwall?” asked Torfrida. + </p> + <p> + “Do not be jealous, fair queen. I brought her safe to her betrothed; and + wedded she is, long ago. I will tell you that story some day. And now—I + must go.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet! not yet! I have something to—to show you.” + </p> + <p> + She motioned him to go up the narrow stairs, or rather ladder, which led + to the upper floor, and then led him into her chamber. + </p> + <p> + A lady’s chamber was then, in days when privacy was little cared for, her + usual reception room; and the bed, which stood in an alcove, was the + common seat of her and her guests. But Torfrida did not ask him to sit + down. She led the way onward towards a door beyond. + </p> + <p> + Hereward followed, glancing with awe at the books, parchments, and strange + instruments which lay on the table and the floor. + </p> + <p> + The old Lapp nurse sat in the window, sewing busily. She looked up, and + smiled meaningly. But as she saw Torfrida unlock the further door with one + of the keys which hung at her girdle, she croaked out,— + </p> + <p> + “Too fast! Too fast! Trust lightly, and repent heavily.” + </p> + <p> + “Trust once and for all, or never trust at all,” said Torfrida, as she + opened the door. + </p> + <p> + Hereward saw within rich dresses hung on perches round the wall, and + chests barred and padlocked. + </p> + <p> + “These are treasures,” said she, “which many a knight and nobleman has + coveted. By cunning, by flattery, by threats of force even, have they + tried to win what lies here,—and Torfrida herself, too, for the sake + of her wealth. But thanks to the Abbot my uncle, Torfrida is still her own + mistress, and mistress of the wealth which her forefathers won by sea and + land far away in the East. All here is mine,—and if you be but true + to me, all mine is yours. Lift the lid for me, it is too heavy for my + arms.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward did so; and saw within golden cups and bracelets, horns of ivory + and silver, bags of coin, and among them a mail shirt and helmet, on which + he fixed at once silent and greedy eyes. + </p> + <p> + She looked at his face askance, and smiled. “Yes, these are more to + Hereward’s taste than gold and jewels. And he shall have them. He shall + have them as a proof that if Torfrida has set her love upon a worthy + knight, she is at least worthy of him; and does not demand, without being + able to give in return.” + </p> + <p> + And she took out the armor, and held it up to him. + </p> + <p> + “This is the work of dwarfs or enchanters! This was not forged by mortal + man! It must have come out of some old cavern, or dragon’s hoard!” said + Hereward, in astonishment at the extreme delicacy and slightness of the + mail-rings, and the richness of the gold and silver with which both + hauberk and helm were inlaid. + </p> + <p> + “Enchanted it is, they say; but its maker, who can tell? My ancestor won + it, and by the side of Charles Martel. Listen, and I will tell you how. + </p> + <p> + “You have heard of fair Provence, where I spent my youth; the land of the + sunny south; the land of the fig and the olive, the mulberry and the rose, + the tulip and the anemone, and all rich fruits and fair flowers,—the + land where every city is piled with temples and theatres and towers as + high as heaven, which the old Romans built with their enchantments, and + tormented the blessed martyrs therein.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens, how beautiful you are!” cried Hereward, as her voice shaped + itself into a song, and her eyes flashed, at the remembrance of her + southern home. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida was not altogether angry at finding that he was thinking of her, + and not of her words. + </p> + <p> + “Peace, and listen. You know how the Paynim held that land,—the + Saracens, to whom Mahound taught all the wisdom of Solomon,—as they + teach us in turn,” she added in a lower voice. + </p> + <p> + “And how Charles and his Paladins,” [Charles Martel and Charlemagne were + perpetually confounded in the legends of the time] “drove them out, and + conquered the country again for God and his mother.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard—” but he did not take his eyes off her face. + </p> + <p> + “They were in the theatre at Arles, the Saracens, where the blessed martyr + St. Trophimus had died in torments; they had set up there their idol of + Mahound, and turned the place into a fortress. Charles burnt it over their + heads: you see—I have seen—the blackened walls, the + blood-stained marbles, to this day. Then they fled into the plain, and + there they turned and fought. Under Montmajeur, by the hermit’s cell, they + fought a summer’s day, till they were all slain. There was an Emir among + them, black as a raven, clad in magic armor. All lances turned from it, + all swords shivered on it. He rode through the press without a wound, + while every stroke of his scymitar shore off a head of horse or man. + Charles himself rode at him, and smote him with his hammer. They heard the + blow in Avignon, full thirty miles away. The flame flashed out from the + magic armor a fathom’s length, blinding all around; and when they + recovered their sight, the enchanter was far away in the battle, killing + as he went. + </p> + <p> + “Then Charles cried, ‘Who will stop that devil, whom no steel can wound? + Help us, O blessed martyr St. Trophimus, and save the soldiers of the + Cross from shame!’ + </p> + <p> + “Then cried Torfrid, my forefather, ‘What use in crying to St. Trophimus? + He could not help himself, when the Paynim burnt him: and how can he help + us? A tough arm is worth a score of martyrs here.’ + </p> + <p> + “And he rode at that Emir, and gript him in his arms. They both fell, and + rolled together on the ground; but Torfrid never loosed his hold till he + had crushed out his unbaptized soul and sent it to join Mahound in hell. + </p> + <p> + “Then he took his armor, and brought it home in triumph. But after a while + he fell sick of a fever; and the blessed St. Trophimus appeared to him, + and told him that it was a punishment for his blasphemy in the battle. So + he repented, and vowed to serve the saint all his life. On which he was + healed instantly, and fell to religion, and went back to Montmajeur; and + there he was a hermit in the cave under the rock, and tended the graves + hewn in the living stone, where his old comrades, the Paladins who were + slain, sleep side by side round the church of the Holy Cross. But the + armor he left here; and he laid a curse upon it, that whosoever of his + descendants should lose that armor in fight, should die childless, without + a son to wield a sword. And therefore it is that none of his ancestors, + valiant as they have been, have dared to put this harness on their backs.” + </p> + <p> + And so ended a story, which Torfrida believed utterly, and Hereward + likewise. + </p> + <p> + “And now, Hereward mine, dare you wear that magic armor, and face old + Torfrid’s curse?” + </p> + <p> + “What dare I not?” + </p> + <p> + “Think. If you lose it, in you your race must end.” + </p> + <p> + “Let it end. I accept the curse.” + </p> + <p> + And he put the armor on. + </p> + <p> + But he trembled as he did it. Atheism and superstition go too often hand + in hand; and godless as he was, sceptical of Providence itself, and much + more of the help of saint or angel, still the curse of the old warrior, + like the malice of a witch or a demon, was to him a thing possible, + probable, and formidable. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him in pride and exultation. + </p> + <p> + “It is yours,—the invulnerable harness! Wear it in the forefront of + the battle! And if weapon wound you through it, may I, as punishment for + my lie, suffer the same upon my tender body,—a wound for every wound + of yours, my knight!” [Footnote: “Volo enim in meo tale quid nunc perpeti + corpore semel, quicquid eas ferrei vel e metallo excederet.”] + </p> + <p> + And after that they sat side by side, and talked of love with all honor + and honesty, never heeding the old hag, who crooned to herself in her + barbarian tongue,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Quick thaw, long frost, + Quick joy, long pain, + Soon found, soon lost, + You will take your gift again.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. — HOW THE HOLLANDERS TOOK HEREWARD FOR A MAGICIAN. + </h2> + <p> + Of this weary Holland war which dragged itself on, campaign after + campaign, for several years, what need to tell? There was, doubtless, the + due amount of murder, plunder, burning, and worse; and the final event was + certain from the beginning. It was a struggle between civilized and + disciplined men, armed to the teeth, well furnished with ships and + military engines, against poor simple folk in “felt coats stiffened with + tar or turpentine, or in very short jackets of hide,” says the chronicler, + “who fought by threes, two with a crooked lance and three darts each, and + between them a man with a sword or an axe, who held his shield before + those two;—a very great multitude, but in composition utterly + undisciplined,” who came down to the sea-coast, with carts and wagons, to + carry off the spoils of the Flemings, and bade them all surrender at + discretion, and go home again after giving up Count Robert and Hereward, + with the “tribunes of the brigades,” to be put to death, as valiant South + Sea islanders might have done; and then found themselves as sheep to the + slaughter before the cunning Hereward, whom they esteemed a magician on + account of his craft and his invulnerable armor. + </p> + <p> + So at least says Leofric’s paraphrast, who tells long, confused stories of + battles and campaigns, some of them without due regard to chronology; for + it is certain that the brave Frisians could not on Robert’s first landing + have “feared lest they should be conquered by foreigners, as they had + heard the English were by the French,” because that event had not then + happened. + </p> + <p> + And so much for the war among the Meres of Scheldt. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. — HOW HEREWARD TURNED BERSERK. + </h2> + <p> + Torfrida’s heart misgave her that first night as to the effects of her + exceeding frankness. Her pride in the first place was somewhat wounded; + she had dreamed of a knight who would worship her as his queen, hang on + her smile, die at her frown; and she had meant to bring Hereward to her + feet as such a slave, in boundless gratitude; but had he not rather held + his own, and brought her to his feet, by assuming her devotion as his + right? And if he assumed that, how far could she trust him not to abuse + his claim? Was he quite as perfect, seen close, as seen afar off? And now + that the intoxication of that meeting had passed off, she began to + remember more than one little fault which she would have gladly seen + mended. Certain roughnesses of manner which contrasted unfavorably with + the polish (merely external though it was) of the Flemish and Norman + knights; a boastful self-sufficiency, too, which bordered on the ludicrous + at whiles even in her partial eyes; which would be a matter of open + laughter to the knights of the Court. Besides, if they laughed at him, + they would laugh at her for choosing him. And then wounded vanity came in + to help wounded pride; and she sat over the cold embers till almost dawn + of day, her head between her hands, musing sadly, and half wishing that + the irrevocable yesterday had never come. + </p> + <p> + But when, after a few months, Hereward returned from his first campaign in + Holland, covered with glory and renown, all smiles, and beauty, and + health, and good-humor, and gratitude for the magic armor which had + preserved him unhurt, then Torfrida forgot all her fears, and thought + herself the happiest maid alive for four-and-twenty hours at least. + </p> + <p> + And then came back, and after that again and again, the old fears. + Gradually she found out that the sneers which she had heard at English + barbarians were not altogether without ground. + </p> + <p> + Not only had her lover’s life been passed among half-brutal and wild + adventurers; but, like the rest of his nation, he had never felt the + influence of that classic civilization without which good manners seem, + even to this day, almost beyond the reach of the white man. Those among + whom she had been brought up, whether soldiers or clerks, were probably no + nobler or purer at heart—she would gladly have believed them far + less so—than Hereward; but the merest varnish of Roman civilization + had given a charm to their manners, a wideness of range to their thoughts, + which Hereward had not. + </p> + <p> + Especially when he had taken too much to drink,—which he did, after + the Danish fashion, far oftener than the rest of Baldwin’s men,—he + grew rude, boastful, quarrelsome. He would chant his own doughty deeds, + and “gab,” as the Norman word was, in painful earnest, while they gabbed + only in sport, and outvied each other in impossible fanfaronades, simply + to laugh down a fashion which was held inconsistent with the modesty of a + true knight. Bitter it was to her to hear him announcing to the company, + not for the first or second time, how he had slain the Cornish giant, + whose height increased by a foot at least every time he was mentioned; and + then to hear him answered by some smart, smooth-shaven youth, who, with as + much mimicry of his manner as he dared to assume, boasted of having slain + in Araby a giant with two heads, and taken out of his two mouths the two + halves of the princess whom he was devouring, which being joined together + afterwards by the prayers of a holy hermit, were delivered back safe and + sound to her father the King of Antioch. And more bitter still, to hear + Hereward angrily dispute the story, unaware (at least at first) that he + was being laughed at. + </p> + <p> + Then she grew sometimes cold, sometimes contemptuous, sometimes altogether + fierce; and shed bitter tears in secret, when she was complimented on the + modesty of her young savage. + </p> + <p> + But she was a brave maiden; and what was more, she loved him with all her + heart. Else why endure bitter words for his sake? And she set herself to + teach and train the wild outlaw into her ideal of a very perfect knight. + </p> + <p> + She talked to him of modesty and humility, the root of all virtues; of + chivalry and self-sacrifice; of respect to the weak, and mercy to the + fallen; of devotion to God, and awe of His commandments. She set before + him the example of ancient heroes and philosophers, of saints and martyrs; + and as much awed him by her learning as by the new world of higher and + purer morality which was opened for the first time to the wandering + Viking. + </p> + <p> + And he drank it all in. Taught by a woman who loved him, he could listen + to humiliating truths, which he would have sneered at, had they come from + the lips of a hermit or a priest. Often he rebelled; often he broke loose, + and made her angry, and himself ashamed: but the spell was on him,—a + far surer, as well as purer spell than any love-potion of which foolish + Torfrida had ever dreamed,—the only spell which can really civilize + man,—that of woman’s tact and woman’s purity. + </p> + <p> + But there were relapses, as was natural. The wine at Robert the Frison’s + table was often too good; and then Hereward’s tongue was loosed, and + Torfrida justly indignant. And one evening there came a very serious + relapse, and out of which arose a strange adventure. + </p> + <p> + For one day the Great Marquis sent for his son to Bruges, ere he set out + for another campaign in Holland; and made him a great feast, to which he + invited Torfrida and her mother. For Adela of France, the Queen Countess, + had heard so much of Torfrida’s beauty, that she must needs have her as + one of her bower-maidens; and her mother, who was an old friend of + Adela’s, of course was highly honored by such a promotion for her + daughter. + </p> + <p> + So they went to Bruges, and Hereward and his men went of course; and they + feasted and harped and sang; and the saying was fulfilled,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Tis merry in the hall + When beards wag all.” + </pre> + <p> + But the only beard which wagged in that hall was Hereward’s; for the + Flemings, like the Normans, prided themselves on their civilized and + smooth-shaven chins, and laughed (behind his back) at Hereward, who prided + himself on keeping his beautiful English beard, with locks of gold which, + like his long golden hair, were combed and curled daily, after the fashion + of the Anglo-Danes. + </p> + <p> + But Hereward’s beard began to wag somewhat too fast, as he sat by + Torfrida’s side, when some knight near began to tell of a wonderful mare, + called Swallow, which was to be found in one of the islands of the + Scheldt, and was famous through all the country round; insinuating, + moreover, that Hereward might as well have brought that mare home with him + as a trophy. + </p> + <p> + Hereward answered, in his boasting vein, that he would bring home that + mare, or aught else that he had a liking to. + </p> + <p> + “You will find it not so easy. Her owner, they say, is a mighty strong + churl of a horse-breeder, Dirk Hammerhand by name; and as for cutting his + throat, that you must not do; for he has been loyal to Countess Gertrude, + and sent her horses whenever she needed.” + </p> + <p> + “One may pick a fair quarrel with him nevertheless.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you must bide such a buffet as you never abode before. They say his + arm has seven men’s strength; and whosoever visits him, he challenges to + give and take a blow; but every man that has taken a blow as yet has never + needed another.” + </p> + <p> + “Hereward will have need of his magic head-piece, if he tries that + adventure,” quoth another. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” retorted the first speaker; “but the helmet may stand the rap well + enough, and yet the brains inside be the worse.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a doubt. I knew a man once, who was so strong, that he would shake a + nut till the kernel went to powder, and yet never break the shell.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a lie!” quoth Hereward. And so it was, and told purposely to make + him expose himself. + </p> + <p> + Whereon high words followed, which Torfrida tried in vain to stop. + Hereward was flushed with ire and scorn. + </p> + <p> + “Magic armor, forsooth!” cried he at last. “What care I for armor or for + magic? I will wager to you”—“my armor,” he was on the point of + saying, but he checked himself in time—“any horse in my stable, that + I go in my shirt to Scaldmariland, and bring back that mare + single-handed.” + </p> + <p> + “Hark to the Englishman. He has turned Berserk at last, like his + forefathers. You will surely start in a pair of hose as well, or the + ladies will be shamed.” + </p> + <p> + And so forth, till Torfrida was purple with shame, and wished herself + fathoms deep; and Adela of France called sternly from the head of the + table to ask what the wrangling meant. + </p> + <p> + “It is only the English Berserker, the Lady Torfrida’s champion,” said + some one, in his most courteous tone, “who is not yet as well acquainted + with the customs of knighthood as that fair lady hopes to make him + hereafter.” + </p> + <p> + “Torfrida’s champion?” asked Adela, in a tone of surprise, if not scorn. + </p> + <p> + “If any knight quarrels with my Hereward, he quarrels with Robert + himself!” thundered Count Robert. “Silence!” + </p> + <p> + And so the matter was hushed up. + </p> + <p> + The banquet ended; and they walked out into the garden to cool their + heads, and play at games, and dance. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida avoided Hereward: but he, with the foolish pertinacity of a man + who knows he has had too much wine, and yet pretends to himself that he + has not, would follow her, and speak to her. + </p> + <p> + She turned away more than once. At last she was forced to speak to him. + </p> + <p> + “So! You have made me a laughing-stock to these knights. You have scorned + at my gifts. You have said—and before these men, too—that you + need neither helm nor hauberk. Give me them back, then, Berserker as you + are, and go sleep off your wine.” + </p> + <p> + “That will I,” laughed Hereward boisterously. + </p> + <p> + “You are tipsy,” said she, “and do not know what you say.” + </p> + <p> + “You are angry, and do not know what you say. Hearken, proud lass. I will + take care of one thing, and that is, that you shall speak the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I not say that you were tipsy?” + </p> + <p> + “Pish! You said that I was a Berserker. And truth you shall speak; for + baresark I go to-morrow to the war, and baresark I win that mare or die.” + </p> + <p> + “That will be very fit for you.” + </p> + <p> + And the two turned haughtily from each other. + </p> + <p> + Ere Torfrida went to bed that night, there was a violent knocking. Angry + as she was, she was yet anxious enough to hurry out of her chamber, and + open the door herself. + </p> + <p> + Martin Lightfoot stood there with a large leather case, which he flung at + her feet somewhat unceremoniously. + </p> + <p> + “There is some gear of yours,” said he, as it clanged and rattled on the + floor. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, man?” + </p> + <p> + “Only that my master bid me say that he cares as little for his own life + as you do.” And he turned away. + </p> + <p> + She caught him by the arm:— + </p> + <p> + “What is the meaning of this? What is in this mail?” + </p> + <p> + “You should know best. If young folks cannot be content when they are well + off, they will go farther and fare worse,” says Martin Lightfoot. And he + slipt from her grasp and fled into the night. + </p> + <p> + She took the mail to her room and opened it. It contained the magic armor. + </p> + <p> + All her anger was melted away. She cried; she blamed herself. He would be + killed; his blood would be on her head. She would have carried it back to + him with her own hands; she would have entreated him on her knees to take + it back. But how face the courtiers? and how find him? Very probably, too, + he was by that time hopelessly drunk. And at that thought she drew herself + into herself, and trying to harden her heart again, went to bed, but not + to sleep; and bitterly she cried as she thought over the old hag’s croon:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Quick joy, long pain, + You will take your gift again.” + </pre> + <p> + It might have been five o’clock the next morning when the clarion rang + down the street. She sprang up and drest herself quickly; but never more + carefully or gayly. She heard the tramp of horse-hoofs. He was moving + a-field early, indeed. Should she go to the window to bid him farewell? + Should she hide herself in just anger? + </p> + <p> + She looked out stealthily through the blind of the little window in the + gable. There rode down the street Robert le Frison in full armor, and + behind him, knight after knight, a wall of shining steel. But by his side + rode one bare-headed, his long yellow curls floating over his shoulders. + His boots had golden spurs, a gilt belt held up his sword; but his only + dress was a silk shirt and silk hose. He laughed and sang, and made his + horse caracol, and tossed his lance in the air, and caught it by the + point, like Taillefer at Hastings, as he passed under the window. + </p> + <p> + She threw open the blind, careless of all appearances. She would have + called to him: but the words choked her; and what should she say? + </p> + <p> + He looked up boldly, and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, fair lady mine. Drunk I was last night: but not so drunk as to + forget a promise.” + </p> + <p> + And he rode on, while Torfrida rushed away and broke into wild weeping. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. — HOW HEREWARD WON MARE SWALLOW. + </h2> + <p> + On a bench at the door of his high-roofed wooden house sat Dirk + Hammerhand, the richest man in Walcheren. From within the house sounded + the pleasant noise of slave-women, grinding and chatting at the handquern; + from without, the pleasant noise of geese and fowls without number. And as + he sat and drank his ale, and watched the herd of horses in the fen, he + thought himself a happy man, and thanked his Odin and Thor that owing to + his princely supplies of horses to Countess Gertrude, Robert the Frison + and his Christian Franks had not harried him to the bare walls, as they + would probably do ere all was over. + </p> + <p> + As he looked at the horses, some half-mile off, he saw a strange stir + among them. They began whinnying and pawing round a four-footed thing in + the midst, which might be a badger, or a wolf,—though both were very + uncommon in that pleasant isle of Walcheren; but which plainly had no + business there. Whereon he took up a mighty staff, and strode over the fen + to see. + </p> + <p> + He found neither wolf nor badger; but to his exceeding surprise, a long + lean man, clothed in ragged horse-skins, whinnying and neighing exactly + like a horse, and then stooping to eat grass like one. He advanced to do + the first thing which came into his head, namely to break the man’s back + with his staff, and ask him afterwards who he might be. But ere he could + strike, the man or horse kicked up with his hind legs in his face, and + then springing on to the said hind legs ran away with extraordinary + swiftness some fifty yards; and then went down on all-fours and began + grazing again. + </p> + <p> + “Beest thou man or devil?” cried Dirk, somewhat frightened. + </p> + <p> + The thing looked up. The face at least was human. + </p> + <p> + “Art thou a Christian man?” asked it in bad Frisian, intermixed with + snorts and neighs. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that to thee?” growled Dirk; and began to wish a little that he + was one, having heard that the sign of the cross was of great virtue in + driving away fiends. + </p> + <p> + “Thou art not Christian. Thou believest in Thor and Odin? Then there is + hope.” + </p> + <p> + “Hope of what?” Dirk was growing more and more frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Of her, my sister! Ah, my sister, can it be that I shall find thee at + last, after ten thousand miles, and thirty years of woeful wandering?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no man’s sister here. At least, my wife’s brother was killed—” + </p> + <p> + “I speak not of a sister in a woman’s shape. Mine, alas!—O woeful + prince, O more woeful princess!—eats the herb of the field somewhere + in the shape of a mare, as ugly as she was once beautiful, but swifter + than the swallow on the wing.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve none such here,” quoth Dirk, thoroughly frightened, and glancing + uneasily at mare Swallow. + </p> + <p> + “You have not? Alas, wretched me! It was prophesied to me, by the witch, + that I should find her in the field of one who worshipped the old gods; + for had she come across a holy priest, she had been a woman again, long + ago. Whither must I wander afresh!” And the thing began weeping bitterly, + and then ate more grass. + </p> + <p> + “I—that is—thou poor miserable creature,” said Dirk, half + pitying, half wishing to turn the subject, “leave off making a beast of + thyself awhile, and tell me who thou art.” + </p> + <p> + “I have made no beast of myself, most noble Earl of the Frisians, for so + you doubtless are. I was made a beast of,—a horse of, by an + enchanter of a certain land, and my sister a mare.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou dost not say so!” quoth Dirk, who considered such an event quite + possible. + </p> + <p> + “I was a prince of the county of Alboronia, which lies between Cathay and + the Mountains of the Moon, as fair once as I am foul now, and only less + fair than my lost sister; and, by the enchantments of a cruel magician, we + became what we are.” + </p> + <p> + “But thou art not a horse, at all events?” + </p> + <p> + “Am I not? Thou knowest, then, more of me than I do of myself,”—and + it ate more grass. “But hear the rest of my story. My hapless sister was + sold away, with me, to a merchant; but I, breaking loose from him, fled + until I bathed in a magic fountain. At once I recovered my man’s shape, + and was rejoicing therein, when out of the fountain rose a fairy more + beautiful than an elf, and smiled upon me with love. + </p> + <p> + “She asked me my story, and I told it. And when it was told, ‘Wretch!’ she + cried, ‘and coward, who hast deserted thy sister in her need. I would have + loved thee, and made thee immortal as myself; but now thou shalt wander, + ugly, and eating grass, clothed in the horse-hide which has just dropped + from thy limbs, till thou shalt find thy sister, and bring her to bathe, + like thee, in this magic well.’” + </p> + <p> + “All good spirits help us! And you are really a prince?” + </p> + <p> + “As surely,” cried the thing, with a voice of sudden rapture, “as that + mare is my sister”; and he rushed at mare Swallow. “I see, I see, my + mother’s eyes, my father’s nose—” + </p> + <p> + “He must have been a chuckle-headed king that, then,” grinned Dirk to + himself. “The mare’s nose is as big as a buck-basket. But how can she be a + princess, man,—prince, I mean? she has a foal running by her here.” + </p> + <p> + “A foal?” said the thing, solemnly. “Let me behold it. Alas, alas, my + sister! Thy tyrant’s threat has come true, that thou shouldst be his bride + whether thou wouldst or not. I see, I see in the features of thy son his + hated lineaments.” + </p> + <p> + “Why he must be as like a horse, then, as your father. But this will not + do, Master Horse-man; I know that foal’s pedigree better than I do my + own.” + </p> + <p> + “Man, man, simple, though honest! Hast thou never heard of the skill of + the enchanter of the East? How they transform their victims at night back + again into human shape, and by day into the shape of beasts again?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—well—I know that—” + </p> + <p> + “And do you not see how you are deluded? Every night, doubt not, that mare + and foal take their human shape again; and every night, perhaps, that foul + enchanter visits in your fen, perhaps in your very stable, his wretched + and perhaps unwilling bride.” + </p> + <p> + “An enchanter in my stable? That is an ugly guest. But no. I’ve been into + the stables fifty times, to see if that mare was safe. Mare was mare, and + colt was colt, Mr. Prince, if I have eyes to see.” + </p> + <p> + “And what are eyes against enchantments? The moment you opened the door, + the spell was cast over them again. You ought to thank your stars that no + worse has happened yet; that the enchanter, in fleeing, has not wrung your + neck as he went out, or cast a spell on you, which will fire your barns, + lame your geese, give your fowls the pip, your horses the glanders, your + cattle the murrain, your children the St. Vitus’ dance, your wife the + creeping palsy, and yourself the chalk-stones in all your fingers.” + </p> + <p> + “The Lord have mercy on me! If the half of this be true, I will turn + Christian. I will send for a priest, and be baptized to-morrow!” + </p> + <p> + “O my sister, my sister! Dost thou not know me? Dost thou answer my + caresses with kicks? Or is thy heart, as well as thy body, so enchained by + that cruel necromancer, that thou preferest to be his, and scornest thine + own salvation, leaving me to eat grass till I die?” + </p> + <p> + “I say, Prince,—I say,—What would you have a man to do? I + bought the mare honestly, and I have kept her well. She can’t say aught + against me on that score. And whether she be princess or not, I’m loath to + part with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Keep her then, and keep with her the curse of all the saints and angels. + Look down, ye holy saints” (and the thing poured out a long string of + saints’ names), “and avenge this catholic princess, kept in bestial + durance by an unbaptized heathen! May his—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t! don’t!” roared Dirk. “And don’t look at me like that” (for he + feared the evil eye), “or I’ll brain you with my staff!” + </p> + <p> + “Fool, if I have lost a horse’s figure, I have not lost his swiftness. Ere + thou couldst strike, I should have run a mile and back, to curse thee + afresh.” And the thing ran round him, and fell on all-fours again, and ate + grass. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy, mercy! And that is more than I ever asked yet of man. But it is + hard,” growled he, “that a man should lose his money, because a rogue + sells him a princess in disguise.” + </p> + <p> + “Then sell her again; sell her, as thou valuest thy life, to the first + Christian man thou meetest. And yet no. What matters? Ere a month be over, + the seven years’ enchantment will have passed, and she will return to her + own shape, with her son, and vanish from thy farm, leaving thee to vain + repentance, and so thou wilt both lose thy money and get her curse. + Farewell, and my malison abide with thee!” + </p> + <p> + And the thing, without another word, ran right away, neighing as it went, + leaving Dirk in a state of abject terror. + </p> + <p> + He went home. He cursed the mare, he cursed the man who sold her, he + cursed the day he saw her, he cursed the day he was born. He told his + story with exaggerations and confusions in plenty to all in the house; and + terror fell on them likewise. No one, that evening, dare go down into the + fen to drive the horses up; and Dirk got very drunk, went to bed, and + trembled there all night (as did the rest of the household), expecting the + enchanter to enter on a flaming fire-drake, at every howl of the wind. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, as Dirk was going about his business with a doleful + face, casting stealthy glances at the fen, to see if the mysterious mare + was still there, and a chance of his money still left, a man rode up to + the door. + </p> + <p> + He was poorly clothed, with a long rusty sword by his side. A broad felt + hat, long boots, and a haversack behind his saddle, showed him to be a + traveller, seemingly a horse-dealer; for there followed him, tied head and + tail, a brace of sorry nags. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven save all here,” quoth he, making the sign of the cross. “Can any + good Christian give me a drink of milk?” + </p> + <p> + “Ale, if thou wilt,” said Dirk. “But what art thou, and whence?” + </p> + <p> + On any other day, he would have tried to coax his guest into trying a + buffet with him for his horse and clothes; but this morning his heart was + heavy with the thought of the enchanted mare, and he welcomed the chance + of selling her to the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “We are not very fond of strangers about here, since these Flemings have + been harrying our borders. If thou art a spy, it will be worse for thee.” + </p> + <p> + “I am neither spy nor Fleming; but a poor servant of the Lord Bishop of + Utrecht’s, buying a garron or two for his lordship’s priests. As for these + Flemings, may St. John Baptist save from them both me and you. Do you know + of any man who has horses to sell hereabouts?” + </p> + <p> + “There are horses in the fen yonder,” quoth Dirk, who knew that churchmen + were likely to give a liberal price, and pay in good silver. + </p> + <p> + “I saw them as I rode up. And a fine lot they are; but of too good a stamp + for my short purse, or for my holy master’s riding,—a fat priest + likes a quiet nag, my master.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph. Well, if quietness is what you need, there is a mare down there, a + child might ride her with a thread of wool. But as for price,—and + she has a colt, too, running by her.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah?” quoth the horseman. “Well, your Walcheren folk make good milk, + that’s certain. A colt by her? That’s awkward. My Lord does not like young + horses; and it would be troublesome, too, to take the thing along with + me.” + </p> + <p> + The less anxious the dealer seemed to buy, the more anxious grew Dirk to + sell; but he concealed his anxiety, and let the stranger turn away, + thanking him for his drink. + </p> + <p> + “I say!” he called after him. “You might look at her as you ride past the + herd.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger assented, and they went down into the fen, and looked over + the precious mare, whose feats were afterwards sung by many an English + fireside, or in the forest, beneath the hollins green, by such as Robin + Hood and his merry men. The ugliest, as well as the swiftest, of mares, + she was, say the old chroniclers; and it was not till the stranger had + looked twice at her, that he forgot her great chuckle head, + greyhound-flanks, and drooping hind-quarters, and began to see the great + length of those same quarters,—the thighs let down into the hocks, + the arched loin, the extraordinary girth through the saddle, the sloping + shoulder, the long arms, the flat knees, the large, well-set hoofs, and + all the other points which showed her strength and speed, and justified + her fame. + </p> + <p> + “She might carry a big man like you through the mud,” said he, carelessly, + “but as for pace, one cannot expect that with such a chuckle head. And if + one rode her through a town, the boys would call after one, ‘All head and + no tail.’ Why, I can’t see her tail for her quarters, it is so ill set + on.” + </p> + <p> + “Ill set on, or none,” said Dirk, testily; “don’t go to speak against her + pace till you have seen it. Here, lass!” + </p> + <p> + Dirk was, in his heart, rather afraid of the princess; but he was + comforted when she came up to him like a dog. + </p> + <p> + “She’s as sensible as a woman,” said he; and then grumbled to himself, + “may be she knows I mean to part with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Lend me your saddle,” said he to the stranger. + </p> + <p> + The stranger did so; and Dirk mounting galloped her in a ring. There was + no doubt of her powers, as soon as she began to move. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you won’t remember this against me, madam,” said Dirk, as soon as + he got out of the stranger’s hearing. “I can’t do less than sell you to a + Christian. And certainly I have been as good a master to you as if I’d + known who you were; but if you wish to stay with me you’ve only to kick me + off, and say so, and I’m yours to command.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she can gallop a bit,” said the stranger, as Dirk pulled her up and + dismounted; “but an ugly brute she is nevertheless, and such a one as I + should not care to ride, for I am a gay man among the ladies. However, + what is your price?” + </p> + <p> + Dirk named twice as much as he would have taken. + </p> + <p> + “Half that, you mean.” And the usual haggle began. + </p> + <p> + “Tell thee what,” said Dirk at last, “I am a man who has his fancies; and + this shall be her price; half thy bid, and a box on the ear.” + </p> + <p> + The demon of covetousness had entered Dirk’s heart. What if he got the + money, brained or at least disabled the stranger, and so had a chance of + selling the mare a second time to some fresh comer? + </p> + <p> + “Thou art a strange fellow,” quoth the horse-dealer. “But so be it.” + </p> + <p> + Dirk chuckled. “He does not know,” thought he, “that he has to do with + Dirk Hammerhand,” and he clenched his fist in anticipation of his rough + joke. + </p> + <p> + “There,” quoth the stranger, counting out the money carefully, “is thy + coin. And there—is thy box on the ear.” + </p> + <p> + And with a blow which rattled over the fen, he felled Dirk Hammerhand to + the ground. + </p> + <p> + He lay senseless for a moment, and then looked wildly round. His jaw was + broken. + </p> + <p> + “Villain!” groaned he. “It was I who was to give the buffet, not thou!” + </p> + <p> + “Art mad?” asked the stranger, as he coolly picked up the coins, which + Dirk had scattered in his fall. “It is the seller’s business to take, and + the buyer’s to give.” + </p> + <p> + And while Dirk roared for help in vain he leapt on mare Swallow and rode + off shouting, + </p> + <p> + “Aha! Dirk Hammerhand! So you thought to knock a hole in my skull, as you + have done to many a better man than yourself. He is a lucky man who never + meets his match, Dirk. I shall give your love to the Enchanted Prince, my + faithful serving-man, whom they call Martin Lightfoot.” + </p> + <p> + Dirk cursed the day he was born. Instead of the mare and colt, he had got + the two wretched garrons which the stranger had left, and a face which + made him so tender of his own teeth, that he never again offered to try a + buffet with a stranger. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. — HOW HEREWARD RODE INTO BRUGES LIKE A BEGGARMAN. + </h2> + <p> + The spring and summer had passed, and the autumn was almost over, when + great news came to the Court of Bruges, where Torfrida was now a + bower-maiden. + </p> + <p> + The Hollanders had been beaten till they submitted; at least for the + present. There was peace, at least for the present, through all the isles + of Scheldt; and more than all, the lovely Countess Gertrude had resolved + to reward her champion by giving him her hand, and the guardianship of her + lands and the infant son. + </p> + <p> + And Hereward? + </p> + <p> + From him, or of him, there was no word. That he was alive and fighting, + was all the messenger could say. + </p> + <p> + Then Robert came back to Bruges, with a gallant retinue, leading home his + bride. And there met him his father and mother, and his brother of Mons, + and Richilda the beautiful and terrible sorceress,—who had not yet + stained her soul with those fearful crimes which she had expiated by + fearful penances in after years, when young Arnoul, the son for whom she + had sold her soul, lay dead through the very crimes by which she had meant + to make him a mighty prince. And Torfrida went out with them to meet Count + Robert, and looked for Hereward, till her eyes were ready to fall out of + her head. But Hereward was not with them. + </p> + <p> + “He must be left behind, commanding the army,” thought she. “But he might + have sent one word!” + </p> + <p> + There was a great feast that day, of course; and Torfrida sat thereat: but + she could not eat. Nevertheless she was too proud to let the knights know + what was in her heart; so she chatted and laughed as gayly as the rest, + watching always for any word of Hereward. But none mentioned his name. + </p> + <p> + The feast was long; the ladies did not rise till nigh bedtime; and then + the men drank on. + </p> + <p> + They went up to the Queen-Countess’s chamber; where a solemn undressing of + that royal lady usually took place. + </p> + <p> + The etiquette was this. The Queen-Countess sat in her chair of state in + the midst, till her shoes were taken off, and her hair dressed for the + night. Right and left of her, according to their degrees, sat the other + great ladies; and behind each of them, where they could find places, the + maidens. + </p> + <p> + It was Torfrida’s turn to take off the royal shoes; and she advanced into + the middle of the semicircle, slippers in hand. + </p> + <p> + “Stop there!” said the Countess-Queen. + </p> + <p> + Whereat Torfrida stopped, very much frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Countesses and ladies,” said the mistress. “There are, in Provence and + the South, what I wish there were here in Flanders,—Courts of Love, + at which all offenders against the sacred laws of Venus and Cupid are + tried by an assembly of their peers, and punished according to their + deserts.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida turned scarlet. + </p> + <p> + “I know not why we, countesses and ladies, should have less knowledge of + the laws of love than those gayer dames of the South, whose blood runs—to + judge by her dark hair—in the veins of yon fair maid.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. Torfrida was the most beautiful woman in the room; + more beautiful than even Richilda the terrible: and therefore there were + few but were glad to see her—as it seemed—in trouble. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida’s mother began whimpering, and praying to six or seven saints at + once. But nobody marked her,—possibly not even the saints; being + preoccupied with Torfrida. + </p> + <p> + “I hear, fair maid,—for that you are that I will do you the justice + to confess,—that you are old enough to be married this four years + since.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida stood like a stone, frightened out of her wits, plentiful as they + were. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you not married?” + </p> + <p> + There was, of course, no answer. + </p> + <p> + “I hear that knights have fought for you; lost their lives for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not bid them,” gasped Torfrida, longing that the floor would open, + and swallow up the Queen-Countess and all her kin and followers, as it did + for the enemies of the blessed Saint Dunstan, while he was arguing with + them in an upper room at Calne. + </p> + <p> + “And that the knight of St. Valeri, to whom you gave your favor, now lies + languishing of wounds got in your cause.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I did not bid him fight,” gasped Torfrida, now wishing that the + floor would open and swallow up herself. + </p> + <p> + “And that he who overthrew the knight of St. Valeri,—to whom you + gave that favor, and more—” + </p> + <p> + “I gave him nothing a maiden might not give,” cried Torfrida, so fiercely + that the Queen-Countess recoiled somewhat. + </p> + <p> + “I never said that you did, girl. Your love you gave him. Can you deny + that?” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida laughed bitterly: her Southern blood was rising. + </p> + <p> + “I put my love out to nurse, instead of weaning it, as many a maiden has + done before me. When my love cried for hunger and cold, I took it back + again to my own bosom: and whether it has lived or died there, is no one’s + matter but my own.” + </p> + <p> + “Hunger and cold? I hear that him to whom you gave your love you drove out + to the cold, bidding him go fight in his bare shirt, if he wished to win + your love.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not. He angered me—he—” and Torfrida found herself in + the act of accusing Hereward. + </p> + <p> + She stopped instantly. + </p> + <p> + “What more, Majesty? If this be true, what more may not be true of such a + one as I? I submit myself to your royal grace.” + </p> + <p> + “She has confessed. What punishment, ladies, does she deserve? Or, rather, + what punishment would her cousins of Provence inflict, did we send her + southward, to be judged by their Courts of Love?” + </p> + <p> + One lady said one thing, one another. Some spoke cruelly, some worse than + cruelly; for they were coarse ages, the ages of faith; and ladies said + things then in open company which gentlemen would be ashamed to say in + private now. + </p> + <p> + “Marry her to a fool,” said Richilda, at last, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “That is too common a misfortune,” answered the lady of France. “If we did + no more to her, she might grow as proud as her betters.” + </p> + <p> + Adela knew that her daughter-in-law considered her husband a fool; and was + somewhat of the same opinion, though she hated Richilda. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said she; “we will do more. We will marry her to the first man who + enters the castle.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida looked at her mistress to see if she were mad. But the + Countess-Queen was serene and sane. Then Torfrida’s southern heat and + northern courage burst forth. + </p> + <p> + “You—marry—me—to—” said she, slowly, with eyes so + fierce, and lips so vivid, that Richilda herself quailed. + </p> + <p> + There was a noise of shouting and laughing in the court below, which made + all turn and listen. + </p> + <p> + The next moment a serving-man came in, puzzled and inclined to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “May it please your Majesty, here is the strangest adventure. There is + ridden into the castle-yard a beggar-man, with scarce a shirt to his back, + on a great ugly mare, with a foal running by her, and a fool behind him, + carrying lance and shield. And he says that he is come to fight any knight + of the Court, ragged as he stands, for the fairest lady in the Court, be + she who she may, if she have not a wedded husband already.” + </p> + <p> + “And what says my Lord Marquis?” + </p> + <p> + “That it is a fair challenge, and a good adventure; and that fight he + shall, if any man will answer his defiance.” + </p> + <p> + “And I say, tell my Lord the Marquis, that fight he shall not: for he + shall have the fairest maiden in this Court for the trouble of carrying + her away; and that I, Adela of France, will give her to him. So let that + beggar dismount, and be brought up hither to me.” + </p> + <p> + There was silence again. Torfrida looked round her once more, to see + whether or not she was dreaming, and whether there was one human being to + whom she could appeal. Her mother sat praying and weeping in a corner. + Torfrida looked at her with one glance of scorn, which she confessed and + repented, with bitter tears, many a year after, in a foreign land; and + then turned to bay with the spirit of her old Paladin ancestor, who choked + the Emir at Mont Majeur. + </p> + <p> + Married to a beggar! It was a strange accident; and an ugly one; and a + great cruelty and wrong. But it was not impossible, hardly improbable, in + days when the caprice of the strong created accidents, and when cruelty + and wrong went for nothing, even with very kindly honest folk. So Torfrida + faced the danger, as she would have faced that of a kicking horse, or a + flooded ford; and like the nut-brown bride, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “She pulled out a little penknife, + That was both keen and sharp.” + </pre> + <p> + and considered that the beggar-man could wear no armor, and that she wore + none either. For if she succeeded in slaying that beggar-man, she might + need to slay herself after, to avoid being—according to the fashion + of those days—burnt alive. + </p> + <p> + So when the arras was drawn back, and that beggar-man came into the room, + instead of shrieking, fainting, hiding, or turning, she made three steps + straight toward him, looking him in the face like a wild-cat at bay. Then + she threw up her arms; and fell upon his neck. + </p> + <p> + It was Hereward himself. Filthy, ragged: but Hereward. + </p> + <p> + His shirt was brown with gore, and torn with wounds; and through its rents + showed more than one hardly healed scar. His hair and beard was all in + elf-locks; and one heavy cut across the head had shorn not only hair, but + brain-pan, very close. Moreover, any nose, save that of Love, might have + required perfume. + </p> + <p> + But Hereward it was; and regardless of all beholders, she lay upon his + neck, and never stirred nor spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I call you to witness, ladies,” cried the Queen-Countess, “that I am + guiltless. She has given herself to this beggar-man of her own free will. + What say you?” And she turned to Torfrida’s mother. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida’s mother only prayed and whimpered. + </p> + <p> + “Countesses and Ladies,” said the Queen-Countess, “there will be two + weddings to-morrow. The first will be that of my son Robert and my pretty + Lady Gertrude here. The second will be that of my pretty Torfrida and + Hereward.” + </p> + <p> + “And the second bride,” said the Countess Gertrude, rising and taking + Torfrida in her arms, “will be ten times prettier than the first. There, + sir, I have done all you asked of me. Now go and wash yourself.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + “Hereward,” said Torfrida, a week after, “and did you really never change + your shirt all that time?” + </p> + <p> + “Never. I kept my promise.” + </p> + <p> + “But it must have been very nasty.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I bathed now and then.” + </p> + <p> + “But it must have been very cold.” + </p> + <p> + “I am warm enough now.” + </p> + <p> + “But did you never comb your hair, neither?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I won’t say that. Travellers find strange bed-fellows. But I had + half a mind never to do it at all, just to spite you.” + </p> + <p> + “And what matter would it have been to me?” + </p> + <p> + “O, none. It is only a Danish fashion we have of keeping clean.” + </p> + <p> + “Clean! You were dirty enough when you came home. How silly you were! If + you had sent me but one word!” + </p> + <p> + “You would have fancied me beaten, and scolded me all over again. I know + your ways now, Torfrida.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. — HOW EARL TOSTI GODWINSSON CAME TO ST. OMER. + </h2> + <p> + The winter passed in sweet madness; and for the first time in her life, + Torfrida regretted the lengthening of the days, and the flowering of the + primroses, and the return of the now needless wryneck; for they warned her + that Hereward must forth again, to the wars in Scaldmariland, which had + broken out again, as was to be expected, as soon as Count Robert and his + bride had turned their backs. + </p> + <p> + And Hereward, likewise, for the first time in his life, was loath to go to + war. He was, doubtless, rich enough in this world’s goods. Torfrida + herself was rich, and seems to have had the disposal of her own property, + for her mother is not mentioned in connection therewith. Hereward seems to + have dwelt in her house at St. Omer as long as he remained in Flanders. He + had probably amassed some treasure of his own by the simple, but then most + aristocratic, method of plunder. He had, too, probably, grants of land in + Holland from the Frison, the rents whereof were not paid as regularly as + might be. Moreover, as “<i>Magister Militum</i>,” (“Master of the + Knights,”) he had, it is likely, pay as well as honor. And he approved + himself worthy of his good fortune. He kept forty gallant housecarles in + his hall all the winter, and Torfrida and her lasses made and mended their + clothes. He gave large gifts to the Abbey of St. Bertin; and had masses + sung for the souls of all whom he had slain, according to a rough list + which he furnished,—bidding the monks not to be chary of two or + three masses extra at times, as his memory was short, and he might have + sent more souls to purgatory than he had recollected. He gave great alms + at his door to all the poor. He befriended, especially, all shipwrecked + and needy mariners, feeding and clothing them, and begging their freedom + as a gift from Baldwin. He feasted the knights of the neighborhood, who + since his baresark campaign, had all vowed him the most gallant of + warriors, and since his accession of wealth, the most courteous of + gentlemen; and so all went merrily, as it is written, “As long as thou + doest well unto thyself, men will speak well of thee.” + </p> + <p> + So he would have fain stayed at home at St. Omer; but he was Robert’s man, + and his good friend likewise; and to the wars he must go forth once more; + and for eight or nine weary months Torfrida was alone: but very happy, for + a certain reason of her own. + </p> + <p> + At last the short November days came round; and a joyful woman was fair + Torfrida, when Martin Lightfoot ran into the hall, and throwing himself + down on the rushes like a dog, announced that Hereward and his men would + be home before noon, and then fell fast asleep. + </p> + <p> + There was bustling to and fro of her and her maids; decking of the hall in + the best hangings; strewing of fresh rushes, to the dislodgement of + Martin; setting out of square tables, and stoops and mugs thereon; cooking + of victuals, broaching of casks; and above all, for Hereward’s self, + heating of much water, and setting out, in the inner chamber, of the great + bath-tub and bath-sheet, which was the special delight of a hero fresh + from the war. + </p> + <p> + And by midday the streets of St. Omer rang with clank and tramp and + trumpet-blare, and in marched Hereward and all his men, and swung round + through the gateway into the court, where Torfrida stood to welcome them, + as fair as day, a silver stirrup-cup in her hand. And while the men were + taking off their harness and dressing their horses, she and Hereward went + in together, and either took such joy of the other, that a year’s parting + was forgot in a minute’s meeting. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” cried she, in a tone half of triumph, half of tenderness, “look + there!” + </p> + <p> + “A cradle? And a baby?” + </p> + <p> + “Your baby.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it a boy?” asked Hereward, who saw in his mind’s eye a thing which + would grow and broaden at his knee year by year, and learn from him to + ride, to shoot, to fight. “Happy for him if he does not learn worse from + me,” thought Hereward, with a sudden movement of humility and contrition, + which was surely marked in heaven; for Torfrida marked it on earth. + </p> + <p> + But she mistook its meaning. + </p> + <p> + “Do not be vexed. It is a girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind!” as if it was a calamity over which he was bound to comfort + the mother. “If she is half as beautiful as you look at this moment, what + splintering of lances there will be about her! How jolly, to see the lads + hewing at each other, while our daughter sits in the pavilion, as Queen of + Love!” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida laughed. “You think of nothing but fighting, bear of the North + Seas.” + </p> + <p> + “Every one to his trade. Well, yes, I am glad that it is a girl.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you seemed vexed. Why did you cross yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I thought to myself, how unfit I was to bring up a boy to be such + a knight as—as you would have him; how likely I was, ere all was + over, to make him as great a ruffian as myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Hereward! Hereward!” and she threw her arms round his neck for the tenth + time. “Blessed be you for those words! Those are the fears which never + come true, for they bring down from heaven the grace of God, to guard the + humble and contrite heart from that which it fears.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Torfrida, I wish I were as good as you!” + </p> + <p> + “Now—my joy and my life, my hero and my scald—I have great + news for you, as well as a little baby. News from England.” + </p> + <p> + “You, and a baby over and above, are worth all England to me.” + </p> + <p> + “But listen: Edward the king is dead!” + </p> + <p> + “Then there is one fool less on earth; and one saint more, I suppose, in + heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “And Harold Godwinsson is king in his stead. And he has married your niece + Aldytha, and sworn friendship with her brothers.” + </p> + <p> + “I expected no less. Well, every dog has his day.” + </p> + <p> + “And his will be a short one. William of Normandy has sworn to drive him + out.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he will do it. And so the poor little Swan-neck is packed into a + convent, that the houses of Godwin and Leofric may rush into each other’s + arms, and perish together! Fools, fools, fools! I will hear no more of + such a mad world. My queen, tell me about your sweet self. What is all + this to me? Am I not a wolf’s head, and a landless man?” + </p> + <p> + “O my king, have not the stars told me that you will be an earl and a + ruler of men, when all your foes are wolves’ heads as you are now? And the + weird is coming true already. Tosti Godwinsson is in the town at this + moment, an outlaw and a wolf’s head himself.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward laughed a great laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Aha! Every man to his right place at last. Tell me about that, for it + will amuse me. I have heard naught of him since he sent the king his + Hereford thralls’ arms and legs in the pickle-barrels; to show him, he + said, that there was plenty of cold meat on his royal demesnes.” + </p> + <p> + “You have not heard, then, how he murdered in his own chamber at York, + Gamel Ormsson and Ulf Dolfinsson?” + </p> + <p> + “That poor little lad? Well, a gracious youth was Tosti, ever since he + went to kill his brother Harold with teeth and claws, like a wolf; and as + he grows in years, he grows in grace. But what said Ulf’s father and the + Gospatricks?” + </p> + <p> + “Dolfin and young Gospatrick were I know not where. But old Gospatrick + came down to Westminster, to demand law for his grandnephew’s blood.” + </p> + <p> + “A silly thing of the old Thane, to walk into the wolf’s den.” + </p> + <p> + “And so he found. He was stabbed there, three days after Christmas-tide, + and men say that Queen Edith did it, for love of Tosti, her brother. Then + Dolfin and young Gospatrick took to the sea, and away to Scotland: and so + Tosti rid himself of all the good blood in the North, except young + Waltheof Siwardsson, whose turn, I fear, will come next.” + </p> + <p> + “How comes he here, then?” + </p> + <p> + “The Northern men rose at that, killed his servant at York, took all his + treasures, and marched down to Northampton, plundering and burning. They + would have marched on London town, if Harold had not met them there from + the king. There they cried out against Tosti, and all his taxes, and his + murders, and his changing Canute’s laws, and would have young Morcar for + their earl. A tyrant they would not endure. Free they were born and bred, + they said, and free they would live and die. Harold must needs do justice, + even on his own brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Especially when he knows that that brother is his worst foe.” + </p> + <p> + “Harold is a better man than you take him for, my Hereward. But be that as + it may, Morcar is earl, and Tosti outlawed, and here in St. Omer, with + wife and child.” + </p> + <p> + “My nephew Earl of Northumbria! As I might have been, if I had been a + wiser man.” + </p> + <p> + “If you had, you would never have found me.” + </p> + <p> + “True, my queen! They say Heaven tempers the wind to the shorn lamb; but + it tempers it too, sometimes, to the hobbled ass; and so it has done by + me. And so the rogues have fallen out, and honest men may come by their + own. For, as the Northern men have done by one brother, so will the + Eastern men do by the other. Let Harold see how many of those fat + Lincolnshire manors, which he has seized into his own hands, he holds by + this day twelve months. But what is all this to me, my queen, while you + and I can kiss, and laugh the world to scorn?” + </p> + <p> + “This to you, beloved, that, great as you are, Torfrida must have you + greater still; and out of all this coil and confusion you may win + something, if you be wise.” + </p> + <p> + “Sweet lips, be still, and let us love instead of plotting.” + </p> + <p> + “And this, too—you shall not stop my mouth—that Harold + Godwinsson has sent a letter to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Harold Godwinsson is my very good lord,” sneered Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “And this it said, with such praises and courtesies concerning you, as + made thy wife’s heart beat high with pride: ‘If Hereward Leofricsson will + come home to England, he shall have his rights in law again, and his + manors in Lincolnshire, and a thanes-ship in East Anglia, and manors for + his men-at-arms; and if that be not enough, he shall have an earldom, as + soon as there is one to give.’” + </p> + <p> + “And what says to that, Torfrida, Hereward’s queen?” + </p> + <p> + “You will not be angry if I answered the letter for you?” + </p> + <p> + “If you answered it one way,—no. If another,—yes.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida trembled. Then she looked Hereward full in the face with her keen + clear eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Now shall I see whether I have given myself to Hereward in vain, body and + soul, or whether I have trained him to be my true and perfect knight.” + </p> + <p> + “You answered, then,” said Hereward, “thus—” + </p> + <p> + “Say on,” said she, turning her face away again. + </p> + <p> + “Hereward Leofricsson tells Harold Godwinsson that he is his equal, and + not his man; and that he will never put his hands between the hands of a + son of Godwin. An Etheling born, a king of the house of Cerdic, outlawed + him from his right, and none but an Etheling born shall give him his right + again.” + </p> + <p> + “I said it, I said it. Those were my very words!” and Torfrida burst into + tears, while Hereward kissed her, almost fawned upon her, calling her his + queen, his saga-wife, his guardian angel. + </p> + <p> + “I was sorely tempted,” sobbed she. “Sorely. To see you, rich and proud, + upon your own lands, an earl may be,—may be, I thought at whiles, a + king. But it could not be. It did not stand with honor, my hero,—not + with honor.” + </p> + <p> + “Not with honor. Get me gay garments out of the chest, and let us go in + royally, and royally feast my jolly riders.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay awhile,” said she, kissing his head as she combed and curled his + long golden locks; and her own raven ones, hardly more beautiful, fell + over them and mingled with them. “Stay awhile, my pride. There is another + spell in the wind, stirred up by devil or witch-wife, and it comes from + Tosti Godwinsson.” + </p> + <p> + “Tosti, the cold-meat butcher? What has he to say to me?” + </p> + <p> + “This,—‘If Hereward will come with me to William of Normandy, and + help us against Harold, the perjured, then will William do for him all + that Harold would have done, and more beside.’” + </p> + <p> + “And what answered Torfrida?” + </p> + <p> + “It was not so said to me that I could answer. I had it by a side-wind, + through the Countess Judith.” [Footnote: Tosti’s wife, Earl Baldwin’s + daughter, sister of Matilda, William the Conqueror’s wife.] + </p> + <p> + “And she had it from her sister, Matilda.” + </p> + <p> + “And she, of course, from Duke William himself.” + </p> + <p> + “And what would you have answered, if you had answered, pretty one?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, I know not. I cannot be always queen. You must be king sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida did not say that this latter offer had been a much sorer + temptation than the former. + </p> + <p> + “And has not the base-born Frenchman enough knights of his own, that he + needs the help of an outlaw like me?” + </p> + <p> + “He asks for help from all the ends of the earth. He has sent that + Lanfranc to the Pope; and there is talk of a sacred banner, and a crusade + against England.” + </p> + <p> + “The monks are with him, then?” said Hereward. “That is one more count in + their score. But I am no monk. I have shorn many a crown, but I have kept + my own hair as yet, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “I do see,” said she, playing with his locks. “But,—but he wants + you. He has sent for Angevins, Poitevins, Bretons, Flemings,—promising + lands, rank, money, what not. Tosti is recruiting for him here in Flanders + now. He will soon be off to the Orkneys, I suspect, or to Sweyn in + Denmark, after Vikings.” + </p> + <p> + “Here? Has Baldwin promised him men?” + </p> + <p> + “What could the good old man do? He could not refuse his own son-in-law. + This, at least, I know, that a messenger has gone off to Scotland, to + Gilbert of Ghent, to bring or send any bold Flemings who may prefer fat + England to lean Scotland.” + </p> + <p> + “Lands, rank, money, eh? So he intends that the war should pay itself—out + of English purses. What answer would you have me make to that, wife mine?” + </p> + <p> + “The Duke is a terrible man. What if he conquers? And conquer he will.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that written in your stars?” + </p> + <p> + “It is, I fear. And if he have the Pope’s blessing, and the Pope’s banner—Dare + we resist the Holy Father?” + </p> + <p> + “Holy step-father, you mean; for a step-father he seems to prove to merry + England. But do you really believe that an old man down in Italy can make + a bit of rag conquer by saying a few prayers at it? If I am to believe in + a magic flag, give me Harold Hardraade’s Landcyda, at least, with Harold + and his Norsemen behind it.” + </p> + <p> + “William’s French are as good as those Norsemen, man for man; and horsed + withal, Hereward.” + </p> + <p> + “That may be,” said he, half testily, with a curse on the tanner’s + grandson and his French popinjays, “and our Englishmen are as good as any + two Norsemen, as the Norse themselves say.” He could not divine, and + Torfrida hardly liked to explain to him the glamour which the Duke of + Normandy had cast over her, as the representative of chivalry, learning, + civilization, a new and nobler life for men than the world had yet seen; + one which seemed to connect the young races of Europe with the wisdom of + the ancients and the magic glories of old Imperial Rome. + </p> + <p> + “You are not fair to that man,” said she, after a while. “Hereward, + Hereward, have I not told you how, though body be strong, mind is + stronger? That is what that man knows; and therefore he has prospered. + Therefore his realms are full of wise scholars, and thriving schools, and + fair minsters, and his men are sober, and wise, and learned like clerks—” + </p> + <p> + “And false like clerks, as he is himself. Schoolcraft and honesty never + went yet together, Torfrida—” + </p> + <p> + “Not in me?” + </p> + <p> + “You are not a clerk, you are a woman, and more, you are an elf, a + goddess; there is none like you. But hearken to me. This man is false. All + the world knows it.” + </p> + <p> + “He promises, they say, to govern England justly as King Edward’s heir, + according to the old laws and liberties of the realm.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. If he does not come as the old monk’s heir, how does he come + at all? If he does not promise our—their, I mean, for I am no + Englishman—laws and liberties, who will join him? But his riders and + hirelings will not fight for nothing. They must be paid with English land, + and English land they will have, for they will be his men, whoever else + are not. They will be his darlings, his housecarles, his hawks to sit on + his fist and fly at his game; and English bones will be picked clean to + feed them. And you would have me help to do that, Torfrida? Is that the + honor of which you spoke so boldly to Harold Godwinsson?” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida was silent. To have brought Hereward under the influence of + William was an old dream of hers. And yet she was proud at the dream being + broken thus. And so she said: + </p> + <p> + “You are right. It is better for you,—it is better than to be + William’s darling, and the greatest earl in his court,—to feel that + you are still an Englishman. Promise me but one thing, that you will make + no fierce or desperate answer to the Duke.” + </p> + <p> + “And why not answer the tanner as he deserves?” + </p> + <p> + “Because my art, and my heart too, tells me that your fortunes and his are + linked together. I have studied my tables, but they would not answer. Then + I cast lots in Virgilius—” + </p> + <p> + “And what found you there?” asked he, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “I opened at the lines,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Pacem me exanimis et Martis sorte peremptis + Oratis? Equidem et vivis concedere vellem.’” + </pre> + <p> + “And what means that?” + </p> + <p> + “That you may have to pray him to pity the slain; and have for answer, + that their lands may be yours if you will but make peace with him. At + least, do not break hopelessly with that man. Above all, never use that + word concerning him which you used just now; the word which he never + forgives. Remember what he did to them of Alençon, when they hung raw + hides over the wall, and cried, ‘Plenty of work for the tanner!’” + </p> + <p> + “Let him pick out the prisoners’ eyes, and chop off their hands, and shoot + them into the town from mangonels,—he must go far and thrive well + ere I give him a chance of doing that by me.” + </p> + <p> + “Hereward, Hereward, my own! Boast not, but fear God. Who knows, in such a + world as this, to what end we may come? Night after night I am haunted + with spectres, eyeless, handless—” + </p> + <p> + “This is cold comfort for a man just out of hard fighting in the + ague-fens!” + </p> + <p> + She threw her arms round him, and held him as if she would never let him + go. + </p> + <p> + “When you die, I die. And you will not die: you will be great and + glorious, and your name will be sung by scald and minstrel through many a + land, far and wide. Only be not rash. Be not high-minded. Promise me to + answer this man wisely. The more crafty he is, the more crafty must you be + likewise.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us tell this mighty hero, then,” said Hereward,—trying to laugh + away her fears, and perhaps his own,—“that while he has the Holy + Father on his side, he can need no help from a poor sinful worm like me.” + </p> + <p> + “Hereward, Hereward!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, is there aught about hides in that?” + </p> + <p> + “I want,—I want an answer which may not cut off all hope in case of + the worst.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let us say boldly, ‘On the day that William is King of all England, + Hereward will come and put his hands between his, and be his man.’” + </p> + <p> + That message was sent to William at Rouen. He laughed,— + </p> + <p> + “It is a fair challenge from a valiant man. The day shall come when I will + claim it.” + </p> + <p> + Tosti and Hereward passed that winter in St. Omer, living in the same + street, passing each other day by day, and never spoke a word one to the + other. + </p> + <p> + Robert the Frison heard of it, and tried to persuade Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “Let him purge himself of the murder of Ulf, the boy, son of my friend + Dolfin; and after that, of Gamel, son of Orm; and after that, again, of + Gospatrick, my father’s friend, whom his sister slew for his sake; and + then an honest man may talk with him. Were he not my good lord’s + brother-in-law, as he is, more’s the pity, I would challenge him to fight + <i>à l’outrance</i>, with any weapons he might choose.” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven protect him in that case,” quoth Robert the Frison. + </p> + <p> + “As it is, I will keep the peace. And I will see that my men keep the + peace, though there are Scarborough and Bamborough lads among them, who + long to cut his throat upon the streets. But more I will not do.” + </p> + <p> + So Tosti sulked through the winter at St. Omer, and then went off to get + help from Sweyn, of Denmark, and failing that, from Harold Hardraade of + Norway. But how he sped there must be read in the words of a cunninger + saga-man than this chronicler, even in those of the “Icelandic Homer,” + Snorro Sturleson. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. — HOW HEREWARD WAS ASKED TO SLAY AN OLD COMRADE. + </h2> + <p> + In those days Hereward went into Bruges, to Marquis Baldwin, about his + business. And as he walked in Bruges street, he met an old friend, Gilbert + of Ghent. + </p> + <p> + He had grown somewhat stouter, and somewhat grayer, in the last ten years: + but he was as hearty as ever; and as honest, according to his own notions + of honesty. + </p> + <p> + He shook Hereward by both hands, clapt him on the back, swore with many + oaths, that he had heard of his fame in all lands, that he always said + that he would turn out a champion and a gallant knight, and had said it + long before he killed the bear. As for killing it, it was no more than he + expected, and nothing to what Hereward had done since, and would do yet. + </p> + <p> + Wherefrom Hereward opined that Gilbert had need of him. + </p> + <p> + They chatted on: Hereward asking after old friends, and sometimes after + old foes, whom he had long since forgiven; for though he always avenged an + injury, he never bore malice for one; a distinction less common now than + then, when a man’s honor, as well as his safety, depended on his striking + again, when he was struck. + </p> + <p> + “And how is little Alftruda? Big she must be now?” asked he at last. + </p> + <p> + “The fiend fly away with her,—or rather, would that he had flown + away with her, before ever I saw the troublesome little jade. Big? She is + grown into the most beautiful lass that ever was seen,—which is, + what a young fellow like you cares for; and more trouble to me than all my + money, which is what an old fellow like me cares for. It is partly about + her that I am over here now. Fool that I was, ever to let an Etheliza + [Footnote: A princess of the royal blood of Cerdic, and therefore of + Edward the Confessor.] into my house”; and Gilbert swore a great deal. + </p> + <p> + “How was she an Etheliza?” asked Hereward, who cared nothing about the + matter. “And how came she into your house? I never could understand that, + any more than how the bear came there.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! As to the bear, I have my secrets, which I tell no one. He is dead + and buried, thanks to you.” + </p> + <p> + “And I sleep on his skin every night.” + </p> + <p> + “You do, my little Champion? Well, warm is the bed that is well earned. + But as for her;—see here, and I’ll tell you. She was Gospatrick’s + ward and kinswoman,—how, I do not rightly know. But this I know, + that she comes from Uchtred, the earl whom Canute slew, and that she is + heir to great estates in Northumberland. + </p> + <p> + “Gospatrick, that fought at Dunsinane?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, not the old Thane, his uncle, whom Tosti has murdered; but + Gospatrick, King Malcolm’s cousin, Dolfin’s father. Well, she was his + ward. He gave me her to keep, for he wanted her out of harm’s way—the + lass having a bonny dower, lands and money—till he could marry her + up to one of his sons. I took her; of course I was not going to do other + men’s work for naught; so I would have married her up to my poor boy, if + he had but lived. But he would not live, as you know. Then I would have + married her to you, and made you my heir, I tell you honestly, if you had + not flown off, like a hot-headed young springald, as you were then.” + </p> + <p> + “You were very kind. But how is she an Etheliza?” + </p> + <p> + “Etheliza? Twice over. Her father was of high blood among those Saxons; + and if not, are not all the Gospatricks Ethelings? Their grandmother, + Uchtred’s wife, was Ethelred, Evil-Counsel’s daughter, King Edward of + London’s sister; and I have heard that this girl’s grandfather was their + son,—but died young,—or was killed with his father. Who + cares?” + </p> + <p> + “Not I,” quoth Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “Well—he wants to marry her to Dolfin, his eldest son.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Dolfin had a wife when I was at Dunsinane.” + </p> + <p> + “But she is dead since, and young Ulf, her son, murdered by Tosti last + winter.” + </p> + <p> + “I know.” + </p> + <p> + “Whereon Gospatrick sends to me for the girl and her dowry. What was I to + do? Give her up? Little it is, lad, that I ever gave up, after I had it + once in my grip, or I should be a poorer man than I am now. Have and hold, + is my rule. What should I do? What I did. I was coming hither on business + of my own, so I put her on board ship, and half her dower,—where the + other half is, I know; and man must draw me with wild horses, before he + finds out;—and came here to my kinsman, Baldwin, to see if he had + any proper young fellow to whom we might marry the lass, and so go shares + in her money and the family connection. Could a man do more wisely?” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible,” quoth Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “But see how a wise man is lost by fortune. When I come here, whom should + I find but Dolfin himself? The dog had scent of my plan, all the way from + Dolfinston there, by Peebles. He hunts me out, the hungry Scotch wolf; + rides for Leith, takes ship, and is here to meet me, having accused me + before Baldwin as a robber and ravisher, and offers to prove his right to + the jade on my body in single combat.” + </p> + <p> + “The villain!” quoth Hereward. “There is no modesty left on earth, nor + prudence either. To come here, where he might have stumbled on Tosti, who + murdered his son, and I would surely do the like by him, himself. Lucky + for him that Tosti is off to Norway on his own errand.” + </p> + <p> + “Modesty and prudence? None now-a-days, young sire; nor justice either, I + think; for when Baldwin hears us both—and I told my story as cannily + as I could—he tells me that he is very sorry for an old vassal and + kinsman, and so forth,—but I must either disgorge or fight.” + </p> + <p> + “Then fight,” quoth Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “‘Per se aut per campioneem,’—that’s the old law, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a doubt of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Look you, Hereward. I am no coward, nor a clumsy man of my hands.” + </p> + <p> + “He is either fool or liar who says so.” + </p> + <p> + “But see. I find it hard work to hold my own in Scotland now. Folks don’t + like me, or trust me; I can’t say why.” + </p> + <p> + “How unreasonable!” quoth Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “And if I kill this youth, and so have a blood-feud with Gospatrick, I + have a hornet’s nest about my ears. Not only he and his sons,—who + are masters of Scotch Northumberland, [Footnote: Between Tweed and Forth.]—but + all his cousins; King Malcolm, and Donaldbain, and, for aught I know, + Harold and the Godwinssons, if he bid them take up the quarrel. And + beside, that Dolfin is a big man. If you cross Scot and Saxon, you breed a + very big man. If you cross again with a Dane or a Norseman, you breed a + giant. His grandfather was a Scots prince, his grandmother an English + Etheliza, his mother a Norse princess, as you know,—and how big he + is, you should remember. He weighs half as much again as I, and twice as + much as you.” + </p> + <p> + “Butchers count by weight, and knights by courage,” quoth Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “Very well for you, who are young and active; but I take him to be a + better man than that ogre of Cornwall, whom they say you killed.” + </p> + <p> + “What care I? Let him be twice as good, I’d try him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I knew you were the old Hereward still. Now hearken to me. Be my + champion. You owe me a service, lad. Fight that man, challenge him in open + field. Kill him, as you are sure to do. Claim the lass, and win her,—and + then we will part her dower. And (though it is little that I care for + young lasses’ fancies), to tell you truth, she never favored any man but + you.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward started at the snare which had been laid for him; and then fell + into a very great laughter. + </p> + <p> + “My most dear and generous host: you are the wiser, the older you grow. A + plan worthy of Solomon! You are rid of Sieur Dolfin without any blame to + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so.” + </p> + <p> + “While I win the lass, and, living here in Flanders, am tolerably safe + from any blood-feud of the Gospatricks.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfect: but there is only one small hindrance to the plan; and that is—that + I am married already.” + </p> + <p> + Gilbert stopped short, and swore a great oath. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he said, after a while, “does that matter so much after all?” + </p> + <p> + “Very little, indeed, as all the world knows, if one has money enough, and + power enough.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have both,” they say. + </p> + <p> + “But, still more unhappily, my money is my wife’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Peste!” + </p> + <p> + “And more unhappily still, I am so foolishly fond of her, that I would + sooner have her in her smock, than any other woman with half England for a + dower.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I suppose I must look out for another champion.” + </p> + <p> + “Or save yourself the trouble, by being—just as a change—an + honest man.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you are right,” said Gilbert, laughing; “but it is hard to + begin so late in life.” + </p> + <p> + “And after one has had so little practice.” + </p> + <p> + “Aha! Thou art the same merry dog of a Hereward. Come along. But could we + not poison this Dolfin, after all?” + </p> + <p> + To which proposal Hereward gave no encouragement. + </p> + <p> + “And now, my très beausire, may I ask you, in return, what business brings + you to Flanders?” + </p> + <p> + “Have I not told you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I have guessed. Gilbert of Ghent is on his way to William of + Normandy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well. Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?—certainly. And has brought out of Scotland a few gallant + gentlemen, and stout housecarles of my acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + Gilbert laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You may well say that. To tell you the truth, we have flitted, bag and + baggage. I don’t believe that we have left a dog behind.” + </p> + <p> + “So you intend to ‘colonize’ in England, as the learned clerks would call + it? To settle; to own land; and enter, like the Jews of old, into goodly + houses which you builded not, farms which you tilled not, wells which you + digged not, and orchards which you planted not?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what a clerk you are! That sounds like Scripture.” + </p> + <p> + “And so it is. I heard it in a French priest’s sermon, which he preached + here in St. Omer a Sunday or two back, exhorting all good Catholics, in + the Pope’s name, to enter upon the barbarous land of England, tainted with + the sin of Simon Magus, and expel thence the heretical priests, and so + forth, promising them that they should have free leave to cut long thongs + out of other men’s hides.” + </p> + <p> + Gilbert chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “You laugh. The priest did not; for after sermon I went up to him, and + told him how I was an Englishman, and an outlaw, and a desperate man, who + feared neither saint nor devil; and if I heard such talk as that again in + St. Omer, I would so shave the speaker’s crown that he should never need + razor to his dying day.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that to me?” said Gilbert, in an uneasy, half-defiant tone; + for Hereward’s tone had been more than half-defiant. + </p> + <p> + “This. That there are certain broad lands in England, which were my + father’s, and are now my nephews’ and my mother’s, and some which should + by right be mine. And I advise you, as a friend, not to make entry on + those lands, lest Hereward in turn make entry on you. And who is he that + will deliver you out of my hand?” + </p> + <p> + “God and his Saints alone, thou fiend out of the pit!” quoth Gilbert, + laughing. But he was growing warm, and began to tutoyer Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “I am in earnest, Gilbert of Ghent, my good friend of old time.” + </p> + <p> + “I know thee well enough, man. Why in the name of all glory and plunder + art thou not coming with us? They say William has offered thee the earldom + of Northumberland.” + </p> + <p> + “He has not. And if he has, it is not his to give. And if it were, it is + by right neither mine nor my nephews’, but Waltheof Siwardsson’s. Now + hearken unto me; and settle it in your mind, thou and William both, that + your quarrel is against none but Harold and the Godwinssons, and their men + of Wessex; but that if you go to cross the Watling street, and meddle with + the free Danes, who are none of Harold’s men—” + </p> + <p> + “Stay. Harold has large manors in Lincolnshire, and so has Edith his + sister; and what of them, Sir Hereward?” + </p> + <p> + “That the man who touches them, even though the men on them may fight on + Harold’s side, had better have put his head into a hornet’s nest. Unjustly + were they seized from their true owners by Harold and his fathers; and the + holders of them will owe no service to him a day longer than they can + help; but will, if he fall, demand an earl of their own race, or fight to + the death.” + </p> + <p> + “Best make young Waltheof earl, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Best keep thy foot out of them, and the foot of any man for whom thou + carest. Now, good by. Friends we are, and friends let us be.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that thou wert coming to England!” + </p> + <p> + “I bide my time. Come I may, when I see fit. But whether I come as friend + or foe depends on that of which I have given thee fair warning.” + </p> + <p> + So they parted for the time. + </p> + <p> + It will be seen hereafter how Gilbert took his own advice about young + Waltheof, but did not take Hereward’s advice about the Lincoln manors. + </p> + <p> + In Baldwin’s hall that day Hereward met Dolfin; and when the magnificent + young Scot sprang to him, embraced him, talked over old passages, + complimented him on his fame, lamented that he himself had won no such + honors in the field, Hereward felt much more inclined to fight for him + than against him. + </p> + <p> + Presently the ladies entered from the bower inside the hall. A buzz of + expectation rose from all the knights, and Alftruda’s name was whispered + round. + </p> + <p> + She came in, and Hereward saw at the first glance that Gilbert had for + once in his life spoken truth. So beautiful a girl he had never beheld; + and as she swept down toward him he for one moment forgot Torfrida, and + stood spell-bound like the rest. + </p> + <p> + Her eye caught his. If his face showed recognition, hers showed none. The + remembrance of their early friendship, of her deliverance from the + monster, had plainly passed away. + </p> + <p> + “Fickle, ungrateful things, these women,” thought Hereward, + </p> + <p> + She passed him close. And as she did so, she turned her head and looked + him full in the face one moment, haughty and cold. + </p> + <p> + “So you could not wait for me?” said she, in a quiet whisper, and went on + straight to Dolfin, who stood trembling with expectation and delight. + </p> + <p> + She put her hand into his. + </p> + <p> + “Here stands my champion,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Say, here kneels your slave,” cried the Scot, dropping to the pavement a + true Highland knee. Whereon forth shrieked a bagpipe, and Dolfin’s + minstrel sang, in most melodious Gaelic,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Strong as a horse’s hock, + shaggy as a stag’s brisket, + Is the knee of the young torrent-leaper, + the pride of the house of Crinan. + It bent not to Macbeth the accursed, + it bends not even to Malcolm the Anointed, + But it bends like a harebell—who shall blame it?— + before the breath of beauty.” + </pre> + <p> + Which magnificent effusion being interpreted by Hereward for the + instruction of the ladies, procured for the red-headed bard more than one + handsome gift. + </p> + <p> + A sturdy voice arose out of the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “The fair lady, my Lord Count, and knights all, will need no champion as + far as I am concerned. When one sees so fair a pair together, what can a + knight say, in the name of all knighthood, but that the heavens have made + them for each other, and that it were sin and shame to sunder them?” + </p> + <p> + The voice was that of Gilbert of Ghent, who, making a virtue of necessity, + walked up to the pair, his weather-beaten countenance wreathed into what + were meant for paternal smiles. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you not say as much in Scotland, and save me all this trouble?” + pertinently asked the plain-spoken Scot. + </p> + <p> + “My lord prince, you owe me a debt for my caution. Without it, the poor + lady had never known the whole fervency of your love; or these noble + knights and yourself the whole evenness of Count Baldwin’s justice.” + </p> + <p> + Alftruda turned her head away half contemptuously; and as she did so, she + let her hand drop listlessly from Dolfin’s grasp, and drew back to the + other ladies. + </p> + <p> + A suspicion crossed Hereward’s mind. Did she really love the Prince? Did + those strange words of hers mean that she had not yet forgotten Hereward + himself? + </p> + <p> + However, he said to himself that it was no concern of his, as it certainly + was not: went home to Torfrida, told her everything that had happened, + laughed over it with her, and then forgot Alftruda, Dolfin, and Gilbert, + in the prospect of a great campaign in Holland. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. — HOW HEREWARD TOOK THE NEWS FROM STANFORD BRIGG AND + HASTINGS. + </h2> + <p> + After that, news came thick and fast. + </p> + <p> + News of all the fowl of heaven flocking to the feast of the great God, + that they might eat the flesh of kings, and captains, and mighty men, and + horses, and them that sit on them, and the flesh of all men, both bond and + free. + </p> + <p> + News from Rome, how England, when conquered, was to be held as a fief of + St. Peter, and spiritually, as well as temporarily, enslaved. News how the + Gonfanon of St. Peter, and a ring with a bit of St. Peter himself enclosed + therein, had come to Rouen, to go before the Norman host, as the Ark went + before that of Israel. + </p> + <p> + Then news from the North. How Tosti had been to Sweyn, and bid him come + back and win the country again, as Canute his uncle had done; and how the + cautious Dane had answered that he was a much smaller man than Canute, and + had enough to hold his own against the Norsemen, and could not afford to + throw for such high stakes as his mighty uncle. + </p> + <p> + Then how Tosti had been to Norway, to Harold Hardraade, and asked him why + he had been fighting fifteen years for Denmark, when England lay open to + him. And how Harold of Norway had agreed to come; and how he had levied + one half of the able-bodied men in Norway; and how he was gathering a + mighty fleet at Solundir, in the mouth of the Sogne Fiord. Of all this + Hereward was well informed; for Tosti came back again to St. Omer, and + talked big. But Hereward and he had no dealings with each other. But at + last, when Tosti tried to entice some of Hereward’s men to sail with him, + Hereward sent him word that if he met him, he would kill him in the + streets. + </p> + <p> + Then Tosti, who (though he wanted not for courage) knew that he was no + match for Hereward, went off to Bruges, leaving his wife and family + behind; gathered sixty ships at Ostend, went off to the Isle of Wight, and + forced the landsfolk to give him money and food. And then Harold of + England’s fleet, which was watching the coast against the Normans, drove + him away; and he sailed off north, full of black rage against his brother + Harold and all Englishmen, and burned, plundered, and murdered, along the + coast of Lincolnshire, out of brute spite to the Danes who had expelled + him. + </p> + <p> + Then came news how he had got into the Humber; how Earl Edwin and his + Northumbrians had driven him out; and how he went off to Scotland to meet + Harold of Norway; and how he had put his hands between Harold’s, and + become his man. + </p> + <p> + And all the while the Norman camp at St. Pierre-sur-Dive grew and grew; + and all was ready, if the wind would but change. + </p> + <p> + And so Hereward looked on, helpless, and saw these two great storm-clouds + growing,—one from north, and one from south,—to burst upon his + native land. + </p> + <p> + Two invasions at the same moment of time; and these no mere Viking raids + for plunder, but deliberate attempts at conquest and colonization, by the + two most famous captains of the age. What if both succeeded? What if the + two storm-clouds swept across England, each on its own path, and met in + the midst, to hurl their lightnings into each other? A fight between + William of Normandy and Harold of Norway, on some moorland in Mercia,—it + would be a battle of giants; a sight at which Odin and the Gods of + Valhalla would rise from their seats, and throw away the mead-horn, to + stare down on the deeds of heroes scarcely less mighty than themselves. + Would that neither might win! Would that they would destroy and devour, + till there was none left of Frenchmen or of Norwegians! + </p> + <p> + So sang Hereward, after his heathen fashion; and his housecarles applauded + the song. But Torfrida shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “And what will become of the poor English in the mean time?” + </p> + <p> + “They have brought it on themselves,” said Hereward, bitterly. “Instead of + giving the crown to the man who should have had it,—to Sweyn of + Denmark,—they let Godwin put it on the head of a drivelling monk; + and as they sowed, so will they reap.” + </p> + <p> + But Hereward’s own soul was black within him. To see these mighty events + passing as it were within reach of his hand, and he unable to take his + share in them,—for what share could he take? That of Tosti + Godwinsson against his own nephews? That of Harold Godwinsson, the + usurper? That of the tanner’s grandson against any man? Ah that he had + been in England! Ah that he had been where he might have been,—where + he ought to have been but for his own folly,—high in power in his + native land,—perhaps a great earl; perhaps commander of all the + armies of the Danelagh. And bitterly he cursed his youthful sins as he + rode to and fro almost daily to the port of Calais, asking for news, and + getting often only too much. + </p> + <p> + For now came news that the Norsemen had landed in Humber: that Edwin and + Morcar were beaten at York; that Hardraade and Tosti were masters of the + North. + </p> + <p> + And with that, news that, by the virtue of the relics of St. Valeri, which + had been brought out of their shrine to frighten the demons of the storm, + and by the intercession of the blessed St. Michael, patron of Normandy, + the winds had changed, and William’s whole armament had crossed the + Channel, landed upon an undefended shore, and fortified themselves at + Pevensey and Hastings. + </p> + <p> + And then followed a fortnight of silence and torturing suspense. + </p> + <p> + Hereward could hardly eat, drink, sleep, or speak. He answered Torfrida’s + consolations curtly and angrily, till she betook herself to silent + caresses, as to a sick animal. But she loved him all the better for his + sullenness; for it showed that his English heart was wakening again, sound + and strong. + </p> + <p> + At last news came. He was down, as usual, at the port. A ship had just + come in from the northward. A man just landed stood on the beach + gesticulating, and calling in an unknown tongue to the bystanders, who + laughed at him, and seemed inclined to misuse him. + </p> + <p> + Hereward galloped down the beach. + </p> + <p> + “Out of the way, villains! Why man, you are a Norseman!” + </p> + <p> + “Norseman am I, Earl, Thord Gunlaugsson is my name, and news I bring for + the Countess Judith (as the French call her) that shall turn her golden + hair to snow,—yea, and all fair lasses’ hair from Lindesness to + Loffoden!” + </p> + <p> + “Is the Earl dead?” + </p> + <p> + “And Harold Sigurdsson!” + </p> + <p> + Hereward sat silent, appalled. For Tosti he cared not. But Harold + Sigurdsson, Harold Hardraade, Harold the Viking, Harold the Varanger, + Harold the Lionslayer, Harold of Constantinople, the bravest among + champions, the wisest among kings, the cunningest among minstrels, the + darling of the Vikings of the North; the one man whom Hereward had taken + for his pattern and his ideal, the one man under whose banner he would + have been proud to fight—the earth seemed empty, if Harold Hardraade + were gone. + </p> + <p> + “Thord Gunlaugsson,” cried he, at last, “or whatever be thy name, if thou + hast lied to me, I will draw thee with wild horses.” + </p> + <p> + “Would God that I did lie! I saw him fall with an arrow through his + throat. Then Jarl Tosti took the Land-ravager and held it up till he died. + Then Eystein Orre took it, coming up hot from the ships. And then he died + likewise. Then they all died. We would take no quarter. We threw off our + mail, and fought baresark, till all were dead together.” [Footnote: For + the details of this battle, see Skorro Sturleson, or the admirable + description in Bulwer’s “Harold.”] + </p> + <p> + “How camest thou, then, hither?” + </p> + <p> + “Styrkar the marshal escaped in the night, and I with him, and a few more. + And Styrkar bade me bring the news to Flanders, to the Countess, while he + took it to Olaf Haroldsson, who lay off in the ships.” + </p> + <p> + “And thou shalt take it. Martin! get this man a horse. A horse, ye + villains, and a good one, on your lives!” + </p> + <p> + “And Tosti is dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Dead like a hero. Harold offered him quarter,—offered him his + earldom, they say: even in the midst of battle; but he would not take it. + He said he was the Sigurdsson’s man now, and true man he would be!” + </p> + <p> + “Harold offered him?—what art babbling about? Who fought you?” + </p> + <p> + “Harold Godwinsson, the king.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “At Stanford Brigg, by York Town.” + </p> + <p> + “Harold Godwinsson slew Harold Sigurdsson? After this wolves may eat + lions!” + </p> + <p> + “The Godwinsson is a gallant fighter, and a wise general, or I had not + been here now.” + </p> + <p> + “Get on thy horse, man!” said he, scornfully and impatiently, “and gallop, + if thou canst.” + </p> + <p> + “I have ridden many a mile in Ireland, Earl, and have not forgotten my + seat.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou hast, hast thou?” said Martin; “thou art Thord Gunlaugsson of + Waterford.” + </p> + <p> + “That am I. How knowest thou me, man?” + </p> + <p> + “I am of Waterford. Thou hadst a slave lass once, I think; Mew: they + called her Mew, her skin it was so white.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that to thee?” asked Thord, turning on him savagely. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I meant no harm. I saw her at Waterford when I was a boy, and + thought her a fair lass enough, that is all.” + </p> + <p> + And Martin dropped into the rear. By this time they were at the gates of + St. Omer. + </p> + <p> + As they rode side by side, Hereward got more details of the fight. + </p> + <p> + “I knew it would fall out so. I foretold it!” said Thord. “I had a dream. + I saw us come to English land, and fight; and I saw the banners floating. + And before the English army was a great witchwife, and rode upon a wolf, + and he had a corpse in his bloody jaws. And when he had eaten one up, she + threw him another, till he had swallowed all.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she throw him thine?” asked Martin, who ran holding by the stirrup. + </p> + <p> + “That did she, and eaten I saw myself. Yet here I am alive.” + </p> + <p> + “Then thy dreams were naught.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know that. The wolf may have me yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear thou art fey.” [Footnote: Prophesying his own death.] + </p> + <p> + “What the devil is it to thee if I be?” + </p> + <p> + “Naught. But be comforted. I am a necromancer; and this I know by my art, + that the weapon that will slay thee was never forged in Flanders here.” + </p> + <p> + “There was another man had a dream,” said Thord, turning from Martin + angrily. “He was standing in the king’s ship, and he saw a great witchwife + with a fork and a trough stand on the island. And he saw a fowl on every + ship’s stem, a raven, or else an eagle, and he heard the witchwife sing an + evil song.” + </p> + <p> + By this time they were in St. Omer. + </p> + <p> + Hereward rode straight to the Countess Judith’s house. He never had + entered it yet, and was likely to be attacked if he entered it now. But + when the door was opened, he thrust in with so earnest and sad a face that + the servants let him pass, but not without growling and motions as of + getting their weapons. + </p> + <p> + “I come in peace, my men, I come in peace: this is no time for brawls. + Where is the steward, or one of the Countess’s ladies? Tell her, madam, + that Hereward waits her commands, and entreats her, in the name of St. + Mary and all Saints, to vouchsafe him one word in private.” + </p> + <p> + The lady hurried into the bower. The next moment Judith hurried out into + the hall, her fair face blanched, her fair eyes wide with terror. + </p> + <p> + Hereward fell on his knee. + </p> + <p> + “What is this? It must be bad news if you bring it.” + </p> + <p> + “Madam, the grave covers all feuds. Earl Tosti was a very valiant hero; + and would to God that we had been friends!” + </p> + <p> + She did not hear the end of the sentence, but fell back with a shriek into + the women’s arms. + </p> + <p> + Hereward told them all that they needed to know of that fratricidal + strife; and then to Thord Gunlaugsson,— + </p> + <p> + “Have you any token that this is true? Mind what I warned you, if you + lied!” + </p> + <p> + “This have I, Earl and ladies,” and he drew from his bosom a reliquary. + “Ulf the marshal took this off his neck, and bade me give it to none but + his lady. Therefore, with your pardon, Sir Earl, I did not tell you that I + had it, not knowing whether you were an honest man.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou hast done well, and an honest man thou shall find me. Come home, and + I will feed thee at my own table; for I have been a sea-rover and a Viking + myself.” + </p> + <p> + They left the reliquary with the ladies, and went. + </p> + <p> + “See to this good man, Martin.” + </p> + <p> + “That will I, as the apple of my eye.” + </p> + <p> + And Hereward went into Torfrida’s room. + </p> + <p> + “I have news, news!” + </p> + <p> + “So have I.” + </p> + <p> + “Harold Hardraade is slain, and Tosti too!” + </p> + <p> + “Where? how?” + </p> + <p> + “Harold Godwinsson slew them by York.” + </p> + <p> + “Brother has slain brother? O God that died on cross!” murmured Torfrida, + “when will men look to thee, and have mercy on their own souls? But, + Hereward, I have news,—news more terrible by far. It came an hour + ago. I have been dreading your coming back.” + </p> + <p> + “Say on. If Harold Hardraade is dead, no worse can happen.” + </p> + <p> + “But Harold Godwinsson is dead!” + </p> + <p> + “Dead! Who next? William of Normandy? The world seems coming to an end, as + the monks say it will soon.” [Footnote: There was a general rumor abroad + that the end of the world was at hand, that the “one thousand years” of + prophecy had expired.] + </p> + <p> + “A great battle has been fought at a place they call Heathfield.” + </p> + <p> + “Close by Hastings? Close to the landing-place? Harold must have flown + thither back from York. What a captain the man is, after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Was. He is dead, and all the Godwinssons, and England lost.” + </p> + <p> + If Torfrida had feared the effect of her news, her heart was lightened at + once as Hereward answered haughtily,— + </p> + <p> + “England lost? Sussex is not England, nor Wessex either, any more than + Harold was king thereof. England lost? Let the tanner try to cross the + Watling street, and he will find out that he has another stamp of + Englishmen to deal with.” + </p> + <p> + “Hereward, Hereward, do not be unjust to the dead. Men say—the + Normans say—that they fought like heroes.” + </p> + <p> + “I never doubted that; but it makes me mad—as it does all Eastern + and Northern men—to hear these Wessex churls and Godwinssons calling + themselves all England.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida shook her head. To her, as to most foreigners, Wessex and the + southeast counties were England; the most civilized; the most Norman; the + seat of royalty; having all the prestige of law, and order, and wealth. + And she was shrewd enough to see, that as it was the part of England which + had most sympathy with Norman civilization, it was the very part where the + Norman could most easily gain and keep his hold. The event proved that + Torfrida was right: but all she said was, “It is dangerously near to + France, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “It is that. I would sooner see 100,000 French north of the Humber, than + 10,000 in Kent and Sussex, where he can hurry over supplies and men every + week. It is the starting-point for him, if he means to conquer England + piecemeal.” + </p> + <p> + “And he does.” + </p> + <p> + “And he shall not!” and Hereward started up, and walked to and fro. “If + all the Godwinssons be dead, there are Leofricssons left, I trust, and + Siward’s kin, and the Gospatricks in Northumbria. Ah? Where were my + nephews in the battle? Not killed too, I trust?” + </p> + <p> + “They were not in the battle.” + </p> + <p> + “Not with their new brother-in-law? Much he has gained by throwing away + the Swan-neck, like a base hound as he was, and marrying my pretty niece. + But where were they?” + </p> + <p> + “No man knows clearly. They followed him down as far as London, and then + lingered about the city, meaning no man can tell what: but we shall hear—and + I fear hear too much—before a week is over.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens! this is madness, indeed. This is the way to be eaten up one by + one! Neither to do the thing, nor leave it alone. If I had been there! If + I had been there—” + </p> + <p> + “You would have saved England, my hero!” and Torfrida believed her own + words. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t say that. Besides, I say that England is not lost. But there were + but two things to do: either to have sent to William at once, and offered + him the crown, if he would but guarantee the Danish laws and liberties to + all north of the Watling street; and if he would, fall on the Godwinssons + themselves, by fair means or foul, and send their heads to William.” + </p> + <p> + “Or what?” + </p> + <p> + “Or have marched down after him, with every man they could muster, and + thrown themselves on the Frenchman’s flank in the battle; or between him + and the sea, cutting him off from France; or—O that I had but been + there, what things could I have done! And now these two wretched boys have + fooled away their only chance—” + </p> + <p> + “Some say that they hoped for the crown themselves. + </p> + <p> + “Which?—not both? Vain babies!” And Hereward laughed bitterly. “I + suppose one will murder the other next, in order to make himself the + stronger by being the sole rival to the tanner. The midden cock, sole + rival to the eagle! Boy Waltheof will set up his claim next, I presume, as + Siward’s son; and then Gospatrick, as Ethelred Evil-Counsel’s + great-grandson; and so forth, and so forth, till they all eat each other + up, and the tanner’s grandson eats the last. What care I? Tell me about + the battle, my lady, if you know aught. That is more to my way than their + statecraft.” + </p> + <p> + And Torfrida told him all she knew of the great fight on Heathfield Down—which + men call Senlac—and the Battle of Hastings. And as she told it in + her wild, eloquent fashion, Hereward’s face reddened, and his eyes + kindled. And when she told of the last struggle round the Dragon + [Footnote: I have dared to differ from the excellent authorities who say + that the standard was that of “A Fighting Man”; because the Bayeux + Tapestry represents the last struggle as in front of a Dragon standard, + which must be—as is to be expected—the old standard of Wessex, + the standard of English Royalty. That Harold had also a “Fighting Man” + standard, and that it was sent by William to the Pope, there is no reason + to doubt. But if the Bayeux Tapestry be correct, the fury of the fight for + the standard would be explained. It would be a fight for the very symbol + of King Edward’s dynasty.] standard; of Harold’s mighty figure in the + front of all, hewing with his great double-headed axe, and then rolling in + gore and agony, an arrow in his eye; of the last rally of the men of Kent; + of Gurth, the last defender of the standard, falling by William’s sword, + the standard hurled to the ground, and the Popish Gonfanon planted in its + place,—then Hereward’s eyes, for the first and last time for many a + year, were flushed with noble tears; and springing up he cried: “Honor to + the Godwinssons! Honor to the Southern men! Honor to all true English + hearts! Why was I not there to go with them to Valhalla?” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida caught him round the neck. “Because you are here, my hero, to + free your country from her tyrants, and win yourself immortal fame.” + </p> + <p> + “Fool that I am, I verily believe I am crying.” + </p> + <p> + “Those tears,” said she, as she kissed them away, “are more precious to + Torfrida than the spoils of a hundred fights, for they tell me that + Hereward still loves his country, still honors virtue, even in a foe.” + </p> + <p> + And thus Torfrida—whether from woman’s sentiment of pity, or from a + woman’s instinctive abhorrence of villany and wrong,—had become + there and then an Englishwoman of the English, as she proved by strange + deeds and sufferings for many a year. + </p> + <p> + “Where is that Norseman, Martin?” asked Hereward that night ere he went to + bed, “I want to hear more of poor Hardraade.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t speak to him now, master. He is sound asleep this two hours; + and warm enough, I will warrant.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “In the great green bed with blue curtains, just above the kitchen.” + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense is this?” + </p> + <p> + “The bed where you and I shall lie some day; and the kitchen which we + shall be sent down to, to turn our own spits, unless we mend our manners + mightily.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward looked at the man. Madness glared in his eyes, unmistakably. + </p> + <p> + “You have killed him!” + </p> + <p> + “And buried him, cheating the priests.” + </p> + <p> + “Villain!” cried Hereward, seizing him. + </p> + <p> + “Take your hands off my throat, master. He was only my father.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward stood shocked and puzzled. After all, the man was “No-man’s-man,” + and would not be missed; and Martin Lightfoot, letting alone his madness, + was as a third hand and foot to him all day long. + </p> + <p> + So all he said was, “I hope you have buried him well and safely?” + </p> + <p> + “You may walk your bloodhound over his grave, to-morrow, without finding + him.” + </p> + <p> + And where he lay, Hereward never knew. But from that night Martin got a + trick of stroking and patting his little axe, and talking to it as if it + had been alive. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. — HOW EARL GODWIN’S WIDOW CAME TO ST. OMER. + </h2> + <p> + It would be vain to attempt even a sketch of the reports which came to + Flanders from England during the next two years, or of the conversation + which ensued thereon between Baldwin and his courtiers, or Hereward and + Torfrida. Two reports out of three were doubtless false, and two + conversations out of three founded on those false reports. + </p> + <p> + It is best, therefore, to interrupt the thread of the story, by some small + sketch of the state of England after the battle of Hastings; that so we + may, at least, guess at the tenor of Hereward and Torfrida’s counsels. + </p> + <p> + William had, as yet, conquered little more than the South of England: + hardly, indeed, all that; for Herefordshire, Worcestershire, and the + neighboring parts, which had belonged to Sweyn, Harold’s brother, were + still insecure; and the noble old city of Exeter, confident in her Roman + walls, did not yield till two years after, in A.D. 1068. + </p> + <p> + North of his conquered territory, Mercia stretched almost across England, + from Chester to the Wash, governed by Edwin and Morcar, the two fair + grandsons of Leofric, the great earl, and sons of Alfgar. Edwin called + himself Earl of Mercia, and held the Danish burghs. On the extreme + northwest, the Roman city of Chester was his; while on the extreme + southeast (as Domesday book testifies), Morcar held large lands round + Bourne, and throughout the south of Lincolnshire, besides calling himself + the Earl of Northumbria. The young men seemed the darlings of the + half-Danish northmen. Chester, Coventry, Derby, Nottingham, Leicester, + Stamford, a chain of fortified towns stretching across England, were at + their command; Blethyn, Prince of North Wales, was their nephew. + </p> + <p> + Northumbria, likewise, was not yet in William’s hands. Indeed, it was in + no man’s hands, since the free Danes, north of the Humber, had expelled + Tosti, Harold’s brother, putting Morcar in his place, and helped that + brother to slay him at Stanford Brigg. Morcar, instead of residing in his + earldom of Northumbria, had made one Oswulf his deputy; but he had rivals + enough. There was Gospatrick, claiming through his grandfather, Uchtred, + and strong in the protection of his cousin Malcolm, King of Scotland; + there was young Waltheof, “the forest thief,” who had been born to Siward + Biorn in his old age, just after the battle of Dunsinane; a fine and + gallant young man, destined to a swift and sad end. + </p> + <p> + William sent to the Northumbrians one Copsi, a Thane of mark and worth, as + his procurator, to expel Oswulf. Oswulf and the land-folk answered by + killing Copsi, and doing, every man, that which was right in his own eyes. + </p> + <p> + William determined to propitiate the young earls. Perhaps he intended to + govern the centre and north of England through them, as feudal vassals, + and hoped, meanwhile, to pay his Norman conquerors sufficiently out of the + forfeited lands of Harold, and those who had fought by his side at + Hastings. It was not his policy to make himself, much less to call + himself, the Conqueror of England. He claimed to be its legitimate + sovereign, deriving from his cousin, Edward the Confessor; and whosoever + would acknowledge him as such had neither right nor cause to fear. + Therefore he sent for the young earls. He courted Waltheof, and more, + really loved him. He promised Edwin his daughter in marriage. Some say it + was Constance, afterwards married to Alan Fergant of Brittany; but it may, + also, have been the beautiful Adelaide, who, none knew why, early gave up + the world, and died in a convent. Be that as it may, the two young people + saw each, and loved each other at Rouen, whither William took Waltheof, + Edwin, and his brother; as honored guests in name, in reality as hostages, + likewise. + </p> + <p> + With the same rational and prudent policy, William respected the fallen + royal families, both of Harold and of Edward; at least, he warred not + against women; and the wealth and influence of the great English ladies + was enormous. Edith, sister of Harold, and widow of the Confessor, lived + in wealth and honor at Winchester. Gyda, Harold’s mother, retained Exeter + and her land. Aldytha, [Footnote: See her history, told as none other can + tell it, in Bulwer’s “Harold.”] or Elfgiva, sister of Edwin and Morcar, + niece of Hereward, and widow, first of Griffin of Wales, and then of + Harold, lived rich and safe in Chester. Godiva, the Countess, owned, so + antiquarians say, manors from Cheshire to Lincolnshire, which would be now + yearly worth the income of a great duke. Agatha, the Hungarian, widow of + Edmund the outlaw, dwelt at Romsey, in Hampshire, under William’s care. + Her son, Edward Etheling, the rightful heir of England, was treated by + William not only with courtesy, but with affection; and allowed to rebel, + when he did rebel, with impunity. For the descendant of Rollo, the heathen + Viking, had become a civilized, chivalrous, Christian knight. His mighty + forefather would have split the Etheling’s skull with his own axe. A Frank + king would have shaved the young man’s head, and immersed him in a + monastery. An eastern sultan would have thrust out his eyes, or strangled + him at once. But William, however cruel, however unscrupulous, had a + knightly heart, and somewhat of a Christian conscience; and his conduct to + his only lawful rival is a noble trait amid many sins. + </p> + <p> + So far all went well, till William went back to France; to be likened, not + as his ancestors, to the gods of Valhalla, or the barbarous and destroying + Viking of mythic ages, but to Caesar, Pompey, Vespasian, and the civilized + and civilizing heroes of classic Rome. + </p> + <p> + But while he sat at the Easter feast at Fécamp, displaying to Franks, + Flemings, and Bretons, as well as to his own Normans, the treasures of + Edward’s palace at Westminster, and “more English wealth than could be + found in the whole estate of Gaul”; while he sat there in his glory, with + his young dupes, Edwin, Morcar, and Waltheof by his side, having sent + Harold’s banner in triumph to the Pope, as a token that he had conquered + the Church as well as the nation of England; and having founded abbeys as + thank-offerings to Him who had seemed to prosper him in his great crime: + at that very hour the handwriting was on the wall, unseen by man; and he + and his policy and his race were weighed in the balance, and found + wanting. + </p> + <p> + For now broke out in England that wrong-doing, which endured as long as + she was a mere appanage and foreign farm of Norman kings, whose hearts and + homes were across the seas in France. Fitz-Osbern, and Odo the + warrior-prelate, William’s half-brother, had been left as his regents in + England. Little do they seem to have cared for William’s promise to the + English people that they were to be ruled still by the laws of Edward the + Confessor, and that where a grant of land was made to a Norman, he was to + hold it as the Englishman had done before him, with no heavier burdens on + himself, but with no heavier burdens on the poor folk who tilled the land + for him. Oppression began, lawlessness, and violence; men were ill-treated + on the highways; and women—what was worse—in their own homes; + and the regents abetted the ill-doers. “It seems,” says a most impartial + historian, [Footnote: The late Sir F. Palgrave.] “as if the Normans, + released from all authority, all restraint, all fear of retaliation, + determined to reduce the English nation to servitude, and drive them to + despair.” + </p> + <p> + In the latter attempt they succeeded but too soon; in the former, they + succeeded at last: but they paid dearly for their success. + </p> + <p> + Hot young Englishmen began to emigrate. Some went to the court of + Constantinople, to join the Varanger guard, and have their chance of a + Polotaswarf like Harold Hardraade. Some went to Scotland to Malcolm + Canmore, and brooded over return and revenge. But Harold’s sons went to + their father’s cousin; to Sweyn—Swend—Sweno Ulfsson, and + called on him to come and reconquer England in the name of his uncle + Canute the Great; and many an Englishman went with them. + </p> + <p> + These things Gospatrick watched, as earl (so far as he could make any one + obey him in the utter subversion of all order) of the lands between Forth + and Tyne. And he determined to flee, ere evil befell him, to his cousin + Malcolm Canmore, taking with him Marlesweyn of Lincolnshire, who had + fought, it is said, by Harold’s side at Hastings, and young Waltheof of + York. But, moreover, having a head, and being indeed, as his final success + showed, a man of ability and courage, he determined on a stroke of policy, + which had incalculable after-effects on the history of Scotland. He + persuaded Agatha the Hungarian, Margaret and Christina her daughters, and + Edgar the Etheling himself, to flee with him to Scotland. How he contrived + to send them messages to Romsey, far south in Hampshire; how they + contrived to escape to the Humber, and thence up to the Forth; this is a + romance in itself, of which the chroniclers have left hardly a hint. But + the thing was done; and at St. Margaret’s Hope, as tradition tells, the + Scottish king met, and claimed as his unwilling bride, that fair and holy + maiden who was destined to soften his fierce passions, to civilize and + purify his people, and to become—if all had their just dues—the + true patron saint of Scotland. + </p> + <p> + Malcolm Canmore promised a mighty army; Sweyn, a mighty fleet. And + meanwhile, Eustace of Boulogne, the Confessor’s brother-in-law, himself a + Norman, rebelled at the head of the down-trodden men of Kent; and the + Welshmen were harrying Herefordshire with fire and sword, in revenge for + Norman ravages. + </p> + <p> + But as yet the storm did not burst. William returned, and with him + something like order. He conquered Exeter; he destroyed churches and towns + to make his New Forest. He brought over his Queen Matilda with pomp and + great glory; and with her, the Bayeux tapestry which she had wrought with + her own hands; and meanwhile Sweyn Ulfsson was too busy threatening Olaf + Haroldsson, the new king of Norway, to sail for England; and the sons of + King Harold of England had to seek help from the Irish Danes, and, + ravaging the country round Bristol, be beaten off by the valiant burghers + with heavy loss. + </p> + <p> + So the storm did not burst; and need not have burst, it may be, at all, + had William kept his plighted word. But he would not give his fair + daughter to Edwin. His Norman nobles, doubtless, looked upon such an + alliance as debasing to a civilized lady. In their eyes, the Englishman + was a barbarian; and though the Norman might well marry the Englishwoman, + if she had beauty or wealth, it was a dangerous precedent to allow the + Englishman to marry the Norman woman, and that woman a princess. Beside, + there were those who coveted Edwin’s broad lands; Roger de Montgomery, who + already (it is probable) held part of them as Earl of Shrewsbury, had no + wish to see Edwin the son-in-law of his sovereign. Be the cause what it + may, William faltered, and refused; and Edwin and Morcar left the Court of + Westminster in wrath. Waltheof followed them, having discovered—what + he was weak enough continually to forget again—the treachery of the + Norman. The young earls went off, one midlandward, one northward. The + people saw their wrongs in those of their earls, and the rebellion burst + forth at once, the Welsh under Blethyn, and the Cumbrians under Malcolm + and Donaldbain, giving their help in the struggle. + </p> + <p> + It was the year 1069. A more evil year for England than even the year of + Hastings. + </p> + <p> + The rebellion was crushed in a few months. The great general marched + steadily north, taking the boroughs one by one, storming, massacring young + and old, burning, sometimes, whole towns, and leaving, as he went on, a + new portent, a Norman donjon—till then all but unseen in England—as + a place of safety for his garrisons. At Oxford (sacked horribly, and all + but destroyed), at Warwick (destroyed utterly), at Nottingham, at + Stafford, at Shrewsbury, at Cambridge, on the huge barrow which overhangs + the fen; and at York itself, which had opened its gates, trembling, to the + great Norman strategist; at each doomed free borough rose a castle, with + its tall square tower within, its bailey around, and all the appliances of + that ancient Roman science of fortification, of which the Danes, as well + as the Saxons, knew nothing. Their struggle had only helped to tighten + their bonds; and what wonder? There was among them neither unity nor plan + nor governing mind and will. Hereward’s words had come true. The only man, + save Gospatrick, who had a head in England, was Harold Godwinsson: and he + lay in Waltham Abbey, while the monks sang masses for his soul. + </p> + <p> + Edwin, Morcar, and Waltheof trembled before a genius superior to their + own,—a genius, indeed, which had not its equal then in Christendom. + They came in and begged grace of the king. They got it. But Edwin’s + earldom was forfeited, and he and his brother became, from thenceforth, + desperate men. + </p> + <p> + Malcolm of Scotland trembled likewise, and asked for peace. The clans, it + is said, rejoiced thereat, having no wish for a war which could buy them + neither spoil nor land. Malcolm sent ambassadors to William, and took that + oath of fealty to the “Basileus of Britain,” which more than one Scottish + king and kinglet had taken before,—with the secret proviso (which, + during the Middle Ages, seems to have been thoroughly understood in such + cases by both parties), that he should be William’s man just as long as + William could compel him to be so, and no longer. + </p> + <p> + Then came cruel and unjust confiscations. Ednoth the standard-bearer had + fallen at Bristol, fighting for William against the Haroldssons, yet all + his lands were given away to Normans. Edwin and Morcar’s lands were parted + likewise; and—to specify cases which bear especially on the history + of Hereward—Oger the Briton got many of Morcar’s manors round + Bourne, and Gilbert of Ghent many belonging to Marlesweyn about Lincoln + city. And so did that valiant and crafty knight find his legs once more on + other men’s ground, and reappears in monkish story as “the most devout and + pious earl, Gilbert of Ghent.” + </p> + <p> + What followed, Hereward heard not from flying rumors; but from one who had + seen and known and judged of all. [Footnote: For Gyda’s coming to St. Omer + that year, see Ordericus Vitalis.] + </p> + <p> + For one day, about this time, Hereward was riding out of the gate of St. + Omer, when the porter appealed to him. Begging for admittance were some + twenty women, and a clerk or two; and they must needs see the châtelain. + The châtelain was away. What should he do? + </p> + <p> + Hereward looked at the party, and saw, to his surprise, that they were + Englishwomen, and two of them women of rank, to judge from the rich + materials of their travel-stained and tattered garments. The ladies rode + on sorry country garrons, plainly hired from the peasants who drove them. + The rest of the women had walked; and weary and footsore enough they were. + </p> + <p> + “You are surely Englishwomen?” asked he of the foremost, as he lifted his + cap. + </p> + <p> + The lady bowed assent, beneath a heavy veil. + </p> + <p> + “Then you are my guests. Let them pass in.” And Hereward threw himself off + his horse, and took the lady’s bridle. + </p> + <p> + “Stay,” she said, with an accent half Wessex, half Danish. “I seek the + Countess Judith, if it will please you to tell me where she lives.” + </p> + <p> + “The Countess Judith, lady, lives no longer in St. Omer. Since her + husband’s death, she lives with her mother at Bruges.” + </p> + <p> + The lady made a gesture of disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “It were best for you, therefore, to accept my hospitality, till such time + as I can send you and your ladies on to Bruges.” + </p> + <p> + “I must first know who it is who offers me hospitality?” + </p> + <p> + This was said so proudly, that Hereward answered proudly enough in return,— + </p> + <p> + “I am Hereward Leofricsson, whom his foes call Hereward the outlaw, and + his friends Hereward the master of knights.” + </p> + <p> + She started, and threw her veil hack, looking intently at him. He, for his + part, gave but one glance, and then cried,— + </p> + <p> + “Mother of Heaven! You are the great Countess!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I was that woman once, if all be not a dream. I am now I know not + what, seeking hospitality—if I can believe my eyes and ears—of + Godiva’s son.” + </p> + <p> + “And from Godiva’s son you shall have it, as though you were Godiva’s + self. God so deal with my mother, madam, as I will deal with you.” + </p> + <p> + “His father’s wit, and his mother’s beauty!” said the great Countess, + looking upon him. “Too, too like my own lost Harold!” + </p> + <p> + “Not so, my lady. I am a dwarf compared to him.” And Hereward led the + garron on by the bridle, keeping his cap in hand, while all wondered who + the dame could be, before whom Hereward the champion would so abase + himself. + </p> + <p> + “Leofric’s son does me too much honor. He has forgotten, in his chivalry, + that I am Godwin’s widow.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not forgotten that you are Sprakaleg’s daughter, and niece of + Canute, king of kings. Neither have I forgotten that you are an English + lady, in times in which all English folk are one, and all old English + feuds are wiped away.” + </p> + <p> + “In English blood. Ah! if these last words of yours were true, as you, + perhaps, might make them true, England might be saved even yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Saved?” + </p> + <p> + “If there were one man in it, who cared for aught but himself.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward was silent and thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + He had sent Martin back to his house, to tell Torfrida to prepare bath and + food; for the Countess Gyda, with all her train, was coming to be her + guest. And when they entered the court, Torfrida stood ready. + </p> + <p> + “Is this your lady?” asked Gyda, as Hereward lifted her from her horse. + </p> + <p> + “I am his lady, and your servant,” said Torfrida, bowing. + </p> + <p> + “Child! child! Bow not to me. Talk not of servants to a wretched slave, + who only longs to crawl into some hole and die, forgetting all she was and + all she had.” + </p> + <p> + And the great Countess reeled with weariness and woe, and fell upon + Torfrida’s neck. + </p> + <p> + A tall veiled lady next her helped to support her; and between them they + almost carried her through the hall, and into Torfrida’s best + guest-chamber. + </p> + <p> + And there they gave her wine, and comforted her, and let her weep awhile + in peace. + </p> + <p> + The second lady had unveiled herself, displaying a beauty which was still + brilliant, in spite of sorrow, hunger, the stains of travel, and more than + forty years of life. + </p> + <p> + “She must be Gunhilda,” guessed Torfrida to herself, and not amiss. + </p> + <p> + She offered Gyda a bath, which she accepted eagerly, like a true Dane. + </p> + <p> + “I have not washed for weeks. Not since we sat starving on the Flat-Holme + there, in the Severn sea. I have become as foul as my own fortunes: and + why not? It is all of a piece. Why should not beggars beg unwashed?” + </p> + <p> + But when Torfrida offered Gunhilda the bath she declined. + </p> + <p> + “I have done, lady, with such carnal vanities. What use in cleansing that + body which is itself unclean, and whitening the outside of this sepulchre? + If I can but cleanse my soul fit for my heavenly Bridegroom, the body may + become—as it must at last—food for worms.” + </p> + <p> + “She will needs enter religion, poor child,” said Gyda; “and what wonder?” + </p> + <p> + “I have chosen the better part, and it shall not be taken from me.” + </p> + <p> + “Taken! taken! Hark to her! She means to mock me, the proud nun, with that + same ‘taken.’” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid, mother!” + </p> + <p> + “Then why say taken, to me from whom all is taken?—husband, sons, + wealth, land, renown, power,—power which I loved, wretch that I was, + as well as husband and as sons? Ah God! the girl is right. Better to rot + in the convent, than writhe in the world. Better never to have had, than + to have had and lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Amen!” said Gunhilda. “‘Blessed are the barren, and they that never gave + suck,’ saith the Lord.” + </p> + <p> + “No! Not so!” cried Torfrida. “Better, Countess, to have had and lost, + than never to have had at all. The glutton was right, swine as he was, + when he said that not even Heaven could take from him the dinners he had + eaten. How much more we, if we say, not even Heaven can take from us the + love wherewith we have loved. Will not our souls be richer thereby, + through all eternity?” + </p> + <p> + “In Purgatory?” asked Gunhilda. + </p> + <p> + “In Purgatory, or where else you will. I love my love; and though my love + prove false, he has been true; though he trample me under foot, he has + held me in his bosom; though he kill me, he has lived for me. What I have + had will still be mine, when that which I have shall fail me.” + </p> + <p> + “And you would buy short joy with lasting woe?” + </p> + <p> + “That would I, like a brave man’s child. I say,—the present is mine, + and I will enjoy it, as greedily as a child. Let the morrow take thought + for the things of itself.—Countess, your bath is ready.” + </p> + <p> + Nineteen years after, when the great conqueror lay, tossing with agony and + remorse, upon his dying bed, haunted by the ghosts of his victims, the + clerks of St. Saviour’s in Bruges city were putting up a leaden tablet + (which remains, they say, unto this very day) to the memory of one whose + gentle soul had gently passed away. “Charitable to the poor, kind and + agreeable to her attendants, courteous to strangers, and only severe to + herself,” Gunhilda had lingered on in a world of war and crime; and had + gone, it may be, to meet Torfrida beyond the grave, and there finish their + doubtful argument. + </p> + <p> + The Countess was served with food in Torfrida’s chamber. Hereward and his + wife refused to sit, and waited on her standing. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to show these saucy Flemings,” said he, “that an English princess + is a princess still in the eyes of one more nobly born than any of them.” + </p> + <p> + But after she had eaten, she made Torfrida sit before her on the bed, and + Hereward likewise; and began to talk; eagerly, as one who had not + unburdened her mind for many weeks; and eloquently too, as became + Sprakaleg’s daughter and Godwin’s wife. + </p> + <p> + She told them how she had fled from the storm of Exeter, with a troop of + women, who dreaded the brutalities of the Normans. [Footnote: To do + William justice, he would not allow his men to enter the city while they + were blood-hot; and so prevented, as far as he could, the excesses which + Gyda had feared.] How they had wandered up through Devon, found fishers’ + boats at Watchet in Somersetshire, and gone off to the little desert + island of the Flat-Holme, in hopes of there meeting with the Irish fleet, + which her sons, Edmund and Godwin, were bringing against the West of + England. How the fleet had never come, and they had starved for many days; + and how she had bribed a passing merchantman to take her and her wretched + train to the land of Baldwin the Débonnaire, who might have pity on her + for the sake of his daughter Judith, and Tosti her husband who died in his + sins. + </p> + <p> + And at his name, her tears began to flow afresh; fallen in his overweening + pride,—like Sweyn, like Harold, like herself— + </p> + <p> + “The time was, when I would not weep. If I could, I would not. For a year, + lady, after Senlac, I sat like a stone. I hardened my heart like a wall of + brass, against God and man. Then, there upon the Flat-Holme, feeding on + shell-fish, listening to the wail of the sea-fowl, looking outside the wan + water for the sails which never came, my heart broke down in a moment. And + I heard a voice crying, ‘There is no help in man, go thou to God.’ And I + answered, That were a beggar’s trick, to go to God in need, when I went + not to him in plenty. No. Without God I planned, and without Him I must + fail. Without Him I went into the battle, and without Him I must bide the + brunt. And at best, Can He give me back my sons? And I hardened my heart + again like a stone, and shed no tear till I saw your fair face this day.” + </p> + <p> + “And now!” she said, turning sharply on Hereward, “what do you do here? Do + you not know that your nephews’ lands are parted between grooms from + Angers and scullions from Normandy?” + </p> + <p> + “So much the worse for both them and the grooms.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “You forget, lady, that I am an outlaw.” + </p> + <p> + “But do you not know that your mother’s lands are seized likewise?” + </p> + <p> + “She will take refuge with her grandsons, who are, as I hear, again on + good terms with their new master, showing thereby a most laudable and + Christian spirit of forgiveness.” + </p> + <p> + “On good terms? Do you not know, then, that they are fighting again, + outlaws, and desperate at the Frenchman’s treachery? Do you not know that + they have been driven out of York, after defending the city street by + street, house by house? Do you not know that there is not an old man or a + child in arms left in York; and that your nephews, and the few fighting + men who were left, went down the Humber in boats, and north to Scotland, + to Gospatrick and Waltheof? Do you not know that your mother is left alone—at + Bourne, or God knows where—to endure at the hands of Norman ruffians + what thousands more endure?” + </p> + <p> + Hereward made no answer, but played with his dagger. + </p> + <p> + “And do you not know that England is ready to burst into a blaze, if there + be one man wise enough to put the live coal into the right place? That + Sweyn Ulffson, his kinsman, or Osbern, his brother, will surely land there + within the year with a mighty host? And that if there be one man in + England of wit enough, and knowledge enough of war, to lead the armies of + England, the Frenchman may be driven into the sea—Is there any here + who understands English?” + </p> + <p> + “None but ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “And Canute’s nephew sit on Canute’s throne?” + </p> + <p> + Hereward still played with his dagger. + </p> + <p> + “Not the sons of Harold, then?” asked he, after a while. + </p> + <p> + “Never! I promise you that—I, Countess Gyda, their grandmother.” + </p> + <p> + “Why promise me, of all men, O great lady?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—I will tell you after. But this I say, my curse on the + grandson of mine who shall try to seize that fatal crown, which cost the + life of my fairest, my noblest, my wisest, my bravest!” + </p> + <p> + Hereward bowed his head, as if consenting to the praise of Harold. But he + knew who spoke; and he was thinking within himself: “Her curse may be on + him who shall seize, and yet not on him to whom it is given.” + </p> + <p> + “All that they, young and unskilful lads, have a right to ask is, their + father’s earldoms and their father’s lands. Edwin and Morcar would keep + their earldoms as of right. It is a pity that there is no lady of the + house of Godwin, whom we could honor by offering her to one of your + nephews, in return for their nobleness in giving Aldytha to my Harold. But + this foolish girl here refuses to wed—” + </p> + <p> + “And is past forty,” thought Hereward to himself. + </p> + <p> + “However, some plan to join the families more closely together might be + thought of. One of the young earls might marry Judith here. [Footnote: + Tosti’s widow, daughter of Baldwin of Flanders] Waltheof would have + Northumbria, in right of his father, and ought to be well content,—for + although she is somewhat older than he, she is peerlessly beautiful,—to + marry your niece Aldytha.” [Footnote: Harold’s widow.] + </p> + <p> + “And Gospatrick?” + </p> + <p> + “Gospatrick,” she said, with a half-sneer, “will be as sure, as he is + able, to get something worth having for himself out of any medley. Let him + have Scotch Northumbria, if he claim it. He is a Dane, and our work will + be to make a Danish England once and forever.” + </p> + <p> + “But what of Sweyn’s gallant holders and housecarles, who are to help to + do this mighty deed?” + </p> + <p> + “Senlac left gaps enough among the noblemen of the South, which they can + fill up, in the place of the French scum who now riot over Wessex. And if + that should not suffice, what higher honor for me, or for my daughter the + Queen-Dowager, than to devote our lands to the heroes who have won them + back for us?” + </p> + <p> + Hereward hoped inwardly that Gyda would be as good as her word; for her + greedy grasp had gathered to itself, before the Battle of Hastings, no + less than six-and-thirty thousand acres of good English soil. + </p> + <p> + “I have always heard,” said he, bowing, “that if the Lady Gyda had been + born a man, England would have had another all-seeing and all-daring + statesman, and Earl Godwin a rival, instead of a helpmate. Now I believe + what I have heard.” + </p> + <p> + But Torfrida looked sadly at the Countess. There was something pitiable in + the sight of a woman ruined, bereaved, seemingly hopeless, portioning out + the very land from which she was a fugitive; unable to restrain the + passion for intrigue, which had been the toil and the bane of her sad and + splendid life. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” she went on, “surely some kind saint brought me, even on my + first landing, to you of all living men.” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless the blessed St. Bertin, beneath whose shadow we repose here in + peace,” said Hereward, somewhat dryly. + </p> + <p> + “I will go barefoot to his altar to-morrow, and offer my last jewel,” said + Gunhilda. + </p> + <p> + “You,” said Gyda, without noticing her daughter, “are, above all men, the + man who is needed.” And she began praising Hereward’s valor, his fame, his + eloquence, his skill as a general and engineer; and when he suggested, + smiling, that he was an exile and an outlaw, she insisted that he was all + the fitter from that very fact. He had no enemies among the nobles. He had + been mixed up in none of the civil wars and blood feuds of the last + fifteen years. He was known only as that which he was, the ablest captain + of his day,—the only man who could cope with William, the only man + whom all parties in England would alike obey. + </p> + <p> + And so, with flattery as well as with truth, she persuaded, if not + Hereward, at least Torfrida, that he was the man destined to free England + once more; and that an earldom—anything which he chose to ask—would + be the sure reward of his assistance. + </p> + <p> + “Torfrida,” said Hereward that night, “kiss me well; for you will not kiss + me again for a while.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to England to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Alone. I and Martin to spy out the land; and a dozen or so of housecarles + to take care of the ship in harbor.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have promised to fight the Viscount of Pinkney.” + </p> + <p> + “I will be back again in time for him. Not a word,—I must go to + England, or go mad.” + </p> + <p> + “But Countess Gyda? Who will squire her to Bruges?” + </p> + <p> + “You, and the rest of my men. You must tell her all. She has a woman’s + heart, and will understand. And tell Baldwin I shall be back within the + month, if I am alive on land or water.” + </p> + <p> + “Hereward, Hereward, the French will kill you!” + </p> + <p> + “Not while I have your armor on. Peace, little fool! Are you actually + afraid for Hereward at last?” + </p> + <p> + “O heavens! when am I not afraid for you!” and she cried herself to sleep + upon his bosom. But she knew that it was the right, and knightly, and + Christian thing to do. + </p> + <p> + Two days after, a long ship ran out of Calais, and sailed away north and + east. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. — HOW HEREWARD CLEARED BOURNE OF FRENCHMEN. + </h2> + <p> + It may have been well, a week after, that Hereward rode from the direction + of Boston, with Martin running at his heels. + </p> + <p> + As Hereward rode along the summer wold the summer sun sank low, till just + before it went down he came to an island of small enclosed fields, high + banks, elm-trees, and a farm inside; one of those most ancient holdings of + the South and East Counts, still to be distinguished, by their huge banks + and dikes full of hedgerow timber, from the more modern corn-lands + outside, which were in Hereward’s time mostly common pasture-lands. + </p> + <p> + “This should be Azerdun,” said he; “and there inside, as I live, stands + Azer getting in his crops. But who has he with him?” + </p> + <p> + With the old man were some half-dozen men of his own rank; some helping + the serfs with might and main; one or two standing on the top of the + banks, as if on the lookout; but all armed <i>cap-à -pie</i>. + </p> + <p> + “His friends are helping him to get them in,” quoth Martin, “for fear of + the rascally Normans. A pleasant and peaceable country we have come back + to.” + </p> + <p> + “And a very strong fortress are they holding,” said Hereward, “against + either Norman horsemen or Norman arrows. How to dislodge those six fellows + without six times their number, I do not see. It is well to recollect + that.” + </p> + <p> + And so he did; and turned to use again and again, in after years, the + strategetic capabilities of an old-fashioned English farm. + </p> + <p> + Hereward spurred his horse up to the nearest gate, and was instantly + confronted by a little fair-haired man, as broad as he was tall, who + heaved up a long “twybill,” or double axe, and bade him, across the gate, + go to a certain place. + </p> + <p> + “Little Winter, little Winter, my chuck, my darling, my mad fellow, my + brother-in-arms, my brother in robbery and murder, are you grown so honest + in your old age that you will not know Hereward the wolf’s-head?” + </p> + <p> + “Hereward!” shrieked the doughty little man. “I took you for an accursed + Norman in those outlandish clothes;” and lifting up no little voice, he + shouted,— + </p> + <p> + “Hereward is back, and Martin Lightfoot at his heels!” + </p> + <p> + The gate was thrown open, and Hereward all but pulled off his horse. He + was clapped on the back, turned round and round, admired from head to + foot, shouted at by old companions of his boyhood, naughty young + housecarles of his old troop, now settled down into honest thriving + yeomen, hard working and hard fighting, who had heard again and again, + with pride, of his doughty doings over sea. There was Winter, and Gwenoch, + and Gery, Hereward’s cousin,—ancestor, it may be, of the ancient and + honorable house of that name, and of those parts; and Duti and Outi, the + two valiant twins; and Ulfard the White, and others, some of whose names, + and those of their sons, still stand in Domesday-book. + </p> + <p> + “And what,” asked Hereward, after the first congratulations were over, “of + my mother? What of the folk at Bourne?” + </p> + <p> + All looked each at the other, and were silent. + </p> + <p> + “You are too late, young lord,” said Azer. + </p> + <p> + “Too late?” + </p> + <p> + “The Norman”—Azer called him what most men called him then—“has + given it to a man of Gilbert of Ghent’s,—his butler, groom, cook, + for aught I know.” + </p> + <p> + “To Gilbert’s man? And my mother?” + </p> + <p> + “God help your mother, and your young brother, too. We only know that + three days ago some five-and-twenty French marched into the place.” + </p> + <p> + “And you did not stop them?” + </p> + <p> + “Young sir, who are we to stop an army? We have enough to keep our own. + Gilbert, let alone the villain Ivo of Spalding, can send a hundred men + down on us in four-and-twenty hours.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I,” said Hereward in a voice of thunder, “will find the way to send + two hundred down on him”; and turning his horse from the gate, he rode + away furiously towards Bourne. + </p> + <p> + He turned back as suddenly, and galloped into the field. + </p> + <p> + “Lads! old comrades! will you stand by me if I need you? Will you follow + Hereward, as hundreds have followed him already, if he will only go + before?” + </p> + <p> + “We will, we will.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be back ere morning. What you have to do, I will tell you then.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop and eat, but for a quarter of an hour.” + </p> + <p> + Then Hereward swore a great oath, by oak and ash and thorn, that he would + neither eat bread nor drink water while there was a Norman left in Bourne. + </p> + <p> + “A little ale, then, if no water,” said Azer. + </p> + <p> + Hereward laughed, and rode away, + </p> + <p> + “You will not go single-handed against all those ruffians,” shouted the + old man after him. “Saddle, lads, and go with him, some of you, for very + shame’s sake.” + </p> + <p> + But when they galloped after Hereward, he sent them back. He did not know + yet, he said, what he would do. Better that they should gather their + forces, and see what men they could afford him, in case of open battle. + And he rode swiftly on. + </p> + <p> + When he came within the lands of Bourne it was dark. + </p> + <p> + “So much the better,” thought Hereward. “I have no wish to see the old + place till I have somewhat cleaned it out.” + </p> + <p> + He rode slowly into the long street between the overhanging gables. At the + upper end he could see the high garden walls of his mother’s house, and + rising over them the great hall, its narrow windows all ablaze with light. + With a bitter growl he rode on, trying to recollect a house where he could + safely lodge. Martin pointed one out. + </p> + <p> + “Old Viking Surturbrand, the housecarle, did live there, and maybe lives + there still.” + </p> + <p> + “We will try.” And Martin knocked at the door. + </p> + <p> + The wicket was opened, but not the door; and through the wicket window a + surly voice asked who was there. + </p> + <p> + “Who lives here?” + </p> + <p> + “Perry, son of Surturbrand. Who art thou who askest?” + </p> + <p> + “An honest gentleman and his servant, looking for a night’s lodging.” + </p> + <p> + “This is no place for honest folk.” + </p> + <p> + “As for that, we don’t wish to be more honest than you would have us; but + lodging we will pay for, freely and well.” + </p> + <p> + “We want none of your money”; and the wicket was shut. + </p> + <p> + Martin pulled out his axe, and drove the panel in. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing? We shall rouse the town,” said Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “Let be; these are no French, but honest English, and like one all the + better for a little horse-play.” + </p> + <p> + “What didst do that for?” asked the surly voice again. “Were it not for + those rascal Frenchmen up above, I would come out and split thy skull for + thee.” + </p> + <p> + “If there be Frenchmen up above,” said Martin, in a voice of feigned + terror, “take us in for the love of the Virgin and all the saints, or + murdered we shall be ere morning light.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no call to stay in the town, man, unless you like.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward rode close to the wicket, and said in a low voice, “I am a + nobleman of Flanders, good sir, and a sworn foe to all French. My horse is + weary, and cannot make a step forward; and if you be a Christian man, you + will take me in and let me go off safe ere morning light.” + </p> + <p> + “From Flanders?” And the man turned and seemed to consult those within. At + length the door was slowly opened, and Perry appeared, his double axe over + his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “If you be from Flanders, come in for mercy; but be quick, ere those + Frenchmen get wind of you.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward went in. Five or six men were standing round the long table, upon + which they had just laid down their double axes and javelins. More than + one countenance Hereward recognized at once. Over the peat-fire in the + chimney-corner sat a very old man, his hands upon his knees, as he warmed + his bare feet at the embers. He started up at the noise, and Hereward saw + at once that it was old Surturbrand, and that he was blind. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it? Is Hereward come?” asked he, with the dull, dreamy voice of + age. + </p> + <p> + “Not Hereward, father,” said some one, “but a knight from Flanders.” + </p> + <p> + The old man dropped his head upon his breast again with a querulous whine, + while Hereward’s heart beat high at hearing his own name. At all events he + was among friends; and approaching the table he unbuckled his sword and + laid it down among the other weapons. “At least,” said he, “I shall have + no need of thee as long as I am here among honest men.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall I do with my master’s horse?” asked Martin. “He can’t stand in + the street to be stolen by drunken French horseboys.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring him in at the front door, and out at the back,” said Perry. “Fine + times these, when a man dare not open his own yard-gate.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be all besieged here,” said Hereward. “How is this?” + </p> + <p> + “Besieged we are,” said the man; and then, partly to turn the subject off, + “Will it please you to eat, noble sir?” + </p> + <p> + Hereward ate and drank: while his hosts eyed him, not without some + lingering suspicion, but still with admiration and some respect. His + splendid armor and weapons, as well as the golden locks which fell far + below his shoulders, and conveniently hid a face which he did not wish yet + to have recognized, showed him to be a man of the highest rank; while the + palm of his small hand, as hard and bony as any woodman’s, proclaimed him + to be no novice of a fighting man. The strong Flemish accent which both he + and Martin Lightfoot had assumed prevented the honest Englishmen from + piercing his disguise. They watched him, while he in turn watched them, + struck by their uneasy looks and sullen silence. + </p> + <p> + “We are a dull company,” said he after a while, courteously enough. “We + used to be told in Flanders that there were none such stout drinkers and + none such jolly singers as you gallant men of the Danelagh here.” + </p> + <p> + “Dull times make dull company,” said one, “and no offence to you, Sir + Knight.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you such a stranger,” asked Perry, “that you do not know what has + happened in this town during the last three days?” + </p> + <p> + “No good, I will warrant, if you have Frenchmen in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why was not Hereward here?” wailed the old man in the corner. “It never + would have happened if he had been in the town.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Hereward, trying to command himself. + </p> + <p> + “What has happened,” said Perry, “makes a free Englishman’s blood boil to + tell of. Here, Sir Knight, three days ago, comes in this Frenchman with + some twenty ruffians of his own, and more of one Taillebois’s, too, to see + him safe; says that this new king, this base-born Frenchman, has given + away all Earl Morcar’s lands, and that Bourne is his; kills a man or two; + upsets the women; gets drunk, ruffles, and roisters; breaks into my lady’s + bower, calling her to give up her keys, and when she gives them, will have + all her jewels too. She faces them like a brave Princess, and two of the + hounds lay hold of her, and say that she shall ride through Bourne as she + rode through Coventry. The boy Godwin—he that was the great Earl’s + godson, our last hope, the last of our house—draws sword on them; + and he, a boy of sixteen summers, kills them both out of hand. The rest + set on him, cut his head off, and there it sticks on the gable spike of + the hall to this hour. And do you ask, after that, why free Englishmen are + dull company?” + </p> + <p> + “And our turn will come next,” growled somebody. “The turn will go all + round; no man’s life or land, wife or daughters, will be safe soon for + these accursed Frenchmen, unless, as the old man says, Hereward comes + back.” + </p> + <p> + Once again the old man wailed out of the chimney-corner: “Why did they + ever send Hereward away? I warned the good Earl, I warned my good lady, + many a time, to let him sow his wild oats and be done with them; or they + might need him some day when they could not find him! He was a lad! He was + a lad!” and again he whined, and sank into silence. + </p> + <p> + Hereward heard all this dry-eyed, hardening his heart into a great + resolve. “This is a dark story,” said he calmly, “and it would behoove me + as a gentleman to succor this distressed lady, did I but know how. Tell me + what I can do now, and I will do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Your health!” cried one. “You speak like a true knight.” + </p> + <p> + “And he looks the man to keep his word, I’ll warrant him,” spoke another. + </p> + <p> + “He does,” said Perry, shaking his head; “but if anything could have been + done, sir, be sure we would have done it: but all our armed men are + scattered up and down the country, each taking care, as is natural, of his + own cattle and his own women. There are not ten men-at-arms in Bourne this + night; and, what is worse, sir, as you know, who seem to have known war as + well as me, there is no man to lead them.” + </p> + <p> + Here Hereward was on the point of saying, “And what if I led you?”—On + the point too of discovering himself: but he stopped short. + </p> + <p> + Was it fair to involve this little knot of gallant fellows in what might + be a hopeless struggle, and have all Bourne burned over their heads ere + morning by the ruffian Frenchmen? No; his mother’s quarrel was his own + private quarrel. He would go alone and see the strength of the enemy; and + after that, may be, he would raise the country on them: or—and half + a dozen plans suggested themselves to his crafty brain as he sat brooding + and scheming: then, as always, utterly self-confident. + </p> + <p> + He was startled by a burst of noise outside,—music, laughter, and + shouts. + </p> + <p> + “There,” said Perry, bitterly, “are those Frenchmen, dancing and singing + in the hall with my Lord Godwin’s head above them!” And curses bitter and + deep went round the room. They sat sullen and silent it may be for an hour + or more; only moving when, at some fresh outbreak of revelry, the old man + started from his doze and asked if that was Hereward coming. + </p> + <p> + “And who is this Hereward of whom you speak?” said Hereward at last. + </p> + <p> + “We thought you might know him, Sir Knight, if you come from Flanders, as + you say you do,” said three or four voices in a surprised and surly tone. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I know such a man, if he be Hereward the wolf’s-head, Hereward + the outlaw, as they call him. And a good soldier he is, though he be not + yet made a knight; and married, too, to a rich and fair lady. I served + under this Hereward a few months ago in the Friesland War, and know no man + whom I would sooner follow.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I neither,” chimed in Martin Lightfoot from the other end of the + table. + </p> + <p> + “Nor we,” cried all the men-at-arms at once, each vying with the other in + extravagant stories of their hero’s prowess, and in asking the knight of + Flanders whether they were true or not. + </p> + <p> + To avoid offending them, Hereward was forced to confess to a great many + deeds which he had never done: but he was right glad to find that his fame + had reached his native place, and that he could count on the men if he + needed them. + </p> + <p> + “But who is this Hereward,” said he, “that he should have to do with your + town here?” + </p> + <p> + Half a dozen voices at once told him his own story. + </p> + <p> + “I always heard,” said he, dryly, “that that gentleman was of some very + noble kin; and I will surely tell him all that has befallen here as soon + as I return to Flanders.” + </p> + <p> + At last they grew sleepy, and the men went out and brought in bundles of + sweet rush, and spread them against the wall, and prepared to lie down, + each his weapon by his side. And when they were lain down, Hereward + beckoned to him Perry and Martin Lightfoot, and went out into the back + yard, under the pretence of seeing to his horse. + </p> + <p> + “Perry Surturbrandsson,” said he, “you seem to be an honest man, as we in + foreign parts hold all the Danelagh to be. Now it is fixed in my mind to + go up, and my servant, to your hall, and see what those French upstarts + are about. Will you trust me to go, without my fleeing back here if I am + found out, or in any way bringing you to harm by mixing you up in my + private matters? And will you, if I do not come back, keep for your own + the horse which is in your stable, and give moreover this purse and this + ring to your lady, if you can find means to see her face to face; and say + thus to her,—that he that sent that purse and ring may be found, if + he be alive, at St. Omer, or with Baldwin, Count of Flanders; and that if + he be dead, as he is like enough to be, his trade being naught but war, + she will still find at St. Omer a home and wealth and friends, till these + evil times be overpast?” + </p> + <p> + As Hereward had spoken with some slight emotion, he had dropped unawares + his assumed Flemish accent, and had spoken in broad burly Lincolnshire; + and therefore it was that Perry, who had been staring at him by the + moonlight all the while, said, when he was done, tremblingly,— + </p> + <p> + “Either you are Hereward, or you are his fetch. You speak like Hereward, + you look like Hereward. Just what Hereward would be now, you are. You are + my lord, and you cannot deny it.” + </p> + <p> + “Perry, if you know me, speak of me to no living soul, save to your lady + my mother; and let me and my serving-man go free out of your yard-gate. If + I ask you before morning to open it again to me, you will know that there + is not a Frenchman left in the Hall of Bourne.” + </p> + <p> + Perry threw his arms around him, and embraced him silently. + </p> + <p> + “Get me only,” said Hereward, “some long woman’s gear and black mantle, if + you can, to cover this bright armor of mine.” + </p> + <p> + Perry went off in silence as one stunned,—brought the mantle, and + let them out of the yard-gate. In ten minutes more, the two slipping in by + well-known paths, stood under the gable of the great hall. Not a soul was + stirring outside. The serfs were all cowering in their huts like so many + rabbits in their burrows, listening in fear to the revelry of their new + tyrants. The night was dark: but not so dark but that Hereward could see + between him and the sky his brother’s long locks floating in the breeze. + </p> + <p> + “That I must have done, at least,” said he, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Then here is wherewithal,” said Martin Lightfoot, as he stumbled over + something. “The drunken villains have left the ladder in the yard.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward got up the ladder, took down the head and wrapped it in the + cloak, and ere he did so kissed the cold forehead. How he had hated that + boy! Well, at least he had never wilfully harmed him,—or the boy him + either, for that matter. And now he had died like a man, killing his foe. + He was of the true old blood after all. And Hereward felt that he would + have given all that he had, save his wife or his sword-hand, to have that + boy alive again, to pet him, and train him, and teach him to fight at his + side. + </p> + <p> + Then he slipped round to one of the narrow unshuttered windows and looked + in. The hall was in a wasteful blaze of light,—a whole month’s + candles burning in one night. The table was covered with all his father’s + choicest plate; the wine was running waste upon the floor; the men were + lolling at the table in every stage of drunkenness; the loose women, + camp-followers, and such like, almost as drunk as their masters; and at + the table head, most drunk of all, sat, in Earl Leofric’s seat, the new + Lord of Bourne. + </p> + <p> + Hereward could scarce believe his eyes. He was none other than Gilbert of + Ghent’s stout Flemish cook, whom he had seen many a time in Scotland. + Hereward turned from the window in disgust; but looked again as he heard + words which roused his anger still more. + </p> + <p> + For in the open space nearest the door stood a gleeman, a dancing, + harping, foul-mouthed fellow, who was showing off ape’s tricks, jesting + against the English, and shuffling about in mockeries of English dancing. + At some particularly coarse jest of his, the new Lord of Bourne burst into + a roar of admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Ask what thou wilt, fellow, and thou shalt have it. Thou wilt find me a + better master to thee than ever was Morcar, the English barbarian.” + </p> + <p> + The scoundrel, say the old chroniclers, made a request concerning + Hereward’s family which cannot be printed here. + </p> + <p> + Hereward ground his teeth. “If thou livest till morning light,” said he, + “I will not.” + </p> + <p> + The last brutality awoke some better feeling in one of the girls,—a + large coarse Fleming, who sat by the new lord’s side. “Fine words,” said + she, scornfully enough, “for the sweepings of Norman and Flemish kennels. + You forget that you left one of this very Leofric’s sons behind in + Flanders, who would besom all out if he was here before the morning’s + dawn.” + </p> + <p> + “Hereward?” cried the cook, striking her down with a drunken blow; “the + scoundrel who stole the money which the Frisians sent to Count Baldwin, + and gave it to his own troops? We are safe enough from him at all events; + he dare not show his face on this side the Alps, for fear of the gallows.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward had heard enough. He slipped down from the window to Martin, and + led him round the house. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, down with the ladder quick, and dash in the door. I go in; stay + thou outside. If any man passes me, see that he pass not thee.” + </p> + <p> + Martin chuckled a ghostly laugh as he helped the ladder down. In another + moment the door was burst in, and Hereward stood upon the threshold. He + gave one war-shout,—his own terrible name,—and then rushed + forward. As he passed the gleeman, he gave him one stroke across the + loins; the wretch fell shrieking. + </p> + <p> + And then began a murder, grim and great. They fought with ale-cups, with + knives, with benches: but, drunken and unarmed, they were hewn down like + sheep. Fourteen Normans, says the chronicler, were in the hall when + Hereward burst in. When the sun rose there were fourteen heads upon the + gable. Escape had been impossible. Martin had laid the ladder across the + door; and the few who escaped the master’s terrible sword, stumbled over + it, to be brained by the man’s not less terrible axe. + </p> + <p> + Then Hereward took up his brother’s head, and went in to his mother. + </p> + <p> + The women in the bower opened to him. They had seen all that passed from + the gallery above, which, as usual, hidden by a curtain, enabled the women + to watch unseen what passed in the hall below. + </p> + <p> + The Lady Godiva sat crouched together, all but alone,—for her + bower-maidens had fled or been carried off long since,—upon a low + stool beside a long dark thing covered with a pall. So utterly crushed was + she, that she did not even lift up her head as Hereward entered. + </p> + <p> + He placed his ghastly burden reverently beneath the pall, and then went + and knelt before his mother. + </p> + <p> + For a while neither spoke a word. Then the Lady Godiva suddenly drew back + her hood, and dropping on her knees, threw her arms round Hereward’s neck, + and wept till she could weep no more. + </p> + <p> + “Blessed strong arms,” sobbed she at last, “around me! To feel something + left in the world to protect me; something left in the world which loves + me.” + </p> + <p> + “You forgive me, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “You forgive me? It was I, I who was in fault,—I, who should have + cherished you, my strongest, my bravest, my noblest,—now my all.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it was all my fault; and on my head is all this misery. If I had been + here, as I ought to have been, all this might have never happened.” + </p> + <p> + “You would only have been murdered too. No: thank God you were away; or + God would have taken you with the rest. His arm is bared against me, and + His face turned away from me. All in vain, in vain! Vain to have washed my + hands in innocency, and worshipped Him night and day. Vain to have builded + minsters in his honor, and heaped the shrines of his saints with gold. + Vain to have fed the hungry, and clothed the naked, and washed the feet of + His poor, that I might atone for my own sins, and the sins of my house. + This is His answer. He has taken me up, and dashed me down: and naught is + left but, like Job, to abhor myself and repent in dust and ashes—of + I know not what.” + </p> + <p> + “God has not deserted you. See, He has sent you me!” said Hereward, + wondering to find himself, of all men on earth, preaching consolation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have you! Hold me. Love me. Let me feel that one thing loves me + upon earth. I want love; I must have it: and if God, and His mother, and + all the saints, refuse their love, I must turn to the creature, and ask it + to love me, but for a day.” + </p> + <p> + “For ever, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not leave me?” + </p> + <p> + “If I do, I come back, to finish what I have begun.” + </p> + <p> + “More blood? O God! Hereward, not that! Let us return good for evil. Let + us take up our crosses. Let us humble ourselves under God’s hand, and flee + into some convent, and there die praying for our country and our kin.” + </p> + <p> + “Men must work, while women pray. I will take you to a minster,—to + Peterborough.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not to Peterborough!” + </p> + <p> + “But my Uncle Brand is abbot there, they tell me, now this four years; and + that rogue Herluin, prior in his place.” + </p> + <p> + “He is dying,—dying of a broken heart, like me. And the Frenchman + has given his abbey to one Thorold, the tyrant of Malmesbury,—a + Frenchman like himself. No, take me where I shall never see a French face. + Take me to Crowland—and him with me—where I shall see naught + but English faces, and hear English chants, and die a free Englishwoman + under St. Guthlac’s wings.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Hereward, bitterly, “St. Guthlac is a right Englishman, and + will have some sort of fellow-feeling for us; while St. Peter, of course, + is somewhat too fond of Rome and those Italian monks. Well,—blood is + thicker than water; so I hardly blame the blessed Apostle.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not talk so, Hereward.” + </p> + <p> + “Much the saints have done for us, mother, that we are to be so very + respectful to their high mightinesses. I fear, if this Frenchman goes on + with his plan of thrusting his monks into our abbeys, I shall have to do + more even for St. Guthlac than ever he did for me. Do not say more, + mother. This night has made Hereward a new man. Now, prepare”—and + she knew what he meant—“and gather all your treasures; and we will + start for Crowland to-morrow afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. — HOW HEREWARD WAS MADE A KNIGHT AFTER THE FASHION OF + THE ENGLISH. + </h2> + <p> + A wild night was that in Bourne. All the folk, free and unfree, man and + woman, out on the streets, asking the meaning of those terrible shrieks, + followed by a more terrible silence. + </p> + <p> + At last Hereward strode down from the hall, his drawn sword in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Silence, good folks, and hearken to me, once for all. There is not a + Frenchman left alive in Bourne. If you be the men I take you for, there + shall not be one left alive between Wash and Humber. Silence, again!” as a + fierce cry of rage and joy arose, and men rushed forward to take him by + the hand, women to embrace him. “This is no time for compliments, good + folks, but for quick wit and quick blows. For the law we fight, if we do + fight; and by the law we must work, fight or not. Where is the lawman of + the town?” + </p> + <p> + “I was lawman last night, to see such law done as there is left,” said + Perry. “But you are lawman now. Do as you will. We will obey you.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall be our lawman,” shouted many voices. + </p> + <p> + “I! Who am I? Out-of-law, and a wolf’s-head.” + </p> + <p> + “We will put you back into your law,—we will give you your lands in + full husting.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind a husting on my behalf. Let us have a husting, if we have one, + for a better end than that. Now, men of Bourne, I have put the coal in the + bush. Dare you blow the fire till the forest is aflame from south to + north? I have fought a dozen of Frenchmen. Dare you fight Taillebois and + Gilbert of Ghent, with William, Duke of Normandy, at their back? Or will + you take me, here as I stand, and give me up to them as an outlaw and a + robber, to feed the crows outside the gates of Lincoln? Do it, if you + will. It will be the wiser plan, my friends. Give me up to be judged and + hanged, and so purge yourselves of the villanous murder of Gilbert’s cook,—your + late lord and master.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord and master! We are free men!” shouted the holders, or yeomen + gentlemen. “We hold our lands from God and the sun.” + </p> + <p> + “You are our lord!” shouted the socmen, or tenants. “Who but you? We will + follow, If you will lead!” + </p> + <p> + “Hereward is come home!” cried a feeble voice behind. “Let me come to him. + Let me feel him.” + </p> + <p> + And through the crowd, supported by two ladies, tottered the mighty form + of Surturbrand, the blind Viking. + </p> + <p> + “Hereward is come!” cried he, as he folded his master’s son in his arms. + “Hoi! he is wet with blood! Hoi! he smells of blood! Hoi! the ravens will + grow fat now, for Hereward is come home!” + </p> + <p> + Some would have led the old man away; but he thrust them off fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “Hoi! come wolf! Hoi! come kite! Hoi! come erne from off the fen! You + followed us, and we fed you well, when Swend Forkbeard brought us over the + sea. Follow us now, and we will feed you better still, with the mongrel + Frenchers who scoff at the tongue of their forefathers, and would rob + their nearest kinsman of land and lass. Hoi! Swend’s men! Hoi! Canute’s + men! Vikings’ sons, sea-cocks’ sons, Berserkers’ sons all! Split up the + war-arrow, and send it round, and the curse of Odin on every man that will + not pass it on! A war-king to-morrow, and Hildur’s game next day, that the + old Surturbrand may fall like a freeholder, axe in hand, and not die like + a cow, in the straw which the Frenchman has spared him.” + </p> + <p> + All men were silent, as the old Viking’s voice, cracked and feeble when he + began, gathered strength from rage, till it rang through the still + night-air like a trumpet-blast. + </p> + <p> + The silence was broken by a long wild cry from the forest, which made the + women start, and catch their children closer to them. It was the howl of a + wolf. + </p> + <p> + “Hark to the witch’s horse! Hark to the son of Fenris, how he calls for + meat! Are ye your fathers’ sons, ye men of Bourne? They never let the gray + beast call in vain.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward saw his opportunity and seized it. There were those in the crowd, + he well knew, as there must needs be in all crowds, who wished themselves + well out of the business; who shrank from the thought of facing the Norman + barons, much more the Norman king; who were ready enough, had the tide of + feeling begun to ebb, of blaming Hereward for rashness, even though they + might not have gone so far as to give him up to the Normans; who would + have advised some sort of compromise, pacifying half-measure, or other + weak plan for escaping present danger, by delivering themselves over to + future destruction. But three out of four there were good men and true. + The savage chant of the old barbarian might have startled them somewhat, + for they were tolerably orthodox Christian folk. But there was sense as + well as spirit in its savageness; and they growled applause, as he ceased. + But Hereward heard, and cried,— + </p> + <p> + “The Viking is right! So speaks the spirit of our fathers, and we must + show ourselves their true sons. Send round the war-arrow, and death to the + man who does not pass it on! Better die bravely together than falter and + part company, to be hunted down one by one by men who will never forgive + us as long as we have an acre of land for them to seize. Perry, son of + Surturbrand, you are the lawman. Put it to the vote!” + </p> + <p> + “Send round the war-arrow!” shouted Perry himself; and if there was a man + or two who shrank from the proposal they found it prudent to shout as + loudly as did the rest. + </p> + <p> + Ere the morning light, the war-arrow was split into four splinters, and + carried out to the four airts, through all Kesteven. If the splinter were + put into the house-father’s hand, he must send it on at once to the next + freeman’s house. If he were away, it was stuck into his house-door, or + into his great chair by the fireside, and woe to him if, on his return, he + sent it not on likewise. All through Kesteven went that night the + arrow-splinters, and with them the whisper, “Hereward is come again!” And + before midday there were fifty well-armed men in the old camping-field + outside the town, and Hereward haranguing them in words of fire. + </p> + <p> + A chill came over them, nevertheless, when he told them that he must + return at once to Flanders. + </p> + <p> + “But it must be,” he said. He had promised his good lord and sovereign, + Baldwin of Flanders, and his word of honor he must keep. Two visits he + must pay, ere he went; and then to sea. But within the year, if he were + alive on ground, he would return, and with him ships and men, it might be + with Sweyn and all the power of Denmark. Only let them hold their own till + the Danes should come, and all would be well. And whenever he came back, + he would set a light to three farms that stood upon a hill, whence they + could be seen far and wide over the Bruneswold and over all the fen; and + then all men might know for sure that Hereward was come again. + </p> + <p> + “And nine-and-forty of them,” says the chronicler, “he chose to guard + Bourne,” seemingly the lands which had been his nephew Morcar’s, till he + should come back and take them for himself. Godiva’s lands, of Witham, + Toft and Mainthorpe, Gery his cousin should hold till his return, and send + what he could off them to his mother at Crowland. + </p> + <p> + Then they went down to the water and took barge, and laid the corpse + therein; and Godiva and Hereward sat at the dead lad’s head; and Winter + steered the boat, and Gwenoch took the stroke-oar. + </p> + <p> + And they rowed away for Crowland, by many a mere and many an ea; through + narrow reaches of clear brown glassy water; between the dark-green alders; + between the pale-green reeds; where the coot clanked, and the bittern + boomed, and the sedge-bird, not content with its own sweet song, mocked + the song of all the birds around; and then out into the broad lagoons, + where hung motionless, high overhead, hawk beyond hawk, buzzard beyond + buzzard, kite beyond kite, as far as eye could see. Into the air, as they + rowed on, whirred up the great skeins of wild fowl innumerable, with a cry + as of all the bells of Crowland, or all the hounds of Bruneswold; and + clear above all the noise sounded the wild whistle of the curlews, and the + trumpet-note of the great white swan. Out of the reeds, like an arrow, + shot the peregrine, singled one luckless mallard from the flock, caught + him up, struck him stone dead with one blow of his terrible heel, and + swept his prey with him into the reeds again. + </p> + <p> + “Death! death! death!” said Lady Godiva, as the feathers fluttered down + into the boat and rested on the dead boy’s pall. “War among man and beast, + war on earth, war in air, war in the water beneath,” as a great pike + rolled at his bait, sending a shoal of white fish flying along the + surface. “And war, says holy writ, in heaven above. O Thou who didst die + to destroy death, when will it all be over?” + </p> + <p> + And thus they glided on from stream to stream, until they came to the + sacred isle of “the inheritance of the Lord, the soil of St. Mary and St. + Bartholomew; the most holy sanctuary of St. Guthlac and his monks; the + minster most free from worldly servitude; the special almshouse of the + most illustrious kings; the sole place of refuge for any one in all + tribulations; the perpetual abode of the saints; the possession of + religious men, especially set apart by the Common Council of the kingdom; + by reason of the frequent miracles of the most holy Confessor, an ever + fruitful mother of camphire in the vineyards of Engedi; and, by reason of + the privileges granted by the kings, a city of grace and safety to all who + repent.” + </p> + <p> + As they drew near, they passed every minute some fisher’s log canoe, in + which worked with net or line the criminal who had saved his life by + fleeing to St. Guthlac, and becoming his man henceforth; the slave who had + fled from his master’s cruelty; and here and there in those evil days, the + master who had fled from the cruelty of Normans, who would have done to + him as he had done to others. But all old grudges were put away there. + They had sought the peace of St. Guthlac; and therefore they must keep his + peace, and get their living from the fish of the five rivers, within the + bounds whereof was peace, as of their own quiet streams; for the Abbot and + St. Guthlac were the only lords thereof, and neither summoner nor sheriff + of the king, nor armed force of knight or earl, could enter there. + </p> + <p> + At last they came to Crowland minster,—a vast range of high-peaked + buildings, founded on piles of oak and hazel driven into the fen,—itself + built almost entirely of timber from the Bruneswold; barns, granaries, + stables, workshops, stranger’s hall,—fit for the boundless + hospitality of Crowland,—infirmary, refectory, dormitory, library, + abbot’s lodgings, cloisters; and above, the great minster towering up, a + steep pile, half wood, half stone, with narrow round-headed windows and + leaden roofs; and above all the great wooden tower, from which, on high + days, chimed out the melody of the seven famous bells, which had not their + like in English land. Guthlac, Bartholomew, and Bettelm were the names of + the biggest, Turketul and Tatwin of the middle, and Pega and Bega of the + smallest. So says Ingulf, who saw them a few years after, pouring down on + his own head in streams of melted metal. Outside the minster walls were + the cottages of the corodiers, or laboring folk; and beyond them again the + natural park of grass, dotted with mighty oaks and ashes; and, beyond all + those, cornlands of inexhaustible fertility, broken up by the good Abbot + Egelric some hundred years before, from which, in times of dearth, the + monks of Crowland fed the people of all the neighboring fens. + </p> + <p> + They went into the great court-yard. All men were quiet, yet all men were + busy. Baking and brewing, carpentering and tailoring in the workshops, + reading and writing in the cloister, praying and singing in the church, + and teaching the children in the school-house. Only the ancient sempects—some + near upon a hundred and fifty years old—wandered where they would, + or basked against a sunny wall, like autumn flies, with each a young monk + to guide him, and listen to his tattle of old days. For, said the laws of + Turketul the good, “Nothing disagreeable about the affairs of the + monastery shall be mentioned in their presence. No person shall presume in + any way to offend them; but with the greatest peace and tranquillity they + shall await their end.” + </p> + <p> + So, while the world outside raged, and fought, and conquered, and + plundered, they within the holy isle kept up some sort of order, and + justice, and usefulness, and love to God and man. And about the yards, + among the feet of the monks, hopped the sacred ravens, descendants of + those who brought back the gloves at St. Guthlac’s bidding; and overhead, + under all the eaves, built the sacred swallows, the descendants of those + who sat and sang upon St. Guthlac’s shoulders; and when men marvelled + thereat, he, the holy man, replied: “Know that they who live the holy life + draw nearer to the birds of the air, even as they do to the angels in + heaven.” + </p> + <p> + And Lady Godiva called for old Abbot Ulfketyl, the good and brave, and + fell upon his neck, and told him all her tale; and Ulfketyl wept upon her + neck, for they were old and faithful friends. + </p> + <p> + And they passed into the dark, cool church, where in the crypt under the + high altar lay the thumb of St. Bartholomew, which old Abbot Turketul used + to carry about, that he might cross himself with it in times of danger, + tempest, and lightning; and some of the hair of St. Mary, Queen of Heaven, + in a box of gold; and a bone of St. Leodegar of Aquitaine; and some few + remains, too, of the holy bodies of St. Guthlac; and of St. Bettelm, his + servant; and St. Tatwin, who steered him to Crowland; and St. Egbert, his + confessor; and St. Cissa the anchorite; and of the most holy virgin St. + Etheldreda; and many more. But little of them remained since Sigtryg and + Bagsac’s heathen Danes had heaped them pellmell on the floor, and burned + the church over them and the bodies of the slaughtered monks. + </p> + <p> + The plunder which was taken from Crowland on that evil day lay, and lies + still, with the plunder of Peterborough and many a minster more, at the + bottom of the Nene, at Huntingdon Bridge. But it had been more than + replaced by the piety of the Danish kings and nobles; and above the twelve + white bearskins which lay at the twelve altars blazed, in the light of + many a wax candle, gold and jewels inferior only to those of Peterborough + and Coventry. + </p> + <p> + And there in the nave they buried the lad Godwin, with chant and dirge; + and when the funeral was done Hereward went up toward the high altar, and + bade Winter and Gwenoch come with him. And there he knelt, and vowed a vow + to God and St. Guthlac and the Lady Torfrida his true love, never to leave + from slaying while there was a Frenchman left alive on English ground. + </p> + <p> + And Godiva and Ulfketyl heard his vow, and shuddered; but they dared not + stop him, for they, too, had English hearts. + </p> + <p> + And Winter and Gwenoch heard it, and repeated it word for word. + </p> + <p> + Then he kissed his mother, and called Winter and Gwenoch, and went forth. + He would be back again, he said, on the third day. + </p> + <p> + Then those three went to Peterborough, and asked for Abbot Brand. And the + monks let them in; for the fame of their deed had passed through the + forest, and all the French had fled. + </p> + <p> + And old Brand lay back in his great arm-chair, his legs all muffled up in + furs, for he could get no heat; and by him stood Herluin the prior, and + wondered when he would die, and Thorold take his place, and they should + drive out the old Gregorian chants from the choir, and have the new Norman + chants of Robert of Fécamp, and bring in French-Roman customs in all + things, and rule the English boors with a rod of iron. + </p> + <p> + And old Brand knew all that was in his heart, and looked up like a patient + ox beneath the butcher’s axe, and said, “Have patience with me, Brother + Herluin, and I will die as soon as I can, and go where there is neither + French nor English, Jew nor Gentile, bond or free, but all are alike in + the eyes of Him who made them.” + </p> + <p> + But when he saw Hereward come in, he cast the mufflers off him, and sprang + up from his chair, and was young and strong in a moment, and for a moment. + </p> + <p> + And he threw his arms round Hereward, and wept upon his neck, as his + mother had done. And Hereward wept upon his neck, though he had not wept + upon his mother’s. + </p> + <p> + Then Brand held him at arms’ length, or thought he held him, for he was + leaning on Hereward, and tottering all the while; and extolled him as the + champion, the warrior, the stay of his house, the avenger of his kin, the + hero of whom he had always prophesied that his kin would need him, and + that then he would not fail. + </p> + <p> + But Hereward answered him modestly and mildly,— + </p> + <p> + “Speak not so to me and of me, Uncle Brand. I am a very foolish, vain, + sinful man, who have come through great adventures, I know not how, to + great and strange happiness, and now again to great and strange sorrows; + and to an adventure greater and stranger than all that has befallen me + from my youth up until now. Therefore make me not proud, Uncle Brand, but + keep me modest and lowly, as befits all true knights and penitent sinners; + for they tell me that God resists the proud, and giveth grace to the + humble. And I have that to do which do I cannot, unless God and his saints + give me grace from this day forth.” + </p> + <p> + Brand looked at him, astonished; and then turned to Herluin. + </p> + <p> + “Did I not tell thee, prior? This is the lad whom you called graceless and + a savage; and see, since he has been in foreign lands, and seen the ways + of knights, he talks as clerkly as a Frenchman, and as piously as any + monk.” + </p> + <p> + “The Lord Hereward,” said Herluin, “has doubtless learned much from the + manners of our nation which he would not have learned in England. I + rejoice to see him returned so Christian and so courtly a knight.” + </p> + <p> + “The Lord Hereward, Prior Herluin, has learnt one thing in his travels,—to + know somewhat of men and the hearts of men, and to deal with them as they + deserve of him. They tell me that one Thorold of Malmesbury,—Thorold + of Fécamp, the minstrel, he that made the song of Rowland,—that he + desires this abbey.” + </p> + <p> + “I have so heard, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I command,—I, Hereward, Lord of Bourne!—that this abbey + be held against him and all Frenchmen, in the name of Swend Ulfsson, king + of England, and of me. And he that admits a Frenchman therein, I will + shave his crown for him so well, that he shall never need razor more. This + I tell thee; and this I shall tell your monks before I go. And unless you + obey the same, my dream will be fulfilled; and you will see Goldenbregh in + a light low, and burning yourselves in the midst thereof.” + </p> + <p> + “Swend Ulfsson? Swend of Denmark? What words are these?” cried Brand. + </p> + <p> + “You will know within six months, uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall know better things, my boy, before six months are out.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle, uncle, do not say that.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? If this mortal life be at best a prison and a grave, what is it + worth now to an Englishman?” + </p> + <p> + “More than ever; for never had an Englishman such a chance of showing + English mettle, and winning renown for the English name. Uncle, you must + do something for me and my comrades ere we go.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, boy?” + </p> + <p> + “Make us knights.” + </p> + <p> + “Knights, lad? I thought you had been a belted knight this dozen years?” + </p> + <p> + “I might have been made a knight by many, after the French, fashion, many + a year agone. I might have been knight when I slew the white bear. Ladies + have prayed me to be knighted again and again since. Something kept me + from it. Perhaps” (with a glance at Herluin) “I wanted to show that an + English squire could be the rival and the leader of French and Flemish + knights.” + </p> + <p> + “And thou hast shown it, brave lad!” said Brand, clapping his great hands. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I longed to do some mighty deed at last, which would give me a + right to go to the bravest knight in all Christendom, and say, ‘Give me + the accolade, then! Thou only art worthy to knight as good a man as + thyself.’” + </p> + <p> + “Pride and vainglory,” said Brand, shaking his head. + </p> + <p> + “But now I am of a sounder mind. I see now why I was kept from being + knighted,—till I had done a deed worthy of a true knight; till I had + mightily avenged the wronged, and mightily succored the oppressed; till I + had purged my soul of my enmity against my own kin, and could go out into + the world a new man, with my mother’s blessing on my head.” + </p> + <p> + “But not of the robbery of St. Peter,” said Herluin. The French monk + wanted not for moral courage,—no French monk did in those days. And + he proved it by those words. + </p> + <p> + “Do not anger the lad, Prior; now, too, above all times, when his heart is + softened toward the Lord.” + </p> + <p> + “He has not angered me. The man is right. Here, Lord Abbot and Sir Prior, + is a chain of gold, won in the wars. It is worth fifty times the sixteen + pence which I stole, and which I repaid double. Let St. Peter take it, for + the sins of me and my two comrades, and forgive. And now, Sir Prior, I do + to thee what I never did for mortal man. I kneel, and ask thy forgiveness. + Kneel, Winter! Kneel, Gwenoch!” And Hereward knelt. + </p> + <p> + Herluin was of double mind. He longed to keep Hereward out of St. Peter’s + grace. He longed to see Hereward dead at his feet; not because of any + personal hatred, but because he foresaw in him a terrible foe to the + Norman cause. But he wished, too, to involve Abbot Brand as much as + possible in Hereward’s “rebellions” and “misdeeds,” and above all, in the + master-offence of knighting him; for for that end, he saw, Hereward was + come. Moreover, he was touched with the sudden frankness and humility of + the famous champion. So he answered mildly,— + </p> + <p> + “Verily, thou hast a knightly soul. May God and St. Peter so forgive thee + and thy companions as I forgive thee, freely and from my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” cried Hereward, “a boon! a boon! Knight me and these my fellows, + Uncle Brand, this day.” + </p> + <p> + Brand was old and weak, and looked at Herluin. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Hereward, “that the French look on us English monk-made + knights as spurious and adulterine, unworthy of the name of knight. But, I + hold—and what churchman will gainsay me?—that it is nobler to + receive sword and belt from a man of God than from a man of blood like + one’s self; the fittest to consecrate the soldier of an earthly king, is + the soldier of Christ, the King of kings.” [Footnote: Almost word for word + from the “Life of Hereward.”] + </p> + <p> + “He speaks well,” said Herluin. “Abbot, grant him his boon.” + </p> + <p> + “Who celebrates high mass to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Wilton the priest, the monk of Ely,” said Herluin, aloud. “And a very + dangerous and stubborn Englishman,” added he to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Good. Then this night you shall watch in the church. To-morrow, after the + Gospel, the thing shall be done as you will.” + </p> + <p> + That night two messengers, knights of the Abbot, galloped from + Peterborough. One to Ivo Taillebois at Spalding, to tell him that Hereward + was at Peterborough, and that he must try to cut him off upon the + Egelric’s road, the causeway which one of the many Abbots Egelric had made + some thirty years before, through Deeping Fen to Spalding, at an enormous + expense of labor and of timber. The other knight rode south, along the + Roman road to London, to tell King William of the rising of Kesteven, and + all the evil deeds of Hereward and of Brand. + </p> + <p> + And old Brand slept quietly in his bed, little thinking on what errands + his prior had sent his knights. + </p> + <p> + Hereward and his comrades watched that night in St. Peter’s church. + Oppressed with weariness of body, and awe of mind, they heard the monks + drone out their chants through the misty gloom; they confessed the sins—and + they were many—of their past wild lives. They had to summon up + within themselves courage and strength henceforth to live, not for + themselves, but for the fatherland which they hoped to save. They prayed + to all the heavenly powers of that Pantheon which then stood between man + and God, to help them in the coming struggle; but ere the morning dawned, + they were nodding, unused to any long strain of mind. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Hereward started, and sprang up, with a cry of fire. + </p> + <p> + “What? Where?” cried his comrades, and the monks who ran up. + </p> + <p> + “The minster is full of flame. No use! too late! you cannot put it out! It + must burn.” + </p> + <p> + “You have been dreaming,” said one. + </p> + <p> + “I have not,” said Hereward. “Is it Lammas night?” + </p> + <p> + “What a question! It is the vigil of the Nativity of St. Peter and St. + Paul.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank heaven! I thought my old Lammas night’s dream was coming true at + last.” + </p> + <p> + Herluin heard, and knew what he meant. + </p> + <p> + After which Hereward was silent, filled with many thoughts. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, before the high mass, those three brave men walked up to + the altar; laid thereon their belts and swords; and then knelt humbly at + the foot of the steps till the Gospel was finished. + </p> + <p> + Then came down from the altar Wilton of Ely, and laid on each man’s bare + neck the bare blade, and bade him take back his sword in the name of God + and of St. Peter and St. Paul, and use it like a true knight, for a terror + and punishment to evil-doers, and a defence for women and orphans, and the + poor and the oppressed, and the monks the servants of God. + </p> + <p> + And then the monks girded each man with his belt and sword once more. And + after mass was sung, they rose and went forth, each feeling himself—and + surely not in vain—a better man. + </p> + <p> + At least this is certain, that Hereward would say to his dying day, how he + had often proved that none would fight so well as those who had received + their sword from God’s knights the monks. And therefore he would have, in + after years, almost all his companions knighted by the monks; and brought + into Ely with him that same good custom which he had learnt at + Peterborough, and kept it up as long as he held the isle. + </p> + <p> + So says the chronicler Leofric, the minstrel and priest. + </p> + <p> + It was late when they got back to Crowland. The good Abbot received them + with a troubled face. + </p> + <p> + “As I feared, my Lord, you have been too hot and hasty. The French have + raised the country against you.” + </p> + <p> + “I have raised it against them, my lord. But we have news that Sir + Frederick—” + </p> + <p> + “And who may he be?” + </p> + <p> + “A very terrible Goliath of these French; old and crafty, a brother of old + Earl Warrenne of Norfolk, whom God confound. And he has sworn to have your + life, and has gathered knights and men-at-arms at Lynn in Norfolk.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good; I will visit him as I go home, Lord Abbot. Not a word of this + to any soul.” + </p> + <p> + “I tremble for thee, thou young David.” + </p> + <p> + “One cannot live forever, my lord. Farewell.” + </p> + <p> + A week after, a boatman brought news to Crowland, how Sir Frederick was + sitting in his inn at Lynn, when there came in one with a sword, and said: + “I am Hereward. I was told that thou didst desire, greatly, to see me; + therefore I am come, being a courteous knight,” and therewith smote off + his head. And when the knights and others would have stopped him, he cut + his way through them, killing some three or four at each stroke, himself + unhurt; for he was clothed from head to foot in magic armor, and whosoever + smote it, their swords melted in their hands. And so, gaining the door, he + vanished in a great cloud of sea-fowl, that cried forever, “Hereward is + come home again!” + </p> + <p> + And after that, the fen-men said to each other, that all the birds upon + the meres cried nothing, save “Hereward is come home again!” + </p> + <p> + And so, already surrounded with myth and mystery, Hereward flashed into + the fens and out again, like the lightning brand, destroying as he passed. + And the hearts of all the French were turned to water; and the land had + peace from its tyrants for many days. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. — HOW IVO TAILLEBOIS MARCHED OUT OF SPALDING TOWN. + </h2> + <p> + A proud man was Ivo Taillebois, as he rode next morning out of Spalding + town, with hawk on fist, and hound at heel, and a dozen men-at-arms at his + back, who would, on due or undue cause shown, hunt men while he hunted + game. + </p> + <p> + An adventurer from Anjou, brutal, ignorant, and profligate,—low-born, + too (for his own men whispered, behind his back, that he was no more than + his name hinted, a wood-cutter’s son), he still had his deserts. Valiant + he was, cunning, and skilled in war. He and his troop of Angevine ruttiers + had fought like tigers by William’s side, at Hastings; and he had been + rewarded with many a manor, which had been Earl Algar’s, and should now + have been Earl Edwin’s, or Morcar’s, or, it may be, Hereward’s own. + </p> + <p> + “A fat land and fair,” said he to himself; “and, after I have hanged a few + more of these barbarians, a peaceful fief enough to hand down to the + lawful heirs of my body, if I had one. I must marry. Blessed Virgin! this + it is to serve and honor your gracious majesty, as I have always done + according to my poor humility. Who would have thought that Ivo Taillebois + would ever rise so high in life as to be looking out for a wife,—and + that a lady, too?” + </p> + <p> + Then thought he over the peerless beauties of the Lady Lucia, Edwin and + Morcar’s sister, almost as fair as that hapless aunt of hers,—first + married (though that story is now denied) to the wild Griffin, Prince of + Snowdon, and then to his conqueror, and (by complicity) murderer, Harold, + the hapless king. Eddeva faira, Eddeva pulcra, stands her name in + Domesday-book even now, known, even to her Norman conquerors, as the + Beauty of her time, as Godiva, her mother, had been before her. Scarcely + less beautiful was Lucia, as Ivo had seen her at William’s court, half + captive and half guest: and he longed for her; love her he could not. “I + have her father’s lands,” quoth he; “what more reasonable than to have the + daughter, too? And have her I will, unless the Mamzer, in his present + merciful and politic mood, makes a Countess of her, and marries her up to + some Norman coxcomb with a long pedigree,—invented the year before + last. If he does throw away his daughter on that Earl Edwin, in his fancy + for petting and patting these savages into good humor, he is not likely to + throw away Edwin’s sister on a Taillebois. Well, I must put a spoke in + Edwin’s wheel. It will not be difficult to make him, or Morcar, or both of + them, traitors. We must have a rebellion in these parts. I will talk about + it to Gilbert of Ghent. We must make these savages desperate, and William + furious, or he will be soon giving them back their lands, beside asking + them to Court; and then, how are valiant knights, like us, who have won + England for him, to be paid for their trouble? No, no. We must have a + rebellion, and a confiscation, and then, when English lasses are going + cheap, perhaps the Lady Lucia may fall to my share.” + </p> + <p> + And Ivo Taillebois kept his word; and without difficulty, for he had many + to help him. To drive the English to desperation, and get a pretext for + seizing their lands, was the game which the Normans played, and but too + well. + </p> + <p> + As he rode out of Spalding town, a man was being hanged on the gallows + there permanently provided. + </p> + <p> + That was so common a sight, that Ivo would not have stopped, had not a + priest, who was comforting the criminal, ran forward, and almost thrown + himself under the horse’s feet. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy, good my Lord, in the name of God and all his saints!” + </p> + <p> + Ivo went to ride on. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy!” and he laid hands on Ivo’s bridle. “If he took a few pike out of + your mere, remember that the mere was his, and his father’s before him; + and do not send a sorely tempted soul out of the world for a paltry pike.” + </p> + <p> + “And where am I to get fish for Lent, Sir Priest, if every rascal nets my + waters, because his father did so before him? Take your hand off my + bridle, or, par le splendeur Dex” (Ivo thought it fine to use King + William’s favorite oath), “I will hew it off!” + </p> + <p> + The priest looked at him, with something of honest English fierceness in + his eyes, and dropping the bridle, muttered to himself in Latin: “The + bloodthirsty and deceitful man shall not live out half his days. + Nevertheless my trust shall be in Thee, O Lord!” + </p> + <p> + “What art muttering, beast? Go home to thy wife” (wife was by no means the + word which Ivo used) “and make the most of her, before I rout out thee and + thy fellow-canons, and put in good monks from Normandy in the place of + your drunken English swine. Hang him!” shouted he, as the by-standers fell + on their knees before the tyrant, crouching in terror, every woman for her + husband, every man for wife and daughter. “And hearken, you fen-frogs all. + Who touches pike or eel, swimming or wading fowl, within these meres of + mine, without my leave, I will hang him as I hanged this man,—as I + hanged four brothers in a row on Wrokesham bridge but yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Go to Wrokesham bridge and see,” shouted a shrill cracked voice from + behind the crowd. + </p> + <p> + All looked round; and more than one of Ivo’s men set up a yell, the + hangman loudest of all. + </p> + <p> + “That’s he, the heron, again! Catch him! Stop him! Shoot him!” + </p> + <p> + But that was not so easy. As Ivo pushed his horse through the crowd, + careless of whom he crushed, he saw a long lean figure flying through the + air seven feet aloft, with his heels higher than his head, on the further + side of a deep broad ditch; and on the nearer side of the same one of his + best men lying stark, with a cloven skull. + </p> + <p> + “Go to Wrokesham!” shrieked the lean man, as he rose and showed a + ridiculously long nose, neck, and legs,—a type still not uncommon in + the fens,—a quilted leather coat, a double-bladed axe slung over his + shoulder by a thong, a round shield at his back, and a pole three times as + long as himself, which he dragged after him, like an unwieldy tail. + </p> + <p> + “The heron! the heron!” shouted the English. + </p> + <p> + “Follow him, men, heron or hawk!” shouted Ivo, galloping his horse up to + the ditch, and stopping short at fifteen feet of water. + </p> + <p> + “Shoot, some one! Where are the bows gone?” + </p> + <p> + The heron was gone two hundred yards, running, in spite of his pole, at a + wonderful pace, before a bow could be brought to bear. He seemed to expect + an arrow; for he stopped, glanced his eye round, threw himself flat on his + face, with his shield, not over his body, but over his bare legs; sprang + up as the shaft stuck in the ground beside him, ran on, planted his pole + in the next dike, and flew over it. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes he was beyond pursuit; and Ivo turned, breathless with + rage, to ask who he was. + </p> + <p> + “Alas, sir! he is the man who set free the four men at Wrokesham Bridge + last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Set free! Are they not hanged and dead?” + </p> + <p> + “We—we dared not tell you. But he came upon us—” + </p> + <p> + “Single-handed, you cowards?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, he is not a man, but a witch or a devil. He asked us what we did + there. One of our men laughed at his long neck and legs, and called him + heron. ‘Heron I am,’ says he, ‘and strike like a heron, right at the + eyes’; and with that he cuts the man over the face with his axe, and laid + him dead, and then another, and another.’ + </p> + <p> + “Till you all ran away, villains!” + </p> + <p> + “We gave back a step,—no more. And he freed one of those four, and + he again the rest; and then they all set on us, and went to hang us in + their own stead.” + </p> + <p> + “When there were ten of you, I thought?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, as we told you, he is no mortal man, but a fiend.” + </p> + <p> + “Beasts, fools! Well, I have hanged this one, at least!” growled Ivo, and + then rode sullenly on. + </p> + <p> + “Who is this fellow?” cried he to the trembling English. + </p> + <p> + “Wulfric Raher, Wulfric the Heron, of Wrokesham in Norfolk.” + </p> + <p> + “Aha! And I hold a manor of his,” said Ivo to himself. “Look you, + villains, this fellow is in league with you.” + </p> + <p> + A burst of abject denial followed. “Since the French,—since Sir + Frederick, as they call him, drove him out of his Wrokesham lands, he + wanders the country, as you see: to-day here, but Heaven only knows where + he will be to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “And finds, of course, a friend everywhere. Now march!” And a string of + threats and curses followed. + </p> + <p> + It was hard to see why Wulfric should not have found friends; as he was + simply a small holder, or squire, driven out of house and land, and turned + adrift on the wide world, for the offence of having fought in Harold’s + army at the battle of Hastings. But to give him food or shelter was, in + Norman eyes, an act of rebellion against the rightful King William; and + Ivo rode on, boiling over with righteous indignation, along the narrow + drove which led toward Deeping. + </p> + <p> + A pretty lass came along the drove, driving a few sheep before her, and + spinning as she walked. + </p> + <p> + “Whose lass are you?” shouted Ivo. + </p> + <p> + “The Abbot of Crowland’s, please your lordship,” said she, trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Much too pretty to belong to monks. Chuck her up behind you, one of you.” + </p> + <p> + The shrieking and struggling girl was mounted behind a horseman and bound, + and Ivo rode on. + </p> + <p> + A woman ran out of a turf-hut on the drove side, attracted by the girl’s + cries. It was her mother. + </p> + <p> + “My lass! Give me my lass, for the love of St. Mary and all saints!” and + she clung to Ivo’s bridle. + </p> + <p> + He struck her down, and rode on over her. + </p> + <p> + A man cutting sedges in a punt in the lode alongside looked up at the + girl’s shrieks, and leapt on shore, scythe in hand. + </p> + <p> + “Father! father!” cried she. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll rid thee, lass, or die for it,” said he, as he sprang up the + drove-dike and swept right and left at the horses’ legs. + </p> + <p> + The men recoiled. One horse went down, lamed for life; another staggered + backwards into the further lode, and was drowned. But an arrow went + through the brave serf’s heart, and Ivo rode on, cursing more bitterly + than ever, and comforted himself by flying his hawks at a covey of + patridges. + </p> + <p> + Soon a group came along the drove which promised fresh sport to the + man-hunters: but as the foremost person came up, Ivo stopped in wonder at + the shout of,— + </p> + <p> + “Ivo! Ivo Taillebois! Halt and have a care! The English are risen, and we + are all dead men!” + </p> + <p> + The words were spoken in French; and in French Ivo answered, laughing,— + </p> + <p> + “Thou art not a dead man yet it seems, Sir Robert; art going on pilgrimage + to Jerusalem, that thou comest in this fashion? Or dost mean to return to + Anjou as bare as thou camest out of it?” + </p> + <p> + For Sir Robert had, like Edgar in Shakespear’s <i>Lear</i>, “reserved + himself a blanket, else had we all been shamed.” + </p> + <p> + But very little more did either he, his lady, and his three children wear, + as they trudged along the drove, in even poorer case than that + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Robert of Coningsby, + Who came out of Normandy, + With his wife Tiffany, + And his maid Maupas, + And his dog Hardigras. +</pre> + <p> + “For the love of heaven and all chivalry, joke me no jokes, Sir Ivo, but + give me and mine clothes and food! The barbarians rose on us last night,—with + Azer, the ruffian who owned my lands, at their head, and drove us out into + the night as we are, bidding us carry the news to you, for your turn would + come next. There are forty or more of them in West Deeping now, and coming + eastward, they say, to visit you, and, what is more than all, Hereward is + come again.” + </p> + <p> + “Hereward?” cried Ivo, who knew that name well. + </p> + <p> + Whereon Sir Robert told him the terrible tragedy of Bourne. + </p> + <p> + “Mount the lady on a horse, and wrap her in my cloak. Get that dead + villain’s clothes for Sir Robert as we go back. Put your horses’ heads + about and ride for Spalding.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall we do with the lass?” + </p> + <p> + “We cannot be burdened with the jade. She has cost us two good horses + already. Leave her in the road, bound as she is, and let us see if St. + Guthlac her master will come and untie her.” + </p> + <p> + So they rode back. Coming from Deeping two hours after, Azer and his men + found the girl on the road, dead. + </p> + <p> + “Another count in the long score,” quoth Azer. But when, in two hours + more, they came to Spalding town, they found all the folk upon the street, + shouting and praising the host of Heaven. There was not a Frenchman left + in the town. + </p> + <p> + For when Ivo returned home, ere yet Sir Robert and his family were well + clothed and fed, there galloped into Spalding from, the north Sir Ascelin, + nephew and man of Thorold, would-be Abbot of Peterborough, and one of the + garrison of Lincoln, which was then held by Hereward’s old friend, Gilbert + of Ghent. + </p> + <p> + “Not bad news, I hope,” cried Ivo, as Ascelin clanked into the hall. “We + have enough of our own. Here is all Kesteven, as the barbarians call it, + risen, and they are murdering us right and left.” + </p> + <p> + “Worse news than that, Ivo Taillebois,” (“Sir,” or “Sieur,” Ascelin was + loath to call him, being himself a man of family and fashion; and holding + the <i>nouveaux venus</i> in deep contempt,)—“worse news than that: + the North has risen again, and proclaimed Prince Edgar King.” + </p> + <p> + “A king of words! What care I, or you, as long as the Mamzer, God bless + him! is a king of deeds?” + </p> + <p> + “They have done their deeds, though, too. Gospatrick and Marlesweyn are + back out of Scotland. They attacked Robert de Comines [Footnote: Ancestor + of the Comyns of Scotland.] at Durham, and burnt him in his own house. + There was but one of his men got out of Durham to tell the news. And now + they have marched on York; and all the chiefs, they say, have joined them,—Archill + the Thane, and Edwin and Morcar, and Waltheof too, the young traitors.” + </p> + <p> + “Blessed Virgin!” cried Ivo, “thou art indeed gracious to thy most + unworthy knight!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “You will see some day. Now, I will tell you but one word. When fools make + hay, wise men can build ricks. This rebellion,—if it had not come of + itself, I would have roused it. We wanted it, to cure William of this just + and benevolent policy of his, which would have ended in sending us back to + France as poor as we left it. Now, what am I expected to do? What says + Gilbert of Ghent, the wise man of Lic—nic—what the pest do you + call that outlandish place, which no civilized lips can pronounce?” + </p> + <p> + “Lic-nic-cole?” replied Ascelin, who, like the rest of the French, never + could manage to say Lincoln. “He says, ‘March to me, and with me to join + the king at York.’” + </p> + <p> + “Then he says well. These fat acres will be none the leaner, if I leave + the English slaves to crop them for six months. Men! arm and horse Sir + Robert of Deeping. Then arm and horse yourselves. We march north in half + an hour, bag and baggage, scrip and scrippage. You are all bachelors, like + me, and travel light. So off with you!—Sir Ascelin, you will eat and + drink?” + </p> + <p> + “That will I.” + </p> + <p> + “Quick, then, butler! and after that pack up the Englishman’s plate-chest, + which we inherited by right of fist,—the only plate and the only + title-deeds I ever possessed.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Sir Ascelin,”—as the three knights, the lady, and the poor + children ate their fastest,—“listen to me. The art of war lies in + this one nutshell,—to put the greatest number of men into one place + at one time, and let all other places shift. To strike swiftly, and strike + heavily. That is the rule of our liege lord, King William; and by it he + will conquer England, or the world, if he will; and while he does that, he + shall never say that Ivo Taillebois stayed at home to guard his own manors + while he could join his king, and win all the manors of England once and + for all.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardieu! whatever men may say of thy lineage or thy virtues, they cannot + deny this,—that thou art a most wise and valiant captain.” + </p> + <p> + “That am I,” quoth Taillebois, too much pleased with the praise to care + about being <i>tutoyé</i> by younger men. “As for my lineage, my lord the + king has a fellow-feeling for upstarts; and the woodman’s grandson may + very well serve the tanner’s. Now, men! is the litter ready for the lady + and children? I am sorry to rattle you about thus, madame, but war has no + courtesies; and march I must.” + </p> + <p> + And so the French went out of Spalding town. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be in a hurry to thank your saints!” shouted Ivo to his victims. “I + shall be back this day three months; and then you shall see a row of + gibbets all the way from here to Deeping, and an Englishman hanging on + every one.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. — HOW HEREWARD SAILED FOE ENGLAND ONCE AND FOR ALL. + </h2> + <p> + So Hereward fought the Viscount of Pinkney, who had the usual luck which + befell those who crossed swords with him, and plotted meanwhile with Gyda + and the Countess Judith. Abbot Egelsin sent them news from King Sweyn in + Denmark; soon Judith and Tosti’s two sons went themselves to Sweyn, and + helped the plot and the fitting out of the armament. News they had from + England in plenty, by messengers from Queen Matilda to the sister who was + intriguing to dethrone her husband, and by private messengers from Durham + and from York. + </p> + <p> + Baldwin, the <i>débonnaire</i> marquis, had not lived to see this fruit of + his long efforts to please everybody. He had gone to his rest the year + before; and now there ruled in Bruges his son, Baldwin the Good, “Count + Palatine,” as he styled himself, and his wife Richilda, the Lady of + Hainault. + </p> + <p> + They probably cared as little for the success of their sister Matilda as + they did for that of their sister Judith; and followed out—Baldwin + at least—the great marquis’s plan of making Flanders a retreat for + the fugitives of all the countries round. + </p> + <p> + At least, if (as seems) Sweyn’s fleet made the coast of Flanders its + rendezvous and base of operations against King William, Baldwin offered no + resistance. + </p> + <p> + So the messengers came, and the plots went on. Great was the delight of + Hereward and the ladies when they heard of the taking of Durham and York; + but bitter their surprise and rage when they heard that Gospatrick and the + Confederates had proclaimed Edgar Atheling king. + </p> + <p> + “Fools! they will ruin all!” cried Gyda. “Do they expect Swend Ulfsson, + who never moved a finger yet, unless he saw that it would pay him within + the hour, to spend blood and treasure in putting that puppet boy upon the + throne instead of himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Calm yourself, great Countess,” said Hereward, with a smile. “The man who + puts him on the throne will find it very easy to take him off again when + he needs.” + </p> + <p> + “Pish!” said Gyda. “He must put him on the throne first. And how will he + do that? Will the men of the Danelagh, much less the Northumbrians, ever + rally round an Atheling of Cerdic’s house? They are raising a Wessex army + in Northumbria; a southern army in the north. There is no real loyalty + there toward the Atheling, not even the tie of kin, as there would be to + Swend. The boy is a mere stalking-horse, behind which each of these greedy + chiefs expects to get back his own lands; and if they can get them back by + any other means, well and good. Mark my words, Sir Hereward, that cunning + Frenchman will treat with them one by one, and betray them one by one, + till there is none left.” + </p> + <p> + How far Gyda was right will be seen hereafter. But a less practised + diplomat than the great Countess might have speculated reasonably on such + an event. + </p> + <p> + At least, let this be said, that when historians have complained of the + treachery of King Swend Ulfsson and his Danes, they have forgotten certain + broad and simple facts. + </p> + <p> + Swend sailed for England to take a kingdom which he believed to be his by + right; which he had formerly demanded of William. When he arrived there, + he found himself a mere cat’s-paw for recovering that kingdom for an + incapable boy, whom he believed to have no right to the throne at all. + </p> + <p> + Then came darker news. As Ivo had foreseen, and as Ivo had done his best + to bring about, William dashed on York, and drove out the Confederates + with terrible slaughter; profaned the churches, plundered the town. + Gospatrick and the earls retreated to Durham; the Atheling, more cautious, + to Scotland. + </p> + <p> + Then came a strange story, worthy of the grown children who, in those old + times, bore the hearts of boys with the ferocity and intellect of men. + </p> + <p> + A great fog fell on the Frenchmen as they struggled over the Durham moors. + The doomed city was close beneath them; they heard Wear roaring in his + wooded gorge. But a darkness, as of Egypt, lay upon them: “neither rose + any from his place.” + </p> + <p> + Then the Frenchmen cried: “This darkness is from St. Cuthbert himself. We + have invaded his holy soil. Who has not heard how none who offend St. + Cuthbert ever went unpunished? how palsy, blindness, madness, fall on + those who dare to violate his sanctuary?” + </p> + <p> + And the French turned and fled from before the face of St. Cuthbert; and + William went down to Winchester angry and sad, and then went off to + Gloucestershire; and hunted—for, whatever befell, he still would + hunt—in the forest of Dean. + </p> + <p> + And still Swend and his Danes had not sailed; and Hereward walked to and + fro in his house, impatiently, and bided his time. + </p> + <p> + In July, Baldwin died. Arnoul, the boy, was Count of Flanders, and + Richilda, his sorceress-mother, ruled the land in his name. She began to + oppress the Flemings; not those of French Flanders, round St. Omer, but + those of Flemish Flanders, toward the north. They threatened to send for + Robert the Frison to right them. + </p> + <p> + Hereward was perplexed. He was Robert the Frison’s friend, and old + soldier. Richilda was Torfrida’s friend; so was, still more, the boy + Arnoul; which party should he take? Neither, if he could help it. And he + longed to be safe out of the land. + </p> + <p> + And at last his time came. Martin Lightfoot ran in, breathless, to tell + how the sails of a mighty fleet were visible from the Dunes. + </p> + <p> + “Here?” cried Hereward. “What are the fools doing down here, wandering + into the very jaws of the wolf? How will they land here? They were to have + gone straight to the Lincolnshire coast. God grant this mistake be not the + first of dozens!” + </p> + <p> + Hereward went into Torfrida’s bower. + </p> + <p> + “This is an evil business. The Danes are here, where they have no + business, instead of being off Scheldtmouth, as I entreated them. But go + we must, or be forever shamed. Now, true wife, are you ready? Dare you + leave home and kin and friends, once and for all, to go, you know not + whither, with one who may be a gory corpse by this day week?” + </p> + <p> + “I dare,” said she. + </p> + <p> + So they went down to Calais by night, with Torfrida’s mother, and all + their jewels, and all they had in the world. And their housecarles went + with them, forty men, tried and trained, who had vowed to follow Hereward + round the world. And there were two long ships ready, and twenty good + mariners in each. So when the Danes made the South Foreland the next + morning, they were aware of two gallant ships bearing down on them, with a + great white bear embroidered on their sails. + </p> + <p> + A proud man was Hereward that day, as he sailed into the midst of the + Danish fleet, and up to the royal ships, and shouted: “I am Hereward the + Berserker, and I come to take service under my rightful lord, Sweyn, king + of England.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on board, then; we know you well, and right glad we are to have + Hereward with us.” + </p> + <p> + And Hereward laid his ship’s bow upon the quarter of the royal ship (to + lay alongside was impossible, for fear of breaking oars), and came on + board. + </p> + <p> + “And thou art Hereward?” asked a tall and noble warrior. + </p> + <p> + “I am. And thou art Swend Ulfsson, the king?” + </p> + <p> + “I am Earl Osbiorn, his brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, where is the king?” + </p> + <p> + “He is in Denmark, and I command his fleet; and with me are Canute and + Harold, Sweyn’s sons, and earls and bishops enough for all England.” + </p> + <p> + This was spoken in a somewhat haughty tone, in answer to the look of + surprise and disappointment which Hereward had, unawares, allowed to pass + over his face. + </p> + <p> + “Thou art better than none,” said Hereward. “Now, hearken, Osbiorn the + Earl. Had Swend been here, I would have put my hand between his, and said + in my own name, and that of all the men in Kesteven and the fens, Swend’s + men we are, to live and die! But now, as it is, I say, for me and them, + thy men we are, to live and die, as long as thou art true to us.” + </p> + <p> + “True to you I will be,” said Osbiorn. + </p> + <p> + “Be it so,” said Hereward. “True we shall be, whatever betide. Now, + whither goes Earl Osbiorn, and all his great meinie?” + </p> + <p> + “We purpose to try Dover.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not take it. The Frenchman has strengthened it with one of his + accursed keeps, and without battering-engines you may sit before it a + month.” + </p> + <p> + “What if I asked you to go in thither yourself, and try the mettle and the + luck which, they say, never failed Hereward yet?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say that it was a child’s trick to throw away against a paltry + stone wall the life of a man who was ready to raise for you in + Lincolnshire and Cambridgeshire, five times as many men as you will lose + in taking Dover.” + </p> + <p> + “Hereward is right,” said more than one Earl. “We shall need him in his + own country.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are wise, to that country you yourselves will go. It is ready to + receive you. This is ready to oppose you. You are attacking the Frenchman + at his strongest point instead of his weakest. Did I not send again and + again, entreating you to cross from Scheldtmouth to the Wash, and send me + word that I might come and raise the Fen-men for you, and then we would + all go north together?” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard, ere now,” said Earl Osbiorn, haughtily, “that Hereward, + though he be a valiant Viking, is more fond of giving advice than of + taking it.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward was about to answer very fiercely. If he had, no one would have + thought any harm, in those plain-spoken times. But he was wise; and + restrained himself, remembering that Torfrida was there, all but alone, in + the midst of a fleet of savage men; and that beside, he had a great deed + to do, and must do it as he could. So he answered,— + </p> + <p> + “Osbiorn the Earl has not, it seems, heard this of Hereward: that because + he is accustomed to command, he is also accustomed to obey. What thou wilt + do, do, and bid me do. He that quarrels with his captain cuts his own + throat and his fellows’ too.” + </p> + <p> + “Wisely spoken!” said the earls; and Hereward went back to his ship. + </p> + <p> + “Torfrida,” said he, bitterly, “the game is lost before it is begun.” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid, my beloved! What words are these?” + </p> + <p> + “Swend—fool that he is with his over-caution,—always the same!—has + let the prize slip from between his fingers. He has sent Osbiorn instead + of himself.” + </p> + <p> + “But why is that so terrible a mistake?” + </p> + <p> + “We do not want a fleet of Vikings in England, to plunder the French and + English alike. We want a king, a king, a king!” and Hereward stamped with + rage. “And instead of a king, we have this Osbiorn,—all men know + him, greedy and false and weak-headed. Here he is going to be beaten off + at Dover; and then, I suppose, at the next port; and so forth, till the + whole season is wasted, and the ships and men lost by driblets. Pray for + us to God and his saints, Torfrida, you who are nearer to Heaven than I; + for we never needed it more.” + </p> + <p> + And Osbiorn went in; tried to take Dover; and was beaten off with heavy + loss. + </p> + <p> + Then the earls bade him take Hereward’s advice. But he would not. + </p> + <p> + So he went round the Foreland, and tried Sandwich,—as if, landing + there, he would have been safe in marching on London, in the teeth of the + <i>élite</i> of Normandy. + </p> + <p> + But he was beaten off there, with more loss. Then, too late, he took + Hereward’s advice,—or, rather, half of it,—and sailed north; + but only to commit more follies. + </p> + <p> + He dared not enter the Thames. He would not go on to the Wash; but he went + into the Orwell, and attacked Ipswich, plundering right and left, instead + of proclaiming King Sweyn, and calling the Danish folk around him. The + Danish folk of Suffolk rose, and, like valiant men, beat him off; while + Hereward lay outside the river mouth, his soul within him black with + disappointment, rage, and shame. He would not go in. He would not fight + against his own countrymen. He would not help to turn the whole plan into + a marauding raid. And he told Earl Osbiorn so, so fiercely, that his life + would have been in danger, had not the force of his arm been as much + feared as the force of his name was needed. + </p> + <p> + At last they came to Yarmouth. Osbiorn would needs land there, and try + Norwich. + </p> + <p> + Hereward was nigh desperate: but he hit upon a plan. Let Osbiorn do so, if + he would. He himself would sail round to the Wash, raise the Fen-men, and + march eastward at their head through Norfolk to meet him. Osbiorn himself + could not refuse so rational a proposal. All the earls and bishops + approved loudly; and away Hereward went to the Wash, his heart well-nigh + broken, foreseeing nothing but evil. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. — HOW HEREWARD GATHERED AN ARMY. + </h2> + <p> + The voyage round the Norfolk coast was rough and wild. Torfrida was ill, + the little girl was ill; the poor old mother was so ill that she could not + even say her prayers. Packed uncomfortably under the awning on the poop, + Torfrida looked on from beneath it upon the rolling water-waste, with a + heart full of gloomy forebodings, and a brain whirling with wild fancies. + The wreaths of cloud were gray witches, hurrying on with the ship to work + her woe; the low red storm-dawn was streaked with blood; the water which + gurgled all night under the lee was alive with hoarse voices; and again + and again she started from fitful slumber to clasp the child closer to + her, or look up for comfort to the sturdy figure of her husband, as he + stood, like a tower of strength, steering and commanding, the long night + through. + </p> + <p> + Yes; on him she could depend. On his courage, on his skill. And as for his + love, had she not that utterly? And what more did woman need? + </p> + <p> + But she was going, she scarce knew whither; and she scarce knew for what. + At least, on a fearful adventure, which might have a fearful end. She + looked at the fair child, and reproached herself for a moment; at the poor + old mother, whining and mumbling, her soft southern heart quite broken by + the wild chill northern sea-breeze; and reproached herself still more. But + was it not her duty? Him she loved, and his she was; and him she must + follow, over sea and land, till death; and if possible, beyond death again + forever. For his sake she would slave. For his sake she would be strong. + If ever there rose in her a homesickness, a regret for leaving Flanders, + and much more for that sunnier South where she was born, he at least + should never be saddened or weakened by one hint of her sadness and + weakness. And so it befell that, by the time they made the coast, she had + (as the old chronicler says) “altogether conquered all womanly softness.” + </p> + <p> + And yet she shuddered at the dreary mud-creek into which they ran their + ships, at the dreary flats on which they landed shivering, swept over by + the keen northeast wind. A lonely land; and within, she knew not what of + danger, it might be of hideous death. + </p> + <p> + But she would be strong. And when they were all landed, men, arms, + baggage, and had pitched the tents which the wise Hereward had brought + with them, she rose up like a queen, and took her little one by the hand, + and went among the men, and spoke:— + </p> + <p> + “Housecarles and mariners! you are following a great captain upon a great + adventure. How great he is, you know as well as I. I have given him + myself, my wealth, and all I have, and have followed him I know not + whither, because I trust him utterly. Men, trust him as I trust him, and + follow him to the death.” + </p> + <p> + “That will we!” + </p> + <p> + “And, men, I am here among you, a weak woman, trying to be brave for his + sake—and for yours. Be true to me, too, as I have been true to you. + For your sake have I worked hard day and night, for many a year. For you I + have baked and brewed and cooked, like any poor churl’s wife. Is there a + garment on your backs which my hands have not mended? Is there a wound on + your limbs which my hands have not salved? O, if Torfrida has been true to + you, promise me this day that you will be true men to her and hers; that + if—which Heaven forbid!—aught should befall him and me, you + will protect this my poor old mother, and this my child, who has grown up + among you all,—a lamb brought up within the lions’ den. Look at her, + men, and promise me, on the faith of valiant soldiers, that you will be + lions on her behalf, if she shall ever need you. Promise me, that if you + have but one more stroke left to strike on earth, you will strike it to + defend the daughter of Hereward and Torfrida from cruelty and shame” + </p> + <p> + The men answered by a shout which rolled along the fen, and startled the + wild-fowl up from far-off pools. They crowded round their lady; they + kissed her hands; they bent down and kissed their little playmate, and + swore—one by God and his apostles, and the next by Odin and Thor—that + she should be a daughter to each and every one of them, as long as they + could grip steel in hand. + </p> + <p> + Then (says the chronicler) Hereward sent on spies, to see whether the + Frenchmen were in the land, and how folks fared at Holbeach, Spalding, and + Bourne. + </p> + <p> + The two young Siwards, as knowing the country and the folk, pushed + forward, and with them Martin Lightfoot, to bring back news. + </p> + <p> + Martin ran back all the way from Holbeach, the very first day, with right + good news. There was not a Frenchman in the town. Neither was there, they + said, in Spalding. Ivo Taillebois was still away at the wars, and long + might he stay. + </p> + <p> + So forward they marched, and everywhere the landsfolk were tilling the + ground in peace; and when they saw that stout array, they hurried out to + meet the troops, and burdened them with food, and ale, and all they + needed. + </p> + <p> + And at Holbeach, and at Spalding, Hereward split up the war-arrow, and + sent it through Kesteven, and south into the Cambridge fens, calling on + all men to arm and come to him at Bourne, in the name of Waltheof and + Morcar the earls. + </p> + <p> + And at every farm and town he blew the war-horn, and summoned every man + who could bear arms to be ready, against the coming of the Danish host + from Norwich. And so through all the fens came true what the wild-fowl + said upon the meres, that Hereward was come again. + </p> + <p> + And when he came to Bourne, all men were tilling in peace. The terror of + Hereward had fallen on the Frenchmen, and no man had dared to enter on his + inheritance, or to set a French foot over the threshold of that ghastly + hall, over the gable whereof still grinned the fourteen heads; on the + floor whereof still spread the dark stains of blood. + </p> + <p> + Only Geri dwelt in a corner of the house, and with him Leofric the + Unlucky, once a roistering housecarle of Hereward’s youth, now a monk of + Crowland, and a deacon, whom Lady Godiva had sent thither that he might + take care of her poor. And there Geri and Leofric had kept house, and told + sagas to each other over the beech-log fire night after night; for all + Leofric’s study was, says the chronicler, “to gather together for the + edification of his hearers all the acts of giants and warriors out of the + fables of the ancients or from faithful report, and commit them to + writing, that he might keep England in mind thereof.” Which Leofric was + afterwards ordained priest, probably in Ely, by Bishop Egelwin of Durham; + and was Hereward’s chaplain for many a year. + </p> + <p> + Then Hereward, as he had promised, set fire to the three farms close to + the Bruneswold; and all his outlawed friends, lurking in the forest, knew + by that signal that Hereward was come again. So they cleansed out the old + house: though they did not take down the heads from off the gable; and + Torfrida went about it, and about it, and confessed that England was, + after all, a pleasant place enough. And they were as happy, it may be, for + a week or two, as ever they had been in their lives. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said Torfrida, “while you see to your army, I must be doing; + for I am a lady now, and mistress of great estates. So I must be seeing to + the poor.” + </p> + <p> + “But you cannot speak their tongue.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I not? Do you think that in the face of coming to England and + fighting here, and plotting here, and being, may be, an earl’s countess, I + have not made Martin Lightfoot teach me your English tongue, till I can + speak it as well as you? I kept that hidden as a surprise for you, that + you might find out, when you most needed, how Torfrida loved you.” + </p> + <p> + “As if I had not found out already! O woman! woman! I verily believe that + God made you alone, and left the Devil to make us butchers of men.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile went round through all the fens, and north into the Bruneswold, + and away again to Lincoln and merry Sherwood, that Hereward was come + again. And Gilbert of Ghent, keeping Lincoln Castle for the Conqueror, was + perplexed in mind, and looked well to gates and bars and sentinels; for + Hereward sent him at once a message, that forasmuch as he had forgotten + his warning in Bruges street, and put a rascal cook into his mother’s + manors, he should ride Odin’s horse on the highest ash in the Bruneswold. + </p> + <p> + On which Gilbert of Ghent, inquiring what Odin’s horse might be, and + finding it to signify the ash-tree whereon, as sacred to Odin, thieves + were hanged by Danes and Norse, made answer,— + </p> + <p> + That he Gilbert had not put his cook into Bourne, nor otherwise harmed + Hereward or his. That Bourne had been seized by the king himself, together + with Earl Morcar’s lands in those parts, as all men knew. That the said + cook so pleased the king with a dish of stewed eel-pout, which he served + up to him at Cambridge, and which the king had never eaten before, that + the king begged the said cook of him Gilbert and took him away; and that + after, so he heard, the said cook had begged the said manors of Bourne of + the king, without the knowledge or consent of him Gilbert. That he + therefore knew naught of the matter. That if Hereward meant to keep the + king’s peace, he might live in Bourne till Doomsday, for aught he, + Gilbert, cared. But that if he and his men meant to break the king’s + peace, and attack Lincoln city, he Gilbert would nail their skins to the + door of Lincoln Cathedral, as they used to do by the heathen Danes in old + time. And that, therefore, they now understood each other. + </p> + <p> + At which Hereward laughed, and said that they had done that for many a + year. + </p> + <p> + And now poured into Bourne from every side brave men and true,—some + great holders dispossessed of their land; some the sons of holders who + were not yet dispossessed; some Morcar’s men, some Edwin’s, who had been + turned out by the king. + </p> + <p> + To him came “Guenoch and Alutus Grogan, foremost in all valor and + fortitude, tall and large, and ready for work,” and with them their three + nephews, Godwin Gille, “so called because he was not inferior to that + Godwin Guthlacsson who is preached much in the fables of the ancients,” + “and Douti and Outi, [Footnote: Named in Domesday-book (?).] the twins, + alike in face and manners;” and Godric, the knight of Corby, nephew of the + Count of Warwick; and Tosti of Davenesse, his kinsman; and Azer Vass, + whose father had possessed Lincoln Tower; and Leofwin Moue, [Footnote: + Probably the Leofwin who had lands in Bourne.]—that is, the scythe, + so called, “because when he was mowing all alone, and twenty country folk + set on him with pitchforks and javelins, he slew and wounded almost every + one, sweeping his scythe among them as one that moweth”; and Wluncus the + Black-face, so called because he once blackened his face with coal, and + came unknown among the enemy, and slew ten of them with one lance; and + “Turbertin, a great-nephew (surely a mistake) of Earl Edwin”; and Leofwin + Prat (perhaps the ancestor of the ancient and honorable house of Pratt of + Ryston), so called from his “Praet” or craft, “because he had oft escaped + cunningly when taken by the enemy, having more than once killed his + keepers;” and the steward of Drayton; and Thurkill the outlaw, Hereward’s + cook; and Oger, Hereward’s kinsman; and “Winter and Linach, two very + famous ones;” and Ranald, the butler of Ramsey Abbey,—“he was the + standard-bearer”; and Wulfric the Black and Wulfric the White; and Hugh + the Norman, a priest; and Wulfard, his brother; and Tosti and Godwin of + Rothwell; and Alsin; and Hekill; and Hugh the Breton, who was Hereward’s + chaplain, and Whishaw, his brother, “a magnificent” knight, which two came + with him from Flanders; and so forth;—names merely of whom naught is + known, save, in a few cases, from Domesday-book, the manors which they + held. But honor to their very names! Honor to the last heroes of the old + English race! + </p> + <p> + These valiant gentlemen, with the housecarles whom, more or fewer, they + would bring with them, constituted a formidable force, as after years + proved well. But having got his men, Hereward’s first care was, doubtless, + to teach them that art of war of which they, like true Englishmen, knew + nothing. + </p> + <p> + The art of war has changed little, if at all, by the introduction of + gunpowder. The campaigns of Hannibal and Caesar succeeded by the same + tactics as those of Frederic or Wellington; and so, as far as we can + judge, did those of the master-general of his age, William of Normandy. + </p> + <p> + But of those tactics the English knew nothing. Their armies were little + more than tumultuous levies, in which men marched and fought under local + leaders, often divided by local jealousies. The commissariats of the + armies seem to have been so worthless, that they had to plunder friends as + well as foes as they went along; and with plunder came every sort of + excess: as when the northern men marching down to meet Harold Godwinsson, + and demand young Edwin as their earl, laid waste, seemingly out of mere + brute wantonness, the country round Northampton, which must have been in + Edwin’s earldom, or at least in that of his brother Morcar. And even the + local leaders were not over-well obeyed. The reckless spirit of personal + independence, especially among the Anglo-Danes, prevented anything like + discipline, or organized movement of masses, and made every battle + degenerate into a confusion of single combats. + </p> + <p> + But Hereward had learned that art of war, which enabled the Norman to + crush, piecemeal, with inferior numbers, the vast but straggling levies of + the English. His men, mostly outlaws and homeless, kept together by the + pressure from without, and free from local jealousies, resembled rather an + army of professional soldiers than a country <i>posse comitatus</i>. And + to the discipline which he instilled into them; to his ability in marching + and manoeuvring troops; to his care for their food and for their + transport, possibly, also, to his training them in that art of fighting on + horseback in which the men of Wessex, if not the Anglo-Danes of the East, + are said to have been quite unskilled,—in short, to all that he had + learned, as a mercenary, under Robert the Frison, and among the highly + civilized warriors of Flanders and Normandy, must be attributed the fact, + that he and his little army defied, for years, the utmost efforts of the + Normans, appearing and disappearing with such strange swiftness, and + conquering against such strange odds, as enshrouded the guerilla captain + in an atmosphere of myth and wonder, only to be accounted for, in the mind + of Normans as well as English, by the supernatural counsels of his + sorceress wife. + </p> + <p> + But Hereward grew anxious and more anxious, as days and weeks went on, and + yet there was no news of Osbiorn and his Danes at Norwich. Time was + precious. He had to march his little army to the Wash, and then transport + it by boats—no easy matter—to Lynn in Norfolk, as his nearest + point of attack. And as the time went on, Earl Warren and Ralph de Guader + would have gathered their forces between him and the Danes, and a landing + at Lynn might become impossible. Meanwhile there were bruits of great + doings in the north of Lincolnshire. Young Earl Waltheof was said to be + there, and Edgar the Atheling with him; but what it portended, no man + knew. Morcar was said to have raised the centre of Mercia, and to be near + Stafford; Edwin to have raised the Welsh, and to be at Chester with + Alfgiva, his sister, Harold Godwinsson’s widow. And Hereward sent spies + along the Roman Watling Street—the only road, then, toward the + northwest of England—and spies northward along the Roman road to + Lincoln. But the former met the French in force near Stafford, and came + back much faster than they went. And the latter stumbled on Gilbert of + Ghent, riding out of Lincoln to Sleaford, and had to flee into the fens, + and came back much slower than they went. + </p> + <p> + At last news came. For into Bourne stalked Wulfric the Heron, with axe and + bow, and leaping-pole on shoulder, and an evil tale he brought. + </p> + <p> + The Danes had been beaten utterly at Norwich. Ralph de Guader and his + Frenchmen had fought like lions. They had killed many Danes in the assault + on the castle. They had sallied out on them as they recoiled, and driven + them into the river, drowning many more. The Danes had gone down the Yare + again, and out to sea northward, no man knew whither. He, the Heron, + prowling about the fenlands of Norfolk to pick off straggling Frenchmen + and looking out for the Danes, had heard all the news from the landsfolk. + He had watched the Danish fleet along the shore as far as Blakeney. But + when they came to the isle, they stood out to sea, right northwest. He, + the Heron, believed that they were gone for Humber Mouth. + </p> + <p> + After a while, he had heard how Hereward was come again and sent round the + war-arrow, and thought that a landless man could be in no better company; + wherefore he had taken boat, and come across the deep fen. And there he + was, if they had need of him. + </p> + <p> + “Need of you?” said Hereward, who had heard of the deed at Wrokesham + Bridge. “Need of a hundred like you. But this is bitter news.” + </p> + <p> + And he went in to ask counsel of Torfrida, ready to weep with rage. He had + disappointed, deceived his men. He had drawn them into a snare. He had + promised that the Danes should come. How should he look them in the face? + </p> + <p> + “Look them in the face? Do that at once—now—without losing a + moment. Call them together and tell them all. If their hearts are staunch, + you may do great things without the traitor earl. If their hearts fail + them, you would have done nothing with them worthy of yourself, had you + had Norway as well as Denmark at your back. At least, be true with them, + as your only chance of keeping them true to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Wise, wise wife,” said Hereward, and went out and called his band + together, and told them every word, and all that had passed since he left + Calais Straits. + </p> + <p> + “And now I have deceived you, and entrapped you, and I have no right to be + your captain more. He that will depart in peace, let him depart, before + the Frenchmen close in on us on every side and swallow us up at one + mouthful.” + </p> + <p> + Not a man answered. + </p> + <p> + “I say it again: He that will depart, let him depart.” + </p> + <p> + They stood thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + Ranald, the Monk of Ramsey, drove the White-Bear banner firm into the + earth, tucked up his monk’s frock, and threw his long axe over his + shoulder, as if preparing for action. + </p> + <p> + Winter spoke at last. + </p> + <p> + “If all go, there are two men here who stay, and fight by Hereward’s side + as long as there is a Frenchman left on English soil; for they have sworn + an oath to Heaven and to St. Peter, and that oath will they keep. What say + you, Gwenoch, knighted with us at Peterborough?” + </p> + <p> + Gwenoch stepped to Hereward’s side. + </p> + <p> + “None shall go!” shouted a dozen voices. “With Hereward we will live and + die. Let him lead us to Lincoln, to Stafford, where he will. We can save + England for ourselves without the help of Danes.” + </p> + <p> + “It is well for one at least of you, gentlemen, that you are in this + pleasant mind,” quoth Ranald the monk. + </p> + <p> + “Well for all of us, thou valiant purveyor of beef and beer.” + </p> + <p> + “Well for one. For the first man that had turned to go, I would have + brained him with this axe.” + </p> + <p> + “And now, gallant gentlemen,” said Hereward, “we must take new counsel, as + our old has failed. Whither shall we go? For stay here, eating up the + country, we must not do.” + </p> + <p> + “They say that Waltheof is in Lindsay, raising the landsfolk. Let us go + and join him.” + </p> + <p> + “We can, at least, find what he means to do. There can be no better + counsel. Let us march. Only we must keep clear of Lincoln as yet. I hear + that Gilbert has a strong garrison there, and we are not strong enough yet + to force it.” + </p> + <p> + So they rode north, and up the Roman road toward Lincoln, sending out + spies as they went; and soon they had news of Waltheof,—news, too, + that he was between them and Lincoln. + </p> + <p> + “Then the sooner we are with him, the better, for he will find himself in + trouble ere long, if old Gilbert gets news of him. So run your best, + footmen, for forward we must get.” + </p> + <p> + And as they came up the Roman road, they were aware of a great press of + men in front of them, and hard fighting toward. + </p> + <p> + Some of the English would have spurred forward at once. But Hereward held + them back with loud reproaches. + </p> + <p> + “Will you forget all I have told you in the first skirmish, like so many + dogs when they see a bull? Keep together for five minutes more, the pot + will not be cool before we get our sup of it. I verily believe that it is + Waltheof, and that Gilbert has caught him already.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, one part of the combatants broke up, and fled right and left; + and a knight in full armor galloped furiously down the road right at them, + followed by two or three more. + </p> + <p> + “Here comes some one very valiant, or very much afeared,” said Hereward, + as the horseman rode right upon him, shouting,— + </p> + <p> + “I am the King!” + </p> + <p> + “The King?” roared Hereward, and dropping his lance, spurred his horse + forward, kicking his feet clear of the stirrups. He caught the knight + round the neck, dragged him over his horse’s tail, and fell with him to + the ground. + </p> + <p> + The armor clashed; the sparks flew from the old gray Roman flints; and + Hereward, rolling over once, rose, and knelt upon his prisoner. + </p> + <p> + “William of Normandy, yield or die!” + </p> + <p> + The knight lay still and stark. + </p> + <p> + “Ride on!” roared Hereward from the ground. “Ride at them, and strike + hard! You will soon find out which is which. This booty I must pick for + myself. What are you at?” roared he, after his knights. “Spread off the + road, and keep your line, as I told you, and don’t override each other! + Curse the hot-headed fools! The Normans will scatter them like sparrows. + Run on, men-at-arms, to stop the French if we are broken. And don’t forget + Guisnes field and the horses’ legs. Now, King, are you come to life yet?” + </p> + <p> + “You have killed him,” quoth Leofric the deacon, whom Hereward had + beckoned to stop with him. + </p> + <p> + “I hope not. Lend me a knife. He is a much slighter man than I fancied,” + said Hereward, as they got his helmet off. + </p> + <p> + And when it was off, both started and stared. For they had uncovered, not + the beetling brow, Roman nose, and firm curved lip of the Ulysses of the + middle age, but the face of a fair lad, with long straw-colored hair, and + soft blue eyes staring into vacancy. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” shouted Hereward, saying very bad words, “who come here + aping the name of king?” + </p> + <p> + “Mother! Christina! Margaret! Waltheof Earl!” moaned the lad, raising his + head and letting it fall again. + </p> + <p> + “It is the Atheling!” cried Leofric. + </p> + <p> + Hereward rose, and stood over the boy. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! what was I doing to handle him so tenderly? I took him for the + Mamzer, and thought of a king’s ransom.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you call that tenderly? You have nigh pulled the boy’s head off.” + </p> + <p> + “Would that I had! Ah,” went on Hereward, apostrophizing the unconscious + Atheling,—“ah, that I had broken that white neck once and for all! + To have sent thee feet foremost to Winchester, to lie by thy grandfathers + and great-grandfathers, and then to tell Norman William that he must fight + it out henceforth, not with a straw malkin like thee, which the very crows + are not afraid to perch on, but with a cock of a very different hackle,—Sweyn + Ulfsson, King of Denmark.” + </p> + <p> + And Hereward drew Brain-biter. + </p> + <p> + “For mercy’s sake! you will not harm the lad?” + </p> + <p> + “If I were a wise man now, and hard-hearted as wise men should be, I + should—I should—” and he played the point of the sword + backwards and forwards, nearer and nearer to the lad’s throat. + </p> + <p> + “Master! master!” cried Leofric, clinging to his knees; “by all the + saints! What would the Blessed Virgin say to such a deed!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose you are right. And I fear what my lady at home might say; + and we must not do anything to vex her, you know. Well, let us do it + handsomely, if we must do it. Get water somewhere, in his helmet. No, you + need not linger. I will not cut his throat before you come back.” + </p> + <p> + Leofric went off in search of water, and Hereward knelt with the + Atheling’s head on his knee, and on his lip a sneer at all things in + heaven and earth. To have that lad stand between him and all his projects, + and to be forced, for honor’s sake, to let him stand! + </p> + <p> + But soon his men returned, seemingly in high glee, and other knights with + them. + </p> + <p> + “Hey, lads!” said he, “I aimed at the falcon and shot the goose. Here is + Edgar Atheling prisoner. Shall we put him to ransom?” + </p> + <p> + “He has no money, and Malcolm of Scotland is much too wise to lend him + any,” said some one. And some more rough jokes passed. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, sirs, that he who lies there is your king?” asked a very + tall and noble-looking knight. + </p> + <p> + “That do we not,” said Hereward, sharply. “There is no king in England + this day, as far as I know. And there will be none north of the Watling + Street, till he be chosen in full husting, and anointed at York, as well + as Winchester or London. We have had one king made for us in the last + forty years, and we intend to make the next ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “And who art thou, who talkest so bold, of king-making?” + </p> + <p> + “And who art thou, who askest so bold who I am?” + </p> + <p> + “I am Waltheof Siwardsson, the Earl, and yon is my army behind me.” + </p> + <p> + “And I am Hereward Leofricsson, the outlaw, and yon is my army behind me.” + </p> + <p> + If the two champions had flown at each other’s throats, and their armies + had followed their example, simply as dogs fly at each other, they know + not why, no one would have been astonished in those unhappy times. + </p> + <p> + But it fell not out upon that wise; for Waltheof, leaping from his horse, + pulled off his helmet, and seizing Hereward by both hands, cried,— + </p> + <p> + “Blessed is the day which sees again in England Hereward, who has upheld + throughout all lands and seas the honor of English chivalry!” + </p> + <p> + “And blessed is the day in which Hereward meets the head of the house of + Siward where he should be, at the head of his own men, in his own earldom. + When I saw my friend, thy brother Osbiorn, brought into the camp at + Dunsinane with all his wounds in front, I wept a young man’s tears, and + said, ‘There ends the glory of the White-Bear’s house!’ But this day I + say, the White-Bear’s blood is risen from the grave in Waltheof + Siwardsson, who with his single axe kept the gate of York against all the + army of the French; and who shall keep against them all England, if he + will be as wise as he is brave.” + </p> + <p> + Was Hereward honest in his words? Hardly so. He wished to be honest. As he + looked upon that magnificent young man, he hoped and trusted that his + words were true. But he gave a second look at the face, and whispered to + himself: “Weak, weak. He will be led by priests; perhaps by William + himself. I must be courteous; but confide I must not.” + </p> + <p> + The men stood round, and looked with admiration on the two most splendid + Englishmen then alive. Hereward had taken off his helmet likewise, and the + contrast between the two was as striking as the completeness of each of + them in his own style of beauty. It was the contrast between the + slow-hound and the deer-hound; each alike high bred; but the former, + short, sturdy, cheerful, and sagacious; the latter tall, stately, + melancholy, and not over-wise withal. + </p> + <p> + Waltheof was a full head and shoulders taller than Hereward,—one of + the tallest men of his generation, and of a strength which would have been + gigantic, but for the too great length of neck and limb, which made him + loose and slow in body, as he was somewhat loose and slow in mind. An old + man’s child, although that old man was as one of the old giants, there was + a vein of weakness in him, which showed in the arched eyebrow, the sleepy + pale blue eye, the small soft mouth, the lazy voice, the narrow and lofty + brain over a shallow brow. His face was not that of a warrior, but of a + saint in a painted window; and to his own place he went, and became a + saint, in his due time. But that he could outgeneral William, that he + could even manage Gospatrick and his intrigues Hereward expected as little + as that his own nephews Edwin and Morcar could do it. + </p> + <p> + “I have to thank you, noble sir,” said Waltheof, languidly, “for sending + your knights to our rescue when we were really hard bested,—I fear + much by our own fault. Had they told me whose men they were, I should not + have spoken to you so roughly as I fear I did.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no offence. Let Englishmen speak their minds, as long as English + land is above sea. But how did you get into trouble, and with whom?” + </p> + <p> + Waltheof told him how he was going round the country, raising forces in + the name of the Atheling, when, as they were straggling along the Roman + road, Gilbert of Ghent had dashed out on them from a wood, cut their line + in two, driven Waltheof one way, and the Atheling another, and that the + Atheling had only escaped by riding, as they saw, for his life. + </p> + <p> + “Well done, old Gilbert!” laughed Hereward. “You must beware, my Lord + Earl, how you venture within reach of that old bear’s paw!” + </p> + <p> + “Bear? By the by, Sir Hereward,” asked Waltheof, whose thoughts ran + loosely right and left, “why is it that you carry the white bear on your + banner?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you not know? Your house ought to have a blood-feud against me. I slew + your great-uncle, or cousin, or some other kinsman, at Gilbert’s house in + Scotland long ago; and since then I sleep on his skin every night, and + carry his picture in my banner all day.” + </p> + <p> + “Blood-feuds are solemn things,” said Waltheof, frowning. “Karl killed my + grandfather Aldred at the battle of Settrington, and his four sons are + with the army at York now—” + </p> + <p> + “For the love of all saints and of England, do not think of avenging that! + Every man must now put away old grudges, and remember that he has but one + foe,—William and his Frenchmen.” + </p> + <p> + “Very nobly spoken. But those sons of Karl—and I think you said you + had killed a kinsman of mine?” + </p> + <p> + “It was a bear, Lord Earl, a great white bear. Cannot you understand a + jest? Or are you going to take up the quarrels of all white bears that are + slain between here and Iceland? You will end by burning Crowland minster + then, for there are twelve of your kinsmen’s skins there, which Canute + gave forty years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Burn Crowland minster? St. Guthlac and all saints forbid!” said Waltheof, + crossing himself devoutly. + </p> + <p> + “Are you a monk-monger into the bargain, as well as a dolt? A bad prospect + for us, if you are,” said Hereward to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my dear Lord King!” said Waltheof, “and you are recovering?” + </p> + <p> + “Somewhat,” said the lad, sitting up, “under the care of this kind + knight.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a monk, Sir Atheling, and not a knight,” said Hereward. “Our fenmen + can wear a mail-shirt as easily as a frock, and handle a twybill as neatly + as a breviary.” + </p> + <p> + Waltheof shook his head. “It is contrary to the canons of Holy Church.” + </p> + <p> + “So are many things that are done in England just now. Need has no master. + Now, Sir Earl and Sir Atheling, what are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + Neither of them, it seemed, very well knew. They would go to York if they + could get there, and join Gospatrick and Marlesweyn. And certainly it was + the most reasonable thing to be done. + </p> + <p> + “But if you mean to get to York, you must march after another fashion than + this,” said Hereward. “See, Sir Earl, why you were broken by Gilbert; and + why you will be broken again, if this order holds. If you march your men + along one of these old Roman streets—By St. Mary! these Romans had + more wits than we; for we have spoilt the roads they left us, and never + made a new one of our own—” + </p> + <p> + “They were heathens and enchanters,”—and Waltheof crossed himself. + </p> + <p> + “And conquered the world. Well,—if you march along one of these + streets, you must ride as I rode, when I came up to you. You must not let + your knights go first, and your men-at-arms straggle after in a tail a + mile long, like a scratch pack of hounds, all sizes but except each + others’. You must keep your footmen on the high street, and make your + knights ride in two bodies, right and left, upon the wold, to protect + their flanks and baggage.” + </p> + <p> + “But the knights won’t. As gentlemen, they have a right to the best + ground.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they may go to—whither they will go, if the French come upon + them. If they are on the flanks, and you are attacked then they can charge + in right and left on the enemy’s flank, while the footmen make a stand to + cover the wagons.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,—that is very good; I believe that is your French fashion?” + </p> + <p> + “It is the fashion of common-sense, like all things which succeed.” + </p> + <p> + “But, you see, the knights would not submit to ride in the mire.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you must make them. What else have they horses for, while honester + men than they trudge on foot?” + </p> + <p> + “Make them?” said Waltheof, with a shrug and a smile. “They are all free + gentlemen, like ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “And, like ourselves, will come to utter ruin, because every one of them + must needs go his own way.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad,” said Waltheof, as they rode along, “that you called this my + earldom. I hold it to be mine of course, in right of my father; but the + landsfolks, you know, gave it to your nephew Morcar.” + </p> + <p> + “I care not to whom it is given. I care for the man who is on it, to raise + these landsfolk and make them fight. You are here: therefore you are + earl.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the powers that be are ordained by God.” + </p> + <p> + “You must not strain that text too far, Lord Earl; for the only power that + is, whom I see in England—worse luck for it!—is William the + Mamzer.” + </p> + <p> + “So I have often thought.” + </p> + <p> + “You have? As I feared!” (To himself:) “The pike will have you next, + gudgeon!” + </p> + <p> + “He has with him the Holy Father at Rome, and therefore the blessed + Apostle St. Peter of course. And is a man right, in the sight of Heaven, + who resists them? I only say it. But where a man looks to the salvation of + his own soul, he must needs think thereof seriously, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “O, are you at that?” thought Hereward. “<i>Tout est perdu</i>. The + question is, Earl,” said he aloud, “simply this: How many men can you + raise off this shire?” + </p> + <p> + “I have raised—not so many as I could wish. Harold and Edith’s men + have joined me fairly well; but your nephew, Morcar’s—” + </p> + <p> + “I can command them. I have half of them here already.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,—then we may raise the rest?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends, my Lord Earl, for whom we fight!” + </p> + <p> + “For whom?—I do not understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Whether we fight for that lad, Child Edgar, or for Sweyn of Denmark, the + rightful king of England.” + </p> + <p> + “Sweyn of Denmark! Who should be the rightful king but the heir of the + blessed St. Edward?” + </p> + <p> + “Blessed old fool! He has done harm to us enough on earth, without leaving + his second-cousins’ aunts’ malkins to harm us after he is in Heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Hereward, Sir Hereward, I fear thou art not as good a Christian as so + good a knight should be.” + </p> + <p> + “Christian or not, I am as good a one as my neighbors. I am Leofric’s son. + Leofric put Harthacanute on the throne, and your father, who was a man, + helped him. You know what has befallen England since we Danes left the + Danish stock at Godwin’s bidding, and put our necks under the yoke of + Wessex monks and monk-mongers. You may follow your father’s track or not, + as you like. I shall follow my father’s, and fight for Sweyn Ulfsson, and + no man else.” + </p> + <p> + “And I,” said Waltheof, “shall follow the anointed of the Lord.” + </p> + <p> + “The anointed of Gospatrick and two or three boys!” said Hereward. + “Knights! Turn your horses’ heads. Right about face, all! We are going + back to the Bruneswold, to live and die free Danes.” + </p> + <p> + And to Waltheof’s astonishment, who had never before seen discipline, the + knights wheeled round; the men-at-arms followed them; and Waltheof and the + Atheling were left to themselves on Lincoln Heath. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. — HOW ARCHBISHOP ALDRED DIED OF SORROW. + </h2> + <p> + In the tragedies of the next few months Hereward took no part; but they + must be looked at near, in order to understand somewhat of the men who + were afterwards mixed up with him for weal or woe. + </p> + <p> + When William went back to the South, the confederates, Child Edgar the + Atheling, Gospatrick, and their friends, had come south again from Durham. + It was undignified; a confession of weakness. If a Norman had likened them + to mice coming out when the cat went away, none could blame him. But so + they did; and Osbiorn and his Danes, landing in Humber-mouth, “were met” + (says the Anglo-Saxon chronicle) “by Child Edgar and Earl Waltheof and + Marlesweyn, and Earl Gospatrick with the men of Northumberland, riding and + marching joyfully with an immense army”; not having the spirit of + prophecy, or foreseeing those things which were coming on the earth. + </p> + <p> + To them repaired Edwin and Morcar, the two young Earls, Arkill and Karl, + “the great Thanes,” or at least the four sons of Karl,—for accounts + differ,—and what few else of the northern nobility Tosti had left + unmurdered. + </p> + <p> + The men of Northumberland received the Danes with open arms. They would + besiege York. They would storm the new Norman Keep. They would proclaim + Edgar king at York. + </p> + <p> + In that Keep sat two men, one of whom knew his own mind, the other did + not. One was William Malet, knight, one of the heroes of Hastings, a noble + Norman, and châtelain of York Castle. The other was Archbishop Aldred. + </p> + <p> + Aldred seems to have been a man like too many more,—pious and + virtuous and harmless enough, and not without worldly prudence; but his + prudence was of that sort which will surely swim with the stream, and + “honor the powers that be,” if they be but prosperous enough. For after + all, if success be not God, it is like enough to Him in some men’s eyes to + do instead. So Archbishop Aldred had crowned Harold Godwinsson, when + Harold’s star was in the ascendant. And who but Archbishop Aldred should + crown William, when his star had cast Harold’s down from heaven? He would + have crowned Satanas himself, had he only proved himself king <i>de facto</i>—as + he asserts himself to be <i>de jure</i>—of this wicked world. + </p> + <p> + So Aldred, who had not only crowned William, but supported his power north + of Humber by all means lawful, sat in York Keep, and looked at William + Malet, wondering what he would do. + </p> + <p> + Malet would hold it to the last. As for the new keep, it was surely + impregnable. The old walls—the Roman walls on which had floated the + flag of Constantine the Great—were surely strong enough to keep out + men without battering-rams, balistas, or artillery of any kind. What + mattered Osbiorn’s two hundred and forty ships, and their crews of some + ten or fifteen thousand men? What mattered the tens of thousands of + Northern men, with Gospatrick at their head? Let them rage and rob round + the walls. A messenger had galloped in from William in the Forest of Dean, + to tell Malet to hold out to the last. He had galloped out again, bearing + for answer, that the Normans could hold York for a year. + </p> + <p> + But the Archbishop’s heart misgave him, as from north and south at once + came up the dark masses of two mighty armies, broke up into columns, and + surged against every gate of the city at the same time. They had no + battering-train to breach the ancient walls; but they had—and none + knew it better than Aldred—hundreds of friends inside, who would + throw open to them the gates. + </p> + <p> + One gate he could command from the Castle tower. His face turned pale as + he saw a mob of armed townsmen rushing down the street towards it; a + furious scuffle with the French guards; and then, through the gateway, the + open champaign beyond, and a gleaming wave of axes, helms, and spears, + pouring in, and up the street. + </p> + <p> + “The traitors!” he almost shrieked, as he turned and ran down the ladder + to tell Malet below. + </p> + <p> + Malet was firm, but pale as Aldred. + </p> + <p> + “We must fight to the last,” said he, as he hurried down, commanding his + men to sally at once <i>en masse</i> and clear the city. + </p> + <p> + The mistake was fatal. The French were entangled in the narrow streets. + The houses, shut to them, were opened to the English and Danes; and, + overwhelmed from above, as well as in front, the greater part of the + Norman garrison perished in the first fight. The remnant were shut up in + the Castle. The Danes and English seized the houses round, and shot from + the windows at every loophole and embrasure where a Norman showed himself. + </p> + <p> + “Shoot fire upon the houses!” said Malet. + </p> + <p> + “You will not burn York? O God! is it come to this?” + </p> + <p> + “And why not York town, or York minster, or Rome itself, with the Pope + inside it, rather than yield to barbarians?” + </p> + <p> + Archbishop Aldred went into his room, and lay down on his bed. Outside was + the roar of the battle; and soon, louder and louder, the roar of flame. + This was the end of his time-serving and king-making. And he said many + prayers, and beat his breast; and then called to his chaplain for + blankets, for he was very cold. “I have slain my own sheep!” he moaned, + “slain my own sheep!” + </p> + <p> + His chaplain hapt him up in bed, and looked out of the window at the + fight. There was no lull, neither was there any great advantage on either + side. Only from the southward he could see fresh bodies of Danes coming + across the plain. + </p> + <p> + “The carcass is here, and the eagles are gathered together. Fetch me the + holy sacrament, Chaplain, and God be merciful to an unfaithful shepherd.” + </p> + <p> + The chaplain went. + </p> + <p> + “I have slain my own sheep!” moaned the archbishop. “I have given them up + to the wolves,—given my own minster, and all the treasures of the + saints; and—and—I am very cold.” + </p> + <p> + When the chaplain came back with the blessed sacrament, Archbishop Aldred + was more than cold; for he was already dead and stiff. + </p> + <p> + But William Malet would not yield. He and his Normans fought, day after + day, with the energy of despair. They asked leave to put forth the body of + the archbishop; and young Waltheof, who was a pious man, insisted that + leave should be given. + </p> + <p> + So the archbishop’s coffin was thrust forth of the castle-gate, and the + monks from the abbey came and bore it away, and buried it in the Cathedral + church. + </p> + <p> + And then the fight went on, day after day, and more and more houses + burned, till York was all aflame. On the eighth day the minster was in a + light low over Archbishop Aldred’s new-made grave. All was burnt,—minster, + churches, old Roman palaces, and all the glories of Constantine the Great + and the mythic past. + </p> + <p> + The besiegers, hewing and hammering gate after gate, had now won all but + the Keep itself. Then Malet’s heart failed him. A wife he had, and + children; and for their sake he turned coward and fled by night, with a + few men-at-arms, across the burning ruins. + </p> + <p> + Then into what once was York the confederate Earls and Thanes marched in + triumph, and proclaimed Edgar king,—a king of dust and ashes. + </p> + <p> + And where were Edwin and Morcar the meanwhile? It is not told. Were they + struggling against William at Stafford, or helping Edric the Wild and his + Welshmen to besiege Chester? Probably they were aiding the insurrection,—if + not at these two points, still at some other of their great earldoms of + Mercia and Chester. They seemed to triumph for a while: during the autumn + of 1069 the greater part of England seemed lost to William. Many Normans + packed up their plunder and went back to France; and those whose hearts + were too stout to return showed no mercy to the English, even as William + showed none. To crush the heart of the people by massacres and mutilations + and devastations was the only hope of the invader; and thoroughly he did + his work whenever he had a chance. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. — HOW HEREWARD FOUND A WISER MAN IN ENGLAND THAN + HIMSELF. + </h2> + <p> + There have been certain men so great, that he who describes them in words, + much more pretends to analyze their inmost feelings, must be a very great + man himself, or incur the accusation of presumption. And such a great man + was William of Normandy,—one of those unfathomable master-personages + who must not be rashly dragged on any stage. The genius of a Bulwer, in + attempting to draw him, took care, with a wise modesty, not to draw him in + too much detail,—to confess always that there was much beneath and + behind in William’s character which none, even of his contemporaries, + could guess. And still more modest than Bulwer is this chronicler bound to + be. + </p> + <p> + But one may fancy, for once in a way, what William’s thoughts were, when + they brought him the evil news of York. For we know what his acts were; + and he acted up to his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Hunting he was, they say, in the forest of Dean, when first he heard that + all England, north of the Watling Street, had broken loose, and that he + was king of only half the isle. + </p> + <p> + Did he—as when, hunting in the forest of Rouen, he got the news of + Harold’s coronation—play with his bow, stringing and unstringing it + nervously, till he had made up his mighty mind? Then did he go home to his + lodge, and there spread on the rough oak board a parchment map of England, + which no child would deign to learn from now, but was then good enough to + guide armies to victory, because the eyes of a great general looked upon + it? + </p> + <p> + As he pored over the map, by the light of bog-deal torch or rush candle, + what would he see upon it? + </p> + <p> + Three separate blazes of insurrection, from northwest to east, along the + Watling Street. + </p> + <p> + At Chester, Edric, “the wild Thane,” who, according to Domesday-book, had + lost vast lands in Shropshire; Algitha, Harold’s widow, and Blethwallon + and all his Welsh,—“the white mantles,” swarming along Chester + streets, not as usually, to tear and ravage like the wild-cats of their + own rocks, but fast friends by blood of Algitha, once their queen on + Penmaenmawr. [Footnote: See the admirable description of the tragedy of + Penmaenmawr, in Bulwer’s ‘Harold.‘] Edwin, the young Earl, Algitha’s + brother, Hereward’s nephew,—he must be with them too, if he were a + man. + </p> + <p> + Eastward, round Stafford, and the centre of Mercia, another blaze of + furious English valor. Morcar, Edwin’s brother, must be there, as their + Earl, if he too was a man. + </p> + <p> + Then in the fens and Kesteven. What meant this news, that Hereward of St. + Omer was come again, and an army with him? That he was levying war on all + Frenchmen, in the name of Sweyn, King of Denmark and of England? He is an + outlaw, a desperado, a boastful swash-buckler, thought William, it may be, + to himself. He found out, in after years, that he had mistaken his man. + </p> + <p> + And north, at York, in the rear of those three insurrections lay + Gospatrick, Waltheof, and Marlesweyn, with the Northumbrian host. Durham + was lost, and Comyn burnt therein. But York, so boasted William Malet, + could hold out for a year. He should not need to hold out for so long. + </p> + <p> + And last, and worst of all, hung on the eastern coast the mighty fleet of + Sweyn, who claimed England as his of right. The foe whom he had part + feared ever since he set foot on English soil, a collision with whom had + been inevitable all along, was come at last; but where would he strike his + blow? + </p> + <p> + William knew, it may be, that the Danes had been defeated at Norwich; he + knew, doubt it not (for his spies told him everything), that they had + purposed entering the Wash. To prevent a junction between them and + Hereward was impossible. He must prevent a junction between them and Edwin + and Morcar’s men. + </p> + <p> + He determined, it seems—for he did it—to cut the English line + in two, and marched upon Stafford as its centre. + </p> + <p> + So it seems; for all records of these campaigns are fragmentary, confused, + contradictory. The Normans fought, and had no time to write history. The + English, beaten and crushed, died and left no sign. The only chroniclers + of the time are monks. And little could Ordericus Vitalis, or Florence of + Worcester, or he of Peterborough, faithful as he was, who filled up the + sad pages of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle,—little could they see or + understand of the masterly strategy which was conquering all England for + Norman monks, in order that they, following the army like black ravens, + might feast themselves upon the prey which others won for them. To them, + the death of an abbot, the squabbles of a monastery, the journey of a + prelate to Rome, are more important than the manoeuvres which decided the + life and freedom of tens of thousands. + </p> + <p> + So all we know is, that William fell upon Morcar’s men at Stafford, and + smote them with a great destruction; rolling the fugitives west and east, + toward Edwin, perhaps, at Chester, certainly toward Hereward in the fens. + </p> + <p> + At Stafford met him the fugitives from York, Malet, his wife, and + children, with the dreadful news that the Danes had joined Gospatrick, and + that York was lost. + </p> + <p> + William burst into fiendish fury. He accused the wretched men of treason. + He cut off their hands, thrust out their eyes, threw Malet into prison, + and stormed on north. + </p> + <p> + He lay at Pontefract for three weeks. The bridges over the Aire were + broken down. But at last he crossed and marched on York. + </p> + <p> + No man opposed him. The Danes were gone down to the Humber. Gospatrick and + Waltheof’s hearts had failed them, and they had retired before the great + captain. + </p> + <p> + Florence, of Worcester, says that William bought Earl Osbiorn off, giving + him much money, and leave to forage for his fleet along the coast, and + that Osbiorn was outlawed on his return to Denmark. + </p> + <p> + Doubtless William would have so done if he could. Doubtless the angry and + disappointed English raised such accusations against the earl, believing + them to be true. But is not the simpler cause of Osbiorn’s conduct to be + found in this plain fact? He had sailed from Denmark to put Sweyn, his + brother, on the throne. He found, on his arrival, that Gospatrick and + Waltheof had seized it in the name of Edgar Atheling. What had he to do + more in England, save what he did?—go out into the Humber, and + winter safely there, waiting till Sweyn should come with reinforcements in + the spring? + </p> + <p> + Then William had his revenge. He destroyed, in the language of Scripture, + “the life of the land.” Far and wide the farms were burnt over their + owners’ heads, the growing crops upon the ground; the horses were houghed, + the cattle driven off; while of human death and misery there was no end. + Yorkshire, and much of the neighboring counties, lay waste, for the next + nine years. It did not recover itself fully till several generations + after. + </p> + <p> + The Danes had boasted that they would keep their Yule at York. William + kept his Yule there instead. He sent to Winchester for the regalia of the + Confessor; and in the midst of the blackened ruins, while the English, for + miles around, wandered starving in the snows, feeding on carrion, on rats + and mice, and, at last, upon each other’s corpses, he sat in his royal + robes, and gave away the lands of Edwin and Morcar to his liegemen. And + thus, like the Romans, from whom he derived both his strategy and his + civilization, he “made a solitude and called it peace.” + </p> + <p> + He did not give away Waltheof’s lands; and only part of Gospatrick’s. He + wanted Gospatrick; he loved Waltheof, and wanted him likewise. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, through the desert which he himself had made, he forced his way + up to the Tees a second time, over snow-covered moors; and this time St. + Cuthbert had sent no fog, being satisfied, presumably, with William’s + orthodox attachment to St. Peter and Rome; so the Conqueror treated + quietly with Waltheof and Gospatrick, who lay at Durham. + </p> + <p> + Gospatrick got back his ancestral earldom from Tees to Tyne; and paid down + for it much hard money and treasure; bought it, in fact, he said. + </p> + <p> + Waltheof got back his earldom, and much of Morcar’s. From the fens to the + Tees was to be his province. And then, to the astonishment alike of + Normans and English, and it may be, of himself, he married Judith, the + Conqueror’s niece; and became, once more, William’s loved and trusted + friend—or slave. + </p> + <p> + It seems inexplicable at first sight. Inexplicable, save as an instance of + that fascination which the strong sometimes exercise over the weak. + </p> + <p> + Then William turned southwest. Edwin, wild Edric, the dispossessed Thane + of Shropshire, and the wilder Blethwallon and his Welshmen, were still + harrying and slaying. They had just attacked Shrewsbury. William would + come upon them by a way they thought not of. + </p> + <p> + So over the backbone of England, by way, probably, of Halifax, or + Huddersfield, through pathless moors and bogs, down towards the plains of + Lancashire and Cheshire, he pushed over and on. His soldiers from the + plains of sunny France could not face the cold, the rain, the bogs, the + hideous gorges, the valiant peasants,—still the finest and shrewdest + race of men in all England,—who set upon them in wooded glens, or + rolled stones on them from the limestone crags. They prayed to be + dismissed, to go home. + </p> + <p> + “Cowards might go back,” said William; “he should go on. If he could not + ride, he would walk. Whoever lagged, he would be foremost.” And, cheered + by his example, the army at last debouched upon the Cheshire flats. + </p> + <p> + Then he fell upon Edwin, as he had fallen upon Morcar. He drove the wild + Welsh through the pass of Mold, and up into their native hills. He laid + all waste with fire and sword for many a mile, as Domesday-book testifies + to this day. He strengthened the walls of Chester, and trampled out the + last embers of rebellion; he went down south to Salisbury, King of England + once again. + </p> + <p> + Why did he not push on at once against the one rebellion left alight,—that + of Hereward and his fenmen? + </p> + <p> + It may be that he understood him and them. It may be that he meant to + treat with Sweyn, as he had done, if the story be true, with Osbiorn. It + is more likely that he could do no more; that his army, after so swift and + long a campaign, required rest. It may be that the time of service of many + of his mercenaries was expired. Be that as it may, he mustered them at Old + Sarum,—the Roman British burgh which still stands on the down side, + and rewarded them, according to their deserts, from the lands of the + conquered English. + </p> + <p> + How soon Hereward knew all this, or how he passed the winter of 1070-71, + we cannot tell. But to him it must have been a winter of bitter + perplexity. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to get information from Edwin; and news from York was + almost as impossible to get, for Gilbert of Ghent stood between him and + it. + </p> + <p> + He felt himself now pent in, all but trapped. Since he had set foot last + in England ugly things had risen up, on which he had calculated too + little,—namely, Norman castles. A whole ring of them in Norfolk and + Suffolk cut him off from the south. A castle at Cambridge closed the south + end of the fens; another at Bedford, the western end; while Lincoln Castle + to the north, cut him off from York. + </p> + <p> + His men did not see the difficulty; and wanted him to march towards York, + and clear all Lindsay and right up to the Humber. + </p> + <p> + Gladly would he have done so, when he heard that the Danes were wintering + in the Humber. + </p> + <p> + “But how can we take Lincoln Castle without artillery, or even a + battering-ram?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us march past, it then, and leave it behind.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my sons,” said Hereward, laughing sadly, “do you suppose that the + Mamzer spends his time—and Englishmen’s life and labor—in + heaping up those great stone mountains, that you and I may walk past them? + They are put there just to prevent our walking past, unless we choose to + have the garrison sallying out to attack our rear, and cut us off from + home, and carry off our women into the bargain, when our backs are + turned.” + </p> + <p> + The English swore, and declared that they had never thought of that. + </p> + <p> + “No. We drink too much ale this side of the Channel, to think of that,—or + of anything beside.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Leofwin Prat, “if we have no artillery, we can make some.” + </p> + <p> + “Spoken like yourself, good comrade. If we only knew how.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Torfrida. “I have read of such things in books of the + ancients, and I have watched them making continually,—I little knew + why, or that I should ever turn engineer.” + </p> + <p> + “What is there that you do not know?” cried they all at once. And Torfrida + actually showed herself a fair practical engineer. + </p> + <p> + But where was iron to come from? Iron for catapult springs, iron for ram + heads, iron for bolts and bars? + </p> + <p> + “Torfrida,” said Hereward, “you are wise. Can you use the divining-rod? + </p> + <p> + “Why, my knight?” + </p> + <p> + “Because there might be iron ore in the wolds; and if you could find it by + the rod, we might get it up and smelt it.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida said humbly that she would try; and walked with the divining-rod + between her pretty fingers for many a mile in wood and wold, wherever the + ground looked red and rusty. But she never found any iron. + </p> + <p> + “We must take the tires off the cart-wheels,” said Leofwin Prat. + </p> + <p> + “But how will the carts do without? For we shall want them if we march.” + </p> + <p> + “In Provence, where I was born, the wheels of the carts are made out of + one round piece of wood. Could we not cut out wheels like them?” asked + Torfrida. + </p> + <p> + “You are the wise woman, as usual,” said Hereward. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida burst into a violent flood of tears, no one knew why. + </p> + <p> + There came over her a vision of the creaking carts, and the little sleek + oxen, dove-colored and dove-eyed, with their canvas mantles tied neatly on + to keep off heat and flies, lounging on with their light load of vine and + olive twigs beneath the blazing southern sun. When should she see the sun + once more? She looked up at the brown branches overhead, howling in the + December gale, and down at the brown fen below, dying into mist and + darkness as the low December sun died down; and it seemed as if her life + was dying down with it. There would be no more sun, and no more summers, + for her upon this earth. + </p> + <p> + None certainly for her poor old mother. Her southern blood was chilling + more and more beneath the bitter sky of Kesteven. The fall of the leaf had + brought with it rheumatism, ague, an many miseries. Cunning old + leech-wives treated the French lady with tonics, mugwort, and bogbean, and + good wine enow, But, like David of old, she got no heat; and before + Yule-tide came, she had prayed herself safely out of this world, and into + the world to come. And Torfrida’s heart was the more light when she saw + her go. + </p> + <p> + She was absorbed utterly in Hereward and his plots. She lived for nothing + else; and clung to them all the more fiercely, the more desperate they + seemed. + </p> + <p> + So that small band of gallant men labored on, waiting for the Danes, and + trying to make artillery and take Lincoln Keep. And all the while—so + unequal is fortune when God so wills—throughout the Southern Weald, + from Hastings to Hind-head, every copse glared with charcoal-heaps, every + glen was burrowed with iron diggings, every hammer-pond stamped and + gurgled night and day, smelting and forging English iron, wherewith the + Frenchmen might slay Englishmen. + </p> + <p> + William—though perhaps he knew it not himself—had, in securing + Sussex and Surrey, secured the then great iron-field of England, and an + unlimited supply of weapons; and to that circumstance, it may be, as much + as to any other, the success of his campaigns may be due. + </p> + <p> + It must have been in one of these December days that a handful of knights + came through the Bruneswold, mud and blood bespattered, urging on tired + horses, as men desperate and foredone. And the foremost of them all, when + he saw Hereward at the gate of Bourne, leaped down, and threw his arms + round his neck and burst into bitter weeping. + </p> + <p> + “Hereward, I know you, though you know me not. I am your nephew, Morcar + Algarsson; and all is lost.” + </p> + <p> + As the winter ran on, other fugitives came in, mostly of rank and family. + At last Edwin himself came, young and fair, like Morcar; he who should + have been the Conqueror’s son-in-law; for whom his true-love pined, as he + pined, in vain. Where were Sweyn and his Danes? Whither should they go + till he came? + </p> + <p> + “To Ely,” answered Hereward. + </p> + <p> + Whether or not it was his wit which first seized on the military + capabilities of Ely is not told. Leofric the deacon, who is likely to know + best, says that there were men there already holding theirs out against + William, and that they sent for Hereward. But it is not clear from his + words whether they were fugitives, or merely bold Abbot Thurstan and his + monks. + </p> + <p> + It is but probable, nevertheless, that Hereward, as the only man among the + fugitives who ever showed any ability whatsoever, and who was, also, the + only leader (save Morcar) connected with the fen, conceived the famous + “Camp of Refuge,” and made it a formidable fact. Be that as it may, Edwin + and Morcar went to Ely; and there joined them a Count Tosti (according to + Leofric), unknown to history; a Siward Barn, or “the boy,” who had been + dispossessed of lands in Lincolnshire; and other valiant and noble + gentlemen,—the last wrecks of the English aristocracy. And there + they sat in Abbot Thurstan’s hall, and waited for Sweyn and the Danes. + </p> + <p> + But the worst Job’s messenger who, during that evil winter and spring, + came into the fen, was Bishop Egelwin of Durham. He it was, most probably, + who brought the news of Yorkshire laid waste with fire and sword. He it + was, most certainly, who brought the worse news still, that Gospatrick and + Waltheof were gone over to the king. He was at Durham, seemingly, when he + saw that; and fled for his life ere evil overtook him: for to yield to + William that brave bishop had no mind. + </p> + <p> + But when Hereward heard that Waltheof was married to the Conqueror’s + niece, he smote his hands together, and cursed him, and the mother who + bore him to Siward the Stout. + </p> + <p> + “Could thy father rise from his grave, he would split thy craven head in + the very lap of the Frenchwoman.” + </p> + <p> + “A hard lap will he find it, Hereward,” said Torfrida. “I know her,—wanton, + false, and vain. Heaven grant he do not rue the day he ever saw her!” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven grant he may rue it! Would that her bosom were knives and + fish-hooks, like that of the statue in the fairy-tale. See what he has + done for us! He is Earl not only of his own lands, but he has taken poor + Morcar’s too, and half his earldom. He is Earl of Huntingdon, of + Cambridge, they say,—of this ground on which we stand. What right + have I here now? How can I call on a single man to arm, as I could in + Morcar’s name? I am an outlaw here and a robber; and so is every man with + me. And do you think that William did not know that? He saw well enough + what he was doing when he set up that great brainless idol as Earl again. + He wanted to split up the Danish folk, and he has done it. The + Northumbrians will stick to Waltheof. They think him a mighty hero, + because he held York-gate alone with his own axe against all the French.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that was a gallant deed.” + </p> + <p> + “Pish! we are all gallant men, we English. It is not courage that we want, + it is brains. So the Yorkshire and Lindsay men, and the Nottingham men + too, will go with Waltheof. And round here, and all through the fens, + every coward, every prudent man even,—every man who likes to be + within the law, and feel his head safe on his shoulders,—no blame to + him—will draw each from me for fear of this new Earl, and leave us + to end as a handful of outlaws. I see it all. As William sees it all. He + is wise enough, the Mamzer, and so is his father Belial, to whom he will + go home some day. Yes, Torfrida,” he went on after a pause, more gently, + but in a tone of exquisite sadness, “you were right, as you always are. I + am no match for that man. I see it now.” + </p> + <p> + “I never said that. Only—” + </p> + <p> + “Only you told me again and again that he was the wisest man on earth.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet, for that very reason, I bade you win glory without end, by + defying the wisest man on earth.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you bid me do it still?” + </p> + <p> + “God knows what I bid,” said Torfrida, bursting into tears. “Let me go + pray, for I never needed it more.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward watched her kneeling, as he sat moody, all but desperate. Then he + glided to her side, and said gently,— + </p> + <p> + “Teach me how to pray, Torfrida. I can say a Pater or an Ave. But that + does not comfort a man’s heart, as far as I could ever find. Teach me to + pray, as you and my mother do.” + </p> + <p> + And she put her arms round the wild man’s neck, and tried to teach him, + like a little child. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. — HOW HEREWARD FULFILLED HIS WORDS TO THE PRIOR OF THE + GOLDEN BOROUGH. + </h2> + <p> + In the course of that winter died good Abbot Brand. Hereward went over to + see him, and found him mumbling to himself texts of Isaiah, and confessing + the sins of his people. + </p> + <p> + “‘Woe to the vineyard that bringeth forth wild grapes. Woe to those that + join house to house, and field to field,’—like us, and the + Godwinssons, and every man that could, till we ‘stood alone in the land.’ + ‘Many houses, great and fair, shall be without inhabitants.’ It is all + foretold in Holy Writ, Hereward, my son. ‘Woe to those who rise early to + fill themselves with strong drink, and the tabret and harp are in their + feasts; but they regard not the works of the Lord.’ ‘Therefore my people + are gone into captivity, because they have no knowledge.’ Ah, those + Frenchmen have knowledge, and too much of it; while we have brains filled + with ale instead of justice. ‘Therefore hell hath enlarged herself, and + opened her mouth without measure’; and all go down into it, one by one. + And dost thou think thou shalt escape, Hereward, thou stout-hearted?” + </p> + <p> + “I neither know nor care; but this I know, that whithersoever I go, I + shall go sword in hand.” + </p> + <p> + “‘They that take the sword shall perish by the sword,’” said Brand, and + blessed Hereward, and died. + </p> + <p> + A week after came news that Thorold of Malmesbury was coming to take the + Abbey of Peterborough, and had got as far as Stamford, with a right royal + train. + </p> + <p> + Then Hereward sent Abbot Thorold word, that if he or his Frenchmen put + foot into Peterborough, he, Hereward, would burn it over their heads. And + that if he rode a mile beyond Stamford town, he should walk back into it + barefoot in his shirt. + </p> + <p> + Whereon Thorold abode at Stamford, and kept up his spirits by singing the + songs of Roland,—which some say he himself composed. + </p> + <p> + A week after that, and the Danes were come. + </p> + <p> + A mighty fleet, with Sweyn Ulfsson at their head, went up the Ouse toward + Ely. Another, with Osbiorn at their head, having joined them off the mouth + of the Humber, sailed (it seems) up the Nene. All the chivalry of Denmark + and Ireland was come. And with it, all the chivalry and the unchivalry of + the Baltic shores. Vikings from Jomsburg and Arkona, Gottlanders from + Wisby; and with them savages from Esthonia, Finns from Äland, Letts who + still offered in the forests of Rugen, human victims to the four-headed + Swantowit; foul hordes in sheep-skins and primeval filth, who might have + been scented from Hunstanton Cliff ever since their ships had rounded the + Skaw. + </p> + <p> + Hereward hurried to them with all his men. He was anxious, of course, to + prevent their plundering the landsfolk as they went,—and that the + savages from the Baltic shore would certainly do, if they could, however + reasonable the Danes, Orkneymen, and Irish Ostmen might be. + </p> + <p> + Food, of course, they must take where they could find it; but outrages + were not a necessary, though a too common, adjunct to the process of + emptying a farmer’s granaries. + </p> + <p> + He found the Danes in a dangerous mood, sulky, and disgusted, as they had + good right to be. They had gone to the Humber, and found nothing but ruin; + the land waste; the French holding both the shores of the Humber; and + Osbiorn cowering in Humber-mouth, hardly able to feed his men. They had + come to conquer England, and nothing was left for them to conquer, but a + few peat-bogs. Then they would have what there was in them. Every one knew + that gold grew up in England out of the ground, wherever a monk put his + foot. And they would plunder Crowland. Their forefathers had done it, and + had fared none the worse. English gold they would have, if they could not + get fat English manors. + </p> + <p> + “No! not Crowland!” said Hereward; “any place but Crowland, endowed and + honored by Canute the Great,—Crowland, whose abbot was a Danish + nobleman, whose monks were Danes to a man, of their own flesh and blood. + Canute’s soul would rise up in Valhalla and curse them, if they took the + value of a penny from St. Guthlac. St. Guthlac was their good friend. He + would send them bread, meat, ale, all they needed. But woe to the man who + set foot upon his ground.” + </p> + <p> + 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. And + Ulfketyl worked hard and well, till a string of barges wound its way + through the fens, laden with beeves and bread, and ale-barrels in plenty, + and with monks too, who welcomed the Danes as their brethren, talked to + them in their own tongue, blessed them in St. Guthlac’s name as the + saviors of England, and went home again, chanting so sweetly their thanks + to Heaven for their safety, that the wild Vikings were awed, and agreed + that St. Guthlac’s men were wise folk and open-hearted, and that it was a + shame to do them harm. + </p> + <p> + But plunder they must have. + </p> + <p> + “And plunder you shall have!” said Hereward, as a sudden thought struck + him. “I will show you the way to the Golden Borough,—the richest + minster in England; and all the treasures of the Golden Borough shall be + yours, if you will treat Englishmen as friends, and spare the people of + the fens.” + </p> + <p> + It was a great crime in the eyes of men of that time. A great crime, taken + simply, in Hereward’s own eyes. But necessity knows no law. Something the + Danes must have, and ought to have; and St. Peter’s gold was better in + their purses than in that of Thorold and his French monks. + </p> + <p> + So he led them across the fens and side rivers, till they came into the + old Nene, which men call Catwater and Muscal now. + </p> + <p> + As he passed Nomanslandhirne, and the mouth of the Crowland river, he + trembled, and trusted that the Danes did not know that they were within + three miles of St. Guthlac’s sanctuary. But they went on ignorant, and up + the Muscal till they saw St. Peter’s towers on the wooded rise, and behind + them the great forest which now is Milton Park. + </p> + <p> + There were two parties in Peterborough minster: a smaller faction of + stout-hearted English, a larger one who favored William and the French + customs, with Prior Herluin at their head. Herluin wanted not for + foresight, and he knew that evil was coming on him. He knew that the Danes + were in the fen. He knew that Hereward was with them. He knew that they + had come to Crowland. Hereward could never mean to let them sack it. + Peterborough must be their point. And Herluin set his teeth, like a bold + man determined to abide the worst, and barred and barricaded every gate + and door. + </p> + <p> + That night a hapless churchwarden, Ywar was his name, might have been seen + galloping through Milton and Castor Hanglands, and on by Barnack quarries + over Southorpe heath, with saddlebags of huge size stuffed with “gospels, + mass-robes, cassocks, and other garments, and such other small things as + he could carry away.” And he came before day to Stamford, where Abbot + Thorold lay at his ease in his inn with his <i>hommes d’armes</i> asleep + in the hall. + </p> + <p> + And the churchwarden knocked them up, and drew Abbot Thorold’s curtains + with a face such as his who + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “drew Priam’s curtains in the dead of night, + And would have told him, half his Troy was burned”; +</pre> + <p> + and told Abbot Thorold that the monks of Peterborough had sent him; and + that unless he saddled and rode his best that night, with his meinie of + men-at-arms, his Golden Borough would be even as Troy town by morning + light. + </p> + <p> + “A moi, hommes d’armes!” shouted Thorold, as he used to shout whenever he + wanted to scourge his wretched English monks at Malmesbury into some + French fashion. + </p> + <p> + The men leaped up, and poured in, growling. + </p> + <p> + “Take me this monk, and kick him into the street for waking me with such + news.” + </p> + <p> + “But, gracious lord, the outlaws will surely burn Peterborough; and folks + said that you were a mighty man of war.” + </p> + <p> + “So I am; but if I were Roland, Oliver, and Turpin rolled into one, how am + I to fight Hereward and the Danes with forty men-at-arms? Answer me that, + thou dunder-headed English porker. Kick him out.” + </p> + <p> + And Ywar was kicked into the cold, while Thorold raged up and down his + chamber in mantle and slippers, wringing his hands over the treasure of + the Golden Borough, snatched from his fingers just as he was closing them + upon it. + </p> + <p> + That night the monks of Peterborough prayed in the minster till the long + hours passed into the short. The poor corrodiers, and other servants of + the monastery, fled from the town outside into the Milton woods. The monks + prayed on inside till an hour after matin. When the first flush of the + summer’s dawn began to show in the northeastern sky, they heard mingling + with their own chant another chant, which Peterborough had not heard since + it was Medehampstead, three hundred years ago,—the terrible + Yuch-hey-saa-saa-saa,—the war-song of the Vikings of the north. + </p> + <p> + Their chant stopped of itself. With blanched faces and trembling knees + they fled, regardless of all discipline, up into the minster tower, and + from the leads looked out northeastward on the fen. + </p> + <p> + The first rays of the summer sun were just streaming over the vast sheet + of emerald, and glittering upon the winding river; and on a winding line, + too, seemingly endless, of scarlet coats and shields, black hulls, gilded + poops and vanes and beak-heads, and the flash and foam of innumerable + oars. + </p> + <p> + And nearer and louder came the oar-roll, like thunder working up from the + northeast; and mingled with it that grim yet laughing Heysaa, which + bespoke in its very note the revelry of slaughter. + </p> + <p> + The ships had all their sails on deck. But as they came nearer, the monks + could see the banners of the two foremost vessels. + </p> + <p> + The one was the red and white of the terrible Dannebrog. The other, the + scarcely less terrible white bear of Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “He will burn the minster! He has vowed to do it. As a child he vowed, and + he must do it. In this very minster the fiend entered into him and + possessed him; and to this minster has the fiend brought him back to do + his will. Satan, my brethren, having a special spite (as must needs be) + against St. Peter, rock and pillar of the Holy Church, chose out and + inspired this man, even from his mother’s womb, that he might be the foe + and robber of St. Peter, and the hater of all who, like my humility, honor + him, and strive to bring this English land into due obedience to that + blessed apostle. Bring forth the relics, my brethren. Bring forth, above + all things, those filings of St. Peter’s own chains,—the special + glory of our monastery, and perhaps its safeguard this day.” + </p> + <p> + Some such bombast would any monk of those days have talked in like case. + And yet, so strange a thing is man, he might have been withal, like + Herluin, a shrewd and valiant man. + </p> + <p> + They brought out all the relics. They brought out the filings themselves, + in a box of gold. They held them out over the walls at the ships, and + called on all the saints to whom they belonged. But they stopped that line + of scarlet, black, and gold as much as their spiritual descendants stop + the lava-stream of Vesuvius, when they hold out similar matters at them, + with a hope unchanged by the experience of eight hundred years. The Heysaa + rose louder and nearer. The Danes were coming. And they came. + </p> + <p> + And all the while a thousand skylarks rose from off the fen, and chanted + their own chant aloft, as if appealing to Heaven against that which man’s + greed and man’s rage and man’s superstition had made of this fair earth of + God. + </p> + <p> + The relics had been brought out. But, as they would not work, the only + thing to be done was to put them back again and hide them safe, lest they + should bow down like Bel and stoop like Nebo, and be carried, like them, + into captivity themselves, being worth a very large sum of money in the + eyes of the more Christian part of the Danish host. + </p> + <p> + Then to hide the treasures as well as they could; which (says the + Anglo-Saxon Chronicle) they hid somewhere in the steeple. + </p> + <p> + The Danes were landing now. The shout which they gave, as they leaped on + shore, made the hearts of the poor monks sink low. Would they be murdered, + as well as robbed? Perhaps not,—probably not. Hereward would see to + that. And some wanted to capitulate. + </p> + <p> + Herluin would not hear of it. They were safe enough. St. Peter’s relic + might not have worked a miracle on the spot; but it must have done + something. St. Peter had been appealed to on his honor, and on his honor + he must surely take the matter up. At all events, the walls and gates were + strong, and the Danes had no artillery. Let them howl and rage round the + holy place, till Abbot Thorold and the Frenchmen of the country rose and + drove them to their ships. + </p> + <p> + In that last thought the cunning Norman was not so far wrong. The Danes + pushed up through the little town, and to the minster gates: but entrance + was impossible; and they prowled round and round like raging wolves about + a winter steading; but found no crack of entry. + </p> + <p> + Prior Herluin grew bold; and coming to the leads of the gateway tower, + looked over cautiously, and holding up a certain most sacred emblem,—not + to be profaned in these pages,—cursed them in the name of his whole + Pantheon. + </p> + <p> + “Aha, Herluin! Are you there?” asked a short, square man in gay armor. + “Have you forgotten the peat-stack outside Bolldyke Gate, and how you bade + light it under me thirty years since?” + </p> + <p> + “Thou art Winter?” and the Prior uttered what would be considered, from + any but a churchman’s lips, a blasphemous and bloodthirsty curse; but + which was, as their writings sufficiently testify, merely one of the + lawful weapons or “arts” of those Christians who were “forbidden to + fight,”—the other weapon or art being that of lying. + </p> + <p> + “Aha! That goes like rain off a duck’s back to one who has been a minster + scholar in his time. You! Danes! Ostmen! down! If you shoot at that man + I’ll cut your heads off. He is the oldest foe I have in the world, and the + only one who ever hit me without my hitting him again; and nobody shall + touch him but me. So down bows, I say.” + </p> + <p> + The Danes—humorous all of them—saw that there was a jest + toward, and perhaps some earnest too, and joined in jeering the Prior. + </p> + <p> + Herluin had ducked his head behind the parapet; not from cowardice, but + simply because he had on no mail, and might be shot any moment. But when + he heard Winter forbid them to touch him, he lifted up his head, and gave + his old pupil as good as he brought. + </p> + <p> + With his sharp, swift Norman priest’s tongue he sneered, he jeered, he + scolded, he argued; and then threatened, suddenly changing his tone, in + words of real eloquence. He appealed to the superstitions of his hearers. + He threatened them with supernatural vengeance. + </p> + <p> + Some of them began to slink away frightened. St. Peter was an ill man to + have a blood feud with. + </p> + <p> + Winter stood, laughing and jeering again, for full ten minutes. At last: + “I asked, and you have not answered: have you forgotten the peat-stack + outside Bolldyke Gate? For if you have, Hereward has not. He has piled it + against the gate, and it should be burnt through by this time. Go and + see.” + </p> + <p> + Herluin disappeared with a curse. + </p> + <p> + “Now, you sea-cocks,” said Winter, springing up, “we’ll to the Bolldyke + Gate, and all start fair.” + </p> + <p> + The Bolldyke Gate was on fire; and more, so were the suburbs. There was no + time to save them, as Hereward would gladly have done, for the sake of the + poor corrodiers. They must go,—on to the Bolldyke Gate. Who cared to + put out flames behind him, with all the treasures of Golden Borough before + him? In a few minutes all the town was alight. In a few minutes more, the + monastery likewise. + </p> + <p> + A fire is detestable enough at all times, but most detestable by day. At + night it is customary, a work of darkness which lights up the dark, + picturesque, magnificent, with a fitness Tartarean and diabolic. But under + a glaring sun, amid green fields and blue skies, all its wickedness is + revealed without its beauty. You see its works, and little more. The flame + is hardly noticed. All that is seen is a canker eating up God’s works, + cracking the bones of its prey,—for that horrible cracking is uglier + than all stage-scene glares,—cruelly and shamelessly under the very + eye of the great, honest, kindly sun. + </p> + <p> + And that felt Hereward, as he saw Peterborough burn. He could not put his + thoughts into words, as men of this day can: so much the better for him, + perhaps. But he felt all the more intensely—as did men of his day—the + things he could not speak. All he said was aside to Winter,— + </p> + <p> + “It is a dark job. I wish it had been done in the dark.” And Winter knew + what he meant. + </p> + <p> + Then the men rushed into the Bolldyke Gate, while Hereward and Winter + stood and looked with their men, whom they kept close together, waiting + their commands. The Danes and their allies cared not for the great glowing + heap of peat. They cared not for each other, hardly for themselves. They + rushed into the gap; they thrust the glowing heap inward through the + gateway with their lances; they thrust each other down into it, and + trampled over them to fall themselves, rising scorched and withered, and + yet struggling on toward the gold of the Golden Borough. One savage Lett + caught another round the waist, and hurled him bodily into the fire, + crying in his wild tongue:— + </p> + <p> + “You will make a good stepping-stone for me.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not fair,” quoth Hereward, and clove him to the chine. + </p> + <p> + It was wild work. But the Golden Borough was won. + </p> + <p> + “We must in now and save the monks,” said Hereward, and dashed over the + embers. + </p> + <p> + He was only just in time. In the midst of the great court were all the + monks, huddled together like a flock of sheep, some kneeling, most weeping + bitterly, after the fashion of monks. + </p> + <p> + Only Herluin stood in front of them, at bay, a lofty crucifix in his hand. + He had no mind to weep. But with a face of calm and bitter wrath, he + preferred words of peace and entreaty. They were what the time needed. + Therefore they should be given. To-morrow he would write to Bishop + Egelsin, to excommunicate with bell, book, and candle, to the lowest pit + of Tartarus, all who had done the deed. + </p> + <p> + But to-day he spoke them fair. However, his fair speeches profited little, + not being understood by a horde of Letts and Finns, who howled and bayed + at him, and tried to tear the crucifix from his hands; but feared “the + white Christ.” + </p> + <p> + They were already gaining courage from their own yells; in a moment more + blood would have been shed, and then a general massacre must have ensued. + </p> + <p> + Hereward saw it, and shouting, “After me, Hereward’s men! a bear! a bear!” + swung Letts and Finns right and left like corn-sheaves, and stood face to + face with Herluin. + </p> + <p> + An angry Finn smote him on the hind-head full with a stone axe. He + staggered, and then looked round and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Fool! hast thou not heard that Hereward’s armor was forged by dwarfs in + the mountain-bowels? Off, and hunt for gold, or it will be all gone.” + </p> + <p> + The Finn, who was astonished at getting no more from his blow than a few + sparks, and expected instant death in return, took the hint and vanished + jabbering, as did his fellows. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Herluin, the Frenchman!” said Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Hereward, the robber of saints!” said Herluin. + </p> + <p> + It was a fine sight. The soldier and the churchman, the Englishman and the + Frenchman, the man of the then world, and the man of the then Church, + pitted fairly, face to face. + </p> + <p> + Hereward tried, for one moment, to stare down Herluin. But those terrible + eye-glances, before which Vikings had quailed, turned off harmless from + the more terrible glance of the man who believed himself backed by the + Maker of the universe, and all the hierarchy of heaven. + </p> + <p> + A sharp, unlovely face it was: though, like many a great churchman’s face + of those days, it was neither thin nor haggard; but rather round, sleek, + of a puffy and unwholesome paleness. But there was a thin lip above a + broad square jaw, which showed that Herluin was neither fool nor coward. + </p> + <p> + “A robber and a child of Belial thou hast been from thy cradle; and a + robber and a child of Belial thou art now. Dare thy last iniquity, and + slay the servants of St. Peter on St. Peter’s altar, with thy worthy + comrades, the heathen Saracens [Footnote: The Danes were continually + mistaken, by Norman churchmen, for Saracens, and the Saracens considered + to be idolaters. A maumee, or idol, means a Mahomet.], and set up Mahound + with them in the holy place.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward laughed so jolly a laugh, that the Prior was taken aback. + </p> + <p> + “Slay St. Peter’s rats? I kill men, not monks. There shall not a hair of + your head be touched. Here! Hereward’s men! march these traitors and their + French Prior safe out of the walls, and into Milton Woods, to look after + their poor corrodiers, and comfort their souls, after they have ruined + their bodies by their treason!” + </p> + <p> + “Out of this place I stir not. Here I am, and here I will live or die, as + St. Peter shall send aid.” + </p> + <p> + But as he spoke, he was precipitated rudely forward, and hurried almost + into Hereward’s arms. The whole body of monks, when they heard Hereward’s + words, cared to hear no more, but desperate between fear and joy, rushed + forward, bearing away their Prior in the midst. + </p> + <p> + “So go the rats out of Peterborough, and so is my dream fulfilled. Now for + the treasure, and then to Ely.” + </p> + <p> + But Herluin burst himself clear of the frantic mob of monks, and turned + back on Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “Thou wast dubbed knight in that church!” + </p> + <p> + “I know it, man; and that church and the relics of the saints in it are + safe, therefore. Hereward gives his word.” + </p> + <p> + “That,—but not that only, if thou art a true knight, as thou + holdest, Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward growled savagely, and made an ugly step toward Herluin. That was + a point which he would not have questioned. + </p> + <p> + “Then behave as a knight, and save, save,”—as the monks dragged him + away,—“save the hospice! There are women,—ladies there!” + shouted he, as he was borne off. + </p> + <p> + They never met again on earth; but both comforted themselves in after + years, that two old enemies’ last deed in common had been one of mercy. + </p> + <p> + Hereward uttered a cry of horror. If the wild Letts, even the Jomsburgers, + had got in, all was lost. He rushed to the door. It was not yet burst: but + a bench, swung by strong arms, was battering it in fast. + </p> + <p> + “Winter! Geri! Siwards! To me, Hereward’s men! Stand back, fellows. Here + are friends here inside. If you do not, I’ll cut you down.” + </p> + <p> + But in vain. The door was burst, and in poured the savage mob. Hereward, + unable to stop them, headed them, or pretended to do so, with five or six + of his own men round him, and went into the hall. + </p> + <p> + On the rushes lay some half-dozen grooms. They were butchered instantly, + simply because they were there. Hereward saw, but could not prevent. He + ran as hard as he could to the foot of the wooden stair which led to the + upper floor. + </p> + <p> + “Guard the stair-foot, Winter!” and he ran up. + </p> + <p> + Two women cowered upon the floor, shrieking and praying with hands clasped + over their heads. He saw that the arms of one of them were of the most + exquisite whiteness, and judging her to be the lady, bent over her. “Lady! + you are safe. I will protect you. I am Hereward.” + </p> + <p> + She sprang up, and threw herself with a scream into his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Hereward! Hereward! Save me. I am—” + </p> + <p> + “Alftruda!” said Hereward. + </p> + <p> + It was Alftruda; if possible more beautiful than ever. + </p> + <p> + “I have got you!” she cried. “I am safe now. Take me away,—out of + this horrible place! Take me into the woods,—anywhere. Only do not + let me be burnt here,—stifled like a rat. Give me air! Give me + water!” And she clung to him so madly, that Hereward, as he held her in + his arms, and gazed on her extraordinary beauty, forgot Torfrida for the + second time. + </p> + <p> + But there was no time to indulge in evil thoughts, even had any crossed + his mind. He caught her in his arms, and commanding the maid to follow, + hurried down the stair. + </p> + <p> + Winter and the Siwards were defending the foot with swinging blades. The + savages were howling round like curs about a bull; and when Hereward + appeared above with the women, there was a loud yell of rage and envy. + </p> + <p> + He should not have the women to himself,—they would share the + plunder equally,—was shouted in half a dozen barbarous dialects. + </p> + <p> + “Have you left any valuables in the chamber?” whispered he to Alftruda. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, jewels,—robes. Let them have all, only save me!” + </p> + <p> + “Let me pass!” roared Hereward. “There is rich booty in the room above, + and you may have it as these ladies’ ransom. Them you do not touch. Back, + I say, let me pass!” + </p> + <p> + And he rushed forward. Winter and the housecarles formed round him and the + women, and hurried down the hall, while the savages hurried up the ladder, + to quarrel over their spoil. + </p> + <p> + They were out in the court-yard, and safe for the moment. But whither + should he take her? + </p> + <p> + “To Earl Osbiorn,” said one of the Siwards. But how to find him? + </p> + <p> + “There is Bishop Christiern!” And the Bishop was caught and stopped. + </p> + <p> + “This is an evil day’s work, Sir Hereward.” + </p> + <p> + “Then help to mend it by taking care of these ladies, like a man of God.” + And he explained the case. + </p> + <p> + “You may come safely with me, my poor lambs,” said the Bishop. “I am glad + to find something to do fit for a churchman. To me, my housecarles.” + </p> + <p> + But they were all off plundering. + </p> + <p> + “We will stand by you and the ladies, and see you safe down to the ships,” + said Winter, and so they went off. + </p> + <p> + Hereward would gladly have gone with them, as Alftruda piteously entreated + him. But he heard his name called on every side in angry tones. + </p> + <p> + “Who wants Hereward?” + </p> + <p> + “Earl Osbiorn,—here he is.” + </p> + <p> + “Those scoundrel monks have hidden all the altar furniture. If you wish to + save them from being tortured to death, you had best find it.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward ran with him into the Cathedral. It was a hideous sight; torn + books and vestments; broken tabernacle work; foul savages swarming in and + out of every dark aisle and cloister, like wolves in search of prey; five + or six ruffians aloft upon the rood screen; one tearing the golden crown + from the head of the crucifix, another the golden footstool from its feet. + [Footnote: The crucifix was probably of the Greek pattern, in which the + figure stood upon a flat slab, projecting from the cross.] + </p> + <p> + As Hereward came up, crucifix and man fell together, crashing upon the + pavement, amid shouts of brutal laughter. + </p> + <p> + He hurried past them, shuddering, into the choir. The altar was bare, the + golden pallium which covered it, gone. + </p> + <p> + “It may be in the crypt below. I suppose the monks keep their relics + there,” said Osbiorn. + </p> + <p> + “No! Not there. Do not touch the relics! Would you have the curse of all + the saints? Stay! I know an old hiding-place. It may be there. Up into the + steeple with me.” + </p> + <p> + And in a chamber in the steeple they found the golden pall, and treasures + countless and wonderful. + </p> + <p> + “We had better keep the knowledge of this to ourselves awhile,” said Earl + Osbiorn, looking with greedy eyes on a heap of wealth such as he had never + beheld before. + </p> + <p> + “Not we! Hereward is a man of his word, and we will share and share + alike.” And he turned and went down the narrow winding stair. + </p> + <p> + Earl Osbiorn gave one look at his turned back; an evil spirit of + covetousness came over him; and he smote Hereward full and strong upon the + hind-head. + </p> + <p> + The sword turned upon the magic helm, and the sparks flashed out bright + and wide. + </p> + <p> + Earl Osbiorn shrunk back, appalled and trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Aha!” said Hereward without looking round. “I never thought there would + be loose stones in the roof. Here! Up here, Vikings, Berserker, and + sea-cocks all! Here, Jutlanders, Jomsburgers, Letts, Finns, witches’ sons + and devils’ sons all! Here!” cried he, while Osbiorn profited by that + moment to thrust an especially brilliant jewel into his boot. “Here is + gold, here is the dwarfs work! Come up and take your Polotaswarf! You + would not get a richer out of the Kaiser’s treasury. Here, wolves and + ravens, eat gold, drink gold, roll in gold, and know that Hereward is a + man of his word, and pays his soldiers’ wages royally!” + </p> + <p> + They rushed up the narrow stair, trampling each other to death, and thrust + Hereward and the Earl, choking, into a corner. The room was so full for a + few moments, that some died in it. Hereward and Osbiorn, protected by + their strong armor, forced their way to the narrow window, and breathed + through it, looking out upon the sea of flame below. + </p> + <p> + “That was an unlucky blow,” said Hereward, “that fell upon my head.” + </p> + <p> + “Very unlucky. I saw it coming, but had no time to warn you. Why do you + hold my wrist?” + </p> + <p> + “Men’s daggers are apt to get loose at such times as these.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” and Earl Osbiorn went from him, and into the now + thinning press. Soon only a few remained, to search, by the glare of the + flames, for what their fellows might have overlooked. + </p> + <p> + “Now the play is played out,” said Hereward, “we may as well go down, and + to our ships.” + </p> + <p> + Some drunken ruffians would have burnt the church for mere mischief. But + Osbiorn, as well as Hereward, stopped that. And gradually they got the men + down to the ships; some drunk, some struggling under plunder; some cursing + and quarrelling because nothing had fallen to their lot. It was a hideous + scene; but one to which Hereward, as well as Osbiorn, was too well + accustomed to see aught in it save an hour’s inevitable trouble in getting + the men on board. + </p> + <p> + The monks had all fled. Only Leofwin the Long was left, and he lay sick in + the infirmary. Whether he was burned therein, or saved by Hereward’s men, + is not told. + </p> + <p> + And so was the Golden Borough sacked and burnt. Now then, whither? + </p> + <p> + The Danes were to go to Ely and join the army there. Hereward would march + on to Stamford; secure that town if he could; then to Huntingdon, to + secure it likewise; and on to Ely afterwards. + </p> + <p> + “You will not leave me among these savages?” said Alftruda. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid! You shall come with me as far as Stamford, and then I will + set you on your way.” + </p> + <p> + “My way?” said Alftruda, in a bitter and hopeless tone. + </p> + <p> + Hereward mounted her on a good horse, and rode beside her, looking—and + he well knew it—a very perfect knight. Soon they began to talk. What + had brought Alftruda to Peterborough, of all places on earth? + </p> + <p> + “A woman’s fortune. Because I am rich,—and some say fair,—I am + a puppet, and a slave, a prey. I was going back to my,—to Dolfin.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you been away from him, then?” + </p> + <p> + “What! Do you not know?” + </p> + <p> + “How should I know, lady?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, most true. How should Hereward know anything about Alftruda? But I + will tell you. Maybe you may not care to hear?” + </p> + <p> + “About you? Anything. I have often longed to know how,—what you were + doing.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible? Is there one human being left on earth who cares to hear + about Alftruda? Then listen. You know when Gospatrick fled to Scotland his + sons went with him. Young Gospatrick, Waltheof, [Footnote: This Waltheof + Gospatricksson must not be confounded with Waltheof Siwardsson, the young + Earl. He became a wild border chieftain, then Baron of Atterdale, and then + gave Atterdale to his sister Queen Ethelreda, and turned monk, and at last + Abbot, of Crowland: crawling home, poor fellow, like many another, to die + in peace in the sanctuary of the Danes.] and he,—Dolfin. Ethelreda, + his girl, went too,—and she is to marry, they say, Duncan, Malcolm’s + eldest son by Ingebiorg. So Gospatrick will find himself, some day, + father-in-law of the King of Scots.” + </p> + <p> + “I will warrant him to find his nest well lined, wherever he be. But of + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I refused to go. I could not face again that bleak black North. Beside—but + that is no concern of Hereward’s—” + </p> + <p> + Hereward was on the point of saying, “Can anything concern you, and not be + interesting to me?” + </p> + <p> + But she went on,— + </p> + <p> + “I refused, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And he misused you?” asked he, fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “Better if he had. Better if he had tied me to his stirrup, and scourged + me along into Scotland, than have left me to new dangers and to old + temptations.” + </p> + <p> + “What temptations?” + </p> + <p> + Alftruda did not answer; but went on,— + </p> + <p> + “He told me, in his lofty Scots’ fashion, that I was free to do what I + list. That he had long since seen that I cared not for him; and that he + would find many a fairer lady in his own land.” + </p> + <p> + “There he lied. So you did not care for him? He is a noble knight.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that to me? Women’s hearts are not to be bought and sold with + their bodies, as I was sold. Care for him? I care for no creature upon + earth. Once I cared for Hereward, like a silly child. Now I care not even + for him.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward was sorry to hear that. Men are vainer than women, just as + peacocks are vainer than peahens; and Hereward was—alas for him!—a + specially vain man. Of course, for him to fall in love with Alftruda would + have been a shameful sin,—he would not have committed it for all the + treasures of Constantinople; but it was a not unpleasant thought that + Alftruda should fall in love with him. But he only said, tenderly and + courteously,— + </p> + <p> + “Alas, poor lady!” + </p> + <p> + “Poor lady. Too true, that last. For whither am I going now? Back to that + man once more.” + </p> + <p> + “To Dolfin?” + </p> + <p> + “To my master, like a runaway slave. I went down south to Queen Matilda. I + knew her well, and she was kind to me, as she is to all things that + breathe. But now that Gospatrick is come into the king’s grace again, and + has bought the earldom of Northumbria, from Tweed to Tyne—” + </p> + <p> + “Bought the earldom?” + </p> + <p> + “That has he; and paid for it right heavily.” + </p> + <p> + “Traitor and fool! He will not keep it seven years. The Frenchman will + pick a quarrel with him, and cheat him out of earldom and money too.” + </p> + <p> + The which William did, within three years. + </p> + <p> + “May it be so! But when he came into the king’s grace, he must needs + demand me back in his son’s name.” + </p> + <p> + “What does Dolfin want with you?” + </p> + <p> + “His father wants my money, and stipulated for it with the king. And + besides, I suppose I am a pretty plaything enough still.” + </p> + <p> + “You? You are divine, perfect. Dolfin is right. How could a man who had + once enjoyed you live without you?” + </p> + <p> + Alftruda laughed,—a laugh full of meaning; but what that meaning + was, Hereward could not divine. + </p> + <p> + “So now,” she said, “what Hereward has to do, as a true and courteous + knight, is to give Alftruda safe conduct, and, if he can, a guard; and to + deliver her up loyally and knightly to his old friend and fellow-warrior, + Dolfin Gospatricksson, earl of whatever he can lay hold of for the current + month.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you in earnest?” + </p> + <p> + Alftruda laughed one of her strange laughs, looking straight before her. + Indeed, she had never looked Hereward in the face during the whole ride. + </p> + <p> + “What are those open holes? Graves?” + </p> + <p> + “They are Barnack stone-quarries, which Alfgar my brother gave to + Crowland.” + </p> + <p> + “So? That is pity. I thought they had been graves; and then you might have + covered me up in one of them, and left me to sleep in peace.” + </p> + <p> + “What can I do for you, Alftruda, my old play-fellow: Alftruda, whom I + saved from the bear?” + </p> + <p> + “If she had foreseen the second monster into whose jaws she was to fall, + she would have prayed you to hold that terrible hand of yours, which never + since, men say, has struck without victory and renown. You won your first + honor for my sake. But who am I now, that you should turn out of your + glorious path for me?” + </p> + <p> + “I will do anything,—anything. But why miscall this noble prince a + monster?” + </p> + <p> + “If he were fairer than St. John, more wise than Solomon, and more valiant + than King William, he is to me a monster; for I loathe him, and I know not + why. But do your duty as a knight, sir. Convey the lawful wife to her + lawful spouse.” + </p> + <p> + “What cares an outlaw for law, in a land where law is dead and gone? I + will do what I—what you like. Come with me to Torfrida at Bourne; + and let me see the man who dares try to take you out of my hand.” + </p> + <p> + Alftruda laughed again. + </p> + <p> + “No, no. I should interrupt the little doves in their nest. Beside, the + billing and cooing might make me envious. And I, alas! who carry misery + with me round the land, might make your Torfrida jealous.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward was of the same opinion, and rode silent and thoughtful through + the great woods which are now the noble park of Burghley. + </p> + <p> + “I have found it!” said he at last. “Why not go to Gilbert of Ghent, at + Lincoln?” + </p> + <p> + “Gilbert? Why should he befriend me?” + </p> + <p> + “He will do that, or anything else, which is for his own profit.” + </p> + <p> + “Profit? All the world seems determined to make profit out of me. I + presume you would, if I had come with you to Bourne.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not doubt it. This is a very wild sea to swim in; and a man must be + forgiven, if he catches at every bit of drift-timber.” + </p> + <p> + “Selfishness, selfishness everywhere;—and I suppose you expect to + gain by sending me to Gilbert of Ghent?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall gain nothing, Alftruda, save the thought that you are not so far + from me—from us—but that we can hear of you,—send succor + to you if you need.” + </p> + <p> + Alftruda was silent. At last— + </p> + <p> + “And you think that Gilbert would not be afraid of angering the king?” + </p> + <p> + “He would not anger the king. Gilbert’s friendship is more important to + William, at this moment, than that of a dozen Gospatricks. He holds + Lincoln town, and with it the key of Waltheof’s earldom: and things may + happen, Alftruda—I tell you; but if you tell Gilbert, may Hereward’s + curse be on you!” + </p> + <p> + “Not that! Any man’s curse save yours!” said she in so passionate a voice + that a thrill of fire ran through Hereward. And he recollected her scoff + at Bruges,—“So he could not wait for me?” And a storm of evil + thoughts swept through him. “Would to heaven!” said he to himself, + crushing them gallantly down, “I had never thought of Lincoln. But there + is no other plan.” + </p> + <p> + But he did not tell Alftruda, as he meant to do, that she might see him + soon in Lincoln Castle as its conqueror and lord. He half hoped that when + that day came, Alftruda might be somewhere else. + </p> + <p> + “Gilbert can say,” he went on, steadying himself again, “that you feared + to go north on account of the disturbed state of the country; and that, as + you had given yourself up to him of your own accord, he thought it wisest + to detain you, as a hostage for Dolfin’s allegiance.” + </p> + <p> + “He shall say so. I will make him say so.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it, Now, here we are at Stamford town; and I must to my trade. Do + you like to see fighting, Alftruda,—the man’s game, the royal game, + the only game worth a thought on earth? For you are like to see a little + in the next ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see you fight. They tell me none is so swift and + terrible in the battle as Hereward. How can you be otherwise, who slew the + bear,—when we were two happy children together? But shall I be + safe?” + </p> + <p> + “Safe? of course,” said Hereward, who longed, peacock-like, to show off + his prowess before a lady who was—there was no denying it—far + more beautiful than even Torfrida. + </p> + <p> + But he had no opportunity to show off his prowess. For as he galloped in + over Stamford Bridge, Abbot Thorold galloped out at the opposite end of + the town through Casterton, and up the Roman road to Grantham. + </p> + <p> + After whom Hereward sent Alftruda (for he heard that Thorold was going to + Gilbert at Lincoln) with a guard of knights, bidding them do him no harm, + but say that Hereward knew him to be a <i>preux chevalier</i> and lover of + fair ladies; that he had sent him a right fair one to bear him company to + Lincoln, and hoped that he would sing to her on the way the song of + Roland. + </p> + <p> + And Alftruda, who knew Thorold, went willingly, since it could no better + be. + </p> + <p> + After which, according to Gaimar, Hereward tarried three days at Stamford, + laying a heavy tribute on the burgesses for harboring Thorold and his + Normans; and also surprised at a drinking-bout a certain special enemy of + his, and chased him from room to room sword in hand, till he took refuge + shamefully in an outhouse, and begged his life. And when his knights came + back from Grantham, he marched to Bourne. + </p> + <p> + “The next night,” says Leofric the deacon, or rather the monk who + paraphrased his saga in Latin prose,—“Hereward saw in his dreams a + man standing by him of inestimable beauty, old of years, terrible of + countenance, in all the raiment of his body more splendid than all things + which he had ever seen, or conceived in his mind; who threatened him with + a great club which he carried in his hand, and with a fearful doom, that + he should take back to his church all that had been carried off the night + before, and have them restored utterly, each in its place, if he wished to + provide for the salvation of his soul, and escape on the spot a pitiable + death. But when awakened, he was seized with a divine terror, and restored + in the same hour all that he took away, and so departed, going onward with + all his men.” + </p> + <p> + So says Leofric, wishing, as may be well believed, to advance the glory of + St. Peter, and purge his master’s name from the stain of sacrilege. + Beside, the monks of Peterborough, no doubt, had no wish that the world + should spy out their nakedness, and become aware that the Golden Borough + was stript of all its gold. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, truth will out. Golden Borough was Golden Borough no more. + The treasures were never restored; they went to sea with the Danes, and + were scattered far and wide,—to Norway, to Ireland, to Denmark; “all + the spoils,” says the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, “which reached the latter + country, being the pallium and some of the shrines and crosses; and many + of the other treasures they brought to one of the king’s towns, and laid + them up in the church. But one night, through their carelessness and + drunkenness, the church was burned, with all that was therein. Thus was + the minster of Peterborough burned and pillaged. May Almighty God have + pity on it in His great mercy.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward, when blamed for the deed, said always that he did it “because of + his allegiance to the monastery.” Rather than that the treasures gathered + by Danish monks should fall into the hands of the French robbers, let them + be given to their own Danish kinsmen, in payment for their help to English + liberty. + </p> + <p> + But some of the treasure, at least, he must have surely given back, it so + appeased the angry shade of St. Peter. For on that night, when marching + past Stamford, they lost their way. “To whom, when they had lost their + way, a certain wonder happened, and a miracle, if it can be said that such + would be worked in favor of men of blood. For while in the wild night and + dark they wandered in the wood, a huge wolf met them, wagging his tail + like a tame dog, and went before them on a path. And they, taking the gray + beast in the darkness for a white dog, cheered on each other to follow him + to his farm, which ought to be hard by. And in the silence of the + midnight, that they might see their way, suddenly candles appeared, + burning, and clinging to the lances of all the knights,—not very + bright, however; but like those which the folk call <i>candelae nympharum</i>,—wills + of the wisp. But none could pull them off, or altogether extinguish them, + or throw them from their hands. And thus they saw their way, and went on, + although astonished out of mind, with the wolf leading them, until day + dawned, and they saw, to their great astonishment, that he was a wolf. And + as they questioned among themselves about what had befallen, the wolf and + the candles disappeared, and they came whither they had been minded,—beyond + Stamford town,—thanking God, and wondering at what had happened.” + </p> + <p> + After which Hereward took Torfrida, and his child, and all he had, and + took ship at Bardeney, and went for Ely. Which when Earl Warrenne heard, + he laid wait for him, seemingly near Southery: but got nothing thereby, + according to Leofric, but the pleasure of giving and taking a great deal + of bad language; and (after his men had refused, reasonably enough, to + swim the Ouse and attack Hereward) an arrow, which Hereward, “<i>modicum + se inclinans</i>,” stooping forward, says Leofric,—who probably saw + the deed,—shot at him across the Ouse, as the Earl stood cursing on + the top of the dike. Which arrow flew so stout and strong, that though it + sprang back from Earl Warrenne’s hauberk, it knocked him almost senseless + off his horse, and forced him to defer his purpose of avenging Sir + Frederic his brother. + </p> + <p> + After which Hereward threw himself into Ely, and assumed, by consent of + all, the command of the English who were therein. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. — HOW THEY HELD A GREAT MEETING IN THE HALL OF ELY + </h2> + <p> + There sat round the hall of Ely all the magnates of the East land and East + sea. The Abbot on his high seat; and on a seat higher than his, prepared + specially, Sweyn Ulfsson, King of Denmark and England. By them sat the + Bishops, Egelwin the Englishman and Christiern the Dane; Osbiorn, the + young Earls Edwin and Morcar, and Sweyn’s two sons; and, it may be, the + sons of Tosti Godwinsson, and Arkill the great Thane, and Hereward + himself. Below them were knights, Vikings, captains, great holders from + Denmark, and the Prior and inferior officers of Ely minster. And at the + bottom of the misty hall, on the other side of the column of blue vapor + which went trembling up from the great heap of burning turf amidst, were + housecarles, monks, wild men from the Baltic shores, crowded together to + hear what was done in that parliament of their betters. + </p> + <p> + They spoke like free Danes; the betters from the upper end of the hall, + but every man as he chose. They were in full Thing; in parliament, as + their forefathers had been wont to be for countless ages. Their House of + Lords and their House of Commons were not yet defined from each other: but + they knew the rules of the house, the courtesies of debate; and, by + practice of free speech, had educated themselves to bear and forbear, like + gentlemen. + </p> + <p> + But the speaking was loud and earnest, often angry, that day. “What was to + be done?” was the question before the house. + </p> + <p> + “That depended,” said Sweyn, the wise and prudent king, “on what could be + done by the English to co-operate with them.” And what that was has been + already told. + </p> + <p> + “When Tosti Godwinsson, ye Bishops, Earls, Knights, and Holders, came to + me five years ago, and bade me come and take the kingdom of England, I + answered him, that I had not wit enough to do the deeds which Canute my + uncle did; and so sat still in peace. I little thought that I should have + lost in five years so much of those small wits which I confessed to, that + I should come after all to take England, and find two kings in it already, + both more to the English mind than me. While William the Frenchman is king + by the sword, and Edgar the Englishman king by proclamation of Danish + Earls and Thanes, there seems no room here for Sweyn Ulfsson.” + </p> + <p> + “We will make room for you! We will make a rid road from here to + Winchester!” shouted the holders and knights. + </p> + <p> + “It is too late. What say you, Hereward Leofricsson, who go for a wise man + among men?” + </p> + <p> + Hereward rose, and spoke gracefully, earnestly, eloquently; but he could + not deny Sweyn’s plain words. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Hereward beats about the bush,” said Earl Osbiorn, rising when + Hereward sat down. “None knows better than he that all is over. Earl Edwin + and Earl Morcar, who should have helped us along Watling Street, are here + fugitives. Earl Gospatrick and Earl Waltheof are William’s men now, soon + to raise the landsfolk against us. We had better go home, before we have + eaten up the monks of Ely.” + </p> + <p> + Then Hereward rose again, and without an openly insulting word, poured + forth his scorn and rage upon Osbiorn. Why had he not kept to the + agreement which he and Countess Gyda had made with him through Tosti’s + sons? Why had he wasted time and men from Dover to Norwich, instead of + coming straight into the fens, and marching inland to succor Morcar and + Edwin? Osbiorn had ruined the plan, and he only, if it was ruined. + </p> + <p> + “And who was I, to obey Hereward?” asked Osbiorn, fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “And who wert thou, to disobey me?” asked Sweyn, in a terrible voice. + “Hereward is right. We shall see what thou sayest to all this, in full + Thing at home in Denmark.” + </p> + <p> + Then Edwin rose, entreating peace. “They were beaten. The hand of God was + against them. Why should they struggle any more? Or, if they struggled on, + why should they involve the Danes in their own ruin?” + </p> + <p> + Then holder after holder rose, and spoke rough Danish common sense. They + had come hither to win England. They had found it won already. Let them + take what they had got from Peterborough, and go. + </p> + <p> + Then Winter sprang up. “Take the pay, and sail off with it, without having + done the work? That would be a noble tale to carry home to your fair wives + in Jutland. I shall not call you niddering, being a man of peace, as all + know.” Whereat all laughed; for the doughty little man had not a hand’s + breadth on head or arm without its scar. “But if your ladies call you so, + you must have a shrewd answer to give, beside knocking them down.” + </p> + <p> + Sweyn spoke without rising: “The good knight forgets that this expedition + has cost Denmark already nigh as much as Harold Hardraade’s cost Norway. + It is hard upon the Danes, If they are to go away empty-handed as well as + disappointed.” + </p> + <p> + “The King has right!” cried Hereward. “Let them take the plunder of + Peterborough as pay for what they have done, and what beside they would + have done if Osbiorn the Earl—Nay, men of England, let us be just!—what + they would have done if there had been heart and wit, one mind and one + purpose, in England. The Danes have done their best. They have shown + themselves what they are, our blood and kin. I know that some talk of + treason, of bribes. Let us have no more such vain and foul suspicions. + They came as our friends; and as our friends let them go, and leave us to + fight out our own quarrel to the last drop of blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Would God!” said Sweyn, “thou wouldest go too, thou good knight. Here, + earls and gentlemen of England! Sweyn Ulfsson offers to every one of you, + who will come to Denmark with him, shelter and hospitality till better + times shall come.” + </p> + <p> + Then arose a mixed cry. Some would go, some would not. Some of the Danes + took the proposal cordially; some feared bringing among themselves men who + would needs want land, of which there was none to give. If the English + came, they must go up the Baltic, and conquer fresh lands for themselves + from heathen Letts and Finns. + </p> + <p> + Then Hereward rose again, and spoke so nobly and so well, that all ears + were charmed. + </p> + <p> + They were Englishmen; and they would rather die in their own merry England + than conquer new kingdoms in the cold northeast. They were sworn, the + leaders of them, to die or conquer, fighting the accursed Frenchman. They + were bound to St. Peter, and to St. Guthlac, and to St. Felix of Ramsey, + and St. Etheldreda the holy virgin, beneath whose roof they stood, to + defend against Frenchmen the saints of England whom they despised and + blasphemed, whose servants they cast out, thrust into prison, and + murdered, that they might bring in Frenchmen from Normandy, Italians from + the Pope of Rome. Sweyn Ulfsson spoke as became him, as a prudent and a + generous prince; the man who alone of all kings defied and fought the + great Hardraade till neither could fight more; the true nephew of Canute + the king of kings: and they thanked him: but they would live and die + Englishmen. + </p> + <p> + And every Englishman shouted, “Hereward has right! We will live and die + fighting the French!” + </p> + <p> + And Sweyn Ulfsson rose again, and said with a great oath, “That if there + had been three such men as Hereward in England, all would have gone well.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward laughed. “Thou art wrong for once, wise king. We have failed, + just because there were a dozen men in England as good as me, every man + wanting his own way; and too many cooks have spoiled the broth. What we + wanted is, not a dozen men like me, but one like thee, to take us all by + the back of the neck and shake us soundly, and say, ‘Do that, or die!’” + </p> + <p> + And so, after much talk, the meeting broke up. And when it broke up, there + came to Hereward in the hall a noble-looking man of his own age, and put + his hand within his, and said,— + </p> + <p> + “Do you not know me, Hereward Leofricsson?” + </p> + <p> + “I know thee not, good knight, more pity; but by thy dress and carriage, + thou shouldest be a true Viking’s son.” + </p> + <p> + “I am Sigtryg Ranaldsson, now King of Waterford. And my wife said to me, + ‘If there be treachery or faint-heartedness, remember this,—that + Hereward Leofricsson slew the Ogre, and Hannibal of Gweek likewise, and + brought me safe to thee. And, therefore, if thou provest false to him, + niddering thou art; and no niddering is spouse of mine.’” + </p> + <p> + “Thou art Sigtryg Ranaldsson?” cried Hereward, clasping him in his arms, + as the scenes of his wild youth rushed across his mind. “Better is old + wine than new, and old friends likewise.” + </p> + <p> + “And I, and my five ships, are thine to death. Let who will go back.” + </p> + <p> + “They must go,” said Hereward, half-peevishly. “Sweyn has right, and + Osbiorn too. The game is played out. Sweep the chessmen off the board, as + Earl Ulf did by Canute the king.” + </p> + <p> + “And lost his life thereby. I shall stand by, and see thee play the last + pawn.” + </p> + <p> + “And lose thy life equally.” + </p> + <p> + “What matter? I heard thee sing,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘A bed-death, a priest death, + A straw death, a cow death, + Such death likes not me!’ +</pre> + <p> + Nor likes it me either, Hereward Leofricsson.” + </p> + <p> + So the Danes sailed away: but Sigtryg Ranaldsson and his five ships + remained. + </p> + <p> + Hereward went to the minster tower, and watched the Ouse flashing with + countless oars northward toward Southrey Fen. And when they were all out + of sight, he went back, and lay down on his bed and wept,—once and + for all. Then he arose, and went down into the hall to abbots and monks, + and earls and knights, and was the boldest, cheeriest, wittiest of them + all. + </p> + <p> + “They say,” quoth he to Torfrida that night, “that some men have gray + heads on green shoulders. I have a gray heart in a green body.” + </p> + <p> + “And my heart is growing very gray, too,” said Torfrida. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not thy head.” And he played with her raven locks. + </p> + <p> + “That may come, too; and too soon.” + </p> + <p> + For, indeed, they were in very evil case. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. — HOW THEY FOUGHT AT ALDRETH. + </h2> + <p> + When William heard that the Danes were gone, he marched on Ely, as on an + easy prey. + </p> + <p> + Ivo Taillebois came with him, hungry after those Spalding lands, the rents + whereof Hereward had been taking for his men for now twelve months. + William de Warrenne was there, vowed to revenge the death of Sir Frederic, + his brother. Ralph Guader was there, flushed with his success at Norwich. + And with them all the Frenchmen of the east, who had been either expelled + from their lands, or were in fear of expulsion. + </p> + <p> + With them, too, was a great army of mercenaries, ruffians from all France + and Flanders, hired to fight for a certain term, on the chance of plunder + or of fiefs in land. Their brains were all aflame with the tales of + inestimable riches hidden in Ely. There were there the jewels of all the + monasteries round; there were the treasures of all the fugitive English + nobles; there were there—what was there not? And they grumbled, when + William halted them and hutted them at Cambridge, and began to feel + cautiously the strength of the place,—which must be strong, or + Hereward and the English would not have made it their camp of refuge. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps he rode up to Madingley windmill, and saw fifteen miles away, + clear against the sky, the long line of what seemed naught but a low + upland park, with the minster tower among the trees; and between him and + them, a rich champaign of grass, over which it was easy enough to march + all the armies of Europe; and thought Ely an easy place to take. But men + told him that between him and those trees lay a black abyss of mud and + peat and reeds, Haddenham fen and Smithy fen, with the deep sullen West + water or “Ald-reche” of the Ouse winding through them. The old Roman road + was sunk and gone long since under the bog, whether by English neglect, or + whether (as some think) by actual and bodily sinking of the whole land. + The narrowest space between dry land and dry land was a full half-mile; + and how to cross that half-mile, no man knew. + </p> + <p> + What were the approaches on the west? There were none. Beyond Earith, + where now run the great washes of the Bedford Level, was a howling + wilderness of meres, seas, reed-ronds, and floating alder-beds, through + which only the fen-men wandered, with leaping-pole and log canoe. + </p> + <p> + What in the east? The dry land neared the island on that side. And it may + be that William rowed round by Burwell to Fordham and Soham, and thought + of attempting the island by way of Barraway, and saw beneath him a + labyrinth of islands, meres, fens, with the Ouse, now increased by the + volume of the Cam, lying deep and broad between Barraway and + Thetford-in-the-Isle; and saw, too, that a disaster in that labyrinth + might be a destruction. + </p> + <p> + So he determined on the near and straight path, through Long Stratton and + Willingham, down the old bridle-way from Willingham ploughed field,—every + village there, and in the isle likewise, had and has still its “field,” or + ancient clearing of ploughed land,—and then to try that terrible + half-mile, with the courage and wit of a general to whom human lives were + as those of the gnats under the hedge. + </p> + <p> + So all his host camped themselves in Willingham field, by the old + earthwork which men now call Belsar’s Hills; and down the bridle-way + poured countless men, bearing timber and fagots cut from all the hills, + that they might bridge the black half-mile. + </p> + <p> + They made a narrow, firm path through the reeds, and down to the brink of + the Ouse, if brink it could be called, where the water, rising and falling + a foot or two each tide, covered the floating peat for many yards before + it sunk into a brown depth of bottomless slime. They would make a bottom + for themselves by driving piles. + </p> + <p> + The piles would not hold; and they began to make a floating bridge with + long beams, says Leofric, and blown-up cattle-hides to float them. + </p> + <p> + Soon they made a floating sow, and thrust it on before them as they worked + across the stream; for they were getting under shot from the island. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the besieged had not been idle. They had thrown up, says + Leofric, a turf rampart on the island shore, and <i>antemuralia et + propugnacula,</i>—doubtless overhanging “hoardings,” or scaffolds, + through the floor of which they could shower down missiles. And so they + awaited the attack, contenting themselves with gliding in and out of the + reeds in their canoes, and annoying the builders with arrows and cross-bow + bolts. + </p> + <p> + At last the bridge was finished, and the sow safe across the West water, + and thrust in, as far as it would float, among the reeds on the high tide. + They in the fort could touch it with a pole. + </p> + <p> + The English would have destroyed it if they could. But Hereward bade them + leave it alone. He had watched all their work, and made up his mind to the + event. + </p> + <p> + “The rats have set a trap for themselves,” he said to his men, “and we + shall be fools to break it up till the rats are safe inside.” + </p> + <p> + So there the huge sow lay, black and silent, showing nothing to the enemy + but a side of strong plank, covered with hide to prevent its being burned. + It lay there for three hours, and Hereward let it lie. + </p> + <p> + He had never been so cheerful, so confident. “Play the man this day, every + one of you, and ere nightfall you will have taught the Norman once more + the lesson of York. He seems to have forgotten that. It is me to remind + him of it.” + </p> + <p> + And he looked to his bow and to his arrows, and prepared to play the man + himself,—as was the fashion in those old days, when a general proved + his worth by hitting harder and more surely than any of his men. + </p> + <p> + At last the army was in motion, and Willingham field opposite was like a + crawling ants’ nest. Brigade after brigade moved down to the reed beds, + and the assault began. + </p> + <p> + And now advanced along the causeway and along the bridge a dark column of + men, surmounted by glittering steel. Knights in complete mail, footmen in + leather coats and quilted jerkins; at first orderly enough, each under the + banner of his lord; but more and more mingled and crowded as they hurried + forward, each eager for his selfish share of the inestimable treasures of + Ely. They pushed along the bridge. The mass became more and more crowded; + men stumbled over each other, and fell off into the mire and the water, + calling vainly for help, while their comrades hurried on unheeding, in the + mad thirst for spoil. + </p> + <p> + On they came in thousands; and fresh thousands streamed out of the fields, + as if the whole army intended to pour itself into the isle at once. + </p> + <p> + “They are numberless,” said Torfrida, in a serious and astonished voice, + as she stood by Hereward’s side. + </p> + <p> + “Would they were!” said Hereward. “Let them come on, thick and threefold. + The more their numbers the fatter will the fish below be before to-morrow + morning. Look there, already!” + </p> + <p> + And already the bridge was swaying, and sinking beneath their weight. The + men in places were ankle deep in water. They rushed on all the more + eagerly, and filled the sow, and swarmed up to its roof. + </p> + <p> + Then, what with its own weight, what with the weight of the laden bridge,—which + dragged upon it from behind,—the huge sow began to tilt backwards, + and slide down the slimy bank. + </p> + <p> + The men on the top tried vainly to keep their footing, to hurl grapnels + into the rampart, to shoot off their quarrels and arrows. + </p> + <p> + “You must be quick, Frenchmen,” shouted Hereward in derision, “if you mean + to come on board here.” + </p> + <p> + The Normans knew that well; and as Hereward spoke two panels in the front + of the sow creaked on their hinges, and dropped landward, forming two + draw-bridges, over which reeled to the attack a close body of knights, + mingled with soldiers bearing scaling ladders. + </p> + <p> + They recoiled. Between the ends of the draw-bridges and the foot of the + rampart was some two fathoms’ depth of black ooze. The catastrophe which + Hereward had foreseen was come, and a shout of derision arose from the + unseen defenders above. + </p> + <p> + “Come on,—leap it like men! Send back for your horses, knights, and + ride them at it like bold huntsmen!” + </p> + <p> + The front rank could not but rush on: for the pressure behind forced them + forward, whether they would or not. In a moment they were wallowing waist + deep, trampled on, and disappearing under their struggling comrades, who + disappeared in their turn. + </p> + <p> + “Look, Torfrida! If they plant their scaling ladders, it will be on a + foundation of their comrades’ corpses.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida gave one glance through the openings of the hoarding, upon the + writhing mass below, and turned away in horror. The men were not so + merciful. Down between the hoarding-beams rained stones, javelins, arrows, + increasing the agony and death. The scaling ladders would not stand in the + mire. If they had stood a moment, the struggles of the dying would have + thrown them down; and still fresh victims pressed on from behind, shouting + “Dex Aie! On to the gold of Ely!” And still the sow, under the weight, + slipped further and further back into the stream, and the foul gulf + widened between besiegers and besieged. + </p> + <p> + At last one scaling ladder was planted upon the bodies of the dead, and + hooked firmly on the gunwale of the hoarding. Ere it could be hurled off + again by the English, it was so crowded with men that even Hereward’s + strength was insufficient to lift it off. He stood at the top, ready to + hew down the first comer; and he hewed him down. + </p> + <p> + But the Normans were not to be daunted. Man after man dropped dead from + the ladder top,—man after man took his place; sometimes two at a + time; sometimes scrambling over each other’s backs. + </p> + <p> + The English, even in the insolence of victory, cheered them with honest + admiration. “You are fellows worth fighting, you French!” + </p> + <p> + “So we are,” shouted a knight, the first and last who crossed that + parapet; for, thrusting Hereward back with a blow of his sword-hilt, he + staggered past him over the hoarding, and fell on his knees. + </p> + <p> + A dozen men were upon him; but he was up again and shouting,— + </p> + <p> + “To me, men-at-arms! A Dade! a Dade!” But no man answered. + </p> + <p> + “Yield!” quoth Hereward. + </p> + <p> + Sir Dade answered by a blow on Hereward’s helmet, which felled the chief + to his knees, and broke the sword into twenty splinters. + </p> + <p> + “Well hit,” said Hereward, as he rose. “Don’t touch him, men! this is my + quarrel now. Yield, sir! you have done enough for your honor. It is + madness to throw away your life.” + </p> + <p> + The knight looked round on the fierce ring of faces, in the midst of which + he stood alone. + </p> + <p> + “To none but Hereward.” + </p> + <p> + “Hereward am I.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the knight, “had I but hit a little harder!” + </p> + <p> + “You would have broke your sword into more splinters. My armor is + enchanted. So yield like a reasonable and valiant man.” + </p> + <p> + “What care I?” said the knight, stepping on to the earthwork, and sitting + down quietly. “I vowed to St. Mary and King William that into Ely I would + get this day; and in Ely I am; so I have done my work.” + </p> + <p> + “And now you shall taste—as such a gallant knight deserves—the + hospitality of Ely.” + </p> + <p> + It was Torfrida who spoke. + </p> + <p> + “My husband’s prisoners are mine; and I, when I find them such <i>prudhommes</i> + as you are, have no lighter chains for them than that which a lady’s bower + can afford.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Dade was going to make an equally courteous answer, when over and + above the shouts and curses of the combatants rose a yell so keen, so + dreadful, as made all hurry forward to the rampart. + </p> + <p> + That which Hereward had foreseen was come at last. The bridge, strained + more and more by its living burden, and by the falling tide, had parted,—not + at the Ely end, where the sliding of the sow took off the pressure,—but + at the end nearest the camp. One sideway roll it gave, and then, turning + over, engulfed in that foul stream the flower of Norman chivalry; leaving + a line—a full quarter of a mile in length—of wretches drowning + in the dark water, or, more hideous still, in the bottomless slime of peat + and mud. + </p> + <p> + Thousands are said to have perished. Their armor and weapons were found at + times, by delvers and dikers, for centuries after; are found at times unto + this day, beneath the rich drained cornfields which now fill up that black + half-mile, or in the bed of the narrow brook to which the Westwater, + robbed of its streams by the Bedford Level, has dwindled down at last. + </p> + <p> + William, they say, struck his tents and departed forthwith, “groaning from + deep grief of heart;” and so ended the first battle of Aldreth. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. — HOW SIR DADE BROUGHT NEWS FROM ELY. + </h2> + <p> + A month after the fight, there came into the camp at Cambridge, riding on + a good horse, himself fat and well-liking, none other than Sir Dade. + </p> + <p> + Boisterously he was received, as one alive from the dead; and questioned + as to his adventures and sufferings. + </p> + <p> + “Adventures I have had, and strange ones; but for sufferings, instead of + fetter-galls, I bring back, as you see, a new suit of clothes; instead of + an empty and starved stomach, a surfeit from good victuals and good + liquor; and whereas I went into Ely on foot, I came out on a fast + hackney.” + </p> + <p> + So into William’s tent he went; and there he told his tale. + </p> + <p> + “So, Dade, my friend?” quoth the Duke, in high good humor, for he loved + Dade, “you seem to have been in good company?” + </p> + <p> + “Never in better, Sire, save in your presence. Of the earls and knights in + Ely, all I can say is, God’s pity that they are rebels, for more gallant + and courteous knights or more perfect warriors never saw I, neither in + Normandy nor at Constantinople, among the Varangers themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! and what are the names of these gallants; for you have used your eyes + and ears, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “Edwin and Morcar, the earls,—two fine young lads.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it. Go on”; and a shade passed over William’s brow, as he thought + of his own falsehood, and his fair Constance, weeping in vain for the fair + bridegroom whom he had promised to her. + </p> + <p> + “Siward Barn, as they call him, the boy Orgar, and Thurkill Barn. Those + are the knights. Egelwin, bishop of Durham, is there too; and besides them + all, and above them all, Hereward. The like of that knight I may have + seen. His better saw I never.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir fool!” said Earl Warrenne, who had not yet—small blame to him—forgotten + his brother’s death. “They have soused thy brains with their muddy ale, + till thou knowest not friend from foe. What! hast thou to come hither + praising up to the King’s Majesty such an outlawed villain as that, with + whom no honest knight would keep company?” + </p> + <p> + “If you, Earl Warrenne, ever found Dade drunk or lying, it is more than + the King here has done.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him speak, Earl,” said William. “I have not an honester man in my + camp; and he speaks for my information, not for yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Then for yours will I speak, Sir King. These men treated me knightly, and + sent me away without ransom.” + </p> + <p> + “They had an eye to their own profit, it seems,” grumbled the Earl. + </p> + <p> + “But force me they did to swear on the holy Gospels that I should tell + your Majesty the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. And I + keep my oath,” quoth Dade. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, then, without fear or favor. Are there any other men of note in + the island!” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they in want of provisions?” + </p> + <p> + “Look how they have fattened me.” + </p> + <p> + “What do they complain of?” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you, Sir King. The monks, like many more, took fright at the + coming over of our French men of God to set right all their filthy, + barbarous ways; and that is why they threw Ely open to the rebels.” + </p> + <p> + “I will be even with the sots,” quoth William. + </p> + <p> + “However, they think that danger blown over just now; for they have a + story among them, which, as my Lord the King never heard before, he may as + well hear now.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “How your Majesty should have sent across the sea a whole shipload of + French monks.” + </p> + <p> + “That have I, and will more, till I reduce these swine into something like + obedience to his Holiness of Rome.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but your Majesty has not heard how one Bruman, a valiant English + knight, was sailing on the sea and caught those monks. Whereon he tied a + great sack to the ship’s head, and cut the bottom out, and made every one + of those monks get into that sack and so fall through into the sea; + whereby he rid the monks of Ely of their rivals.” + </p> + <p> + “Pish! why tell me such an old-wives’ fable, knight?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the monks believe that old-wives’ fable, and are stout-hearted + and stiff-necked accordingly.” + </p> + <p> + “The blood of martyrs is the seed of the Church,” said William’s chaplain, + a pupil and friend of Lanfranc; “and if these men of Belial drowned every + man of God in Normandy, ten would spring up in their places to convert + this benighted and besotted land of Simonites and Balaamites, whose + priests, like the brutes which perish, scruple not to defile themselves + and the service of the altar with things which they impudently call their + wives.” + </p> + <p> + “We know that, good chaplain,” quoth William, impatiently. He had enough + of that language from Lanfranc himself; and, moreover, was thinking more + of the Isle of Ely than of the celibacy of the clergy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Sir Dade?” + </p> + <p> + “So they have got together all their kin; for among these monks every one + is kin to a Thane, or Knight, or even an Earl. And there they are, brother + by brother, cousin by cousin, knee to knee, and back to back, like a pack + of wolves, and that in a hold which you will not enter yet awhile.” + </p> + <p> + “Does my friend Dade doubt his Duke’s skill at last?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Duke,—Sir King I mean now, for King you are and deserve to be,—I + know what you can do. I remember how we took England at one blow on Senlac + field; but see you here, Sir King. How will you take an island where four + kings such as you (if the world would hold four such at once) could not + stop one churl from ploughing the land, or one bird-catcher from setting + lime-twigs?” + </p> + <p> + “And what if I cannot stop the bird-catchers? Do they expect to lime + Frenchmen as easily as sparrows?” + </p> + <p> + “Sparrows! It is not sparrows that I have been fattening on this last + month. I tell you, Sire, I have seen wild-fowl alone in that island enough + to feed them all the year round. I was there in the moulting-time, and saw + them take,—one day one hundred, one two hundred; and once, as I am a + belted knight, a thousand duck out of one single mere. There is a wood + there, with herons sprawling about the tree-tops,—I did not think + there were so many in the world,—and fish for Lent and Fridays in + every puddle and leat, pike and perch, tench and eels, on every old-wife’s + table; while the knights think scorn of anything worse than smelts and + burbot.” + </p> + <p> + “Splendeur Dex!” quoth William, who, Norman-like, did not dislike a good + dinner. “I must keep Lent in Ely before I die.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you had best make peace with the burbot-eating knights, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “But have they flesh-meat?” + </p> + <p> + “The isle is half of it a garden,—richer land, they say, is none in + these realms, and I believe it; but, besides that, there is a deer-park + there with a thousand head in it, red and fallow; and plenty of swine in + woods, and sheep, and cattle; and if they fail, there are plenty more to + be got, they know where.” + </p> + <p> + “They know where? Do you, Sir Knight?” asked William, keenly. + </p> + <p> + “Out of every little Island in their fens, for forty miles on end. There + are the herds fattening themselves on the richest pastures in the land, + and no man needing to herd them, for they are all safe among dikes and + meres.” + </p> + <p> + “I will make my boats sweep their fens clear of every head—” + </p> + <p> + “Take care, my Lord King, lest never a boat come back from that errand. + With their narrow flat-bottomed punts, cut out of a single log, and their + leaping-poles, wherewith they fly over dikes of thirty feet in width,—they + can ambuscade in those reed-beds and alder-beds, kill whom they will, and + then flee away through the marsh like so many horse-flies. And if not, one + trick have they left, which they never try save when driven into a corner; + but from that, may all saints save us!” + </p> + <p> + “What then?” + </p> + <p> + “Firing the reeds.” + </p> + <p> + “And destroying their own cover?” + </p> + <p> + “True: therefore they will only do it in despair.” + </p> + <p> + “Then to despair will I drive them, and try their worst. So these monks + are as stout rebels as the earls?” + </p> + <p> + “I only say what I saw. At the hall-table there dined each day maybe some + fifty belted knights, with every one a monk next to him; and at the high + table the abbot, and the three earls, and Hereward and his lady, and + Thurkill Barn. And behind each knight, and each monk likewise, hung + against the wall lance and shield, helmet and hauberk, sword and axe.” + </p> + <p> + “To monk as well as knight?” + </p> + <p> + “As I am a knight myself; and were as well used, too, for aught I saw. The + monks took turns with the knights as sentries, and as foragers, too; and + the knights themselves told me openly, the monks were as good men as + they.” + </p> + <p> + “As wicked, you mean,” groaned the chaplain. “O, accursed and bloodthirsty + race, why does not the earth open and swallow you, with Korah, Dathan, and + Abiram?” + </p> + <p> + “They would not mind,” quoth Dade. “They are born and bred in the + bottomless pit already. They would jump over, or flounder out, as they do + to their own bogs every day.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak irreverently, my friend,” quoth William. + </p> + <p> + “Ask those who are in camp, and not me. As for whither they went, or how, + the English were not likely to tell me. All I know is, that I saw fresh + cattle come every few days, and fresh farms burnt, too, on the Norfolk + side. There were farms burning last night only, between here and + Cambridge. Ask your sentinels on the Rech-dike how that came about!” + </p> + <p> + “I can answer that,” quoth a voice from the other end of the tent. “I was + on the Rech-dike last night, close down to the fen,—worse luck and + shame for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Answer, then!” quoth William, with one of his horrible oaths, glad to + have some one on whom he could turn his rage and disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “There came seven men in a boat up from Ely yestereven, and five of them + were monks; they came up from Burwell fen, and plundered and burnt Burwell + town.” + </p> + <p> + “And where were all you mighty men of war?” + </p> + <p> + “Ten of us ran down to stop them, with Richard, Earl Osbern’s nephew, at + their head. The villains got to the top of the Rech-dike, and made a + stand, and before we could get to them—” + </p> + <p> + “Thy men had run, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “They were every one dead or wounded, save Richard; and he was fighting + single-handed with an Englishman, while the other six stood around, and + looked on.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they fought fairly?” said William. + </p> + <p> + “As fairly, to do them justice, as if they had been Frenchmen, and not + English churls. As we came down along the dike, a little man of them steps + between the two, and strikes down their swords as if they had been two + reeds. ‘Come!’ cries he, ‘enough of this. You are two <i>prudhommes</i> + well matched, and you can fight out this any other day’; and away he and + his men go down the dike-end to the water.” + </p> + <p> + “Leaving Richard safe?” + </p> + <p> + “Wounded a little,—but safe enough.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “We followed them to the boat as hard as we could; killed one with a + javelin, and caught another.” + </p> + <p> + “Knightly done!” and William swore an awful oath, “and worthy of valiant + Frenchmen. These English set you the example of chivalry by letting your + comrade fight his own battle fairly, instead of setting on him all + together; and you repay them by hunting them down with darts, because you + dare not go within sword’s-stroke of better men than yourselves. Go. I am + ashamed of you. No, stay. Where is your prisoner? For, Splendeur Dex! I + will send him back safe and sound in return for Dade, to tell the knights + of Ely that if they know so well the courtesies of war, William of Rouen + does too.” + </p> + <p> + “The prisoner, Sire,” quoth the knight, trembling, “is—is—” + </p> + <p> + “You have not murdered him?” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid! but—” + </p> + <p> + “He broke his bonds and escaped?” + </p> + <p> + “Gnawed them through, Sire, as we suppose, and escaped through the mire in + the dark, after the fashion of these accursed frogs of Girvians.” + </p> + <p> + “But did he tell you naught ere he bade you good morning?” + </p> + <p> + “He told as the names of all the seven. He that beat down the swords was + Hereward himself.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought as much. When shall I have that fellow at my side?” + </p> + <p> + “He that fought Richard was one Wenoch.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard of him.” + </p> + <p> + “He that we slew was Siward, a monk.” + </p> + <p> + “More shame to you.” + </p> + <p> + “He that we took was Azer the Hardy, a monk of Nicole—Licole,”—the + Normans could never say Lincoln. + </p> + <p> + “And the rest were Thurstan the Younger; Leofric the Deacon, Hereward’s + minstrel; and Boter, the traitor monk of St. Edmund’s.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I catch them,” quoth William, “I will make an abbot of every one + of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire?” quoth the chaplain, in a deprecating tone. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. — HOW HEREWARD PLAYED THE POTTER; AND HOW HE CHEATED + THE KING. + </h2> + <p> + They of Ely were now much straitened, being shut in both by land and + water; and what was to be done, either by themselves or by the king, they + knew not. Would William simply starve them; or at least inflict on them so + perpetual a Lent,—for of fish there could be no lack, even if they + ate or drove away all the fowl,—as would tame down their proud + spirits; which a diet of fish and vegetables, from some ludicrous theory + of monastic physicians, was supposed to do? [Footnote: The Cornish—the + stoutest, tallest, and most prolific race of the South—live on + hardly anything else but fish and vegetables.] Or was he gathering vast + armies, from they knew not whence, to try, once and for all, another + assault on the island,—it might be from several points at once? + </p> + <p> + They must send out a spy, and find out news from the outer world, if news + were to be gotten. But who would go? + </p> + <p> + So asked the bishop, and the abbot, and the earls, in council in the + abbot’s lodging. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida was among them. She was always among them now. She was their + Alruna-wife, their Vala, their wise woman, whose counsels all received as + more than human. + </p> + <p> + “I will go,” said she, rising up like a goddess on Olympus. “I will cut + off my hair, and put on boy’s clothes, and smirch myself brown with walnut + leaves; and I will go. I can talk their French tongue. I know their French + ways; and as for a story to cover my journey and my doings, trust a + woman’s wit to invent that.” + </p> + <p> + They looked at her, with delight in her courage, but with doubt. + </p> + <p> + “If William’s French grooms got hold of you, Torfrida, it would not be a + little walnut brown which would hide you,” said Hereward. “It is like you + to offer,—worthy of you, who have no peer.” + </p> + <p> + “That she has not,” quoth churchmen and soldiers alike. + </p> + <p> + “But—to send you would be to send Hereward’s wrong half. The right + half of Hereward is going; and that is, himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle, uncle!” said the young earls, “send Winter, Geri, Leofwin Prat, + any of your fellows: but not yourself. If we lose you, we lose our head + and our king.” + </p> + <p> + And all prayed Hereward to let any man go, rather than himself. + </p> + <p> + “I am going, lords and knights; and what Hereward says he does. It is one + day to Brandon. It may be two days back; for if I miscarry,—as I + most likely shall,—I must come home round about. On the fourth day, + you shall hear of me or from me. Come with me, Torfrida.” + </p> + <p> + And he strode out. + </p> + <p> + He cropped his golden locks, he cropped his golden beard; and Torfrida + cried, as she cropped them, half with fear for him, half for sorrow over + his shorn glories. + </p> + <p> + “I am no Samson, my lady; my strength lieth not in my locks. Now for some + rascal’s clothes,—as little dirty as you can get me, for fear of + company.” + </p> + <p> + And Hereward put on filthy garments, and taking mare Swallow with him, got + into a barge and went across the river to Soham. + </p> + <p> + He could not go down the Great Ouse, and up the Little Ouse, which was his + easiest way, for the French held all the river below the isle; and, + beside, to have come straight from Ely might cause suspicion. So he went + down to Fordham, and crossed the Lark at Mildenhall; and just before he + got to Mildenhall, he met a potter carrying pots upon a pony. + </p> + <p> + “Halt, my stout fellow,” quoth he, “and put thy pots on my mare’s back.” + </p> + <p> + “The man who wants them must fight for them,” quoth that stout churl, + raising a heavy staff. + </p> + <p> + “Then here is he that will,” quoth Hereward; and, jumping off his mare, he + twisted the staff out of the potter’s hands, and knocked him down + therewith. + </p> + <p> + “That will teach thee to know an Englishman when thou seest him.” + </p> + <p> + “I have met my master,” quoth the churl, rubbing his head. “But dog does + not eat dog; and it is hard to be robbed by an Englishman, after being + robbed a dozen times by the French.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not rob thee. There is a silver penny for thy pots and thy coat,—for + that I must have likewise. And if thou tellest to mortal man aught about + this, I will find those who will cut thee to ribbons; and if not, then + turn thy horse’s head and ride back to Ely, if thou canst cross the water, + and say what has befallen thee; and thou wilt find there an abbot who will + give thee another penny for thy news.” + </p> + <p> + So Hereward took the pots, and the potter’s clay-greased coat, and went on + through Mildenhall, “crying,” saith the chronicler, “after the manner of + potters, in the English tongue, ‘Pots! pots! good pots and pans!’” + </p> + <p> + But when he got through Mildenhall, and well into the rabbit-warrens, he + gave mare Swallow a kick, and went over the heath so fast northward, that + his pots danced such a dance as broke half of them before he got to + Brandon. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” quoth he, “they will think that I have sold them.” And when + he neared Brandon he pulled up, sorted his pots, kept the whole ones, + threw the sherds at the rabbits, and walked on into Brandon solemnly, + leading the mare, and crying “Pots!” + </p> + <p> + So “semper marcida et deformis aspectu”—lean and ill-looking—was + that famous mare, says the chronicler, that no one would suspect her + splendid powers, or take her for anything but a potter’s nag, when she was + caparisoned in proper character. Hereward felt thoroughly at home in his + part; as able to play the Englishman which he was by rearing, as the + Frenchman which he was by education. He was full of heart, and happy. He + enjoyed the keen fresh air of the warrens; he enjoyed the ramble out of + the isle, in which he had been cooped up so long; he enjoyed the fun of + the thing,—disguise, stratagem, adventure, danger. And so did the + English, who adored him. None of Hereward’s deeds is told so carefully and + lovingly; and none, doubt it not, was so often sung in after years by + farm-house hearths, or in the outlaws’ lodge, as this. Robin Hood himself + may have trolled out many a time, in doggrel strain, how Hereward played + the potter. + </p> + <p> + And he came to Brandon, to the “king’s court,”—probably Weeting + Hall, or castle, from which William could command the streams of Wissey + and Little Ouse, with all their fens,—and cast about for a night’s + lodging, for it was dark. + </p> + <p> + Outside the town was a wretched cabin of mud and turf,—such a one as + Irish folk live in to this day; and Hereward said to himself, “This is bad + enough to be good enough for me.” + </p> + <p> + So he knocked at the door, and knocked till it was opened, and a hideous + old crone put out her head. + </p> + <p> + “Who wants to see me at this time of night?” + </p> + <p> + “Any one would, who had heard how beautiful you are. Do you want any + pots?” + </p> + <p> + “Pots! What have I to do with pots, thou saucy fellow? I thought it was + some one wanting a charm.” And she shut the door. + </p> + <p> + “A charm?” thought Hereward. “Maybe she can tell me news, if she be a + witch. They are shrewd souls, these witches, and know more than they tell. + But if I can get any news, I care not if Satan brings it in person.” + </p> + <p> + So he knocked again, till the old woman looked out once more, and bade him + angrily be off. + </p> + <p> + “But I am belated here, good dame, and afraid of the French. And I will + give thee the best bit of clay on my mare’s back,—pot,—pan,—pansion,—crock,—jug, + or what thou wilt, for a night’s lodging.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any little jars,—jars no longer than my hand?” asked she; + for she used them in her trade, and had broken one of late: but to pay for + one, she had neither money nor mind. So she agreed to let Hereward sleep + there, for the value of two jars. “But what of that ugly brute of a horse + of thine?” + </p> + <p> + “She will do well enough in the turf-shed.” + </p> + <p> + “Then thou must pay with a pannikin.” + </p> + <p> + “Ugh!” groaned Hereward; “thou drivest a hard bargain, for an + Englishwoman, with a poor Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + “How knowest thou that I am English?” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better if thou art not,” thought Hereward; and bargained with + her for a pannikin against a lodging for the horse in the turf-house, and + a bottle of bad hay. + </p> + <p> + Then he went in, bringing his panniers with him with ostentatious care. + </p> + <p> + “Thou canst sleep there on the rushes. I have naught to give thee to eat.” + </p> + <p> + “Naught needs naught,” said Hereward; threw himself down on a bundle of + rush, and in a few minutes snored loudly. + </p> + <p> + But he was never less asleep. He looked round the whole cabin; and he + listened to every word. + </p> + <p> + The Devil, as usual, was a bad paymaster; for the witch’s cabin seemed + only somewhat more miserable than that of other old women. The floor was + mud, the rafters unceiled; the stars shone through the turf roof. The only + hint of her trade was a hanging shelf, on which stood five or six little + earthen jars, and a few packets of leaves. A parchment, scrawled with + characters which the owner herself probably did not understand, hung + against the cob wall; and a human skull—probably used only to + frighten her patients—dangled from the roof-tree. + </p> + <p> + But in a corner, stuck against the wall, was something which chilled + Hereward’s blood a little. A dried human hand, which he knew must have + been stolen off the gallows, gripping in its fleshless fingers a candle, + which he knew was made of human fat. That candle, he knew, duly lighted + and carried, would enable the witch to walk unseen into any house on + earth, yea, through the court of King William himself, while it drowned + all men in preternatural slumber. + </p> + <p> + Hereward was very much frightened. He believed as devoutly in the powers + of a witch as did then—and does now, for aught Italian literature, + <i>e permissu superiorum</i>, shows—the Pope of Rome. + </p> + <p> + So he trembled on his rushes, and wished himself safe through that + adventure, without being turned into a hare or a wolf. + </p> + <p> + “I would sooner be a wolf than a hare, of course, killing being more in my + trade than being killed; but—who comes here?” + </p> + <p> + And to the first old crone, who sat winking her bleared eyes, and warming + her bleared hands over a little heap of peat in the middle of the cabin, + entered another crone, if possible uglier. + </p> + <p> + “Two of them! If I am not roasted and eaten this night, I am a lucky man.” + </p> + <p> + And Hereward crossed himself devoutly, and invoked St. Ethelfrida of Ely, + St. Guthlac of Crowland, St. Felix of Ramsey,—to whom, he + recollected, he had been somewhat remiss; but, above all, St. Peter of + Peterborough, whose treasures he had given to the Danes. And he argued + stoutly with St. Peter and with his own conscience, that the means + sanctify the end, and that he had done it all for the best. + </p> + <p> + “If thou wilt help me out of this strait, and the rest, blessed Apostle, I + will give thee—I will go to Constantinople but what I will win it—a + golden table twice as fine as those villains carried off, and one of the + Bourne manors—Witham—or Toft—or Mainthorpe—whichever + pleases thee best, in full fee; and a—and a—” + </p> + <p> + But while Hereward was casting in his mind what gewgaw further might + suffice to appease the Apostle, he was recalled to business and + common-sense by hearing the two old hags talk to each other in French. + </p> + <p> + His heart leapt for joy, and he forgot St. Peter utterly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, how have you sped? Have you seen the king?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but Ivo Taillebois. Eh! Who the foul fiend have you lying there?” + </p> + <p> + “Only an English brute. He cannot understand us. Talk on: only don’t wake + the hog. Have you got the gold?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind.” + </p> + <p> + Then there was a grumbling and a quarrelling, from which Hereward + understood that the gold was to be shared between them. + </p> + <p> + “But it is a bit of chain. To cut it will spoil it.” + </p> + <p> + The other insisted; and he heard them chop the gold chain in two. + </p> + <p> + “And is this all?” + </p> + <p> + “I had work enough to get that. He said, No play no pay; and he would give + it me after the isle was taken. But I told him my spirit was a Jewish + spirit, that used to serve Solomon the Wise; and he would not serve me, + much less come over the sea from Normandy, unless he smelt gold; for he + loved it like any Jew.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you tell him then?” + </p> + <p> + “That the king must go back to Aldreth again; for only from thence he + would take the isle; for—and that was true enough—I dreamt I + saw all the water of Aldreth full of wolves, clambering over into the + island on each other’s backs.” + </p> + <p> + “That means that some of them will be drowned.” + </p> + <p> + “Let them drown. I left him to find out that part of the dream for + himself. Then I told him how he must make another causeway, bigger and + stronger than the last, and a tower on which I could stand and curse the + English. And I promised him to bring a storm right in the faces of the + English, so that they could neither fight nor see.” + </p> + <p> + “But if the storm does not come?” + </p> + <p> + “It will come. I know the signs of the sky,—who better?—and + the weather will break up in a week. Therefore I told him he must begin + his works at once, before the rain came on; and that we would go and ask + the spirit of the well to tell us the fortunate day for attacking.” + </p> + <p> + “That is my business,” said the other; “and my spirit likes the smell of + gold as well as yours. Little you would have got from me, if you had not + given me half the chain.” + </p> + <p> + Then the two rose. + </p> + <p> + “Let us see whether the English hog is asleep.” + </p> + <p> + One of them came and listened to Hereward’s breathing, and put her hand + upon his chest. His hair stood on end; a cold sweat came over him. But he + snored more loudly than ever. + </p> + <p> + The two old crones went out satisfied. Then Hereward rose, and glided + after them. + </p> + <p> + They went down a meadow to a little well, which Hereward had marked as he + rode thither, hung round with bits of rag and flowers, as similar “holy + wells” are decorated in Ireland to this day. + </p> + <p> + He hid behind a hedge, and watched them stooping over the well, mumbling + he knew not what of cantrips. + </p> + <p> + Then there was silence, and a tinkling sound as of water. + </p> + <p> + “Once—twice—thrice,” counted the witches. Nine times he + counted the tinkling sound. + </p> + <p> + “The ninth day,—the ninth day, and the king shall take Ely,” said + one in a cracked scream, rising, and shaking her fist toward the isle. + </p> + <p> + Hereward was more than half-minded to have put his dagger—the only + weapon which he had—into the two old beldames on the spot. But the + fear of an outcry kept him still. He had found out already so much, that + he was determined to find out more. So to-morrow he would go up to the + court itself, and take what luck sent. + </p> + <p> + He slipt back to the cabin and lay down again; and as soon as he had seen + the two old crones safe asleep, fell asleep himself, and was so tired that + he lay till the sun was high. + </p> + <p> + “Get up!” screamed the old dame at last, kicking him, “or I shall make you + give me another crock for a double night’s rest.” + </p> + <p> + He paid his lodging, put the panniers on the mare, and went on crying + pots. + </p> + <p> + When he came to the outer gateway of the court he tied up the mare, and + carried the crockery in on his own back boldly. The scullions saw him, and + called him into the kitchen to see his crockery, without the least + intention of paying for what they took. + </p> + <p> + A man of rank belonging to the court came in, and stared fixedly at + Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “You are mightily like that villain Hereward, man,” quoth he. + </p> + <p> + “Anon?” asked Hereward, looking as stupid as he could. + </p> + <p> + “If it were not for his brown face and short hair, he is as like the + fellow as a churl can be to a knight.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring him into the hall,” quoth another, “and let us see if any man knows + him.” + </p> + <p> + Into the great hall he was brought, and stared at by knights and squires. + He bent his knees, rounded his shoulders, and made himself look as mean as + he could. + </p> + <p> + Ivo Taillebois and Earl Warrenne came down and had a look at him. + </p> + <p> + “Hereward!” said Ivo. “I will warrant that little slouching cur is not he. + Hereward must be half as big again, if it be true that he can kill a man + with one blow of his fist.” + </p> + <p> + “You may try the truth of that for yourself some day,” thought Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “Does any one here talk English? Let us question the fellow,” said Earl + Warrenne. + </p> + <p> + “Hereward? Hereward? Who wants to know about that villain?” answered the + potter, as soon as he was asked in English. “Would to Heaven he were here, + and I could see some of you noble knights and earls paying him for me; for + I owe him more than ever I shall pay myself.” + </p> + <p> + “What does he mean?” + </p> + <p> + “He came out of the isle ten days ago, nigh on to evening, and drove off a + cow of mine and four sheep, which was all my living, noble knights, save + these pots.” + </p> + <p> + “And where is he since?” + </p> + <p> + “In the isle, my lords, wellnigh starved, and his folk falling away from + him daily from hunger and ague-fits. I doubt if there be a hundred sound + men left in Ely.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you been in thither, then, villain?” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid! I in Ely? I in the wolf’s den? If I went in with naught + but my skin, they would have it off me before I got out again. If your + lordships would but come down, and make an end of him once for all; for he + is a great tyrant and terrible, and devours us poor folk like so many + mites in cheese.” + </p> + <p> + “Take this babbler into the kitchen, and feed him,” quoth Earl Warrenne; + and so the colloquy ended. + </p> + <p> + Into the kitchen again the potter went. The king’s luncheon was preparing; + and he listened to their chatter, and picked up this at least, which was + valuable to him,—that the witches’ story was true; that a great + attack would be made from Aldreth; that boats had been ordered up the + river to Cotinglade, and pioneers and entrenching tools were to be sent on + that day to the site of the old causeway. + </p> + <p> + But soon he had to take care of himself. Earl Warrenne’s commands to feed + him were construed by the cook-boys and scullions into a command to make + him drunk likewise. To make a laughing-stock of an Englishman was too + tempting a jest to be resisted; and Hereward was drenched (says the + chronicler) with wine and beer, and sorely baited and badgered. At last + one rascal hit upon a notable plan. + </p> + <p> + “Pluck out the English hog’s hair and beard, and put him blindfold in the + midst of his pots, and see what a smash we shall have.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward pretended not to understand the words, which were spoken in + French; but when they were interpreted to him, he grew somewhat red about + the ears. + </p> + <p> + Submit he would not. But if he defended himself, and made an uproar in the + king’s Court, he might very likely find himself riding Odin’s horse before + the hour was out. However, happily for him, the wine and beer had made him + stout of heart, and when one fellow laid hold of his beard, he resisted + sturdily. + </p> + <p> + The man struck him, and that hard. Hereward, hot of temper, and careless + of life, struck him again, right under the ear. + </p> + <p> + The fellow dropped for dead. + </p> + <p> + Up leapt cook-boys, scullions, <i>lécheurs</i> (who hung about the kitchen + to <i>lécher,</i> lick the platters), and all the foul-mouthed rascality + of a great mediaeval household; and attacked Hereward <i>cum fureis et + tridentibus,</i> with forks and flesh-hooks. + </p> + <p> + Then was Hereward aware of a great broach, or spit, before the fire; and + recollecting how he had used such a one as a boy against the monks of + Peterborough, was minded to use it against the cooks of Brandon; which he + did so heartily, that in a few moments he had killed one, and driven the + others backward in a heap. + </p> + <p> + But his case was hopeless. He was soon overpowered by numbers from + outside, and dragged into the hall, to receive judgment for the mortal + crime of slaying a man within the precincts of the Court. + </p> + <p> + He kept up heart. He knew that the king was there; he knew that he should + most likely get justice from the king. If not, he could but discover + himself, and so save his life: for that the king would kill him knowingly, + he did not believe. + </p> + <p> + So he went in boldly and willingly, and up the hall, where, on the dais, + stood William the Norman. + </p> + <p> + William had finished his luncheon, and was standing at the board side. A + page held water in a silver basin, in which he was washing his hands. Two + more knelt, and laced his long boots, for he was, as always, going + a-hunting. + </p> + <p> + Then Hereward looked at the face of the great man, and felt at once that + it was the face of the greatest man whom he had ever met. + </p> + <p> + “I am not that man’s match,” said he to himself. “Perhaps it will all end + in being his man, and he my master.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence, knaves!” said William, “and speak one of you at a time. How came + this?” + </p> + <p> + “A likely story, forsooth!” said he, when he had heard. “A poor English + potter comes into my court, and murders my men under my very eyes for mere + sport. I do not believe you, rascals! You, churl,” and he spoke through an + English interpreter, “tell me your tale, and justice you shall have or + take, as you deserve. I am the King of England, man, and I know your + tongue, though I speak it not yet, more pity.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward fell on his knees. + </p> + <p> + “If you are indeed my Lord the King, then I am safe; for there is justice + in you, at least so all men say.” And he told his tale, manfully. + </p> + <p> + “Splendeur Dex! but this is a far likelier story, and I believe it. Hark + you, you ruffians! Here am I, trying to conciliate these English by + justice and mercy whenever they will let me, and here are you outraging + them, and driving them mad and desperate, just that you may get a handle + against them, and thus rob the poor wretches and drive them into the + forest. From the lowest to the highest,—from Ivo Taillebois there + down to you cook-boys,—you are all at the same game. And I will stop + it! The next time I hear of outrage to unarmed man or harmless woman, I + will hang that culprit, were he Odo my brother himself.” + </p> + <p> + This excellent speech was enforced with oaths so strange and terrible, + that Ivo Taillebois shook in his boots; and the chaplain prayed fervently + that the roof might not fall in on their heads. + </p> + <p> + “Thou smilest, man?” said William, quickly, to the kneeling Hereward. “So + thou understandest French?” + </p> + <p> + “A few words only, most gracious King, which we potters pick up, wandering + everywhere with our wares,” said Hereward, speaking in French; for so keen + was William’s eye, that he thought it safer to play no tricks with him. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, he made his French so execrable, that the very scullions + grinned, in spite of their fear. + </p> + <p> + “Look you,” said William, “you are no common churl; you have fought too + well for that. Let me see your arm.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward drew up his sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Potters do not carry sword-scars like those; neither are they tattooed + like English thanes. Hold up thy head, man, and let us see thy throat.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward, who had carefully hung down his head to prevent his + throat-patterns being seen, was forced to lift it up. + </p> + <p> + “Aha! So I expected. More fair ladies’ work there. Is not this he who was + said to be so like Hereward? Very good. Put him in ward till I come back + from hunting. But do him no harm. For”—and William fixed on Hereward + eyes of the most intense intelligence—“were he Hereward himself, I + should be right glad to see Hereward safe and sound; my man at last, and + earl of all between Humber and the Fens.” + </p> + <p> + But Hereward did not rise at the bait. With a face of stupid and ludicrous + terror, he made reply in broken French. + </p> + <p> + “Have mercy, mercy, Lord King! Make not that fiend earl over us. Even Ivo + Taillebois there would be better than he. Send him to be earl over the + imps in hell, or over the wild Welsh who are worse still: but not over us, + good Lord King, whom he hath polled and peeled till we are—” + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” said William, laughing, as did all round him, “Thou art a + cunning rogue enough, whoever thou art. Go into limbo, and behave thyself + till I come back.” + </p> + <p> + “All saints send your grace good sport, and thereby me a good + deliverance,” quoth Hereward, who knew that his fate might depend on the + temper in which William returned. So he was thrust into an outhouse, and + there locked up. + </p> + <p> + He sat on an empty barrel, meditating on the chances of his submitting to + the king after all, when the door opened, and in strode one with a drawn + sword in one hand, and a pair of leg-shackles in the other. + </p> + <p> + “Hold out thy shins, fellow! Thou art not going to sit at thine ease there + like an abbot, after killing one of us grooms, and bringing the rest of us + into disgrace. Hold out thy legs, I say!” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing easier,” quoth Hereward, cheerfully, and held out a leg. But when + the man stooped to put on the fetters, he received a kick which sent him + staggering. + </p> + <p> + After which he recollected very little, at least in this world. For + Hereward cut off his head with his own sword. + </p> + <p> + After which (says the chronicler) he broke away out of the house, and over + garden walls and palings, hiding and running, till he got to the front + gate, and leaped upon mare Swallow. + </p> + <p> + And none saw him, save one unlucky groom-boy, who stood yelling and + cursing in front of the mare’s head, and went to seize the bridle. + </p> + <p> + Whereon, between the imminent danger and the bad language, Hereward’s + blood rose, and he smote that unlucky groom-boy; but whether he slew him + or not, the chronicler had rather not say. + </p> + <p> + Then he shook up mare Swallow, and rode for his life, with knights and + squires (for the hue and cry was raised) galloping at her heels. + </p> + <p> + Who then were astonished but those knights, as they saw the ugly potter’s + garron gaining on them length after length, till she and her rider had + left them far behind? + </p> + <p> + Who then was proud but Hereward, as the mare tucked her great thighs under + her, and swept on over heath and rabbit burrow, over rush and fen, sound + ground and rotten all alike to that enormous stride, to that keen bright + eye which foresaw every footfall, to that raking shoulder which picked her + up again at every stagger? + </p> + <p> + Hereward laid the bridle on her neck, and let her go. Fall she could not, + and tire she could not; and he half wished she might go on forever. Where + could a man be better than on a good horse, with all the cares of this + life blown away out of his brains by the keen air which rushed around his + temples? And he galloped on, as cheery as a boy, shouting at the rabbits + as they scuttled from under his feet, and laughing at the dottrel as they + postured and anticked on the mole-hills. + </p> + <p> + But think he must, at last, of how to get home. For to go through + Mildenhall again would not be safe, and he turned over the moors to + Icklingham; and where he went after, no man can tell. + </p> + <p> + Certainly not the chronicler; for he tells how Hereward got back by the + Isle of Somersham. Which is all but impossible, for Somersham is in + Huntingdonshire, many a mile on the opposite side of Ely Isle. + </p> + <p> + And of all those knights that followed him, none ever saw or heard sign of + him save one; and his horse came to a standstill in “the aforesaid wood,” + which the chronicler says was Somersham; and he rolled off his horse, and + lay breathless under a tree, looking up at his horse’s heaving flanks and + wagging tail, and wondering how he should get out of that place before the + English found him and made an end of him. + </p> + <p> + Then there came up to him a ragged churl, and asked him who he was, and + offered to help him. + </p> + <p> + “For the sake of God and courtesy,” quoth he,—his Norman pride being + wellnigh beat out of him,—“if thou hast seen or heard anything of + Hereward, good fellow, tell me, and I will repay thee well.” + </p> + <p> + “As thou hast asked me for the sake of God and of courtesy, Sir Knight, I + will tell thee. I am Hereward. And in token thereof, thou shalt give me up + thy lance and sword, and take instead this sword which I carried off from + the king’s court; and promise me, on the faith of a knight, to bear it + back to King William; and tell him that Hereward and he have met at last, + and that he had best beware of the day when they shall meet again.” + </p> + <p> + So that knight, not having recovered his wind, was fain to submit, and go + home a sadder and a wiser man. And King William laughed a royal laugh, and + commanded his knights that they should in no wise harm Hereward, but take + him alive, and bring him in, and they should have great rewards. + </p> + <p> + Which seemed to them more easily said than done. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI. — HOW THEY FOUGHT AGAIN AT ALDRETH. + </h2> + <p> + Hereward came back in fear and trembling, after all. He believed in the + magic powers of the witch of Brandon; and he asked Torfrida, in his + simplicity, whether she was not cunning enough to defeat her spells by + counter spells. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida smiled, and shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “My knight, I have long since given up such vanities. Let us not fight + evil with evil, but rather with good. Better are prayers than charms; for + the former are heard in heaven above, and the latter only in the pit + below. Let me and all the women of Ely go rather in procession to St. + Etheldreda’s well, there above the fort at Aldreth, and pray St. + Etheldreda to be with us when the day shall come, and defend her own isle + and the honor of us women who have taken refuge in her holy arms.” + </p> + <p> + So all the women of Ely walked out barefoot to St. Etheldreda’s well, with + Torfrida at their head clothed in sackcloth, and with fetters on her + wrists and waist and ankles; which she vowed, after the strange, sudden, + earnest fashion of those times, never to take off again till she saw the + French host flee from Aldreth before the face of St. Etheldreda. So they + prayed, while Hereward and his men worked at the forts below. And when + they came back, and Torfrida was washing her feet, sore and bleeding from + her pilgrimage, Hereward came in. + </p> + <p> + “You have murdered your poor soft feet, and taken nothing thereby, I + fear.” + </p> + <p> + “I have. If I had walked on sharp razors all the way, I would have done it + gladly, to know what I know now. As I prayed I looked out over the fen; + and St. Etheldreda put a thought into my heart. But it is so terrible a + one, that I fear to tell it to you. And yet it seems our only chance.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward threw himself at her feet, and prayed her to tell. At last she + spoke, as one half afraid of her own words,— + </p> + <p> + “Will the reeds burn, Hereward?” + </p> + <p> + Hereward kissed her feet again and again, calling her his prophetess, his + savior. + </p> + <p> + “Burn! yes, like tinder, in this March wind, if the drought only holds. + Pray that the drought may hold, Torfrida.” + </p> + <p> + “There, there, say no more. How hard-hearted war makes even us women! + There, help me to take off this rough sackcloth, and dress myself again.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile William had moved his army again to Cambridge, and on to + Willingham field, and there he began to throw up those “globos and + montanas,” of which Leofric’s paraphraser talks, but of which now no trace + remains. Then he began to rebuild his causeway, broader and stronger; and + commanded all the fishermen of the Ouse to bring their boats to + Cotinglade, and ferry over his materials. “Among whom came Hereward in his + boat, with head and beard shaven lest he should be known, and worked + diligently among the rest. But the sun did not set that day without + mischief; for before Hereward went off, he finished his work by setting + the whole on fire, so that it was all burnt, and some of the French killed + and drowned.” + </p> + <p> + And so he went on, with stratagems and ambushes, till “after seven days’ + continual fighting, they had hardly done one day’s work; save four + ‘globos’ of wood, in which they intended to put their artillery. But on + the eighth day they determined to attack the isle, putting in the midst of + them that pythoness woman on a high place, where she might be safe freely + to exercise her art.” + </p> + <p> + It was not Hereward alone who had entreated Torfrida to exercise her magic + art in their behalf. But she steadily refused, and made good Abbot + Thurstan support her refusal by a strict declaration, that he would have + no fiends’ games played in Ely, as long as he was abbot alive on land. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida, meanwhile, grew utterly wild. Her conscience smote her, in spite + of her belief that St. Etheldreda had inspired her, at the terrible + resource which she had hinted to her husband, and which she knew well he + would carry out with terrible success. Pictures of agony and death floated + before her eyes, and kept her awake at night. She watched long hours in + the church in prayer; she fasted; she disciplined her tender body with + sharp pains; she tried, after the fashion of those times, to atone for her + sin, if sin it was. At last she had worked herself up into a religious + frenzy. She saw St. Etheldreda in the clouds, towering over the isle, + menacing the French host with her virgin palm-branch. She uttered wild + prophecies of ruin and defeat to the French; and then, when her frenzy + collapsed, moaned secretly of ruin and defeat hereafter to themselves. But + she would be bold; she would play her part; she would encourage the heroes + who looked to her as one inspired, wiser and loftier than themselves. + </p> + <p> + And so it befell, that when the men marched down to Haddenham that + afternoon, Torfrida rode at their head on a white charger, robed from + throat to ankle in sackcloth, her fetters clanking on her limbs. But she + called on the English to see in her the emblem of England, captive yet, + unconquered, and to break her fetters and the worse fetters of every woman + in England who was the toy and slave of the brutal invaders; and so fierce + a triumph sparkled from her wild hawk-eyes that the Englishmen looked up + to her weird beauty as to that of an inspired saint; and when the Normans + came on to the assault there stood on a grassy mound behind the English + fort a figure clothed in sackcloth, barefooted and bareheaded, with + fetters shining on waist, and wrist, and ankle,—her long black locks + streaming in the wind, her long white arms stretched crosswise toward + heaven, in imitation of Moses of old above the battle with Amalek; + invoking St. Etheldreda and all the powers of Heaven, and chanting doom + and defiance to the invaders. + </p> + <p> + And the English looked on her, and cried: “She is a prophetess! We will + surely do some great deed this day, or die around her feet like heroes!” + </p> + <p> + And opposite to her, upon the Norman tower, the old hag of Brandon howled + and gibbered with filthy gestures, calling for the thunder-storm which did + not come; for all above, the sky was cloudless blue. + </p> + <p> + And the English saw and felt, though they could not speak it, dumb nation + as they were, the contrast between the spirit of cruelty and darkness and + the spirit of freedom and light. + </p> + <p> + So strong was the new bridge, that William trusted himself upon it on + horseback, with Ivo Taillebois at his side. + </p> + <p> + William doubted the powers of the witch, and felt rather ashamed of his + new helpmate; but he was confident in his bridge, and in the heavy + artillery which he had placed in his four towers. + </p> + <p> + Ivo Taillebois was utterly confident in his witch, and in the bridge + likewise. + </p> + <p> + William waited for the rising of the tide; and when the tide was near its + height, he commanded the artillery to open, and clear the fort opposite of + the English. Then with crash and twang, the balistas and catapults went + off, and great stones and heavy lances hurtled through the air. + </p> + <p> + “Back!” shouted Torfrida, raised almost to madness, by fasting, + self-torture, and religious frenzy. “Out of yon fort, every man. Why waste + your lives under that artillery? Stand still this day, and see how the + saints of Heaven shall fight for you.” + </p> + <p> + So utter was the reverence which she commanded for the moment, that every + man drew back, and crowded round her feet outside the fort. + </p> + <p> + “The cowards are fleeing already. Let your men go, Sir King!” shouted + Taillebois. + </p> + <p> + “On to the assault! Strike for Normandy!” shouted William. + </p> + <p> + “I fear much,” said he to himself, “that this is some stratagem of that + Hereward’s. But conquered they must be.” + </p> + <p> + The evening breeze curled up the reach. The great pike splashed out from + the weedy shores, and sent the white-fish flying in shoals into the low + glare of the setting sun; and heeded not, stupid things, the barges packed + with mailed men, which swarmed in the reeds on either side the bridge, and + began to push out into the river. + </p> + <p> + The starlings swung in thousands round the reed-ronds, looking to settle + in their wonted place: but dare not; and rose and swung round again, + telling each other, in their manifold pipings, how all the reed-ronds + teemed with mailed men. And all above, the sky was cloudless blue. + </p> + <p> + And then came a trample, a roll of many feet on the soft spongy peat, a + low murmur which rose into wild shouts of “Dex Aie!” as a human tide + poured along the causeway, and past the witch of Brandon Heath. + </p> + <p> + “‘Dex Aie?’” quoth William, with a sneer. “‘Debbles Aie!’ would fit + better.” + </p> + <p> + “If, Sire, the powers above would have helped us, we should have been + happy enough to——But if they would not, it is not our fault if + we try below,” said Ivo Taillebois. + </p> + <p> + William laughed. “It is well to have two strings to one’s bow, sir. + Forward, men! forward!” shouted he, riding out to the bridge-end, under + the tower. + </p> + <p> + “Forward!” shouted Ivo Taillebois. + </p> + <p> + “Forward!” shouted the hideous hag overhead. “The spirit of the well + fights for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Fight for yourselves,” said William. + </p> + <p> + There was twenty yards of deep clear water between Frenchman and + Englishman. Only twenty yards. Not only the arrows and arblast quarrels, + but heavy hand-javelins, flew across every moment; every now and then a + man toppled forward, and plunged into the blue depth among the eels and + pike, to find his comrades of the summer before; then the stream was still + once more. The coots and water-hens swam in and out of the reeds, and + wondered what it was all about. The water-lilies flapped upon the ripple, + as lonely as in the loneliest mere. But their floats were soon broken, + their white cups stained with human gore. Twenty yards of deep clear + water. And treasure inestimable to win by crossing it. + </p> + <p> + They thrust out baulks, canoes, pontoons; they crawled upon them like + ants, and thrust out more yet beyond, heedless of their comrades, who + slipped, and splashed, and sank, holding out vain hands to hands too busy + to seize them. And always the old witch jabbered overhead, with her + cantrips, pointing, mumming, praying for the storm; while all above, the + sky was cloudless blue. + </p> + <p> + And always on the mound opposite, while darts and quarrels whistled round + her head, stood Torfrida, pointing with outstretched scornful finger at + the stragglers in the river, and chanting loudly, what the Frenchmen could + not tell; but it made their hearts, as it was meant to do, melt like wax + within them. + </p> + <p> + “They have a counter witch to yours, Ivo, it seems; and a fairer one. I am + afraid the devils, especially if Asmodeus be at hand, are more likely to + listen to her than to that old broomstick-rider aloft.” + </p> + <p> + “Fair is, that fair cause has, Sir King.” + </p> + <p> + “A good argument for honest men, but none for fiends. What is the fair + fiend pointing at so earnestly there?” + </p> + <p> + “Somewhat among the reeds. Hark to her now! She is singing, somewhat more + like an angel than a fiend, I will say for her.” + </p> + <p> + And Torfrida’s bold song, coming clear and sweet across the water, rose + louder and shriller till it almost drowned the jabbering of the witch. + </p> + <p> + “She sees more there than we do.” + </p> + <p> + “I see it!” cried William, smiting his hand upon his thigh. “Par le + splendeur Dex! She has been showing them where to fire the reeds; and they + have done it!” + </p> + <p> + A puff of smoke; a wisp of flame; and then another and another; and a + canoe shot out from the reeds on the French shore, and glided into the + reeds of the island. + </p> + <p> + “The reeds are on fire, men! Have a care,” shouted Ivo. + </p> + <p> + “Silence, fool! Frighten them once, and they will leap like sheep into + that gulf. Men! right about! Draw off,—slowly and in order. We will + attack again to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + The cool voice of the great captain arose too late. A line of flame was + leaping above the reed bed, crackling and howling before the evening + breeze. The column on the causeway had seen their danger but too soon, and + fled. But whither? + </p> + <p> + A shower of arrows, quarrels, javelins, fell upon the head of the column + as it tried to face about and retreat, confusing it more and more. One + arrow, shot by no common aim, went clean through William’s shield, and + pinned it to the mailed flesh. He could not stifle a cry of pain. + </p> + <p> + “You are wounded, Sire. Ride for your life! It is worth that of a thousand + of these churls,” and Ivo seized William’s bridle and dragged him, in + spite of himself, through the cowering, shrieking, struggling crowd. + </p> + <p> + On came the flames, leaping and crackling, laughing and shrieking, like a + live fiend. The archers and slingers In the boats cowered before it; and + fell, scorched corpses, as it swept on. It reached the causeway, surged + up, recoiled from the mass of human beings, then sprang over their heads + and passed onwards, girding them with flame. + </p> + <p> + The reeds were burning around them; the timbers of the bridge caught fire; + the peat and fagots smouldered beneath their feet. They sprang from the + burning footway and plunged into the fathomless bog, covering their faces + and eyes with scorched hands, and then sank in the black gurgling slime. + </p> + <p> + Ivo dragged William on, regardless of curses and prayers from his + soldiery; and they reached the shore just in time to see between them and + the water a long black smouldering writhing line; the morass to right and + left, which had been a minute before deep reed, an open smutty pool, + dotted with boatsful of shrieking and cursing men; and at the causeway-end + the tower, with the flame climbing up its posts, and the witch of Brandon + throwing herself desperately from the top, and falling dead upon the + embers, a motionless heap of rags. + </p> + <p> + “Fool that you are! Fool that I was!” cried the great king, as he rolled + off his horse at his tent door, cursing with rage and pain. + </p> + <p> + Ivo Taillebois sneaked off, sent over to Mildenhall for the second witch, + and hanged her, as some small comfort to his soul. Neither did he forget + to search the cabin till he found buried in a crock the bits of his own + gold chain and various other treasures, for which the wretched old women + had bartered their souls. All which he confiscated to his own use, as a + much injured man. + </p> + <p> + The next day William withdrew his army. The men refused to face again that + blood-stained pass. The English spells, they said, were stronger than + theirs, or than the daring of brave men. Let William take Torfrida and + burn her, as she had burned them, with reeds out of Willingham fen; then + might they try to storm Ely again. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida saw them turn, flee, die in agony. Her work was done; her passion + exhausted; her self-torture, and the mere weight of her fetters, which she + had sustained during her passion, weighed her down; she dropped senseless + on the turf, and lay in a trance for many hours. + </p> + <p> + Then she arose, and casting off her fetters and her sackcloth, was herself + again: but a sadder woman till her dying day. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII. — HOW KING WILLIAM TOOK COUNSEL OF A CHURCHMAN. + </h2> + <p> + If Torfrida was exhausted, so was Hereward likewise. He knew well that a + repulse was not a defeat. He knew well the indomitable persistence, the + boundless resources, of the mastermind whom he defied; and he knew well + that another attempt would be made, and then another, till—though it + took seven years in the doing—Ely would be won at last. To hold out + doggedly as long as he could was his plan: to obtain the best terms he + could for his comrades. And he might obtain good terms at last. William + might be glad to pay a fair price in order to escape such a thorn in his + side as the camp of refuge, and might deal—or, at least, promise to + deal—mercifully and generously with the last remnant of the English + gentry. For himself yield he would not: when all was over, he would flee + to the sea, with Torfrida and his own housecarles, and turn Viking; or go + to Sweyn Ulfsson in Denmark, and die a free man. + </p> + <p> + The English did not foresee these things. Their hearts were lifted up with + their victory, and they laughed at William and his French, and drank + Torfrida’s health much too often for their own good. Hereward did not care + to undeceive them. But he could not help speaking his mind in the abbot’s + chamber to Thurstan, Egelwin, and his nephews, and to Sigtryg Ranaldsson, + who was still in Ely, not only because he had promised to stay there, but + because he could not get out if he would. + </p> + <p> + Blockaded they were utterly, by land and water. The isle furnished a fair + supply of food; and what was wanting, they obtained by foraging. But they + had laid the land waste for so many miles round, that their plundering + raids brought them in less than of old; and if they went far, they fell in + with the French, and lost good men, even though they were generally + successful. So provisions were running somewhat short, and would run + shorter still. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, there was a great cause of anxiety. Bishop Egelwin, Abbot + Thurstan, and the monks of Ely were in rebellion, not only against King + William, but more or less against the Pope of Rome. They might be + excommunicated. The minster lands might be taken away. + </p> + <p> + Bishop Egelwin set his face like a flint. He expected no mercy. All he had + ever done for the French was to warn Robert Comyn that if he stayed in + Durham, evil would befall him. But that was as little worth to him as it + was to the said Robert. And no mercy he craved. The less a man had, the + more fit he was for Heaven. He could but die; and that he had known ever + since he was a chanter-boy. Whether he died in Ely, or in prison, mattered + little to him, provided they did not refuse him the sacraments; and that + they would hardly do. But call the Duke of Normandy his rightful sovereign + he would not, because he was not,—nor anybody else just now, as far + as he could see. + </p> + <p> + Valiant likewise was Abbot Thurstan, for himself. But he had—unlike + Bishop Egelwin, whose diocese had been given to a Frenchman—an + abbey, monks, and broad lands, whereof he was father and steward. And he + must do what was best for the abbey, and also what the monks would let him + do. For severe as was the discipline of a minster in time of peace, yet in + time of war, when life and death were in question, monks had ere now + turned valiant from very fear, like Cato’s mouse, and mutinied: and so + might the monks of Ely. + </p> + <p> + And Edwin and Morcar? + </p> + <p> + No man knows what they said or thought; perhaps no man cared much, even in + their own days. No hint does any chronicler give of what manner of men + they were, or what manner of deeds they did. Fair, gentle, noble, beloved + even by William, they are mere names, and nothing more, in history: and it + is to be supposed, therefore, that they were nothing more in fact. The + race of Leofric and Godiva had worn itself out. + </p> + <p> + One night the confederates had sat late, talking over the future more + earnestly than usual. Edwin, usually sad enough, was especially sad that + night. + </p> + <p> + Hereward jested with him, tried to cheer him; but he was silent, would not + drink, and went away before the rest. + </p> + <p> + The next morning he was gone, and with him half a dozen of his private + housecarles. + </p> + <p> + Hereward was terrified. If defections once began, they would be endless. + The camp would fall to pieces, and every man among them would be hanged, + mutilated, or imprisoned, one by one, helplessly. They must stand or fall + together. + </p> + <p> + He went raging to Morcar. Morcar knew naught of it. On the faith and honor + of a knight, he knew naught. Only his brother had said to him a day or two + before, that he must see his betrothed before he died. + </p> + <p> + “He is gone to William, then? Does he think to win her now,—an + outcast and a beggar,—when he was refused her with broad lands and a + thousand men at his back? Fool! See that thou play not the fool likewise, + nephew, or—” + </p> + <p> + “Or what?” said Morcar, defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “Or thou wilt go, whither Edwin is gone,—to betrayal and ruin.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so? He has been kind enough to Waltheof and Gospatrick, why not to + Edwin?” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” laughed Hereward, “he wanted Waltheof, and he does not want you + and Edwin. He can keep Mercia quiet without your help. Northumbria and the + Fens he cannot without Waltheof’s. They are a rougher set as you go east + and north, as you should know already, and must have one of themselves + over them to keep them in good humor for a while. When he has used + Waltheof as his stalking-horse long enough to build a castle every ten + miles, he will throw him away like a worn bowstring, Earl Morcar, nephew + mine.” + </p> + <p> + Morcar shook his head. + </p> + <p> + In a week more he was gone likewise. He came to William at Brandon. + </p> + <p> + “You are come in at last, young earl?” said William, sternly. “You are + come too late.” + </p> + <p> + “I throw myself on your knightly faith,” said Morcar. But he had come in + an angry and unlucky hour. + </p> + <p> + “How well have you kept your own, twice a rebel, that you should appeal to + mine? Take him away.” + </p> + <p> + “And hang him?” asked Ivo Taillebois. + </p> + <p> + “Pish! No,—thou old butcher. Put him in irons, and send him into + Normandy.” + </p> + <p> + “Send him to Roger de Beaumont, Sire. Roger’s son is safe in Morcar’s + castle at Warwick, so it is but fair that Morcar should be safe in + Roger’s.”. + </p> + <p> + And to Roger de Beaumont he was sent, while young Roger was Lord of + Warwick, and all around that once was Leofric and Godiva’s. + </p> + <p> + Morcar lay in a Norman keep till the day of William’s death. On his + death-bed the tyrant’s heart smote him, and he sent orders to release him. + For a few short days, or hours, he breathed free air again. Then Rufus + shut him up once more, and forever. + </p> + <p> + And that was the end of Earl Morcar. + </p> + <p> + A few weeks after, three men came to the camp at Brandon, and they brought + a head to the king. And when William looked upon it, it was the head of + Edwin. + </p> + <p> + The human heart must have burst up again in the tyrant, as he looked on + the fair face of him he had so loved, and so wronged; for they say he + wept. + </p> + <p> + The knights and earls stood round, amazed and awed, as they saw iron tears + ran down Pluto’s cheek. + </p> + <p> + “How came this here, knaves?” thundered he at last. + </p> + <p> + They told a rambling story, how Edwin always would needs go to Winchester, + to see the queen, for she would stand his friend, and do him right. And + how they could not get to Winchester, for fear of the French, and wandered + in woods and wolds; and how they were set upon, and hunted; and how Edwin + still was mad to go to Winchester: but when he could not, he would go to + Blethwallon and his Welsh; and how Earl Randal of Chester set upon them; + and how they got between a stream and the tide-way of the Dee, and were + cut off. And how Edwin would not yield. And how then they slew him in + self-defence, and Randal let them bring the head to the king. + </p> + <p> + This, or something like it, was their story. But who could believe + traitors? Where Edwin wandered, what he did during those months, no man + knows. All that is known is, three men brought his head to William, and + told some such tale. And so the old nobility of England died up and down + the ruts and shaughs, like wounded birds; and, as of wounded birds, none + knew or cared how far they had run, or how their broken bones had ached + before they died. + </p> + <p> + “Out of their own mouths they are condemned, says Holy Writ,” thundered + William. “Hang them on high.” + </p> + <p> + And hanged on high they were, on Brandon heath. + </p> + <p> + Then the king turned on his courtiers, glad to ease his own conscience by + cursing them. + </p> + <p> + “This is your doing, sirs! If I had not listened to your base counsels, + Edwin might have been now my faithful liegeman and my son-in-law; and I + had had one more Englishman left in peace, and one less sin upon my soul.” + </p> + <p> + “And one less thorn in thy side,” quoth Ivo Taillebois. + </p> + <p> + “Who spoke to thee? Ralph Guader, thou gavest me the counsel: thou wilt + answer it to God and his saints.” + </p> + <p> + “That did I not. It was Earl Roger, because he wanted the man’s Shropshire + lands.” + </p> + <p> + Whereon high words ensued; and the king gave the earl the lie in his + teeth, which the earl did not forget. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said the rough, shrewd voice of Ivo, “that instead of crying + over spilt milk,—for milk the lad was, and never would have grown to + good beef, had he lived to my age—” + </p> + <p> + “Who spoke to thee?” + </p> + <p> + “No man, and for that reason I spoke myself. I have lands in Spalding, by + your Majesty’s grace, and wish to enjoy them in peace, having worked for + them hard enough—and how can I do that, as long as Hereward sits in + Ely?” + </p> + <p> + “Splendeur Dex!” said William, “them art right, old butcher.” + </p> + <p> + So they laid their heads together to slay Hereward. And after they had + talked awhile, then spoke William’s chaplain for the nonce, an Italian, a + friend and pupil of Lanfranc of Pavia, an Italian also, then Archbishop of + Canterbury, scourging and imprisoning English monks in the south. And he + spoke like an Italian of those times, who knew the ways of Rome. + </p> + <p> + “If his Majesty will allow my humility to suggest—” + </p> + <p> + “What? Thy humility is proud enough under the rose, I will warrant: but it + has a Roman wit under the rose likewise. Speak!” + </p> + <p> + “That when the secular and carnal arm has failed, as it is written + [Footnote: I do not laugh at Holy Scripture myself. I only insert this as + a specimen of the usual mediaeval “cant,”—a name and a practice + which are both derived, not from Puritans, but from monks.]—He + poureth contempt upon princes, and letteth them wander out of the way in + the wilderness—or fens; for the Latin word, and I doubt not the + Hebrew, has both meanings.” + </p> + <p> + “Splendeur Dex!” cried William, bitterly; “that hath he done with a + vengeance! Thou art right so far, Clerk!” + </p> + <p> + “Yet helpeth He the poor, videlicet, His Church and the religious, who are + vowed to holy poverty, out of misery, videlicet, the oppression of + barbarous customs, and maketh them households like a flock of sheep.” + </p> + <p> + “They do that for themselves already, here in England,” said William, with + a sneer at the fancied morals of the English monks and clergy. [Footnote: + The alleged profligacy and sensuality of the English Church before the + Conquest rests merely on a few violent and vague expressions of the Norman + monks who displaced them. No facts, as far as I can find, have ever been + alleged. And without facts on the other side, an impartial man will hold + by the one fact which is certain, that the Church of England, popish as it + was, was, unfortunately for it, not popish enough; and from its insular + freedom, obnoxious to the Church of Rome, and the ultramontane clergy of + Normandy; and was therefore to be believed capable—and therefore + again accused—of any and every crime.] + </p> + <p> + “But Heaven, and not the Church, does it for the true poor, whom your + Majesty is bringing in, to your endless glory.” + </p> + <p> + “But what has all this to do with taking Ely?” asked William, impatiently. + “I asked thee for reason, and not sermons.” + </p> + <p> + “This. That it is in the power of the Holy Father,—and that power he + would doubtless allow you, as his dear son and most faithful servant, to + employ for yourself, without sending to Rome, which might cause painful + delays—to—” + </p> + <p> + It might seem strange that William, Taillebois, Guader, Warrenne, + short-spoken, hard-headed, hard-swearing warriors, could allow, + complacently, a smooth churchman to dawdle on like this, counting his + periods on his fingers, and seemingly never coming to the point. + </p> + <p> + But they knew well, that the churchman was a far cunninger, as well as a + more learned, man than themselves. They knew well that they could not + hurry him, and that they need not; that he would make his point at last, + hunting it out step by step, and letting them see how he got thither, like + a cunning hound. They knew that if he spoke, he had thought long and + craftily, till he had made up his mind; and that, therefore, he would very + probably make up their minds likewise. It was—as usual in that age—the + conquest, not of a heavenly spirit, though it boasted itself such, but of + a cultivated mind over brute flesh. + </p> + <p> + They might have said all this aloud, and yet the churchman would have gone + on, as he did, where he left off, with unaltered blandness of tone. + </p> + <p> + “To convert to other uses the goods of the Church,—to convert them + to profane uses would, I need not say, be a sacrilege as horrible to + Heaven as impossible to so pious a monarch—” + </p> + <p> + Ivo Taillebois winced. He had just stolen a manor from the monks of + Crowland, and meant to keep it. + </p> + <p> + “Church lands belonging to abbeys or sees, whose abbots or bishops are + contumaciously disobedient to the Holy See, or to their lawful monarch, he + being in the communion of the Church and at peace with the said Holy See. + If, therefore,—to come to that point at which my incapacity, through + the devious windings of my own simplicity, has been tending, but with + halting steps, from the moment that your Majesty deigned to hear—” + </p> + <p> + “Put in the spur, man!” said Ivo, tired at last, “and run the deer to + soil.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurry no man’s cattle, especially thine own,” answered the churchman, + with so shrewd a wink, and so cheery a voice, that Ivo, when he recovered + from his surprise, cried,— + </p> + <p> + “Why, thou art a good huntsman thyself, I believe now.” + </p> + <p> + “All things to all men, if by any means—But to return. If your + Majesty should think fit to proclaim to the recalcitrants of Ely, that + unless they submit themselves to your Royal Grace—and to that, of + course, of His Holiness, our Father—within a certain day, you will + convert to other uses—premising, to avoid scandal, that those uses + shall be for the benefit of Holy Church—all lands and manors of + theirs lying without the precincts of the Isle of Ely,—those lands + being, as is known, large, and of great value,—Quid plura? Why + burden your exalted intellect by detailing to you consequences which it + has, long ere now, foreseen.” + </p> + <p> + “——” quoth William, who was as sharp as the Italian, and had + seen it all. “I will make thee a bishop!” + </p> + <p> + “Spare to burden my weakness,” said the chaplain; and slipt away into the + shade. + </p> + <p> + “You will take his advice?” asked Ivo. + </p> + <p> + “I will.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall see that Torfrida burn at last.” + </p> + <p> + “Burn her?” and William swore. + </p> + <p> + “I promised my soldiers to burn the witch with reeds out of Haddenham fen, + as she had burned them; and I must keep my knightly word.” + </p> + <p> + William swore yet more. Ivo Taillebois was a butcher and a churl. + </p> + <p> + “Call me not butcher and churl too often, Lord King, ere thou hast found + whether thou needest me or not. Rough I may be, false was I never.” + </p> + <p> + “That thou wert not,” said William, who needed Taillebois much, and feared + him somewhat; and remarked something meaning in his voice, which made him + calm himself, diplomat as he was, instantly. “But burn Torfrida thou shalt + not.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I care not. I have seen a woman burnt ere now, and had no fancy for + the screeching. Beside, they say she is a very fair dame, and has a fair + daughter, too, coming on, and she may very well make a wife for a Norman.” + </p> + <p> + “Marry her thyself.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to kill Hereward first.” + </p> + <p> + “Then do it, and I will give thee his lands.” + </p> + <p> + “I may have to kill others before Hereward.” + </p> + <p> + “You may?” + </p> + <p> + And so the matter dropped. But William caught Ivo alone after an hour, and + asked him what he meant. + </p> + <p> + “No pay, no play. Lord King, I have served thee well, rough and smooth.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou hast, and hast been well paid. But if I have said aught hasty—” + </p> + <p> + “Pish, Majesty. I am a plain-spoken man, and like a plain-spoken master. + But, instead of marrying Torfrida or her daughter, I have more mind to her + niece, who is younger, and has no Hereward to be killed first.” + </p> + <p> + “Her niece? Who?” + </p> + <p> + “Lucia, as we call her,—Edwin and Morcar’s sister,—Hereward’s + niece, Torfrida’s niece.” + </p> + <p> + “No pay, no play, saidst thou?—so say I. What meant you by having to + kill others before Hereward?” + </p> + <p> + “Beware of Waltheof!” said Ivo. + </p> + <p> + “Waltheof? Pish! This is one of thy inventions for making me hunt every + Englishman to death, that thou mayest gnaw their bones.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it? Then this I say more. Beware of Ralph Guader!” + </p> + <p> + “Pish!” + </p> + <p> + “Pish on, Lord King.” Etiquette was not yet discovered by Norman barons + and earls, who thought themselves all but as good as their king, gave him + their advice when they thought fit, and if he did not take it, attacked + him with all their meinie. “Pish on, but listen. Beware of Roger!” + </p> + <p> + “And what more?” + </p> + <p> + “And give me Lucia. I want her. I will have her.” + </p> + <p> + William laughed. “Thou of all men! To mix that ditch-water with that + wine?” + </p> + <p> + “They were mixed in thy blood, Lord King, and thou art the better man for + it, so says the world. Old wine and old blood throw any lees to the bottom + of the cask; and we shall have a son worthy to ride behind—” + </p> + <p> + “Take care!” quoth William. + </p> + <p> + “The greatest captain upon earth.” + </p> + <p> + William laughed again, like Odin’s self. + </p> + <p> + “Thou shalt have Lucia for that word.” + </p> + <p> + “And thou shalt have the plot ere it breaks. As it will.” + </p> + <p> + “To this have I come at last,” said William to himself, as they parted. + “To murder these English nobles, to marry their daughters to my grooms. + Heaven forgive me! They have brought it upon themselves by contumacy to + Holy Church.” + </p> + <p> + “Call my secretary, some one.” + </p> + <p> + The Italian re-entered. + </p> + <p> + “The valiant and honorable and illustrious knight, Ivo Taillebois, Lord of + Holland and Kesteven, weds Lucia, sister of the late earls Edwin and + Morcar, now with the queen; and with, her, her manors. You will prepare + the papers. + </p> + <p> + “I am yours to death,” said Ivo. + </p> + <p> + “To do you justice, I think thou wert that already. Stay—here—Sir + Priest—do you know any man who knows this Torfrida?” + </p> + <p> + “I do, Majesty,” said Ivo. “There is one Sir Ascelin, a man of Gilbert’s, + in the camp.” + </p> + <p> + “Send for him.” + </p> + <p> + “This Torfrida,” said William, “haunts me.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray Heaven she have not bewitched your Majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut! I am too old a campaigner to take much harm by woman’s sharpshooting + at fifteen score yards off, beside a deep stream between. No. The woman + has courage,—and beauty, too, you say?” + </p> + <p> + “What of that, O Prince?” said the Italian. “Who more beautiful—if + report be true—than those lost women who dance nightly in the + forests with Venus and Herodias,—as it may be this Torfrida has done + many a time?” + </p> + <p> + “You priests are apt to be hard upon poor women.” + </p> + <p> + “The fox found that the grapes were sour,” said the Italian, laughing at + himself and his cloth, or at anything else by which he could curry favor. + </p> + <p> + “And this woman was no vulgar witch. That sort of personage suits + Taillebois’s taste, rather than Hereward’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Hungry dogs eat dirty pudding,” said Ivo, pertinently. + </p> + <p> + “The woman believed herself in the right. She believed that the saints of + heaven were on her side. I saw it in her attitude, in her gestures. + Perhaps she was right.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire?” said both by-standers, in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “I would fain see that woman, and see her husband too. They are folks + after my own heart. I would give them an earldom to win them.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope that in that day you will allow your faithful servant Ivo to + retire to his ancestral manors in Anjou; for England will be too hot for + him. Sire, you know not this man,—a liar, a bully, a robber, a + swash-buckling ruffian, who—” and Ivo ran on with furious invective, + after the fashion of the Normans, who considered no name too bad for an + English rebel. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Ascelin,” said William, as Ascelin came in, “you know Hereward?” + </p> + <p> + Ascelin bowed assent. + </p> + <p> + “Are these things true which Ivo alleges?” + </p> + <p> + “The Lord Taillebois may know best what manner of man he is since he came + into this English air, which changes some folks mightily,” with a hardly + disguised sneer at Ivo; “but in Flanders he was a very perfect knight, + beloved and honored of all men, and especially of your father-in-law, the + great marquis.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a friend of yours, then?” + </p> + <p> + “No man less. I owe him more than one grudge, though all in fair quarrel; + and one, at least, which can only be wiped out in blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! What?” + </p> + <p> + Ascelin hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, sir!” thundered William, “unless you have aught to be ashamed + of.” + </p> + <p> + “It is no shame, as far as I know, to confess that I was once a suitor, as + were all knights for miles round, for the hand of the once peerless + Torfrida. And no shame to confess, that when Hereward knew thereof, he + sought me out at a tournament, and served me as he has served many a + better man before and since” + </p> + <p> + “Over thy horse’s croup, eh?” said William. + </p> + <p> + “I am not a bad horseman, as all know, Lord King. But Heaven save me, and + all I love, from that Hereward. They say he has seven men’s strength; and + I verily can testify to the truth thereof.” + </p> + <p> + “That may be by enchantment,” interposed the Italian. + </p> + <p> + “True, Sir Priest. This I know, that he wears enchanted armor, which + Torfrida gave him before she married him.” + </p> + <p> + “Enchantments again,” said the secretary. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me now about Torfrida,” said William. + </p> + <p> + Ascelin told him all about her, not forgetting to say—what, + according to the chronicler, was a common report—that she had + compassed Hereward’s love by magic arts. She used to practise sorcery, he + said, with her sorceress mistress, Richilda of Hainault. All men knew it. + Arnoul, Richilda’s son, was as a brother to her. And after old Baldwin + died, and Baldwin of Mons and Richilda came to Bruges, Torfrida was always + with her while Hereward was at the wars. + </p> + <p> + “The woman is a manifest and notorious witch,” said the secretary. + </p> + <p> + “It seems so indeed,” said William, with something like a sigh. And so + were Torfrida’s early follies visited on her; as all early follies are. + “But Hereward, you say, is a good knight and true?” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless. Even when he committed that great crime at Peterborough—” + </p> + <p> + “For which he and all his are duly excommunicated by the Bishop,” said the + secretary. + </p> + <p> + “He did a very courteous and honorable thing.” And Ascelin told how he had + saved Alftruda, and instead of putting her to ransom, had sent her safe to + Gilbert. + </p> + <p> + “A very knightly deed. He should be rewarded for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not burn the witch, and reward him with Alftruda instead, since your + Majesty is in so gracious a humor?” said Ivo. + </p> + <p> + “Alftruda! Who is she? Ay, I recollect her. Young Dolfin’s wife. Why, she + has a husband already.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, but his Holiness at Rome can set that right. What is there that he + cannot do?” + </p> + <p> + “There are limits, I fear, even to his power. Eh, priest?” + </p> + <p> + “What his Holiness’s powers as the viceroy of Divinity on earth might be, + did he so choose, it were irreverent to inquire. But as he condescends to + use that power only for the good of mankind, he condescends, like + Divinity, to be bound by the very laws which he has promulgated for the + benefit of his subjects; and to make himself only a life-giving sun, when + he might be a destructive thunderbolt.” + </p> + <p> + “He is very kind, and we all owe him thanks,” said Ivo, who had a confused + notion that the Pope might strike him dead with lightning, but was + good-natured enough not to do so. “Still, he might think of this plan; for + they say that the lady is an old friend of Hereward’s, and not over fond + of her Scotch husband.” + </p> + <p> + “That I know well,” said William. + </p> + <p> + “And beside—if aught untoward should happen to Dolfin and his kin—” + </p> + <p> + “She might, with her broad lands, be a fine bait for Hereward. I see. Now, + do this, by my command. Send a trusty monk into Ely. Let him tell the + monks that we have determined to seize all their outlying lands, unless + they surrender within the week. And let him tell Hereward, by the faith + and oath of William of Normandy, that if he will surrender himself to my + grace, he shall have his lands in Bourne, and a free pardon for himself + and all his comrades.” + </p> + <p> + The men assented, much against their will, and went out on their errand. + </p> + <p> + “You have played me a scurvy trick, sir,” said Ascelin, “in advising the + king to give the Lady Alftruda to Hereward.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Did you want her yourself? On my honor I knew not of it. But have + patience. You shall have her yet, and all her lands, if you will hear my + counsel, and keep it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you would give her to Hereward!” + </p> + <p> + “And to you too. It is a poor bait, say these frogs of fenmen, that will + not take two pike running. Listen to me. I must kill this Hereward. I hate + him. I cannot eat my meat for thinking of him. Kill him I must.” + </p> + <p> + “And so must I.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we are both agreed. Let us work together, and never mind if one’s + blood be old and the other’s new. I am neither fool nor weakly, as thou + knowest.” + </p> + <p> + Ascelin could not but assent. + </p> + <p> + “Then here. We must send the King’s message. But we must add to it.” + </p> + <p> + “That is dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “So is war; so is eating, drinking; so is everything. But we must not let + Hereward come in. We must drive him to despair. Make the messenger add but + one word,—that the king exempts from the amnesty Torfrida, on + account of——You can put it into more scholarly shape than I + can.” + </p> + <p> + “On account of her abominable and notorious sorceries; and demands that + she shall be given up forthwith to the ecclesiastical power, to be judged + as she deserves.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so. And then for a load of reeds out of Haddenham fen.” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid!” said Ascelin, who had loved her once. “Would not + perpetual imprisonment suffice?” + </p> + <p> + “What care I? That is the churchmen’s affair, not ours. But I fear we + shall not get her. Even so Hereward will flee with her,—maybe escape + to Flanders, or Denmark. He can escape through a rat’s-hole if he will. + And then we are at peace. I had sooner kill him and have done with it: but + out of the way he must be put.” + </p> + <p> + So they sent a monk in with the message, and commanded him to tell the + article about the Lady Torfrida, not only to Hereward, but to the abbot + and all the monks. + </p> + <p> + A curt and fierce answer came back, not from Hereward, but from Torfrida + herself,—that William of Normandy was no knight himself, or he would + not offer a knight his life, on condition of burning his lady. + </p> + <p> + William swore horribly. “What is all this about?” They told him—as + much as they chose to tell him. He was very wroth. “Who was Ivo + Taillebois, to add to his message? He had said that Torfrida should not + burn.” Taillebois was stout; for he had won the secretary over to his side + meanwhile. He had said nothing about burning. He had merely supplied an + oversight of the king’s. The woman, as the secretary knew, could not, with + all deference to his Majesty, be included in an amnesty. She was liable to + ecclesiastical censure, and the ecclesiastical courts. William might + exercise his influence on them in all lawful ways, and more, remit her + sentence, even so far as to pardon her entirely, if his merciful temper + should so incline him. But meanwhile, what better could he, Ivo, have + done, than to remind the monks of Ely that she was a sorceress; that she + had committed grave crimes, and was liable to punishment herself, and they + to punishment also, as her shelterers and accomplices? What he wanted was + to bring over the monks; and he believed that message had been a good + stroke toward that. As for Hereward, the king need not think of him. He + never would come in alive. He had sworn an oath, and he would keep it. + </p> + <p> + And so the matter ended. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII. — HOW THE MONKS OF ELY DID AFTER THEIR KIND. + </h2> + <p> + William’s bolt, or rather inextinguishable Greek fire, could not have + fallen into Ely at a more propitious moment. + </p> + <p> + Hereward was away, with a large body of men, and many ships, foraging in + the northeastern fens. He might not be back for a week. + </p> + <p> + Abbot Thurstan—for what cause is not said—had lost heart a + little while before, and fled to “Angerhale, taking with him the ornaments + and treasure of the church.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward had discovered his flight with deadly fear: but provisions he + must have, and forth he must go, leaving Ely in charge of half a dozen + independent English gentlemen, each of whom would needs have his own way, + just because it was his own. + </p> + <p> + Only Torfrida he took, and put her hand into the hand of Ranald + Sigtrygsson, and said, “Thou true comrade and perfect knight, as I did by + thy wife, do thou by mine, if aught befall.” + </p> + <p> + And Ranald swore first by the white Christ, and then by the head of + Sleipnir, Odin’s horse, that he would stand by Torfrida till the last; and + then, if need was, slay her. + </p> + <p> + “You will not need, King Ranald. I can slay myself,” said she, as she took + the Ost-Dane’s hard, honest hand. + </p> + <p> + And Hereward went, seemingly by Mepal or Sutton. Then came the message; + and all men in Ely knew it. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida stormed down to the monks, in honest indignation, to demand that + they should send to William, and purge her of the calumny. She found the + Chapter-door barred and bolted. They were all gabbling inside, like + starlings on a foggy morning, and would not let her in. She hurried back + to Ranald, fearing treason, and foreseeing the effect of the message upon + the monks. + </p> + <p> + But what could Ranald do? To find out their counsels was impossible for + him, or any man in Ely. For the monks could talk Latin, and the men could + not. Torfrida alone knew the sacred tongue. + </p> + <p> + If Torfrida could but listen at the keyhole. Well,—all was fair in + war. And to the Chapter-house door she went, guarded by Ranald and some of + his housecarles, and listened, with a beating heart. She heard words now + incomprehensible. That men who most of them lived no better than their own + serfs; who could have no amount of wealth, not even the hope of leaving + that wealth to their children,—should cling to wealth,—struggle, + forge, lie, do anything for wealth, to be used almost entirely not for + themselves, but for the honor and glory of the convent,—indicates an + intensity of corporate feeling, unknown in the outer world then, or now. + </p> + <p> + The monastery would be ruined! Without this manor, without that wood, + without that stone quarry, that fishery,—what would become of them? + </p> + <p> + But mingled with those words were other words, unfortunately more + intelligible to this day,—those of superstition. + </p> + <p> + What would St. Etheldreda say? How dare they provoke her wrath? Would she + submit to lose her lands? She might do,—what might she not do? Her + bones would refuse ever to work a miracle again. They had been but too + slack in miracle-working for many years. She might strike the isle with + barrenness, the minster with lightning. She might send a flood up the + fens. She might— + </p> + <p> + William the Norman, to do them justice, those valiant monks feared not; + for he was man, and could but kill the body. But St. Etheldreda, a virgin + goddess, with all the host of heaven to back her,—might she not, by + intercession with powers still higher than her own, destroy both body and + soul in hell? + </p> + <p> + “We are betrayed. They are going to send for the Abbot from Angerhale,” + said Torfrida at last, reeling from the door, “All is lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we burst open the door and kill them all?” asked Ranald, simply. + </p> + <p> + “No, King,—no. They are God’s men; and we have blood enough on our + souls.” + </p> + <p> + “We can keep the gates, lest any go out to the King.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible. They know the isle better than we, and have a thousand arts.” + </p> + <p> + So all they could do was to wait in fear and trembling for Hereward’s + return, and send Martin Lightfoot off to warn him, wherever he might be. + </p> + <p> + The monks remained perfectly quiet. The organ droned, the chants wailed, + as usual; nothing interrupted the stated order of the services; and in the + hall, each day, they met the knights as cheerfully as ever. Greed and + superstition had made cowards of them,—and now traitors. + </p> + <p> + It was whispered that Abbot Thurstan had returned to the minster; but no + man saw him; and so three or four days went on. + </p> + <p> + Martin found Hereward after incredible labors, and told him all, clearly + and shrewdly. The man’s manifest insanity only seemed to quicken his wit, + and increase his powers of bodily endurance. + </p> + <p> + Hereward was already on his way home; and never did he and his good men + row harder than they rowed that day back to Sutton. He landed, and hurried + on with half his men, leaving the rest to disembark the booty. He was + anxious as to the temper of the monks. He foresaw all that Torfrida had + foreseen. And as for Torfrida herself, he was half mad. Ivo Taillebois’s + addition to William’s message had had its due effect. He vowed even + deadlier hate against the Norman than he had ever felt before. He ascended + the heights to Sutton. It was his shortest way to Ely. He could not see + Aldreth from thence; but he could see Willingham field, and Belsar’s + hills, round the corner of Haddenham Hill. + </p> + <p> + The sun was setting long before they reached Ely; but just as he sank into + the western fen, Winter stopped, pointing. “Was that the flash of arms? + There, far away, just below Willingham town. Or was it the setting sun + upon the ripple of some long water?” + </p> + <p> + “There is not wind enough for such a ripple,” said one. But ere they could + satisfy themselves, the sun was down, and all the fen was gray. + </p> + <p> + Hereward was still more uneasy. If that had been the flash of arms, it + must have come off a very large body of men, moving in column, and on the + old straight road between Cambridge and Ely. He hastened on his men. But + ere they were within sight of the minster-tower, they were aware of a + horse galloping violently towards them through the dusk. Hereward called a + halt. He heard his own heart beat as he stopped. The horse was pulled up + short among them, and a lad threw himself off. + </p> + <p> + “Hereward? Thank God, I am in time!” + </p> + <p> + The voice was the voice of Torfrida. + </p> + <p> + “Treason!” she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “I knew it.” + </p> + <p> + “The French are in the island. They have got Aldreth. The whole army is + marching from Cambridge. The whole fleet is coming up from Southrey. And + you have time—” + </p> + <p> + “To burn Ely over the monks’ heads. Men! Get bogwood out of yon cottage, + make yourselves torches, and onward!” + </p> + <p> + Then rose a babel of questions, which Torfrida answered as she could. But + she had nothing to tell. “Clerks’ cunning,” she said bitterly, “was an + overmatch for woman’s wit.” She had sent out a spy: but he had not + returned till an hour since. Then he came back breathless, with the news + that the French army was on the march from Cambridge, and that, as he came + over the water at Alrech, he found a party of French knights in the fort + on the Ely side, talking peaceably with the monks on guard. + </p> + <p> + She had run up to the borough hill,—which men call Cherry Hill at + this day,—and one look to the northeast had shown her the river + swarming with ships. She had rushed home, put on men’s clothes, hid a few + jewels in her bosom, saddled Swallow, and ridden for her life thither. + </p> + <p> + “And King Ranald?” + </p> + <p> + He and his men had gone desperately out towards Haddenham, with what + English they could muster; but all were in confusion. Some were getting + the women and children into boats, to hide them in the reeds. Others + battering the minster gates, vowing vengeance on the monks. + </p> + <p> + “Then Ranald will be cut off! Alas for the day that ever brought his brave + heart hither!” + </p> + <p> + And when the men heard that, a yell of fury and despair burst from all + throats. + </p> + <p> + Should they go back to their boats? + </p> + <p> + “No! onward,” cried Hereward. “Revenge first, and safety after. Let us + leave nothing for the accursed Frenchmen but smoking ruins, and then + gather our comrades, and cut our way back to the north.” + </p> + <p> + “Good counsel,” cried Winter. “We know the roads, and they do not; and in + such a dark night as is coming, we can march out of the island without + their being able to follow us a mile.” + </p> + <p> + They hurried on; but stopped once more, at the galloping of another horse. + </p> + <p> + “Who comes, friend or foe?” + </p> + <p> + “Alwyn, son of Orgar!” cried a voice under breath. “Don’t make such a + noise, men! The French are within half a mile of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then one traitor monk shall die ere I retreat,” cried Hereward, seizing + him by the throat. + </p> + <p> + “For Heaven’s sake, hold!” cried Torfrida, seizing his arm. “You know not + what he may have to say.” + </p> + <p> + “I am no traitor, Hereward; I have fought by your side as well as the + best; and if any but you had called Alwyn—” + </p> + <p> + “A curse on your boasting. Tell us the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “The Abbot has made peace with the King. He would give up the island, and + St. Etheldreda should keep all her lands and honors. I said what I could; + but who was I to resist the whole chapter? Could I alone brave St. + Etheldreda’s wrath?” + </p> + <p> + “Alwyn, the valiant, afraid of a dead girl!” + </p> + <p> + “Blaspheme not, Hereward! She may hear you at this moment! Look there!” + and pointing up, the monk cowered in terror, as a meteor flashed through + the sky. + </p> + <p> + “That is St. Etheldreda shooting at us, eh? Then all I can say is, she is + a very bad marksman. And the French are in the island?” + </p> + <p> + “They are.” + </p> + <p> + “Then forward, men, for one half-hour’s pleasure; and then to die like + Englishmen.” + </p> + <p> + “On?” cried Alwyn. “You cannot go on. The King is at Whichford at this + moment with all his army, half a mile off! Right across the road to Ely!” + </p> + <p> + Hereward grew Berserk. “On! men!” shouted he, “we shall kill a few + Frenchmen apiece before we die!” + </p> + <p> + “Hereward,” cried Torfrida, “you shall not go on! If you go, I shall be + taken. And if I am taken, I shall be burned. And I cannot burn,—I + cannot! I shall go mad with terror before I come to the stake. I cannot go + stript to my smock before those Frenchmen. I cannot be roasted piecemeal! + Hereward, take me away! Take me away! or kill me, now and here!” + </p> + <p> + He paused. He had never seen Torfrida thus overcome. + </p> + <p> + “Let us flee! The stars are against us. God is against us! Let us hide,—escape + abroad: beg our bread, go on pilgrimage to Jerusalem together,—for + together it must be always: but take me away!” + </p> + <p> + “We will go back to the boats, men,” said Hereward. + </p> + <p> + But they did not go. They stood there, irresolute, looking towards Ely. + </p> + <p> + The sky was pitchy dark. The minster roofs, lying northeast, were utterly + invisible against the blackness. + </p> + <p> + “We may at least save some who escape out,” said Hereward. “March on + quickly to the left, under the hill to the plough-field.” + </p> + <p> + They did so. + </p> + <p> + “Lie down, men. There are the French, close on our right. Down among the + bushes.” + </p> + <p> + And they heard the heavy tramp of men within a quarter of a mile. + </p> + <p> + “Cover the mare’s eyes, and hold her mouth, lest she neigh,” said Winter. + </p> + <p> + Hereward and Torfrida lay side by side upon the heath. She was shivering + with cold and horror. He laid his cloak over her; put his arm round her. + </p> + <p> + “Your stars did not foretell you this, Torfrida.” He spoke not bitterly, + but in utter sadness. + </p> + <p> + She burst into an agony of weeping. + </p> + <p> + “My stars at least foretold me nothing but woe, since first I saw your + face.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you marry me, then?” asked he, half angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Because I loved you. Because I love you still.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you do not regret?” + </p> + <p> + “Never, never, never! I am quite happy,—quite happy. Why not?” + </p> + <p> + A low murmur from the men made them look up. They were near enough to the + town to hear,—only too much. They heard the tramp of men, shouts and + yells. Then the shrill cries of women. All dull and muffled the sounds + came to them through the still night; and they lay there spell-bound, as + in a nightmare, as men assisting at some horrible tragedy, which they had + no power to prevent. Then there was a glare, and a wisp of smoke against + the black sky, and then a house began burning brightly, and then another. + </p> + <p> + “This is the Frenchman’s faith!” + </p> + <p> + And all the while, as the sack raged in the town below, the minster stood + above, dark, silent, and safe. The church had provided for herself, by + sacrificing the children beneath her fostering shadow. + </p> + <p> + They waited nearly an hour: but no fugitives came out. + </p> + <p> + “Come, men,” said Hereward, wearily, “we may as well to the boats.” + </p> + <p> + And so they went, walking on like men in a dream, as yet too stunned to + realize to themselves the hopeless horror of their situation. Only + Hereward and Torfrida saw it all, looking back on the splendid past,—the + splendid hopes for the future: glory, honor, an earldom, a free Danish + England,—and this was all that was left! + </p> + <p> + “No it is not!” cried Torfrida suddenly, as if answering her own unspoken + thoughts, and his. “Love is still left. The gallows and the stake cannot + take that away.” And she clung closer to her husband’s side, and he again + to hers. + </p> + <p> + They reached the shore, and told their tale to their comrades. Whither + now? + </p> + <p> + “To Well. To the wide mere,” said Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “But their ships will hunt us out there.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall need no hunting. We must pick up the men at Cissham. You would + not leave them to be murdered, too, as we have left the Ely men?” + </p> + <p> + No. They would go to Well. And then? + </p> + <p> + “The Bruneswald, and the merry greenwood,” said Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “Hey for the merry greenwood!” shouted Leofric the Deacon. And the men, in + the sudden delight of finding any place, any purpose, answered with a + lusty cheer. + </p> + <p> + “Brave hearts,” said Hereward. “We will live and die together like + Englishmen.” + </p> + <p> + “We will, we will, Viking.” + </p> + <p> + “Where shall we stow the mare?” asked Geri, “the boats are full already.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave her to me. On board, Torfrida.” + </p> + <p> + He got on board last, leading the mare by the bridle. + </p> + <p> + “Swim, good lass!” said he, as they pushed off; and the good lass, who had + done it many a time before, waded in, and was soon swimming behind. + Hereward turned, and bent over the side in the darkness. There was a + strange gurgle, a splash, and a swirl. He turned round, and sat upright + again. They rowed on. + </p> + <p> + “That mare will never swim all the way to Well,” said one. + </p> + <p> + “She will not need it,” said Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” cried Torfrida, feeling in the darkness, “she is loose. What is + this in your hand? Your dagger! And wet!” + </p> + <p> + “Mare Swallow is at the bottom of the reach. We could never have got her + to Well.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have—” cried a dozen voices. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think that I would let a cursed Frenchman—ay, even William’s + self—say that he had bestridden Hereward’s mare?” + </p> + <p> + None answered: but Torfrida, as she laid her head upon her husband’s + bosom, felt the great tears running down from his cheek on to her own. + </p> + <p> + None spoke a word. The men were awe-stricken. There was something + despairing and ill-omened in the deed. And yet there was a savage grandeur + in it, which bound their savage hearts still closer to their chief. + </p> + <p> + And so mare Swallow’s bones lie somewhere in the peat unto this day. + </p> + <p> + They got to Well; they sent out spies to find the men who had been + “wasting Cissham with fire and sword”; and at last brought them in. Ill + news, as usual, had travelled fast. They had heard of the fall of Ely, and + hidden themselves “in a certain very small island which is called + Stimtench,” where, thinking that the friends in search of them were + Frenchmen in pursuit, they hid themselves among the high reeds. There two + of them—one Starkwolf by name, the other Broher—hiding near + each other, “thought that, as they were monks, it might conduce to their + safety if they had shaven crowns; and set to work with their swords to + shave each other’s heads as well as they could. But at last, by their + war-cries and their speech, recognizing each other, they left off + fighting,” and went after Hereward. + </p> + <p> + So jokes, grimly enough, Leofric the Deacon, who must have seen them come + in the next morning, with bleeding coxcombs, and could laugh over the + thing in after years. But he was in no humor for jesting in the days in + which they lay at Well. Nor was he in jesting humor when, a week + afterwards, hunted by the Normans from Well, and forced too take to meres + and waterways known only to them, and too shallow and narrow for the + Norman ships, they found their way across into the old Nene, and so by + Thorney on toward Crowland, leaving Peterborough far on the left. For as + they neared Crowland, they saw before them, rowing slowly, a barge full of + men. And as they neared that barge, behold, all they who rowed were blind + of both their eyes; and all they who sat and guided them were maimed of + both their hands. And as they came alongside, there was not a man in all + that ghastly crew but was an ancient friend, by whose side they had fought + full many a day, and with whom they had drunk deep full many a night. They + were the first-fruits of William’s vengeance; thrust into that boat, to + tell the rest of the fen-men what those had to expect who dared oppose the + Norman. And they were going, by some by-stream, to Crowland, to the + sanctuary of the Danish fen-men, that they might cast themselves down + before St. Guthlac, and ask of him that mercy for their souls which the + conqueror had denied to their bodies. Alas for them! they were but a + handful among hundreds, perhaps thousands, of mutilated cripples, who + swarmed all over England, and especially in the north and east, throughout + the reign of the Norman conquerors. They told their comrades’ fate, + slaughtered in the first attack, or hanged afterwards as rebels and + traitors to a foreigner whom they had never seen, and to whom they owed no + fealty by law of God or man. + </p> + <p> + “And Ranald Sigtrygsson?” + </p> + <p> + None knew aught of him. He never got home again to his Irish princess. + </p> + <p> + “And the poor women?” asked Torfrida. + </p> + <p> + But she received no answer. + </p> + <p> + And the men swore a great oath, and kept it, never to give quarter to a + Norman, as long as there was one left on English ground. + </p> + <p> + Neither were the monks of Ely in jesting humor, when they came to count up + the price of their own baseness. They had (as was in that day the cant of + all cowardly English churchmen, as well as of the more crafty Normans) + “obeyed the apostolic injunction, to submit to the powers that be, because + they are ordained,” &c. But they found the hand of the powers that be + a very heavy one. Forty knights were billeted on them at free quarters + with all their men. Every morning the butler had to distribute to them + food and pay in the great hall; and in vain were their complaints of bad + faith. William meanwhile, who loved money as well as he “loved the tall + deer,” had had 1,000 (another says 700) marks of them as the price of + their church’s safety, for the payment whereof, if one authority is to be + trusted, they sold “all the furniture of gold and silver, crosses, altars, + coffers, covers, chalices, platters, ewers, urnets, basons, cups, and + saucers.” Nay, the idols themselves were not spared, “for,” beside that, + “they sold a goodly image of our Lady with her little Son, in a throne + wrought with marvellous workmanship, which Elsegus the abbot had made. + Likewise, they stripped many images of holy virgins of much furniture of + gold and silver.” [Footnote: These details are from a story found in the + Isle of Ely, published by Dr. Giles. It seems a late composition,—probably + of the sixteenth century,—and has manifest errors of fact; but <i>valeat + quantum</i>.] So that poor St. Etheldreda had no finery in which to appear + on festivals, and went in russet for many years after. The which money + (according to another [Footnote: Stow’s “Annals.”]) they took, as they had + promised, to Picot the Viscount at Cambridge. He weighed the money; and + finding it an ounce short, accused them of cheating the King, and + sentenced them to pay 300 marks more. After which the royal commissioners + came, plundered the abbey of all that was left, and took away likewise “a + great mass of gold and silver found in Wentworth, wherewith the brethren + meant to repair the altar vessels”; and also a “notable cope which + Archbishop Stigand gave, which the church hath wanted to this day.” + </p> + <p> + Thurstan, the traitor Abbot, died in a few months. Egelwin, the Bishop of + Durham, was taken in the abbey. He was a bishop, and they dared not kill + him. But he was a patriot, and must have no mercy. They accused him of + stealing the treasures of Durham, which he had brought to Ely for the + service of his country; and shut him up in Abingdon. A few months after, + the brave man was found starved and dead, “whether of his own will or + enforced”; and so ended another patriot prelate. But we do not read that + the Normans gave back the treasure to Durham. And so, yielding an immense + mass of booty, and many a fair woman, as the Norman’s prey, ended the Camp + of Refuge, and the glory of the Isle of Ely. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIV. — HOW HEREWARD WENT TO THE GREENWOOD. + </h2> + <p> + And now is Hereward to the greenwood gone, to be a bold outlaw; and not + only an outlaw himself, but the father of all outlaws, who held those + forests for two hundred years, from the fens to the Scottish border. + Utlages, forestiers, latrunculi (robberlets), sicarii, cutthroats, + sauvages, who prided themselves upon sleeping on the bare ground; they + were accursed by the conquerors, and beloved by the conquered. The Norman + viscount or sheriff commanded to hunt them from hundred to hundred, with + hue and cry, horse and bloodhound. The English yeoman left for them a keg + of ale, or a basket of loaves, beneath the hollins green, as sauce for + their meal of “nombles of the dere.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “For hart and hind, and doe and roe, + Were in that forest great plentie,” + </pre> + <p> + and + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Swannes and fesauntes they had full good + And foules of the rivere. + There fayled never so lytell a byrde, + That ever was bred on brere.” + </pre> + <p> + With the same friendly yeoman “that was a good felawe,” they would lodge + by twos and threes during the sharp frosts of midwinter, in the lonely + farm-house which stood in the “field” or forest-clearing; but for the + greater part of the year their “lodging was on the cold ground” in the + holly thickets, or under the hanging rock, or in a lodge of boughs. + </p> + <p> + And then, after a while, the life which began in terror, and despair, and + poverty, and loss of land and kin, became not only tolerable, but + pleasant. Bold men and hardy, they cared less and less for + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The thornie wayes, the deep valleys, + The snowe, the frost, the rayne, + The colde, the hete; for dry or wete + We must lodge on the plaine, + And us above, none other roofe, + But a brake bushe, or twayne.” + </pre> + <p> + And they found fair lasses, too, in time, who, like Torfrida and Maid + Marian, would answer to their warnings against the outlaw life, with the + nut-browne maid, that— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Amonge the wylde dere, such an archere + As men say that ye be, + He may not fayle of good vitayle + Where is so great plentè: + And water clere of the rivere, + Shall be full swete to me, + With which in hele, I shall right wele, + Endure, as ye may see.” + </pre> + <p> + Then called they themselves “merry men,” and the forest the “merry + greenwood”; and sang, with Robin Hood,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A merrier man than I, belyye + There lives not in Christentie.” + </pre> + <p> + They were coaxed back, at times, to civilized life; they got their grace + of the king, and entered the king’s service; but the craving after the + greenwood was upon them. They dreaded and hated the four stone walls of a + Norman castle, and, like Robin Hood, slipt back to the forest and the + deer. + </p> + <p> + Gradually, too, law and order rose among them, lawless as they were; the + instinct of discipline and self-government, side by side with that of + personal independence, which is the peculiar mark and peculiar strength of + the English character. Who knows not how, in the “Lytell Geste of Robin + Hood,” they shot at “pluck-buffet,” the king among them, disguised as an + abbot; and every man who missed the rose-garland, “his tackle he should + tyne”;— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And bere a buffet on his head, + Iwys ryght all bare, + And all that fell on Robyn’s lote, + He smote them wonder sair. + + “Till Robyn fayled of the garlonde, + Three fyngers and mair.” + </pre> + <p> + Then good Gilbert bids him in his turn + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Stand forth and take his pay.’ + + “‘If it be so,’ sayd Robyn, + ‘That may no better be, + Syr Abbot, I delyver thee myn arrowe, + I pray thee, Syr, serve thou me.’ + + “‘It falleth not for myne order,’ saith the kynge, + ‘Robyn, by thy leve, + For to smyte no good yeman, + For doute I should hym greve.’ + + “‘Smyte on boldly,’ sayd Robyn, + ‘I give thee large leve.’ + Anon our kynge, with that word, + He folde up his sleve. + + “And such a buffet he gave Robyn, + To grounde he yode full nere. + ‘I make myn avowe,’ sayd Robyn, + ‘Thou art a stalwarte frere. + + “‘There is pyth in thyn arme,’ sayd Robyn, + ‘I trowe thou canst well shoote.’ + Thus our kynge and Hobyn Hode + Together they are met.” + </pre> + <p> + Hard knocks in good humor, strict rules, fair play, and equal justice, for + high and low; this was the old outlaw spirit, which has descended to their + inlawed descendants; and makes, to this day, the life and marrow of an + English public school. + </p> + <p> + One fixed idea the outlaw had,—hatred of the invader. If “his herde + were the king’s deer,” “his treasure was the earl’s purse”; and still + oftener the purse of the foreign churchman, Norman or Italian, who had + expelled the outlaw’s English cousins from their convents; shamefully + scourged and cruelly imprisoned them, as the blessed Archbishop Lanfranc + did at Canterbury, because they would not own allegiance to a French + abbot; or murdered them at the high altar, as did the new abbot of + Glastonbury, because they would not change their old Gregorian chant for + that of William of Fécamp. [Footnote: See the “Anglo-Saxon Chronicle”.] + </p> + <p> + On these mitred tyrants the outlaw had no mercy, as far as their purses + were concerned. Their persons, as consecrated, were even to him sacred and + inviolable,—at least, from wounds and death; and one may suppose + Hereward himself to have been the first author of the laws afterward + attributed to Robin Hood. As for “robbing and reving, beting and bynding,” + free warren was allowed against the Norman. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Thereof no fors,’ said Robyn, + ‘We shall do well enow. + But look ye do no housbonde harme, + That tilleth wyth his plough. + + “‘No more ye shall no good yemà n, + That walketh by grene wood shawe; + Ne no knyght, ne no squyer, + That will be good felà we. + + “‘These bysshoppes, and these archbysshoppes, + Ye shall them bete and binde; + The hye sheryff of Nottingham, + Hym holde in your mynde.’ + + “Robyn loved our dere Ladye, + For doubt of dedely synne, + Wolde he never do company harme + That any woman was ynne.” + </pre> + <p> + And even so it was with Hereward in the Bruneswald, if the old + chroniclers, Leofric especially, are to be believed. + </p> + <p> + And now Torfrida was astonished. She had given way utterly at Ely, from + woman’s fear, and woman’s disappointment. All was over. All was lost. What + was left, save to die? + </p> + <p> + But—and it was a new and unexpected fact to one of her excitable + Southern blood, easily raised, and easily depressed—she discovered + that neither her husband, nor Winter, nor Geri, nor Wenoch, nor Ranald of + Ramsey, nor even the romancing harping Leofric, thought that all was lost. + She argued it with them, not to persuade them into base submission, but to + satisfy her own surprise. + </p> + <p> + “But what will you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Live in the greenwood.” + </p> + <p> + “And what then?” + </p> + <p> + “Burn every town which a Frenchman holds, and kill every Frenchman we + meet.” + </p> + <p> + “But what plan have you?” + </p> + <p> + “Who wants a plan, as you call it, while he has the green hollies + overhead, the dun deer on the lawn, bow in his hand, and sword by his + side?” + </p> + <p> + “But what will be the end of it all?” + </p> + <p> + “We shall live till we die.” + </p> + <p> + “But William is master of all England.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that to us? He is not our master.” + </p> + <p> + “But he must be some day. You will grow fewer and fewer. His government + will grow stronger and stronger.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that to us? When we are dead, there will be brave yeomen in + plenty to take our place. You would not turn traitor?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Never! never! I will live and die with you in your greenwood, as you + call it. Only—I did not understand you English.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida did not. She was discovering the fact, which her nation have more + than once discovered since, that the stupid valor of the Englishman never + knows when it is beaten; and sometimes, by that self-satisfied ignorance, + succeeds in not being beaten after all. + </p> + <p> + So Hereward—if the chronicles speak truth—assembled a + formidable force, well-nigh, at last, four hundred men. Winter, Geri, + Wenoch, Grogan, one of the Azers of Lincoln, were still with him. Ranald + the butler still carried his standard. Of Duti and Outi, the famous + brothers, no more is heard. A valiant Matelgar takes their place; Alfric + and Sexwold and many another gallant fugitive cast up, like scattered + hounds, at the sound of “The Wake’s” war-horn. There were those among them + (says Gaimar) who scorned to fight single-handed less than three Normans. + As for Hereward, he would fight seven. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Les quatre oscist, les treis fuirent; + Naffrez, sanglant, cil s’en partirent + En plusurs lius issi avint, + K’encontre seit très bien se tuit + De seit hommes avait vertu, + Un plus hardi ne fu veu.” + </pre> + <p> + They ranged up the Bruneswald, dashing out to the war-cry of “A Wake! a + Wake!” laying all waste with fire and sword, that is, such towns as were + in the hands of Normans. And a noble range they must have had for gallant + sportsmen. Away south, between the Nene and Welland, stretched from + Stamford and Peterborough the still vast forests of Rockingham, nigh + twenty miles in length as the crow flies, down beyond Rockingham town, and + Geddington Chase. To the west, they had the range of the “hunting + counties,” dotted still, in the more eastern part, with innumerable copses + and shaughs, the remnants of the great forest, out of which, as out of + Rockinghamshire, have been cut those fair parks and + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Handsome houses, + Where the wealthy nobles dwell”; +</pre> + <p> + past which the Lord of Burleigh led his Welsh bride to that Burghley House + by Stamford town, well-nigh the noblest of them all, which was, in + Hereward’s time, deep wood, and freestone down. Round Exton, and + Normanton, and that other Burley on the Hill; on through those Morkery + woods, which still retain the name of Hereward’s ill-fated nephew; north + by Irnham and Corby; on to Belton and Syston (<i>par nobile</i>), and + southwest again to those still wooded heights, whence all-but-royal + Belvoir looks out over the rich green vale below, did Hereward and his men + range far and wide, harrying the Frenchman, and hunting the dun deer. + Stags there were in plenty. There remain to this day, in Grimsthorpe Park + by Bourne, the descendants of the very deer which Earl Leofric and Earl + Algar, and after them Hereward the outlaw, hunted in the Bruneswald. + </p> + <p> + Deep-tangled forest filled the lower claylands, swarming with pheasant, + roe, badger, and more wolves than were needed. Broken, park-like glades + covered the upper freestones, where the red deer came out from harbor for + their evening graze, and the partridges and plovers whirred up, and the + hares and rabbits loped away, innumerable; and where hollies and ferns + always gave dry lying for the night. What did men need more, whose bodies + were as stout as their hearts? + </p> + <p> + They were poachers and robbers; and why not? The deer had once been + theirs, the game, the land, the serfs; and if Godric of Corby slew the + Irnham deer, burned Irnham Hall over the head of the new Norman lord, and + thought no harm, he did but what he would with that which had been once + his own. + </p> + <p> + Easy it was to dash out by night and make a raid; to harry the places + which they once had owned themselves, in the vale of Belvoir to the west, + or to the east in the strip of fertile land which sloped down into the + fen, and levy black-mail in Rippinghale, or Folkingham, or Aslackby, or + Sleaford, or any other of the “Vills” (now thriving villages) which still + remain in Domesday-book, and written against them the ugly and + significant,— + </p> + <p> + “In Tatenai habuerunt Turgisle et Suen IIII. Carrucas terae,” &c. “Hoc + Ivo Taillebosc ibi habet in dominio,”—all, that is, that the wars + had left of them. + </p> + <p> + The said Turgisle (Torkill or Turketil misspelt by Frenchmen) and Sweyn, + and many a good man more,—for Ivo’s possessions were enormous,—were + thorns in the sides of Ivo and his men which must be extracted, and the + Bruneswald a nest of hornets, which must be smoked out at any cost. + </p> + <p> + Wherefore it befell, that once upon a day there came riding to Hereward in + the Bruneswald a horseman all alone. + </p> + <p> + And meeting with Hereward and his men he made signs of amity, and bowed + himself low, and pulled out of his purse a letter, protesting that he was + an Englishman and a “good felawe,” and that, though he came from Lincoln + town, a friend to the English had sent him. + </p> + <p> + That was believable enough, for Hereward had his friends and his spies far + and wide. + </p> + <p> + And when he opened the letter, and looked first, like a wary man, at the + signature, a sudden thrill went through him. + </p> + <p> + It was Alftruda’s. + </p> + <p> + If he was interested in her, considering what had passed between them from + her childhood, it was nothing to be ashamed of. And yet somehow he felt + ashamed of that same sudden thrill. + </p> + <p> + And Hereward had reason to be ashamed. He had been faithful to Torfrida,—a + virtue most rare in those days. Few were faithful then, save, it may be, + Baldwin of Mons to his tyrant and idol, the sorceress Richilda; and + William of Normandy,—whatever were his other sins,—to his wise + and sweet and beautiful Matilda. The stories of his coldness and cruelty + to her seem to rest on no foundation. One need believe them as little as + one does the myth of one chronicler, that when she tried to stop him from + some expedition, and clung to him as he sat upon his horse, he smote his + spur so deep into her breast that she fell dead. The man had self-control, + and feared God in his own wild way,—therefore it was, perhaps, that + he conquered. + </p> + <p> + And Hereward had been faithful likewise to Torfrida, and loved her with an + overwhelming adoration, as all true men love. And for that very reason he + was the more aware that his feeling for Alftruda was strangely like his + feeling for Torfrida, and yet strangely different. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing in the letter that he should not have read. She called + him her best and dearest friend, twice the savior of her life. What could + she do in return, but, at any risk to herself, try and save his life? The + French were upon him. The <i>posse comitatus</i> of seven counties was + raising. “Northampton, Cambridge, Lincoln, Holland, Leicester, Huntingdon, + Warwick,” were coming to the Bruneswald to root him out. + </p> + <p> + “Lincoln?” thought Hereward. “That must be Gilbert of Ghent, and Oger the + Breton. No! Gilbert is not coming, Sir Ascelin is coming for him. Holland? + That is my friend Ivo Taillebois. Well, we shall have the chance of paying + off old scores. Northampton? The earl thereof just now is the pious and + loyal Waltheof, as he is of Huntingdon and Cambridge. Is he going to join + young Fitz-Osbern from Warwick and Leicester, to root out the last + Englishman? Why not? That would be a deed worthy of the man who married + Judith, and believes in the powers that be, and eats dirt daily at + William’s table.” + </p> + <p> + Then he read on. + </p> + <p> + Ascelin had been mentioned, he remarked, three or four times in the + letter, which was long, as from one lingering over the paper, wishing to + say more than she dared. At the end was a hint of the reason:— + </p> + <p> + “O, that having saved me twice, you could save me once more. Know you that + Gospatrick has been driven from his earldom on charge of treason, and that + Waltheof has Northumbria in his place, as well as the parts round you? And + that Gospatrick is fled to Scotland again, with his sons,—my man + among them? And now the report comes, that my man is slain in battle on + the Border; and that I am to be given away,—as I have been given + away twice before,—to Ascelin. This I know, as I know all, not only + from him of Ghent, but from him of Peterborough, Ascelin’s uncle.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward laughed a laugh of cynical triumph,—pardonable enough in a + broken man. + </p> + <p> + “Gospatrick! the wittol! the woodcock! looking at the springe, and then + coolly putting his head therein. Throwing the hatchet after the helve! + selling his soul and never getting the price of it! I foresaw it, foretold + it, I believe to Alftruda herself,—foretold that he would not keep + his bought earldom three years. What a people we are, we English, if + Gospatrick is,—as he is,—the shrewdest man among us, with a + dash of canny Scots blood too. ‘Among the one-eyed, the blind is king,’ + says Torfrida, out of her wise ancients, and blind we are, if he is our + best. No. There is one better man left I trust, one that will never be + fool enough to put his head into the wolf’s mouth, and trust the Norman, + and that is Hereward the outlaw.” + </p> + <p> + And Hereward boasted to himself, at Gospatrick’s expense, of his own + superior wisdom, till his eye caught a line or two, which finished the + letter. + </p> + <p> + “O that you would change your mind, much as I honor you for it. O that you + would come in to the king, who loves and trusts you, having seen your + constancy and faith, proved by so many years of affliction. Great things + are open to you, and great joys;—I dare not tell you what: but I + know them, if you would come in. You, to waste yourself in the forest, an + outlaw and a savage! Opportunity once lost, never returns; time flies + fast, Hereward, my friend, and we shall all grow old,—I think at + times that I shall soon grow old. And the joys of life will be impossible, + and nothing left but vain regrets.” + </p> + <p> + “Hey?” said Hereward, “a very clerkly letter. I did not think she was so + good a scholar. Almost as good a one as Torfrida.” + </p> + <p> + That was all he said; and as for thinking, he had the <i>posse comitatus</i> + of seven counties to think of. But what could those great fortunes and + joys be, which Alftruda did not dare to describe? + </p> + <p> + She growing old, too? Impossible, that was woman’s vanity. It was but two + years since she was as fair as a saint in a window. “She shall not marry + Ascelin. I will cut his head off. She shall have her own choice for once, + poor child.” + </p> + <p> + And Hereward found himself worked up to a great height of paternal + solicitude for Alftruda, and righteous indignation against Ascelin. He did + not confess to himself that he disliked much, in his selfish vanity, the + notion of Alftruda’s marrying any one at all. He did not want to marry her + himself,—of course not. But there is no dog in the manger so + churlish on such points as a vain man. There are those who will not + willingly let their own sisters, their own daughters, their own servants + marry. Why should a woman wish to marry any one but them? + </p> + <p> + But Hereward, however vain, was no dreamer or sluggard. He set to work, + joyfully, cheerfully, scenting battle afar off, like Job’s war-horse, and + pawing for the battle. He sent back Alftruda’s messenger, with this + answer:— + </p> + <p> + “Tell your lady that I kiss her hands and feet. That I cannot write, for + outlaws carry no pen and ink. But that what she has commanded, that will I + perform.” + </p> + <p> + It is noteworthy, that when Hereward showed Torfrida (which he did + frankly) Alftruda’s letter, he did not tell her the exact words of his + answer, and stumbled and varied much, vexing her thereby, when she, + naturally, wished to hear them word for word. + </p> + <p> + Then he sent out spies to the four airts of heaven. And his spies, finding + a friend and a meal in every hovel, brought home all the news he needed. + </p> + <p> + He withdrew Torfrida and his men into the heart of the forest,—no + hint of the place is given by the chronicler,—cut down trees, formed + an abattis of trunks and branches, and awaited the enemy. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV. — HOW ABBOT THOROLD WAS PUT TO RANSOM. + </h2> + <p> + Though Hereward had as yet no feud against “Bysshoppes and + Archbysshoppes,” save Egelsin of Selsey, who had excommunicated him, but + who was at the other end of England, he had feud, as may be supposed, + against Thorold, Abbot of Peterborough, and Thorold feud likewise against + him. When Thorold had entered the “Golden Borough,” hoping to fatten + himself with all its treasures, he had found it a smoking ruin, and its + treasures gone to Ely to pay Sweyn and his Danes. And such a “sacrilege,” + especially when he was the loser thereby, was the unpardonable sin itself + in the eyes of Thorold, as he hoped it might be in the eyes of St. Peter. + Joyfully therefore he joined his friend Ivo Taillebois; when, “with his + usual pompous verbosity,” saith Peter of Blois, writing on this very + matter, he asked him to join in destroying Hereward. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, with all the Norman chivalry at their back, it behoved them + to move with caution; for (so says the chronicler) “Hereward had in these + days very many foreigners, as well as landsfolk, who had come to him to + practise and learn war, and fled from their masters and friends when they + heard of his fame; and some of them the king’s courtiers, who had come to + see whether those things which they heard were true, whom Hereward + nevertheless received cautiously, on plighted troth and oath.” + </p> + <p> + So Ivo Taillebois summoned all his men, and all other men’s men who would + join him, and rode forth through Spalding and Bourne, having announced to + Lucia his bride that he was going to slay her one remaining relative; and + when she wept, cursed and kicked her, as he did once a week. After which + he came to Thorold of Peterborough. + </p> + <p> + So on the two worthies rode from Peterborough to Stamford, and from + Stamford into the wilderness, no man knows whither. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And far they rode by bush and shaugh, + And far by moss and mire,”— +</pre> + <p> + but never found a track of Hereward or his men. And Ivo Taillebois left + off boasting how he would burn Torfrida over a slow fire, and confined + himself to cursing; and Abbot Thorold left off warbling the song of Roland + as if he had been going to a second battle of Hastings, and wished himself + in warm bed at Peterborough. + </p> + <p> + But at the last they struck upon a great horse-track, and followed it at + their best pace for several miles, and yet no sign of Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “Catch an Englishman,” quoth the abbot. + </p> + <p> + But that was not so easy. The poor folk had hidden themselves, like Israel + of old, in thickets and dens and caves of rocks, at the far-off sight of + the Norman tyrants, and not a living soul had appeared for twenty miles. + At last they caught a ragged wretch herding swine, and haled him up to + Ivo. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen Hereward, villain?” asked he, through an interpreter. + </p> + <p> + “Nay.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie. These are his fresh horse-tracks, and you must have seen him + pass.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Thrust out one of his eyes, and he will find his tongue.” + </p> + <p> + It was done. + </p> + <p> + “Will you answer now?” + </p> + <p> + The poor wretch only howled. + </p> + <p> + “Thrust out the other.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not that! Mercy: I will tell. He is gone by this four hours. How have + you not met him?” + </p> + <p> + “Fool! The hoofs point onward there.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,”—and the fellow could hardly hide a grin,—“but he had + shod all his horses backwards.” + </p> + <p> + A storm of execration followed. They might be thrown twenty miles out of + their right road by the stratagem. + </p> + <p> + “So you had seen Hereward, and would not tell. Put out his other eye,” + said Taillebois, as a vent to his own feelings. + </p> + <p> + And they turned their horses’ heads, and rode back, leaving the man blind + in the forest. + </p> + <p> + The day was waning now. The fog hung heavy on the treetops, and dripped + upon their heads. The horses were getting tired, and slipped and stumbled + in the deep clay paths. The footmen were more tired still, and, cold and + hungry, straggled more and more. The horse-tracks led over an open lawn of + grass and fern, with here and there an ancient thorn, and round it on + three sides thick wood of oak and beech, with under copse of holly and + hazel. Into that wood the horse-tracks led, by a path on which there was + but room for one horse at a time. + </p> + <p> + “Here they are at last!” cried Ivo. “I see the fresh footmarks of men, as + well as horses. Push on, knights and men at-arms.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot looked at the dark, dripping wood, and meditated. + </p> + <p> + “I think that it will be as well for some of us to remain here; and, + spreading our men along the woodside, prevent the escape of the villains. + <i>A moi, hommes d’armes!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “As you like. I will go in and bolt the rabbit; and you shall snap him up + as he comes out.” + </p> + <p> + And Ivo, who was as brave as a bull-dog, thrust his horse into the path, + while the Abbot sat shivering outside. “Certain nobles of higher rank,” + says Peter de Blois, “followed his example, not wishing to rust their + armor, or tear their fine clothes, in the dank copse.” + </p> + <p> + The knights and men-at-arms straggled slowly into the forest, some by the + path, some elsewhere, grumbling audibly at the black work before them. At + last the crashing of the branches died away, and all was still. + </p> + <p> + Abbot Thorold sat there upon his shivering horse, shivering himself as the + cold pierced through his wet mail; and as near an hour past, and no sign + of foe or friend appeared, he cursed the hour in which he took off the + beautiful garments of the sanctuary to endure those of the battle-field. + He thought of a warm chamber, warm bath, warm footcloths, warm pheasant, + and warm wine. He kicked his freezing iron feet in the freezing iron + stirrup. He tried to blow his nose with his freezing iron hand; but dropt + his handkerchief into the mud, and his horse trod on it. He tried to + warble the song of Roland; but the words exploded in a cough and a sneeze. + And so dragged on the weary hours, says the chronicler, nearly all day, + till the ninth hour. But never did they see coming out of the forest the + men who had gone in. + </p> + <p> + A shout from his nephew, Sir Ascelin, made all turn their heads. Behind + them, on the open lawn, in the throat between the woods by which they had + entered, were some forty knights, galloping toward them. + </p> + <p> + “Ivo?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” almost shrieked the Abbot. “There is the white-bear banner. It is + Hereward.” + </p> + <p> + “There is Winter on his left,” cried one. “And there, with the standard, + is the accursed monk, Ranald of Ramsey.” + </p> + <p> + And on they came, having debouched from the wood some two hundred yards + off, behind a roll in the lawn, just far enough off to charge as soon as + they were in line. + </p> + <p> + On they came, two deep, with lances high over their shoulders, heads and + heels well down, while the green tufts flew behind them, “<i>A moi, hommes + d’armes!</i>” shouted the Abbot. But too late. The French turned right and + left. To form was impossible, ere the human whirlwind would be upon them. + </p> + <p> + Another half-minute and with a shout of “A bear! a bear. The Wake! the + Wake!” they were struck, ridden through, hurled over, and trampled into + the mud. + </p> + <p> + “I yield. Grace! I yield!” cried Thorold, struggling from under his horse; + but there was no one to whom to yield. The knights’ backs were fifty yards + off, their right arms high in the air, striking and stabbing. + </p> + <p> + The battle was “<i>à l’outrance</i>.” There was no quarter given that day. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And he that came live out thereof + Was he that ran away.” + </pre> + <p> + The Abbot tried to make for the wood, but ere he could gain it, the + knights had turned, and one rode straight at him, throwing away a broken + lance, and drawing his sword. + </p> + <p> + Abbot Thorold may not have been the coward which Peter of Blois would have + him, over and above being the bully which all men would have him; but if + so, even a worm will turn; and so did the Abbot: he drew sword from thigh, + got well under his shield, his left foot forward, and struck one blow for + his life, and at the right place,—his foe’s bare knee. + </p> + <p> + But he had to do with a warier man than himself. There was a quick jerk of + the rein; the horse swerved round, right upon him, and knocked him head + over heels; while his blow went into empty air. + </p> + <p> + “Yield or die!” cried the knight, leaping from his horse, and kneeling on + his head. + </p> + <p> + “I am a man of God, an abbot, churchman, Thorold.” + </p> + <p> + “Man of all the devils!” and the knight lugged him up, and bound his arms + behind him with the abbot’s own belt. + </p> + <p> + “Ahoi! Here! I have caught a fish. I have got the Golden Borough in my + purse!” roared he. “How much has St. Peter gained since we borrowed of him + last, Abbot? He will have to pay out the silver pennies bonnily, if he + wishes to get back thee.” + </p> + <p> + “Blaspheme not, godless barbarian!” Whereat the knight kicked him. + </p> + <p> + “And you have Thorold the scoundrel, Winter?” cried Hereward, galloping + up. “And we have three or four more dainty French knights, and a viscount + of I know not where among them. This is a good day’s work. Now for Ivo and + his tail.” + </p> + <p> + And the Abbot, with four or five more prisoners, were hoisted on to their + own horses, tied firmly, and led away into the forest path. + </p> + <p> + “Do not leave a wounded man to die,” cried a knight who lay on the lawn. + </p> + <p> + “Never we. I will come back and put you out of your pain,” quoth some one. + </p> + <p> + “Siward! Siward Le Blanc! Are you in this meinie?” cried the knight in + French. + </p> + <p> + “That am I. Who calls?” + </p> + <p> + “For God’s sake save him!” cried Thorold. “He is my own nephew, and I will + pay—” + </p> + <p> + “You will need all your money for yourself,” said Siward the White, riding + back. + </p> + <p> + “Are you Sir Ascelin of Ghent?” + </p> + <p> + “That am I, your host of old.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I had met you in better company. But friends we are, and friends + must be.” + </p> + <p> + And he dismounted, and did his best for the wounded man, promising to + return and fetch him off before night, or send yeomen to do so. + </p> + <p> + As he pushed on through the wood, the Abbot began to see signs of a fight; + riderless horses crashing through the copse, wounded men straggling back, + to be cut down without mercy by the English. The war had been “<i>à + l’outrance</i>” for a long while. None gave or asked quarter. The knights + might be kept for ransom: they had money. The wretched men of the lower + classes, who had none, were slain: as they would have slain the English. + </p> + <p> + Soon they heard the noise of battle; and saw horsemen and footmen + pell-mell, tangled in an abattis, from behind which archers and + cross-bowmen shot them down in safety. + </p> + <p> + Hereward dashed forward, with the shout of Torfrida; and at that the + French, taken in the flank, fled, and were smitten as they fled, hip and + thigh. + </p> + <p> + Hereward bade them spare a fugitive, and bring him to him. + </p> + <p> + “I give you your life; so run, and carry my message. That is Taillebois’s + banner there forward, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then go after him, and tell him,—Hereward has the Abbot of Burgh, + and half a dozen knights, safe by the heels. And unless Ivo clears the + wood of his men by nightfall, I will hang every one of them up for the + crows before morning.” + </p> + <p> + Ivo got the message, and having had enough fighting for the day, drew off, + says the chronicler, for the sake of the Abbot and his fellow-captives. + </p> + <p> + Two hours after the Abbot and the other prisoners were sitting, unbound, + but unarmed, in the forest encampment, waiting for a right good meal, with + Torfrida bustling about them, after binding up the very few wounded among + their own men. + </p> + <p> + Every courtesy was shown them; and their hearts were lifted up, as they + beheld approaching among the trees great caldrons of good soup; forest + salads; red deer and roe roasted on the wood embers; spits of pheasants + and partridges, larks and buntings, thrust off one by one by fair hands + into the burdock leaves which served as platters; and last, but not least, + jacks of ale and wine, appearing mysteriously from a cool old stone + quarry. Abbot Thorold ate to his heart’s content, complimented every one, + vowed he would forswear all Norman cooks and take to the greenwood + himself, and was as gracious and courtly as if he had been at the new + palace at Winchester. + </p> + <p> + And all the more for this reason,—that he had intended to overawe + the English barbarians by his polished Norman manners. He found those of + Hereward and Torfrida, at least, as polished as his own. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you are content, Lord Abbot,” said Torfrida; “I trust you + prefer dining with me to burning me, as you meant to do.” + </p> + <p> + “I burn such peerless beauty! I injure a form made only for the courts of + kings! Heaven and all saints, knighthood and all chivalry, forbid. What + Taillebois may have said, I know not! I am no more answerable for his + intentions than I am for his parentage,—or his success this day. Let + churls be churls, and wood-cutters wood-cutters. I at least, thanks to my + ancestors, am a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “And, as a gentleman, will of course contribute to the pleasure of your + hosts. It will surely please you to gratify us with one stave at least of + that song, which has made your name famous among all knights,” holding out + a harp. + </p> + <p> + “I blush; but obey. A harp in the greenwood? A court in the wilderness! + What joy!” + </p> + <p> + And the vain Abbot took the harp, and said,—“These, if you will + allow my modesty to choose, are the staves on which I especially pride + myself. The staves which Taillefer—you will pardon my mentioning him—” + </p> + <p> + “Why pardon? A noble minstrel he was, and a brave warrior, though our foe. + And often have I longed to hear him, little thinking that I should hear + instead the maker himself.” + </p> + <p> + So said Hereward; and the Abbot sang—those wondrous staves, where + Roland, left alone of all the Paladins, finds death come on him fast. And + on the Pyrenaean peak, beneath the pine, he lays himself, his “face toward + the ground, and under him his sword and magic horn, that Charles, his + lord, may say, and all his folk, The gentle count, he died a conqueror”; + and then “turns his eyes southward toward Spain, betakes himself to + remember many things; of so many lands which he conquered valiantly; of + pleasant France; of the men of his lineage; of Charlemagne, his lord, who + brought him up. He could not help to weep and sigh, but yet himself he + would not forget. He bewailed his sins, and prayed God’s mercy:—True + Father, who ne’er yet didst lie, who raised St. Lazarus from death, and + guarded Daniel from the lions, guard my soul from all perils, for the sins + which in my life I did! His right glove then he offered to God; St. + Gabriel took it from his hand; on his arm the chief bowed down, with + joined hands he went unto his end. God sent down his angel cherubim, and + St. Michael, whom men call ‘del peril.’ Together with them, St. Gabriel, + he came; the soul of the count they bore to Paradise.” + </p> + <p> + And the Abbot ended, sadly and gently, without that wild “Aoi!” the + war-cry with which he usually ends his staves. And the wild men of the + woods were softened and saddened by the melody; and as many as understood + French, said, when he finished, “Amen! so may all good knights die!” + </p> + <p> + “Thou art a great maker, Abbot! They told truths of thee. Sing us more of + thy great courtesy.” + </p> + <p> + And he sang them the staves of the Olifant, the magic horn,—how + Roland would not sound it in his pride, and sounded it at Turpin’s + bidding, but too late; and how his temples burst with that great blast, + and Charles and all his peers heard it through the gorges, leagues away in + France. And then his “Aoi” rang forth so loud and clear, like any trumpet + blast, under the oaken glades, that the wild men leaped to their feet, and + shouted, “Health to the gleeman! Health to the Abbot Thorold!” + </p> + <p> + “I have won them,” thought the Abbot to himself. Strange mixture that man + must have been, if all which is told of him is true; a very typical + Norman, compact of cunning and ferocity, chivalry and poetry, vanity and + superstition, and yet able enough to help to conquer England for the Pope. + </p> + <p> + Then he pressed Hereward to sing, with many compliments; and Hereward + sang, and sang again, and all his men crowded round him as the outlaws of + Judaea may have crowded round David in Carmel or Hebron, to hear, like + children, old ditties which they loved the better the oftener they heard + them. + </p> + <p> + “No wonder that you can keep these knights together, if you can charm them + thus with song. Would that I could hear you singing thus in William’s + hall.” + </p> + <p> + “No more of that, Sir Abbot. The only music which I have for William is + the music of steel on steel.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward answered sharply, because he was half of Thorold’s mind. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Torfrida, as it grew late, “we must ask our noble guest for + what he can give us as easily and well as he can song,—and that is + news. We hear naught here in the greenwood, and must throw oneself on the + kindness of a chance visitor.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot leapt at the bait, and told them news, court gossip, bringing in + great folks’ names and his own, as often and as familiarly mingled as he + could. + </p> + <p> + “What of Richilda?” asked Torfrida. + </p> + <p> + “Ever since young Arnoul was killed at Cassel—” + </p> + <p> + “Arnoul killed?” shrieked Torfrida. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible that you do not know?” + </p> + <p> + “How should I know, shut up in Ely for—years it seems.” + </p> + <p> + “But they fought at Cassel three months before you went to Ely.” + </p> + <p> + “Be it so. Only tell me. Arnoul killed!” + </p> + <p> + Then the Abbot told, not without feeling, a fearful story. + </p> + <p> + Robert the Frison and Richilda had come to open war, and Gerbod the + Fleming, Earl of Clueter, had gone over from England to help Robert. + William had sent Fitz-Osbern, Earl of Hereford, the scourge and tyrant of + the Welsh, to help Richilda. Fitz Osbern had married her, there and then. + She had asked help of her liege lord, the King of France, and he had sent + her troops. Robert and Richilda had fought on St. Peter’s day, 1071,—nearly + two years before, at Bavinchorum, by Cassel. + </p> + <p> + Richilda had played the heroine, and routed Robert’s left wing, taken him + prisoner, and sent him off to St. Omer. Men said that she had done it by + her enchantments. But her enchantments betrayed her nevertheless. Fitz + Osbern, her bridegroom, fell dead. Young Arnoul had two horses killed + under him. Then Gerbod smote him to the ground, and Richilda and her + troops fled in horror. Richilda was taken, and exchanged for the Frison; + at which the King of France, being enraged, had come down and burnt St. + Omer. Then Richilda, undaunted, had raised fresh troops to avenge her son. + Then Robert had met them at Broqueroie by Mons, and smote them with a + dreadful slaughter. [Footnote: The place was called till late, and may be + now, “The Hedges of Death.”] Then Richilda had turned and fled wildly into + a convent; and, so men said, tortured herself night and day with fearful + penances, if by any means she might atone for her great sins. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida heard, and laid her head upon her knees, and wept so bitterly, + that the Abbot entreated pardon for having pained her so much. + </p> + <p> + The news had a deep and lasting effect on her. The thought of Richilda + shivering and starving in the squalid darkness of a convent, abode by her + thenceforth. Should she ever find herself atoning in like wise for her + sorceries,—harmless as they had been; for her ambitions,—just + as they had been; for her crimes? But she had committed none. No, she had + sinned in many things: but she was not as Richilda. And yet in the + loneliness and sadness of the forest, she could not put Richilda from + before the eyes of her mind. + </p> + <p> + It saddened Hereward likewise. For Richilda he cared little. But that boy. + How he had loved him! How he had taught him to ride, and sing, and joust, + and handle sword, and all the art of war. How his own rough soul had been + the better for that love. How he had looked forward to the day when Arnoul + should be a great prince, and requite him with love. Now he was gone. + Gone? Who was not gone, or going? He seemed to himself the last tree in + the forest. When should his time come, and the lightning strike him down + to rot beside the rest? But he tost the sad thoughts aside. He could not + afford to nourish them. It was his only chance of life, to be merry and + desperate. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” said Hereward, ere they hapt themselves up for the night. “We owe + you thanks, Abbot Thorold, for an evening worthy of a king’s court, rather + than a holly-bush.” + </p> + <p> + “I have won him over,” thought the Abbot. + </p> + <p> + “So charming a courtier,—so sweet a minstrel,—so agreeable a + newsmonger,—could I keep you in a cage forever, and hang you on a + bough, I were but too happy: but you are too fine a bird to sing in + captivity. So you must go, I fear, and leave us to the nightingales. And I + will take for your ransom—” + </p> + <p> + Abbot Thorold’s heart beat high. + </p> + <p> + “Thirty thousand silver marks.” + </p> + <p> + “Thirty thousand fiends!” + </p> + <p> + “My beau Sire, will you undervalue yourself? Will you degrade yourself? I + took Abbot Thorold, from his talk, to be a man who set even a higher value + on himself than other men set on him. What higher compliment can I pay to + your vast worth, than making your ransom high accordingly, after the + spirit of our ancient English laws? Take it as it is meant, beau Sire; be + proud to pay the money; and we will throw you Sir Ascelin into the + bargain, as he seems a friend of Siward’s.” + </p> + <p> + Thorold hoped that Hereward was drunk, and might forget, or relent; but he + was so sore at heart that he slept not a wink that night. But in the + morning he found, to his sorrow, that Hereward had been as sober as + himself. + </p> + <p> + In fine, he had to pay the money; and was a poor man all his days. + </p> + <p> + “Aha! Sir Ascelin,” said Hereward apart, as he bade them all farewell with + many courtesies. “I think I have put a spoke in your wheel about the fair + Alftruda.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? How? Most courteous victor?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Ascelin is not a very wealthy gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + Ascelin laughed assent. + </p> + <p> + “Nudus intravi, nudus exeo—England; and I fear now, this mortal life + likewise.” + </p> + <p> + “But he looked to his rich uncle the Abbot, to further a certain + marriage-project of his. And, of course, neither my friend Gilbert of + Ghent, nor my enemy William of Normandy, are likely to give away so rich + an heiress without some gratification in return.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Hereward knows the world, it seems.” + </p> + <p> + “So he has been told before. And, therefore, having no intention that Sir + Ascelin, however worthy of any and every fair lady, should marry this one; + he took care to cut off the stream at the fountain-head. If he hears that + the suit is still pushed, he may cut off another head beside the + fountain’s.” + </p> + <p> + “There will be no need,” said Ascelin, laughing again. “You have very + sufficiently ruined my uncle, and my hopes.” + </p> + <p> + “My head?” said he, as soon as Hereward was out of hearing. “If I do not + cut off thy head ere all is over, there is neither luck nor craft left + among Normans. I shall catch the Wake sleeping some day, let him be never + so wakeful.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI. — HOW ALFTRUDA WROTE TO HEREWARD. + </h2> + <p> + The weary months ran on, from summer into winter, and winter into summer + again, for two years and more, and neither Torfrida nor Hereward were the + better for them. Hope deferred maketh the heart sick: and a sick heart is + but too apt to be a peevish one. So there were fits of despondency, jars, + mutual recriminations. “If I had not taken your advice, I should not have + been here.” “If I had not loved you so well, I might have been very + differently off,”—and so forth. The words were wiped away the next + hour, perhaps the next minute, by sacred kisses; but they had been said, + and would be recollected, and perhaps said again. + </p> + <p> + Then, again, the “merry greenwood” was merry enough in the summer tide, + when shaughs were green, and + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The woodwele sang, and would not cease, + Sitting upon the spray. + So loud, it wakened Robin Hood + In the greenwood where he lay.” + </pre> + <p> + But it was a sad place enough, when the autumn fog crawled round the + gorse, and dripped off the hollies, and choked alike the breath and the + eyesight; when the air sickened with the graveyard smell of rotting + leaves, and the rain-water stood in the clay holes over the poached and + sloppy lawns. + </p> + <p> + It was merry enough, too, when they were in winter quarters in friendly + farm-houses, as long as the bright sharp frosts lasted, and they tracked + the hares and deer merrily over the frozen snows; but it was doleful + enough in those same farm-houses in the howling wet weather, when wind and + rain lashed in through unglazed window, and ill-made roof, and there were + coughs and colds and rheumatisms, and Torfrida ached from head to foot, + and once could not stand upright for a whole month together, and every + cranny was stuffed up with bits of board and rags, keeping out light and + air as well as wind and water; and there was little difference between the + short day and the long night; and the men gambled and wrangled amid clouds + of peat-reek, over draughtboards and chessmen which they had carved for + themselves, and Torfrida sat stitching and sewing, making and mending, her + eyes bleared with peat-smoke, her hands sore and coarse from continual + labor, her cheek bronzed, her face thin and hollow, and all her beauty + worn away for very trouble. Then sometimes there was not enough to eat, + and every one grumbled at her; or some one’s clothes were not mended, and + she was grumbled at again. And sometimes a foraging party brought home + liquor, and all who could got drunk to drive dull care away; and Hereward, + forgetful of all her warnings, got more than was good for him likewise; + and at night she coiled herself up in her furs, cold and contemptuous; and + Hereward coiled himself up, guilty and defiant, and woke her again and + again with startings and wild words in his sleep. And she felt that her + beauty was gone, and that he saw it; and she fancied him (perhaps it was + only fancy) less tender than of yore; and then in very pride disdained to + take any care of her person, and said to herself, though she dare not say + it to him, that if he only loved her for her face, he did not love her at + all. And because she fancied him cold at times, she was cold likewise, and + grew less and less caressing, when for his sake, as well as her own, she + should have grown more so day by day. + </p> + <p> + Alas for them! there are many excuses. Sorrow may be a softening medicine + at last, but at first it is apt to be a hardening one; and that savage + outlaw life which they were leading can never have been a wholesome one + for any soul of man, and its graces must have existed only in the brains + of harpers and gleemen. Away from law, from self-restraint, from + refinement, from elegance, from the very sound of a church-going bell, + they were sinking gradually down to the level of the coarse men and women + whom they saw; the worse and not the better parts of both their characters + were getting the upper hand; and it was but too possible that after a + while the hero might sink into the ruffian, the lady into a slattern and a + shrew. + </p> + <p> + But in justice to them be it said, that neither of them had complained of + the other to any living soul. Their love had been as yet too perfect, too + sacred, for them to confess to another (and thereby confess to themselves) + that it could in any wise fail. They had each idolized the other, and been + too proud of their idolatry to allow that their idol could crumble or + decay. + </p> + <p> + And yet at last that point, too, was reached. One day they were wrangling + about somewhat, as they too often wrangled, and Hereward in his temper let + fall the words. “As I said to Winter the other day, you grow harder and + harder upon me.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida started and fixed on him wide, terrible, scornful eyes “So you + complain of me to your boon companions?” + </p> + <p> + And she turned and went away without a word. A gulf had opened between + them. They hardly spoke to each other for a week. + </p> + <p> + Hereward complained of Torfrida? What if Torfrida should complain of + Hereward? But to whom? Not to the coarse women round her; her pride + revolted from that thought;—and yet she longed for counsel, for + sympathy,—to open her heart but to one fellow-woman. She would go to + the Lady Godiva at Crowland, and take counsel of her, whether there was + any method (for so she put it to herself) of saving Hereward; for she saw + but too clearly that he was fast forgetting all her teaching, and falling + back to a point lower than that even from which she had raised him up. + </p> + <p> + To go to Crowland was not difficult. It was mid-winter. The dikes were all + frozen. Hereward was out foraging in the Lincolnshire wolds. So Torfrida, + taking advantage of his absence, proposed another foraging party to + Crowland itself. She wanted stuff for clothes, needles, thread, what not. + A dozen stout fellows volunteered at once to take her. The friendly monks + of Crowland would feast them royally, and send them home heaped with all + manner of good things; while as for meeting Ivo Taillebois’s men, if they + had but three to one against them, there was a fair chance of killing a + few, and carrying off their clothes and weapons, which would be useful. So + they made a sledge, tied beef-bones underneath it, put Torfrida thereon, + well wrapped in deer and fox and badger skin, and then putting on their + skates, swept her over the fen to Crowland, singing like larks along the + dikes. + </p> + <p> + And Torfrida went in to Godiva, and wept upon her knees; and Godiva wept + likewise, and gave her such counsel as she could,—how if the woman + will keep the men heroic, she must keep herself not heroic only, but + devout likewise; how she herself, by that one deed which had rendered her + name famous then, and famous (though she never dreamt thereof) now, and it + may be to the end of time,—had once for all, tamed, chained, and as + it were converted, the heart of her fierce young lord; and enabled her to + train him in good time into the most wise, most just, most pious, of all + King Edward’s earls. + </p> + <p> + And Torfrida said yes, and yes, and yes, and felt in her heart that she + knew all that already. Had not she, too, taught, entreated, softened, + civilized? Had not she, too, spent her life upon a man, and that man a + wolf’s-head and a landless outlaw, more utterly than Godiva could ever + have spent hers on one who lived lapped in luxury and wealth and power? + Torfrida had done her best, and she had failed, or at least fancied in her + haste that she had failed. + </p> + <p> + What she wanted was, not counsel, but love. And she clung round the Lady + Godiva, till the broken and ruined widow opened all her heart to her, and + took her in her arms, and fondled her as if she had been a babe. And the + two women spoke few words after that, for indeed there was nothing to be + said. Only at last, “My child, my child,” cried Godiva, “better for thee, + body and soul, to be here with me in the house of God, than there amid + evil spirits and deeds of darkness in the wild woods.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a cloister, not a cloister,” cried Torfrida, shuddering, and half + struggling to get away. + </p> + <p> + “It is the only place, poor wilful child, the only place this side the + grave, in which, we wretched creatures, who for our sins are women born, + can find aught of rest or peace. By us sin came into the world, and Eve’s + curse lies heavy on us to this day, and our desire is to our lords, and + they rule over us; and when the slave can work for her master no more, + what better than to crawl into the house of God, and lay down our crosses + at the foot of His cross and die? You too will come here, Torfrida, some + day, I know it well. You too will come here to rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Never, never,” shrieked Torfrida, “never to these horrid vaults. I will + die in the fresh air! I will be buried under the green hollies; and the + nightingales as they wander up from my own Provence, shall build and sing + over my grave. Never, never!” murmured she to herself all the more + eagerly, because something within her said that it would come to pass. + </p> + <p> + The two women went into the church to Matins, and prayed long and + fervently. And at the early daybreak the party went back laden with good + things and hearty blessings, and caught one of Ivo Taillebois’s men by the + way, and slew him, and got off him a new suit of clothes in which the poor + fellow was going courting; and so they got home safe into the Bruneswald. + </p> + <p> + But Torfrida had not found rest unto her soul. For the first time in her + life since she became the bride of Hereward, she had had a confidence + concerning him and unknown to him. It was to his own mother,—true. + And yet she felt as if she had betrayed him: but then had he not betrayed + her? And to Winter of all men? + </p> + <p> + It might have been two months afterwards that Martin Lightfoot put a + letter into Torfrida’s hand. + </p> + <p> + The letter was addressed to Hereward; but there was nothing strange in + Martin’s bringing it to his mistress. Ever since their marriage, she had + opened and generally answered the very few epistles with which her husband + was troubled. + </p> + <p> + She was going to open this one as a matter of course, when glancing at the + superscription she saw, or fancied she saw, that it was in a woman’s hand. + She looked at it again. It was sealed plainly with a woman’s seal; and she + looked up at Martin Lightfoot. She had remarked as he gave her the letter + a sly significant look in his face. + </p> + <p> + “What doest thou know of this letter?” she inquired sharply. + </p> + <p> + “That it is from the Countess Alftruda, whomsoever she may be.” + </p> + <p> + A chill struck through her heart. True, Alftruda had written before, only + to warn Hereward of danger to his life,—and hers. She might be + writing again, only for the same purpose. But still, she did not wish that + either Hereward, or she, should owe Alftruda their lives, or anything. + They had struggled on through weal and woe without her, for many a year. + Let them do so without her still. That Alftruda had once loved Hereward + she knew well. Why should she not? The wonder was to her that every woman + did not love him. But she had long since gauged Alftruda’s character, and + seen in it a persistence like her own, yet as she proudly hoped of a lower + temper; the persistence of the base weasel, not of the noble hound: yet + the creeping weasel might endure, and win, when the hound was tired out by + his own gallant pace. And there was a something in the tone of Alftruda’s + last letter which seemed to tell her that the weasel was still upon the + scent of its game. But she was too proud to mistrust Hereward, or rather, + to seem to mistrust him. And yet—how dangerous Alftruda might be as + a rival, if rival she choose to be. She was up in the world now, free, + rich, gay, beautiful, a favorite at Queen Matilda’s court, while she— + </p> + <p> + “How came this letter into thy hands?” asked she as carelessly as she + could. + </p> + <p> + “I was in Peterborough last night,” said Martin, “concerning little + matters of my own, and there came to me in the street a bonny young page + with smart jacket on his back, smart cap on his head, and smiles and bows, + and ‘You are one of Hereward’s men,’ quoth he.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Say that again, young jackanapes,’ said I, ‘and I’ll cut your tongue + out,’ whereat he took fright and all but cried. He was very sorry, and + meant no harm, but he had a letter for my master, and he heard I was one + of his men. + </p> + <p> + “Who told him that?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, one of the monks, he could not justly say which, or wouldn’t, and + I, thinking the letter of more importance than my own neck, ask him + quietly into my friend’s house. There he pulls out this and five silver + pennies, and I shall have five more if I bring an answer back: but to none + than Hereward must I give it. With that I calling my friend, who is an + honest woman, and nigh as strong in the arms as I am, ask her to clap her + back against the door, and pull out my axe.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Now,’ said I, ‘I must know a little more about this letter Tell me, + knave, who gave it thee, or I’ll split thy skull.’ + </p> + <p> + “The young man cries and blubbers; and says that it is the Countess + Alftruda, who is staying in the monastery, and that he is her serving man, + and that it is as much as my life is worth to touch a hair of his head, + and so forth,—so far so good. + </p> + <p> + “Then I asked him again, who told him I was my master’s man?—and he + confessed that it was Herluin the prior,—he that was Lady Godiva’s + chaplain of old, whom my master robbed of his money when he had the cell + of Bourne years agone. Very well, quoth I to myself, that’s one more count + on our score against Master Herluin. Then I asked him how Herluin and the + Lady Alftruda came to know aught of each other? and he said that she had + been questioning all about the monastery without Abbot Thorold’s + knowledge, for one that knew Hereward and favored him well. That was all I + could get from the knave, he cried so for fright. So I took his money and + his letter, warning him that if he betrayed me, there were those would + roast him alive before he was done with me. And so away over the town + wall, and ran here five-and-twenty miles before breakfast, and thought it + better as you see to give the letter to my lady first.” + </p> + <p> + “You have been officious,” said Torfrida, coldly. “‘Tis addressed to your + master. Take it to him. Go.” + </p> + <p> + Martin Lightfoot whistled and obeyed, while Torfrida walked away proudly + and silently with a beating heart. + </p> + <p> + Again Godiva’s words came over her. Should she end in the convent of + Crowland? And suspecting, fearing, imagining all sorts of baseless + phantoms, she hardened her heart into a great hardness. + </p> + <p> + Martin had gone with the letter, and Torfrida never heard any more of it. + </p> + <p> + So Hereward had secrets which he would not tell to her. At last! + </p> + <p> + That, at least, was a misery which she would not confide to Lady Godiva, + or to any soul on earth. + </p> + <p> + But a misery it was. Such a misery as none can delineate, save those who + have endured it themselves, or had it confided to them by another. And + happy are they to whom neither has befallen. + </p> + <p> + She wandered on and into the wild-wood, and sat down by a spring. She + looked in it—her only mirror—at her wan, coarse face, with + wild black elf-locks hanging round it, and wondered whether Alftruda, in + her luxury and prosperity, was still so very beautiful. Ah, that that + fountain were the fountain of Jouvence, the spring of perpetual youth, + which all believed in those days to exist somewhere,—how would she + plunge into it, and be young and fair once more! + </p> + <p> + No! she would not! She had lived her life, and lived it well, gallantly, + lovingly, heroically. She had given that man her youth, her beauty, her + wealth, her wit. He should not have them a second time. He had had his + will of her. If he chose to throw her away when he had done with her, to + prove himself base at last, unworthy of all her care, her counsels, her + training,—dreadful thought! To have lived to keep that man for her + own, and just when her work seemed done, to lose him! No, there was worse + than that. To have lived that she might make that man a perfect knight, + and just when her work seemed done, to see him lose himself! + </p> + <p> + And she wept till she could weep no more. Then she washed away her tears + in that well. Had it been in Greece of old, that well would have become a + sacred well thenceforth, and Torfrida’s tears have changed into + forget-me-nots, and fringed its marge with azure evermore. + </p> + <p> + Then she went back, calm, all but cold: but determined not to betray + herself, let him do what he would. Perhaps it was all a mistake, a fancy. + At least she would not degrade him, and herself, by showing suspicion. It + would be dreadful, shameful to herself, wickedly unjust to him, to accuse + him, were he innocent after all. + </p> + <p> + Hereward, she remarked, was more kind to her now. But it was a kindness + which she did not like. It was shy, faltering, as of a man guilty and + ashamed; and she repelled it as much as she dared, and then, once or + twice, returned it passionately, madly, in hopes— + </p> + <p> + But he never spoke a word of that letter. + </p> + <p> + After a dreadful month, Martin came mysteriously to her again. She + trembled, for she had remarked in him lately a strange change. He had lost + his usual loquacity and quaint humor; and had fallen back into that sullen + taciturnity, which, so she heard, he had kept up in his youth. He, too, + must know evil which he dared not tell. + </p> + <p> + “There is another letter come. It came last night,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “What is that to thee or me? My lord has his state secrets. Is it for us + to pry into them? Go!” + </p> + <p> + “I thought—I thought—” + </p> + <p> + “Go, I say!” + </p> + <p> + “That your ladyship might wish for a guide to Crowland.” + </p> + <p> + “Crowland?” almost shrieked Torfrida, for the thought of Crowland had + risen in her own wretched mind instantly and involuntarily. “Go, madman!” + </p> + <p> + Martin went. Torfrida paced madly up and down the farmhouse. Then she + settled herself into fierce despair. + </p> + <p> + There was a noise of trampling horses outside. The men were arming and + saddling, seemingly for a raid. + </p> + <p> + Hereward hurried in for his armor. When he saw Torfrida, he blushed + scarlet. + </p> + <p> + “You want your arms,” said she, quietly; “let me fetch them.” + </p> + <p> + “No, never mind. I can harness myself; I am going southwest, to pay + Taillebois a visit. I am in a great hurry, I shall be back in three days. + Then—good-by.” + </p> + <p> + He snatched his arms off a perch, and hurried out again, dragging them on. + As he passed her, he offered to kiss her; she put him back, and helped him + on with his armor, while he thanked her confusedly. + </p> + <p> + “He was as glad not to kiss me, after all!” + </p> + <p> + She looked after him as he stood, his hand on his horse’s withers. How + noble he looked! And a great yearning came over her. To throw her arms + round his neck once, and then to stab herself, and set him free, dying, as + she had lived, for him. + </p> + <p> + Two bonny boys were wrestling on the lawn, young outlaws who had grown up + in the forest with ruddy cheeks and iron limbs. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Winter!” she heard him say, “had I had such a boy as that!—” + </p> + <p> + She heard no more. She turned away, her heart dead within her. She knew + all that these words implied, in days when the possession of land was + everything to the free man; and the possession of a son necessary, to pass + that land on in the ancestral line. Only to have a son; only to prevent + the old estate passing, with an heiress, into the hands of strangers, what + crimes did not men commit in those days, and find themselves excused for + them by public opinion. And now,—her other children (if she ever had + any) had died in childhood; the little Torfrida, named after herself, was + all that she had brought to Hereward; and he was the last of his house. In + him the race of Leofric, of Godiva, of Earl Oslac, would become extinct; + and that girl would marry—whom? Whom but some French conqueror,—or + at best some English outlaw. In either case Hereward would have no + descendants for whom it was worth his while to labor or to fight. What + wonder if he longed for a son,—and not a son of hers, the barren + tree,—to pass his name down to future generations? It might be worth + while, for that, to come in to the king, to recover his lands, to——She + saw it all now, and her heart was dead within her. + </p> + <p> + She spent that evening neither eating nor drinking, but sitting over the + log embers, her head upon her hands, and thinking over all her past life + and love, since she saw him, from the gable window, ride the first time + into St. Omer. She went through it all, with a certain stern delight in + the self-torture, deliberately day by day, year by year,—all its + lofty aspirations, all its blissful passages, all its deep + disappointments, and found in it—so she chose to fancy in the + wilfulness of her misery—nothing but cause for remorse. Self in all, + vanity, and vexation of spirit; for herself she had loved him; for herself + she had tried to raise him; for herself she had set her heart on man, and + not on God. She had sown the wind: and behold, she had reaped the + whirlwind. She could not repent; she could not pray. But oh! that she + could die. + </p> + <p> + She was unjust to herself, in her great nobleness. It was not true, not + half, not a tenth part true. But perhaps it was good for her that it + should seem true, for that moment; that she should be emptied of all + earthly things for once, if so she might be filled from above. + </p> + <p> + At last she went into the inner room to lie down and try to sleep. At her + feet, under the perch where Hereward’s armor had hung, lay an open letter. + </p> + <p> + She picked it up, surprised at seeing such a thing there, and kneeling + down, held it eagerly to the wax candle which was on a spike at the bed’s + head. + </p> + <p> + She knew the handwriting in a moment. It was Alftruda’s. + </p> + <p> + This, then, was why Hereward had been so strangely hurried. He must have + had that letter, and dropped it. + </p> + <p> + Her eye and mind took it all in, in one instant, as the lightning flash + reveals a whole landscape. And then her mind became as dark as that + landscape, when the flash is past. + </p> + <p> + It congratulated Hereward on having shaken himself free from the + fascination of that sorceress. It said that all was settled with King + William. Hereward was to come to Winchester. She had the King’s writ for + his safety ready to send to him. The King would receive him as his + liegeman. Alftruda would receive him as her husband. Archbishop Lanfranc + had made difficulties about the dissolution of the marriage with Torfrida: + but gold would do all things at Rome; and Lanfranc was her very good + friend, and a reasonable man,—and so forth. + </p> + <p> + Men, and beasts likewise, when stricken with a mortal wound, will run, and + run on, blindly, aimless, impelled by the mere instinct of escape from + intolerable agony. And so did Torfrida. Half undrest as she was, she fled + forth into the forest, she knew not whither, running as one does wrapt in + fire: but the fire was not without her, but within. + </p> + <p> + She cast a passing glance at the girl who lay by her, sleeping a pure and + gentle sleep— + </p> + <p> + “O that thou hadst but been a boy!” Then she thought no more of her, not + even of Hereward: but all of which she was conscious was a breast and + brain bursting; an intolerable choking, from which she must escape. + </p> + <p> + She ran, and ran on, for miles. She knew not whether the night was light + or dark, warm or cold. Her tender feet might have been ankle deep in snow. + The branches over her head might have been howling in the tempest, or + dripping with rain. She knew not, and heeded not. The owls hooted to each + other under the staring moon, but she heard them not. The wolves glared at + her from the brakes, and slunk off appalled at the white ghostly figure: + but she saw them not. The deer stood at gaze in the glades till she was + close upon them, and then bounded into the wood. She ran right at them, + past them, heedless. She had but one thought. To flee from the agony of a + soul alone in the universe with its own misery. + </p> + <p> + At last she was aware of a man close beside her. He had been following her + a long way, she recollected now; but she had not feared him, even heeded + him. But when he laid his hand upon her arm, she turned fiercely, but + without dread. + </p> + <p> + She looked to see if it was Hereward. To meet him would be death. If it + were not he, she cared not who it was. It was not Hereward; and she cried + angrily, “Off! off!” and hurried on. + </p> + <p> + “But you are going the wrong way! The wrong way!” said the voice of Martin + Lightfoot. + </p> + <p> + “The wrong way! Fool, which is the right way for me, save the path which + leads to a land where all is forgotten?” + </p> + <p> + “To Crowland! To Crowland! To the minster! To the monks! That is the only + right way for poor wretches in a world like this. The Lady Godiva told you + you must go to Crowland. And now you are going. I too, I ran away from a + monastery when I was young; and now I am going back. Come along!” + </p> + <p> + “You are right! Crowland, Crowland; and a nun’s cell till death. Which is + the way, Martin?” + </p> + <p> + “O, a wise lady! A reasonable lady! But you will be cold before you get + thither. There will be a frost ere morn. So, when I saw you run out, I + caught up something to put over you.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida shuddered, as Martin wrapped her in the white bearskin. + </p> + <p> + “No! Not that! Anything but that!” and she struggled to shake it off. + </p> + <p> + “Then you will be dead ere dawn. Folks that run wild in the forest thus, + for but one night, die!” + </p> + <p> + “Would God I could die!” + </p> + <p> + “That shall be as He wills; you do not die while Martin can keep you + alive. Why, you are staggering already.” + </p> + <p> + Martin caught her up in his arms, threw her over his shoulder as if she + had been a child, and hurried on, in the strength of madness. + </p> + <p> + At last he stopped at a cottage door, set her down upon the turf, and + knocked loudly. + </p> + <p> + “Grimkel Tolison! Grimkel, I say!” + </p> + <p> + And Martin burst the door open with his foot. + </p> + <p> + “Give me a horse, on your life,” said he to the man inside. “I am Martin, + Hereward’s man, upon my master’s business.” + </p> + <p> + “What is mine is Hereward’s, God bless him,” said the man, struggling into + a garment, and hurrying out to the shed. + </p> + <p> + “There is a ghost against the gate!” cried he, recoiling. + </p> + <p> + “That is my matter, not yours. Get me a horse to put the ghost upon.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida lay against the gate-post, exhausted now; but quite unable to + think. Martin lifted her on to the beast, and led her onward, holding her + up again and again. + </p> + <p> + “You are tired. You had run four miles before I could make you hear me.” + </p> + <p> + “Would I had run four thousand.” And she relapsed into stupor. + </p> + <p> + They passed out of the forest, across open wolds, and at last down to the + river. Martin knew of a boat there. He lifted her from the horse, turned + him loose, put Torfrida into the boat, and took the oars. + </p> + <p> + She looked up, and saw the roofs of Bourne shining white in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + And then she lifted up her voice, and shrieked three times: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Lost! Lost! Lost!” + </pre> + <p> + with such a dreadful cry, that the starlings whirred up from the reeds, + and the wild-fowl rose clanging off the meres, and the watch-dogs in + Bourne and Mainthorpe barked and howled, and folk told fearfully next + morning how a white ghost had gone down from the forest to the fen, and + wakened them with its unearthly cry. + </p> + <p> + The sun was high when they came to Crowland minster. Torfrida had neither + spoken nor stirred; and Martin, who in the midst of his madness kept a + strange courtesy and delicacy, had never disturbed her, save to wrap the + bear-skin more closely over her. + </p> + <p> + When they came to the bank, she rose, stepped out without his help, and + drawing the bear-skin closely round her, and over her head, walked + straight up to the gate of the house of nuns. + </p> + <p> + All men wondered at the white ghost; but Martin walked behind her, his + left finger on his lips, his right hand grasping his little axe, with such + a stern and serious face, and so fierce an eye, that all drew back in + silence, and let her pass. + </p> + <p> + The portress looked through the wicket. + </p> + <p> + “I am Torfrida,” said a voice of terrible calm. “I am come to see the Lady + Godiva. Let me in.” + </p> + <p> + The portress opened, utterly astounded. + </p> + <p> + “Madam?” said Martin eagerly, as Torfrida entered. + </p> + <p> + “What? What?” She seemed to waken from a dream. “God bless thee, thou good + and faithful servant”; and she turned again. + </p> + <p> + “Madam? Say!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I go back and kill him?” And he held out the little axe. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida snatched it from his grasp with a shriek, and cast it inside the + convent door. + </p> + <p> + “Mother Mary and all saints!” cried the portress, “your garments are in + rags, madam!” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. Bring me garments of yours. I shall need none other till I + die!” and she walked in and on. + </p> + <p> + “She is come to be a nun!” whispered the portress to the next sister, and + she again to the next; and they all gabbled, and lifted up their hands and + eyes, and thanked all the saints of the calendar, over the blessed and + miraculous conversion of the Lady Torfrida, and the wealth which she would + probably bring to the convent. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida went straight on, speaking to no one, not even to the prioress; + and into Lady Godiva’s chamber. + </p> + <p> + There she dropped at the countess’s feet, and laid her head upon her + knees. + </p> + <p> + “I am come, as you always told me I should do. But it has been a long way + hither, and I am very tired.” + </p> + <p> + “My child! What is this? What brings you here?” + </p> + <p> + “I am doing penance for my sins.” + </p> + <p> + “And your feet all cut and bleeding.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they?” said Torfrida, vacantly. “I will tell you all about it when I + wake.” + </p> + <p> + And she fell fast asleep, with her head in Godiva’s lap. + </p> + <p> + The countess did not speak or stir. She beckoned the good prioress, who + had followed Torfrida in, to go away. She saw that something dreadful had + happened; and prayed as she awaited the news. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida slept for a full hour. Then she woke with a start. + </p> + <p> + “Where am I? Hereward!” + </p> + <p> + Then followed a dreadful shriek, which made every nun in that quiet house + shudder, and thank God that she knew nothing of those agonies of soul, + which were the lot of the foolish virgins who married and were given in + marriage themselves, instead of waiting with oil in their lamps for the + true Bridegroom. + </p> + <p> + “I recollect all now,” said Torfrida. “Listen!” And she told the countess + all, with speech so calm and clear, that Godiva was awed by the power and + spirit of that marvellous woman. + </p> + <p> + But she groaned in bitterness of soul. “Anything but this. Rather death + from him than treachery. This last, worst woe had God kept in his quiver + for me most miserable of women. And now his bolt has fallen! Hereward! + Hereward! That thy mother should wish her last child laid in his grave!” + </p> + <p> + “Not so,” said Torfrida, “it is well as it is. How better? It is his only + chance for comfort, for honor, for life itself. He would have grown a—I + was growing bad and foul myself in that ugly wilderness. Now he will be a + knight once more among knights, and win himself fresh honor in fresh + fields. Let him marry her. Why not? He can get a dispensation from the + Pope, and then there will be no sin in it, you know. If the Holy Father + cannot make wrong right, who can? Yes. It is very well as it is. And I am + very well where I am. Women! bring me scissors, and one of your nun’s + dresses. I am come to be a nun like you.” + </p> + <p> + Godiva would have stopped her. But Torfrida rose upon her knees, and + calmly made a solemn vow, which, though canonically void without her + husband’s consent, would, she well knew, never be disputed by any there; + and as for him,—“He has lost me; and forever. Torfrida never gives + herself away twice.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s carnal pride in those words, my poor child,” said Godiva. + </p> + <p> + “Cruel!” said she, proudly. “When I am sacrificing myself utterly for + him.” + </p> + <p> + “And thy poor girl?” + </p> + <p> + “He will let her come hither,” said Torfrida with forced calm. “He will + see that it is not fit that she should grow up with—yes, he will + send her to me—to us. And I shall live for her—and for you. If + you will let me be your bower woman, dress you, serve you, read to you. + You know that I am a pretty scholar. You will let me, mother? I may call + you mother, may I not?” And Torfrida fondled the old woman’s thin hands, + “For I do want so much something to love.” + </p> + <p> + “Love thy heavenly bridegroom, the only love worthy of woman!” said + Godiva, as her tears fell fast on Torfrida’s head. + </p> + <p> + She gave a half-impatient toss. + </p> + <p> + “That may come, in good time. As yet it is enough to do, if I can keep + down this devil here in my throat. Women, bring me the scissors.” + </p> + <p> + And Torfrida cut off her raven locks, now streaked with gray, and put on + the nun’s dress, and became a nun thenceforth. + </p> + <p> + On the second day there came to Crowland Leofric the priest, and with him + the poor child. + </p> + <p> + She had woke in the morning and found no mother. Leofric and the other men + searched the woods round, far and wide. The girl mounted her horse, and + would go with them. Then they took a bloodhound, and he led them to + Grimkel’s hut. There they heard of Martin. The ghost must have been + Torfrida. Then the hound brought them to the river. And they divined at + once that she was gone to Crowland, to Godiva; but why, they could not + guess. + </p> + <p> + Then the girl insisted, prayed, at last commanded them to take her to + Crowland. And to Crowland they came. + </p> + <p> + Leofric left the girl at the nun’s house door, and went into the + monastery, where he had friends enow, runaway and renegade as he was. As + he came into the great court, whom should he meet but Martin Lightfoot, in + a lay brother’s frock. + </p> + <p> + “Aha? And are you come home likewise? Have you renounced the Devil and + this last work of his?” + </p> + <p> + “What work? What devil?” asked Leofric, who saw method in Martin’s + madness. “And what do you here, in a long frock?” + </p> + <p> + “Devil? Hereward the devil. I would have killed him with my axe; but she + got it from me, and threw it in among the holy sisters, and I had work to + get it again. Shame on her, to spoil my chance of heaven! For I should + have surely won heaven, you know, if I had killed the devil.” + </p> + <p> + After much beating, about, Leofric got from Martin the whole tragedy. + </p> + <p> + And when he heard it, he burst out weeping. + </p> + <p> + “O Hereward, Hereward! O knightly honor! O faith and troth and gratitude, + and love in return for such love as might have tamed lions, and made + tyrants mild! Are they all carnal vanities, works of the weak flesh, + bruised reeds which break when they are leaned upon? If so, you are right, + Martin, and there is naught left, but to flee from a world in which all + men are liars.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Bring him up,” said the good abbot, “for he is a valiant man and true, in + spite of all his vanities; and may be he brings news of Hereward, whom God + forgive.” + </p> + <p> + And when Leofric came in, he fell upon his knees, bewailing and confessing + his sinful life; and begged the abbot to take him back again into Crowland + minster, and lay upon him what penance he thought fit, and put him in the + lowest office, because he was a man of blood; if only he might stay there, + and have a sight at times of his dear Lady Torfrida, without whom he + should surely die. + </p> + <p> + So Leofric was received back, in full chapter, by abbot and prior and all + the monks. But when he asked them to lay a penance upon him, Ulfketyl + arose from his high chair and spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we, who have sat here at ease, lay a penance on this man, who has + shed his blood in fifty valiant fights for us, and for St. Guthlac, and + for this English land? Look at yon scars upon his head and arms. He has + had sharper discipline from cold steel than we could give him here with + rod; and has fasted in the wilderness more sorely, many a time, than we + have fasted here.” + </p> + <p> + And all the monks agreed, that no penance should be laid on Leofric. Only + that he should abstain from singing vain and carnal ballads, which turned + the heads of the young brothers, and made them dream of naught but + battles, and giants, and enchanters, and ladies’ love. + </p> + <p> + Hereward came back on the third day, and found his wife and daughter gone. + His guilty conscience told him in the first instant why. For he went into + the chamber, and there, upon the floor, lay the letter which he had looked + for in vain. + </p> + <p> + No one had touched it where it lay. Perhaps no one had dared to enter the + chamber. If they had, they would not have dared to meddle with writing, + which they could not read, and which might contain some magic spell. + Letters were very safe in those old days. + </p> + <p> + There are moods of man which no one will dare to describe, unless, like + Shakespeare, he is Shakespeare, and like Shakespeare knows it not. + </p> + <p> + Therefore what Hereward thought and felt will not be told. What he did was + this. He raged and blustered. He must hide his shame. He must justify + himself to his knights; and much more to himself; or if not justify + himself, must shift some of the blame over to the opposite side. So he + raged and blustered. He had been robbed of his wife and daughter. They had + been cajoled away by the monks of Crowland. What villains were those, to + rob an honest man of his family while he was fighting for his country? + </p> + <p> + So he rode down to the river, and there took two great barges, and rowed + away to Crowland, with forty men-at-arms. + </p> + <p> + And all the while he thought of Alftruda, as he had seen her at + Peterborough. + </p> + <p> + And of no one else? + </p> + <p> + Not so. For all the while he felt that he loved Torfrida’s little finger + better than Alftruda’s whole body, and soul into the bargain. + </p> + <p> + What a long way it was to Crowland. How wearying were the hours through + mere and sea. How wearying the monotonous pulse of the oars. If tobacco + had been known then, Hereward would have smoked all the way, and been none + the wiser, though the happier, for it; for the herb that drives away the + evil spirits of anxiety, drives away also the good, though stern, spirits + of remorse. + </p> + <p> + But in those days a man could only escape facts by drinking; and Hereward + was too much afraid of what he should meet in Crowland, to go thither + drunk. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes he hoped that Torfrida might hold her purpose, and set him free + to follow his wicked will. All the lower nature in him, so long crushed + under, leapt up chuckling and grinning and tumbling head over heels, and + cried,—Now I shall have a holiday! + </p> + <p> + Sometimes he hoped that Torfrida might come out to the shore, and settle + the matter in one moment, by a glance of her great hawk’s eyes. If she + would but quell him by one look; leap on board, seize the helm, and assume + without a word the command of his men and him; steer them back to Bourne, + and sit down beside him with a kiss, as if nothing had happened. If she + would but do that, and ignore the past, would he not ignore it? Would he + not forget Alftruda, and King William, and all the world, and go up with + her into Sherwood, and then north to Scotland and Gospatrick, and be a man + once more? + </p> + <p> + No. He would go with her to the Baltic or the Mediterranean. + Constantinople and the Varangers would be the place and the men. Ay, there + to escape out of that charmed ring into a new life! + </p> + <p> + No. He did not deserve such luck; and he would not get it. + </p> + <p> + She would talk it all out. She must, for she was a woman. + </p> + <p> + She would blame, argue, say dreadful words,—dreadful, because true + and deserved. Then she would grow angry, as women do when they are most in + the right, and say too much,—dreadful words, which would be untrue + and undeserved. Then he should resist, recriminate. He would not stand it. + He could not stand it. No. He could never face her again. + </p> + <p> + And yet if he had seen a man insult her,—if he had seen her at that + moment in peril of the slightest danger, the slightest bruise, he would + have rushed forward like a madman, and died, saving her from that bruise. + And he knew that: and with the strange self-contradiction of human nature, + he soothed his own conscience by the thought that he loved her still; and + that, therefore—somehow or other, he cared not to make out how—he + had done her no wrong. Then he blustered again, for the benefit of his + men. He would teach these monks of Crowland a lesson. He would burn the + minster over their heads. + </p> + <p> + “That would be pity, seeing they are the only Englishmen left in England,” + said Siward the White, his nephew, very simply. + </p> + <p> + “What is that to thee? Thou hast helped to burn Peterborough at my + bidding; and thou shalt help to burn Crowland.” + </p> + <p> + “I am a free gentleman of England; and what I choose, I do. I and my + brother are going to Constantinople to join the Varanger guard, and shall + not burn Crowland, or let any man burn it.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall not let?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the young man, so quietly, that Hereward was cowed. + </p> + <p> + “I—I only meant—if they did not do right by me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do right thyself,” said Siward. + </p> + <p> + Hereward swore awfully, and laid his hand on his sword-hilt. But he did + not draw it; for he thought he saw overhead a cloud which was very like + the figure of St. Guthlac in Crowland window, and an awe fell upon him + from above. + </p> + <p> + So they came to Crowland; and Hereward landed and beat upon the gates, and + spoke high words. But the monks did not open the gates for a while. At + last the gates creaked, and opened; and in the gateway stood Abbot + Ulfketyl in his robes of state, and behind him Prior, and all the + officers, and all the monks of the house. + </p> + <p> + “Comes Hereward in peace or in war?” + </p> + <p> + “In war!” said Hereward. + </p> + <p> + Then that true and trusty old man, who sealed his patriotism, if not with + his blood,—for the very Normans had not the heart to take that,—still + with long and bitter sorrows, lifted up his head, and said, like a valiant + Dane, as his name bespoke him: “Against the traitor and the adulterer—” + </p> + <p> + “I am neither,” roared Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “Thou wouldst be, if thou couldst. Whoso looketh upon a woman to—” + </p> + <p> + “Preach me no sermons, man! Let me in to seek my wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Over my body,” said Ulfketyl, and laid himself down across the threshold. + </p> + <p> + Hereward recoiled. If he had dared to step over that sacred body, there + was not a blood-stained ruffian in his crew who dared to follow him. + </p> + <p> + “Rise, rise! for God’s sake, Lord Abbot,” said he. “Whatever I am, I need + not that you should disgrace me thus. Only let me see her,—reason + with her.” + </p> + <p> + “She has vowed herself to God, and is none of thine hence forth.” + </p> + <p> + “It is against the canons. A wrong and a robbery.” + </p> + <p> + Ulfketyl rose, grand as ever. + </p> + <p> + “Hereward Leofricsson, our joy and our glory once. Hearken to the old man + who will soon go whither thine Uncle Brand is gone, and be free of + Frenchmen, and of all this wicked world. When the walls of Crowland dare + not shelter the wronged woman, fleeing from man’s treason to God’s + faithfulness, then let the roofs of Crowland burn till the flame reaches + heaven, for a sign that the children of God are as false as the children + of this world, and break their faith like any belted knight.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward was silenced. His men shrunk back from him. He felt as if God, + and the Mother of God, and St. Guthlac, and all the host of heaven, were + shrinking back from him likewise. He turned to supplications, compromises,—what + else was left? + </p> + <p> + “At least you will let me have speech of her, or of my mother?” + </p> + <p> + “They must answer that, not I.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward sent in, entreating to see one, or both. + </p> + <p> + “Tell him,” said Lady Godiva, “who calls himself my son, that my sons were + men of honor, and that he must have been changed at nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him,” said Torfrida, “that I have lived my life, and am dead. Dead. + If he would see me, he will only see my corpse.” + </p> + <p> + “You would not slay yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “What is there that I dare not do? You do not know Torfrida. He does.” + </p> + <p> + And Hereward did; and went back again like a man stunned. + </p> + <p> + After a while there came by boat to Crowland all Torfrida’s wealth: + clothes, jewels: not a shred had Hereward kept. The magic armor came with + them. + </p> + <p> + Torfrida gave all to the abbey, there and then. Only the armor she wrapped + up in the white bear’s skin, and sent it back to Hereward, with her + blessing, and entreaty not to refuse that, her last bequest. + </p> + <p> + Hereward did not refuse, for very shame. But for very shame he never wore + that armor more. For very shame he never slept again upon the white bear’s + skin, on which he and his true love had lain so many a year. + </p> + <p> + And Torfrida turned herself utterly to serve the Lady Godiva, and to teach + and train her child as she had never done before, while she had to love + Hereward, and to work day and night, with her own fingers, for all his + men. All pride, all fierceness, all care of self, had passed away from + her. In penitence, humility, obedience, and gentleness, she went on; never + smiling; but never weeping. Her heart was broken; and she felt it good for + herself to let it break. + </p> + <p> + And Leofric the priest, and mad Martin Lightfoot, watched like two dogs + for her going out and coming in; and when she went among the poor + corrodiers, and nursed the sick, and taught the children, and went to and + fro upon her holy errands, blessing and blessed, the two wild men had a + word from her mouth, or a kiss of her hand, and were happy all the day + after. For they loved her with a love mightier than ever Hereward had + heaped upon her; for she had given him all: but she had given those two + wild men naught but the beatific vision of a noble woman. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVII. — HOW HEREWARD LOST SWORD BRAIN-BITER. + </h2> + <p> + “On account of which,” says the chronicler, “many troubles came to + Hereward: because Torfrida was most wise, and of great counsel in need. + For afterwards, as he himself confessed, things went not so well with him + as they did in her time.” + </p> + <p> + And the first thing that went ill was this. He was riding through the + Bruneswald, and behind him Geri, Wenoch, and Matelgar, these three. And + there met him in an open glade a knight, the biggest man he had ever seen, + on the biggest horse, and five knights behind him. He was an Englishman, + and not a Frenchman, by his dress; and Hereward spoke courteously enough + to him. But who he was, and what his business was in the Bruneswald, + Hereward thought that he had a right to ask. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me who thou art, who askest, before I tell thee who I am who am + asked, riding here on common land,” quoth the knight, surlily enough. + </p> + <p> + “I am Hereward, without whose leave no man has ridden the Bruneswald for + many a day.” + </p> + <p> + “And I am Letwold the Englishman, who rides whither he will in merry + England, without care for any Frenchman upon earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Frenchman? Why callest thou me Frenchman, man? I am Hereward.” + </p> + <p> + “Then thou art, if tales be true, as French as Ivo Taillebois. I hear that + thou hast left thy true lady, like a fool and a churl, and goest to + London, or Winchester, or the nether pit,—I care not which,—to + make thy peace with the Mamzer.” + </p> + <p> + The man was a surly brute: but what he said was so true, that Hereward’s + wrath arose. He had promised Torfrida many a time, never to quarrel with + an Englishman, but to endure all things. Now, out of very spite to + Torfrida’s counsel, because it was Torfrida’s, and he had promised to obey + it, he took up the quarrel. + </p> + <p> + “If I am a fool and a churl, thou art a greater fool, to provoke thine own + death; and a greater—” + </p> + <p> + “Spare your breath,” said the big man, “and let me try Hereward, as I have + many another.” + </p> + <p> + Whereon they dropped their lance-points, and rode at each other like two + mad bulls. And, by the contagion of folly common in the middle age, at + each other rode Hereward’s three knights and Letwold’s five. The two + leaders found themselves both rolling on the ground; jumped up, drew their + swords, and hewed away at each other. Geri unhorsed his man at the first + charge, and left him stunned. Then he turned on another, and did the same + by him. Wenoch and Matelgar each upset their man. The fifth of Letwold’s + knights threw up his lance-point, not liking his new company. Geri and the + other two rode in on the two chiefs, who were fighting hard, each under + shield. + </p> + <p> + “Stand back!” roared Hereward, “and give the knight fair play! When did + any one of us want a man to help him? Kill or die single, has been our + rule, and shall be.” + </p> + <p> + They threw up their lance-points, and stood round to see that great fight. + Letwold’s knight rode in among them, and stood likewise; and friend and + foe looked on, as they might at a pair of game-cocks. + </p> + <p> + Hereward had, to his own surprise and that of his fellows, met his match. + The sparks flew, the iron clanged; but so heavy were the stranger’s + strokes, that Hereward reeled again and again. So sure was the guard of + his shield, that Hereward could not wound him, hit where he would. At last + he dealt a furious blow on the stranger’s head. + </p> + <p> + “If that does not bring your master down!” quoth Geri. “By—, + Brain-biter is gone!” + </p> + <p> + It was too true. Sword Brain-biter’s end was come. The Ogre’s magic blade + had snapt off short by the handle. + </p> + <p> + “Your master is a true Englishman, by the hardness of his brains,” quoth + Wenoch, as the stranger, reeling for a moment, lifted up his head, and + stared at Hereward in the face, doubtful what to do. + </p> + <p> + “Will you yield, or fight on?” cried he. + </p> + <p> + “Yield?” shouted Hereward, rushing upon him, as a mastiff might on a lion, + and striking at his helm, though shorter than him by a head and shoulders, + such swift and terrible blows with the broken hilt, as staggered the tall + stranger. + </p> + <p> + “What are you at, forgetting what you have at your side?” roared Geri. + </p> + <p> + Hereward sprang back. He had, as was his custom, a second sword on his + right thigh. + </p> + <p> + “I forget everything now,” said he to himself angrily. + </p> + <p> + And that was too true. But he drew the second sword, and sprang at his man + once more. + </p> + <p> + The stranger tried, according to the chronicler, who probably had it from + one of the three by-standers, a blow which has cost many a brave man his + life. He struck right down on Hereward’s head. Hereward raised his shield, + warding the stroke, and threw in that <i>coup de jarret</i>, which there + is no guarding, after the downright blow has been given. The stranger + dropped upon his wounded knee. + </p> + <p> + “Yield,” cried Hereward in his turn. + </p> + <p> + “That is not my fashion.” And the stranger fought on, upon his stumps, + like Witherington in Chevy Chase. + </p> + <p> + Hereward, mad with the sight of blood, struck at him four or five times. + The stranger’s shield was so quick that he could not hit him, even on his + knee. He held his hand, and drew back, looking at his new rival. + </p> + <p> + “What the murrain are we two fighting about?” said he at last. + </p> + <p> + “I know not; neither care,” said the other, with a grim chuckle. “But if + any man will fight me, him I fight, ever since I had beard to my chin.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou art the best man that ever I faced.” + </p> + <p> + “That is like enough.” + </p> + <p> + “What wilt thou take, if I give thee thy life?” + </p> + <p> + “My way on which I was going. For I turn back for no man alive on land.” + </p> + <p> + “Then thou hast not had enough of me?” + </p> + <p> + “Not by another hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou must be born of fiend, and not of man.” + </p> + <p> + “Very like. It is a wise son knows his own father.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward burst out laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Would to heaven I had had thee for my man this three years since.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I would not have been thy man.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I have been my own man ever since I was born, and am well content + with myself for my master.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I bind up thy leg?” asked Hereward, having no more to say, and not + wishing to kill the man. + </p> + <p> + “No. It will grow again, like a crab’s claw.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou art a fiend.” And Hereward turned away, sulky, and half afraid. + </p> + <p> + “Very like. No man knows what a devil he is, till he tries.” + </p> + <p> + “What dost mean?” and Hereward turned angrily back. + </p> + <p> + “Fiends we are all, till God’s grace comes.” + </p> + <p> + “Little grace has come to thee yet, by thy ungracious tongue.” + </p> + <p> + “Rough to men, may be gracious to women.” + </p> + <p> + “What hast thou to do with women’?” asked Hereward, fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “I have a wife, and I love her.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou art not like to get back to her to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear not, with this paltry scratch. I had looked for a cut from thee, + would have saved me all fighting henceforth.” + </p> + <p> + “What dost mean?” asked Hereward, with an oath. + </p> + <p> + “That my wife is in heaven, and I would needs follow her.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward got on his horse, and rode away. Never could he find out who that + Sir Letwold was, or how he came into the Bruneswald. All he knew was, that + he never had had such a fight since he wore beard; and that he had lost + sword Brainbiter: from which his evil conscience augured that his luck had + turned, and that he should lose many things beside. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVIII. — HOW HEREWARD CAME IN TO THE KING. + </h2> + <p> + After these things Hereward summoned all his men, and set before them the + hopelessness of any further resistance, and the promises of amnesty, + lands, and honors which William had offered him, and persuaded them—and + indeed he had good arguments enough and to spare—that they should go + and make their peace with the King. + </p> + <p> + They were so accustomed to look up to his determination, that when it gave + way theirs gave way likewise. They were so accustomed to trust his wisdom, + that most of them yielded at once to his arguments. That the band should + break up, all agreed. A few of the more suspicious, or more desperate, + said that they could never trust the Norman; that Hereward himself had + warned them again and again of his treachery. That he was now going to do + himself what he had laughed at Gospatrick and the rest for doing; what had + brought ruin on Edwin and Morcar; what he had again and again prophesied + would bring ruin on Waltheof himself ere all was over. + </p> + <p> + But Hereward was deaf to their arguments. He had said as little to them as + he could about Alftruda, for very shame; but he was utterly besotted on + her. For her sake, he had determined to run his head blindly into the very + snare of which he had warned others. And he had seared—so he fancied—his + conscience. It was Torfrida’s fault now, not his. If she left him,—if + she herself freed him of her own will,—why, he was free, and there + was no more to be said about it. + </p> + <p> + And Hereward (says the chronicler) took Gwenoch, Geri, and Matelgar, and + rode south to the King. + </p> + <p> + Where were the two young Siwards? It is not said. Probably they, and a few + desperadoes, followed the fashion of so many English in those sad days,—when, + as sings the Norse scald, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Cold heart and bloody hand + Now rule English land,”— +</pre> + <p> + and took ship for Constantinople, and enlisted in the Varanger guard, and + died full of years and honors, leaving fair-haired children behind them, + to become Varangers in their turn. + </p> + <p> + Be that as it may, Hereward rode south. But when he had gotten a long way + upon the road, a fancy (says the chronicler) came over him. He was not + going in pomp and glory enough. It seemed mean for the once great Hereward + to sneak into Winchester with three knights. Perhaps it seemed not over + safe for the once great Hereward to travel with only three knights. So he + went back all the way to camp, and took (says the chronicler) “forty most + famous knights, all big and tall of stature, and splendid,—if from + nothing else, from their looks and their harness alone.” + </p> + <p> + So Hereward and those forty knights rode down from Peterborough, along the + Roman road. For the Roman roads were then, and for centuries after, the + only roads in this land; and our forefathers looked on them as the work of + gods and giants, and called them after the names of their old gods and + heroes,—Irmen Street, Watling Street, and so forth. + </p> + <p> + And then, like true Englishmen, our own forefathers showed their respect + for the said divine works, not by copying them, but by picking them to + pieces to pave every man his own court-yard. Be it so. The neglect of new + roads, the destruction of the old ones, was a natural evil consequence of + local self-government. A cheap price, perhaps, after all, to pay for that + power of local self-government which has kept England free unto this day. + </p> + <p> + Be that as it may, down the Roman road Hereward went; past Alconbury Hill, + of the old posting days; past Wimpole Park, then deep forest; past + Hatfield, then deep forest likewise; and so to St. Alban’s. And there they + lodged in the minster; for the monks thereof were good English, and sang + masses daily for King Harold’s soul. And the next day they went south, by + ways which are not so clear. + </p> + <p> + Just outside St. Alban’s—Verulamium of the Romans (the ruins whereof + were believed to be full of ghosts, demons, and magic treasures)—they + turned, at St. Stephen’s, to the left, off the Roman road to London; and + by another Roman road struck into the vast forest which ringed London + round from northeast to southwest. Following the upper waters of the + Colne, which ran through the woods on their left, they came to Watford, + and then turned probably to Rickmansworth. No longer on the Roman paved + ways, they followed horse-tracks, between the forest and the rich + marsh-meadows of the Colne, as far as Denham, and then struck into a Roman + road again at the north end of Langley Park. From thence, over heathy + commons,—for that western part of Buckinghamshire, its soil being + light and some gravel, was little cultivated then, and hardly all + cultivated now,—they held on straight by Langley town into the Vale + of Thames. + </p> + <p> + Little they dreamed, as they rode down by Ditton Green, off the heathy + commons, past the poor, scattered farms, on to the vast rushy meadows, + while upon them was the dull weight of disappointment, shame, all but + despair; their race enslaved, their country a prey to strangers, and all + its future, like their own, a lurid blank,—little they dreamed of + what that vale would be within eight hundred years,—the eye of + England, and it may be of the world; a spot which owns more wealth and + peace, more art and civilization, more beauty and more virtue, it may be, + than any of God’s gardens which make fair this earth. Windsor, on its + crowned steep, was to them but a new hunting palace of the old + miracle-monger Edward, who had just ruined England. Runnymede, a mile + below them down the broad stream, was but a horse-fen fringed with + water-lilies, where the men of Wessex had met of old to counsel, and to + bring the country to this pass. And as they crossed, by ford or + ferry-boat, the shallows of old Windsor, whither they had been tending all + along, and struck into the moorlands of Wessex itself, they were as men + going into an unknown wilderness: behind them ruin, and before them + unknown danger. + </p> + <p> + On through Windsor Forest, Edward the Saint’s old hunting-ground; its + bottoms choked with beech and oak, and birch and alder scrub; its upper + lands vast flats of level heath; along the great trackway which runs along + the lower side of Chobham Camp, some quarter of a mile broad, every rut + and trackway as fresh at this day as when the ancient Briton, finding that + his neighbor’s essedum—chariot, or rather cart—had worn the + ruts too deep, struck out a fresh wandering line for himself across the + dreary heath. + </p> + <p> + Over the Blackwater by Sandhurst, and along the flats of Hartford Bridge, + where the old furze-grown ruts show the track-way to this day. Down into + the clayland forests of the Andredsweald, and up out of them again at + Basing, on to the clean crisp chalk turf; to strike at Popham Lane the + Roman road from Silchester, and hold it over the high downs, till they saw + far below them the royal city of Winchester. + </p> + <p> + Itchen, silver as they looked on her from above, but when they came down + to her, so clear that none could see where water ended and where air + began, hurried through the city in many a stream. Beyond it rose the + “White Camp,”’ the “Venta Belgarum,” the circular earthwork of white chalk + on the high down. Within the city rose the ancient minster church, built + by Ethelwold,—ancient even then,—where slept the ancient + kings; Kennulf, Egbert, and Ethelwulf the Saxons; and by them the Danes, + Canute the Great, and Hardicanute his son, and Norman Emma his wife, and + Ethelred’s before him; and the great Earl Godwin, who seemed to Hereward + to have died, not twenty, but two hundred years ago;—and it may be + an old Saxon hall upon the little isle whither Edgar had bidden bring the + heads of all the wolves in Wessex, where afterwards the bishops built + Wolvesey Palace. But nearer to them, on the down which sloped up to the + west, stood an uglier thing, which they saw with curses deep and loud,—the + keep of the new Norman castle by the west gate. + </p> + <p> + Hereward halted his knights upon the down outside the northern gate. Then + he rode forward himself. The gate was open wide; but he did not care to go + in. + </p> + <p> + So he rode into the gateway, and smote upon that gate with his lance-but. + But the porter saw the knights upon the down, and was afraid to come out; + for he feared treason. + </p> + <p> + Then Hereward smote a second time; but the porter did not come out. + </p> + <p> + Then he took the lance by the shaft, and smote a third time. And he smote + so hard, that the lance-but flew to flinders against Winchester Gate. + </p> + <p> + And at that started out two knights, who had come down from the castle, + seeing the meinie on the down, and asked,— + </p> + <p> + “Who art thou who knockest here so bold?” + </p> + <p> + “Who I am any man can see by those splinters, if he knows what men are + left in England this day.” + </p> + <p> + The knights looked at the broken wood, and then at each other. Who could + the man be who could beat an ash stave to flinders at a single blow? + </p> + <p> + “You are young, and do not know me; and no shame to you. Go and tell + William the King, that Hereward is come to put his hands between the + King’s, and be the King’s man henceforth.” + </p> + <p> + “You are Hereward?” asked one, half awed, half disbelieving at Hereward’s + short stature. + </p> + <p> + “You are—I know not who. Pick up those splinters, and take them to + King William; and say, ‘The man who broke that lance against the gate is + here to make his peace with thee,’ and he will know who I am.” + </p> + <p> + And so cowed were these two knights with Hereward’s royal voice, and royal + eye, and royal strength, that they went simply, and did what he bade them. + </p> + <p> + And when King William saw the splinters, he was as joyful as man could be, + and said,— + </p> + <p> + “Send him to me, and tell him, Bright shines the sun to me that lights + Hereward into Winchester.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Lord King, he has with him a meinie of full forty knights.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better. I shall have the more valiant Englishmen to help my + valiant French.” + </p> + <p> + So Hereward rode round, outside the walls, to William’s new entrenched + palace, outside the west gate, by the castle. + </p> + <p> + And then Hereward went in, and knelt before the Norman, and put his hands + between William’s hands, and swore to be his man. + </p> + <p> + “I have kept my word,” said he, “which I sent to thee at Rouen seven years + agone. Thou art King of all England; and I am the last man to say so.” + </p> + <p> + “And since thou hast said it, I am King indeed. Come with me, and dine; + and to-morrow I will see thy knights.” + </p> + <p> + And William walked out of the hall leaning on Hereward’s shoulder, at + which all the Normans gnashed their teeth with envy. + </p> + <p> + “And for my knights, Lord King? Thine and mine will mix, for a while yet, + like oil and water; and I fear lest there be murder done between them.” + </p> + <p> + “Likely enough.” + </p> + <p> + So the knights were bestowed in a “vill” near by; “and the next day the + venerable king himself went forth to see those knights, and caused them to + stand, and march before him, both with arms, and without. With whom being + much delighted, he praised them, congratulating them on their beauty and + stature, and saying that they must all be knights of fame in war.” After + which Hereward sent them all home except two; and waited till he should + marry Alftruda, and get back his heritage. + </p> + <p> + “And when that happens,” said William, “why should we not have two + weddings, beausire, as well as one? I hear that you have in Crowland a + fair daughter, and marriageable.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward bowed. + </p> + <p> + “And I have found a husband for her suitable to her years, and who may + conduce to your peace and serenity.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward bit his lip. To refuse was impossible in those days. But— + </p> + <p> + “I trust that your Grace has found a knight of higher lineage than him, + whom, after so many honors, you honored with the hand of my niece.” + </p> + <p> + William laughed. It was not his interest to quarrel with Hereward. “Aha! + Ivo, the wood-cutter’s son. I ask your pardon for that, Sir Hereward. Had + you been my man then, as you are now, it might have been different.” + </p> + <p> + “If a king ask my pardon, I can only ask his in return.” + </p> + <p> + “You must be friends with Taillebois. He is a brave knight, and a wise + warrior.” + </p> + <p> + “None ever doubted that.” + </p> + <p> + “And to cover any little blots in his escutcheon, I have made him an earl, + as I may make you some day.” + </p> + <p> + “Your Majesty, like a true king, knows how to reward. Who is this knight + whom you have chosen for my lass?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Hugh of Evermue, a neighbor of yours, and a man of blood and + breeding.” + </p> + <p> + “I know him, and his lineage; and it is very well. I humbly thank your + Majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I be the same man?” said Hereward to himself, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + And he was not the same man. He was besotted on Alftruda, and humbled + himself accordingly. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIX. — HOW TORFRIDA CONFESSED THAT SHE HAD BEEN INSPIRED + BY THE DEVIL. + </h2> + <p> + After a few days, there came down a priest to Crowland, and talked with + Torfrida, in Archbishop Lanfranc’s name. + </p> + <p> + Whether Lanfranc sent him, or merely (as is probable) Alftruda, he could + not have come in a more fit name. Torfrida knew (with all the world) how + Lanfranc had arranged William the Norman’s uncanonical marriage, with the + Pope, by help of Archdeacon Hildebrand (afterwards Pope himself); and had + changed his mind deftly to William’s side when he saw that William might + be useful to Holy Church, and could enslave, if duly managed, not only the + nation of England to himself, but the clergy of England to Rome. All this + Torfrida, and the world, knew. And therefore she answered:— + </p> + <p> + “Lanfranc? I can hardly credit you: for I hear that he is a good man, + though hard. But he has settled a queen’s marriage suit; so he may very + well settle mine.” + </p> + <p> + After which they talked together; and she answered him, the priest said, + so wisely and well, that he never had met with a woman of so clear a + brain, or of so stout a heart. + </p> + <p> + At last, being puzzled to get that which he wanted, he touched on the + matter of her marriage with Hereward. + </p> + <p> + She wished it, he said, dissolved. She wished herself to enter religion. + </p> + <p> + Archbishop Lanfranc would be most happy to sanction so holy a desire, but + there were objections. She was a married woman; and her husband had not + given his consent. + </p> + <p> + “Let him give it, then.” + </p> + <p> + “There were still objections. He had nothing to bring against her, which + could justify the dissolution of the holy bond: unless—” + </p> + <p> + “Unless I bring some myself?” + </p> + <p> + “There have been rumors—I say not how true—of magic and + sorcery!—” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida leaped up from her seat, and laughed such a laugh, that the + priest said in after years, it rung through his head as if it had arisen + out of the pit of the lost. + </p> + <p> + “So that is what you want, Churchman! Then you shall have it. Bring me pen + and ink. I need not to confess to you. You shall read my confession when + it is done. I am a better scribe, mind you, than any clerk between here + and Paris.” + </p> + <p> + She seized the pen and ink, and wrote; not fiercely, as the priest + expected, but slowly and carefully. Then she gave it the priest to read. + </p> + <p> + “Will that do, Churchman? Will that free my soul, and that of your French + Archbishop?” + </p> + <p> + And the priest read to himself. + </p> + <p> + How Torfrida of St. Omer, born at Aries in Provence, confest that from her + youth up she had been given to the practice of diabolic arts, and had at + divers times and places used the same, both alone and with Richilda, late + Countess of Hainault. How, wickedly, wantonly, and instinct with a + malignant spirit, she had compassed, by charms and spells, to win the love + of Hereward. How she had ever since kept in bondage him, and others whom + she had not loved with the same carnal love, but only desired to make them + useful to her own desire of power and glory, by the same magical arts; for + which she now humbly begged pardon of Holy Church, and of all Christian + folk; and, penetrated with compunction, desired only that she might retire + into the convent of Crowland. She asserted the marriage which she had so + unlawfully compassed to be null and void; and prayed to be released + therefrom, as a burden to her conscience and soul, that she might spend + the rest of her life in penitence for her many enormous sins. She + submitted herself to the judgment of Holy Church, only begging that this + her free confession might be counted in her favor and that she might not + be put to death, as she deserved, nor sent into perpetual imprisonment; + because her mother-in-law according to the flesh, the Countess Godiva, + being old and infirm, had daily need of her; and she wished to serve her + menially as long as she lived. After which, she put herself utterly upon + the judgment of the Church. And meanwhile, she desired and prayed that she + might be allowed to remain at large in the said monastery of Crowland, not + leaving the precincts thereof, without special leave given by the Abbot + and prioress in one case between her and them reserved; to wear garments + of hair-cloth; to fast all the year on bread and water; and to be + disciplined with rods or otherwise, at such times as the prioress should + command, and to such degree as her body, softened with carnal luxury, + could reasonably endure. And beyond—that, being dead to the world, + God might have mercy on her soul. + </p> + <p> + And she meant what she said. The madness of remorse and disappointment, so + common in the wild middle age, had come over her; and with it the twin + madness of self-torture. + </p> + <p> + The priest read, and trembled; not for Torfrida: but for himself, lest she + should enchant him after all. + </p> + <p> + “She must have been an awful sinner,” said he to the monks when he got + safe out of the room; “comparable only to the witch of Endor, or the woman + Jezebel, of whom St. John writes in the Revelations.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know how you Frenchmen measure folks, when you see them; but to + our mind she is,—for goodness, humility, and patience comparable + only to an angel of God,” said Abbot Ulfketyl. + </p> + <p> + “You Englishmen will have to change your minds on many points, if you mean + to stay here.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall not change them, and we shall stay here,” quoth the Abbot. + </p> + <p> + “How? You will not get Sweyn and his Danes to help you a second time.” + </p> + <p> + “No, we shall all die, and give you your wills, and you will not have the + heart to cast our bones into the fens?” + </p> + <p> + “Not unless you intend to work miracles, and set up for saints, like your + Alphege Edmund.” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid that we should compare ourselves with them! Only let us + alone till we die.” + </p> + <p> + “If you let us alone, and do not turn traitor meanwhile.” + </p> + <p> + Abbot Ulfketyl bit his lip, and kept down the rising fiend. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said the priest, “deliver me over Torfrida the younger, + daughter of Hereward and this woman, that I may take her to the King, who + has found a fit husband for her.” + </p> + <p> + “You will hardly get her.” + </p> + <p> + “Not get her?” + </p> + <p> + “Not without her mother’s consent. The lass cares for naught but her.” + </p> + <p> + “Pish! that sorceress? Send for the girl.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The young outlaw came in,—hawk on fist, and its hood off, for it was + a pet,—short, sturdy, upright, brown-haired, blue-eyed, ill-dressed, + with hard hands and sun-burnt face, but with the hawk-eye of her father + and her mother, and the hawks among which she was bred. She looked the + priest over from head to foot, till he was abashed. + </p> + <p> + “A Frenchman!” said she, and she said no more. + </p> + <p> + The priest looked at her eyes, and then at the hawk’s eyes. They were + disagreeably like each other. He told his errand as courteously as he + could, for he was not a bad-hearted man for a Norman priest. + </p> + <p> + The lass laughed him to scorn. The King’s commands? She never saw a king + in the greenwood, and cared for none. There was no king in England now, + since Sweyn Ulfsson sailed back to Denmark. Who was this Norman William, + to sell a free English lass like a colt or a cow? The priest might go back + to the slaves of Wessex, and command them if he could; but in the fens, + men were free, and lasses too. + </p> + <p> + The priest was piously shocked and indignant; and began to argue. + </p> + <p> + She played with her hawk, instead of listening, and then was marching out + of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother,” said he, “is a sorceress.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a knave, or set on by knaves. You lie, and you know you lie.” And + she turned away again. + </p> + <p> + “She has confessed it.” + </p> + <p> + “You have driven her mad between you, till she will confess anything. I + presume you threatened to burn her, as some of you did awhile back.” And + the young lady made use of words equally strong and true. + </p> + <p> + The priest was not accustomed to the direct language of the greenwood, and + indignant on his own account, threatened, and finally offered to use, + force. Whereon there looked up into his face such a demon (so he said) as + he never had seen or dreamed of, and said: + </p> + <p> + “If you lay a finger on me, I will brittle you like any deer.” And + therewith pulled out a saying-knife, about half as long again as the said + priest’s hand, being very sharp, so he deposed, down the whole length of + one edge, and likewise down his little finger’s length of the other. + </p> + <p> + Not being versed in the terms of English venery, he asked Abbot Ulfketyl + what brittling of a deer might mean; and being informed that it was that + operation on the carcass of a stag which his countrymen called <i>eventrer</i>, + and Highland gillies now “gralloching,” he subsided, and thought it best + to go and consult the young lady’s mother. + </p> + <p> + She, to his astonishment, submitted at once and utterly. The King, and he + whom she had called her husband, were very gracious. It was all well. She + would have preferred, and the Lady Godiva too, after their experience of + the world and the flesh, to have devoted her daughter to Heaven in the + minster there. But she was unworthy. Who was she, to train a bride for Him + who died on Cross? She accepted this as part of her penance, with + thankfulness and humility. She had heard that Sir Hugh of Evermue was a + gentleman of ancient birth and good prowess, and she thanked the King for + his choice. Let the priest tell her daughter that she commanded her to go + with him to Winchester. She did not wish to see her. She was stained with + many crimes, and unworthy to approach a pure maiden. Besides, it would + only cause misery and tears. She was trying to die to the world and to the + flesh; and she did not wish to reawaken their power within her. Yes. It + was very well. “Let the lass go with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou art indeed a true penitent,” said the priest, his human heart + softening him. + </p> + <p> + “Thou art very much mistaken,” said she, and turned away. + </p> + <p> + The girl, when she heard her mother’s command, wept, shrieked, and went. + At least she was going to her father. And from wholesome fear of that same + saying-knife, the priest left her in peace all the way to Winchester. + </p> + <p> + After which, Abbot Ulfketyl went into his lodgings, and burst, like a + noble old nobleman as he was, into bitter tears of rage and shame. + </p> + <p> + But Torfrida’s eyes were as dry as her own sackcloth. + </p> + <p> + The priest took the letter back to Winchester, and showed it—it may + be to Archbishop Lanfranc. But what he said, this chronicler would not + dare to say. For he was a very wise man, and a very stanch and strong + pillar of the Holy Roman Church. Meanwhile, he was man enough not to + require that anything should be added to Torfrida’s penance; and that was + enough to prove him a man in those days,—at least for a churchman,—as + it proved Archbishop or St. Ailred to be, a few years after, in the case + of the nun of Watton, to be read in Gale’s “Scriptores Anglicaniae.” Then + he showed the letter to Alftruda. + </p> + <p> + And she laughed one of her laughs, and said, “I have her at last!” + </p> + <p> + Then, as it befell, he was forced to shew the letter to Queen Matilda; and + she wept over it human tears, such as she, the noble heart, had been + forced to keep many a time before, and said, “The poor soul!—You, + Alftruda, woman! does Hereward know of this?” + </p> + <p> + “No, madam,” said Alftruda, not adding that she had taken good care that + he should not know. + </p> + <p> + “It is the best thing which I have heard of him. I should tell him, were + it not that I must not meddle with my lord’s plans. God grant him a good + delivery, as they say of the poor souls in jail. Well, madam, you have + your will at last. God give you grace thereof, for you have not given Him + much chance as yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Your majesty will honor us by coming to the wedding?” asked Alftruda, + utterly unabashed. + </p> + <p> + Matilda the good looked at her with a face of such calm, childlike + astonishment, that Alftruda dropped her “fairy neck” at last, and slunk + out of the presence like a beaten cur. + </p> + <p> + William went to the wedding; and swore horrible oaths that they were the + handsomest pair he had ever seen. And so Hereward married Alftruda. How + Holy Church settled the matter is not said. But that Hereward married + Alftruda, under these very circumstances, may be considered a “historic + fact,” being vouched for by Gaimar, and by the Peterborough Chronicler. + And doubtless Holy Church contrived that it should happen without sin, if + it conduced to her own interest. + </p> + <p> + And little Torfrida—then, it seems, some sixteen years of age—was + married to Hugh of Evermue. She wept and struggled as she was dragged into + the church. + </p> + <p> + “But I do not want to be married. I want to go back to my mother.” + </p> + <p> + “The diabolic instinct may have descended to her,” said the priests, “and + attracts her to the sorceress. We had best sprinkle her with holy water.” + </p> + <p> + So they sprinkled her with holy water, and used exorcisms. Indeed, the + case being an important one, the personages of rank, they brought out from + their treasures the apron of a certain virgin saint, and put it round her + neck, in hopes of driving out the hereditary fiend. + </p> + <p> + “If I am led with a halter, I must needs go,” said she, with one of her + mother’s own flashes of wit, and went. “But Lady Alftruda,” whispered she, + half-way up the church, “I never loved him.” + </p> + <p> + “Behave yourself before the King, or I will whip you till the blood runs.” + </p> + <p> + And so she would, and no one would have wondered in those days. + </p> + <p> + “I will murder you if you do. But I never even saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “Little fool! And what are you going through, but what I went through + before you?” + </p> + <p> + “You to say that?” gnashed the girl, as another spark of her mother’s came + out. “And you gaining what—” + </p> + <p> + “What I waited for for fifteen years,” said Alftruda, coolly. “If you have + courage and cunning, like me, to wait for fifteen years, you too may have + your will likewise.” + </p> + <p> + The pure child shuddered, and was married to Hugh of Evermue, who is not + said to have kicked her; and was, according to them of Crowland, a good + friend to their monastery, and therefore, doubtless, a good man. Once, + says wicked report, he offered to strike her, as was the fashion in those + chivalrous days. Whereon she turned upon him like a tigress, and bidding + him remember that she was the daughter of Hereward and Torfrida, gave him + such a beating that he, not wishing to draw sword upon her, surrendered at + discretion; and they lived all their lives afterwards as happily as most + other married people in those times. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XL. — HOW HEREWARD BEGAN TO GET HIS SOUL’S PRICE. + </h2> + <p> + And now behold Hereward at home again, fat with the wages of sin, and not + knowing that they are death. + </p> + <p> + He is once more “Dominus de Brunune cum Marisco,” (Lord of Bourne with the + fen), “with all returns and liberties and all other things adjacent to the + same vill which are now held as a barony from the Lord King of England.” + He has a fair young wife, and with her farms and manors, even richer than + his own. He is still young, hearty, wise by experience, high in the king’s + favor, and deservedly so. + </p> + <p> + Why should he not begin life again? + </p> + <p> + Why not? Unless it be true that the wages of sin are, not a new life, but + death. + </p> + <p> + And yet he has his troubles. Hardly a Norman knight or baron round but has + a blood-feud against him, for a kinsman slain. Sir Aswart, Thorold the + abbot’s man, was not likely to forgive him for turning him out of the + three Mainthorpe manors, which he had comfortably held for two years past, + and sending him back to lounge in the abbot’s hall at Peterborough, + without a yard of land he could call his own. Sir Ascelin was not likely + to forgive him for marrying Alftruda, whom he had intended to marry + himself. Ivo Taillebois was not likely to forgive him for existing within + a hundred miles of Spalding, any more than the wolf would forgive the lamb + for fouling the water below him. Beside, had he (Ivo) not married + Hereward’s niece? and what more grievous offence could Hereward commit, + than to be her uncle, reminding Ivo of his own low birth by his nobility, + and too likely to take Lucia’s part, whenever it should please Ivo to beat + or kick her? Only “Gilbert of Ghent,” the pious and illustrious earl, sent + messages of congratulation and friendship to Hereward, it being his custom + to sail with the wind, and worship the rising sun—till it should + decline again. + </p> + <p> + But more: hardly one of the Normans round, but, in the conceit of their + skin-deep yesterday’s civilization, look on Hereward as a barbarian + Englishman, who has his throat tattooed, and wears a short coat, and + prefers—the churl—to talk English in his own hall, though he + can talk as good French as they when he is with them, beside three or four + barbarian tongues if he has need. + </p> + <p> + But more still: if they are not likely to bestow their love on Hereward, + Hereward is not likely to win love from them of his own will. He is + peevish, and wrathful, often insolent and quarrelsome; and small blame to + him. The Normans are invaders and tyrants, who have no business there, and + should not be there, if he had his way. And they and he can no more + amalgamate than fire and water. Moreover, he is a very great man, or has + been such once, and he thinks himself one still. He has been accustomed to + command men, whole armies; and he will no more treat these Normans as his + equals, than they will treat him as such. His own son-in-law, Hugh of + Evermue, has to take hard words,—thoroughly well deserved, it may + be; but all the more unpleasant for that reason. + </p> + <p> + The truth was, that Hereward’s heart was gnawed with shame and remorse; + and therefore he fancied, and not without reason, that all men pointed at + him the finger of scorn. + </p> + <p> + He had done a bad, base, accursed deed. And he knew it. Once in his life—for + his other sins were but the sins of his age—the Father of men seems + (if the chroniclers say truth) to have put before this splendid barbarian + good and evil, saying, Choose! And he knew that the evil was evil, and + chose it nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + Eight hundred years after, a still greater genius and general had the same + choice—as far as human cases of conscience can be alike—put + before him. And he chose as Hereward chose. + </p> + <p> + But as with Napoleon and Josephine, so it was with Hereward and Torfrida. + Neither throve after. + </p> + <p> + It was not punished by miracle. What sin is? It worked out its own + punishment; that which it merited, deserved, or earned, by its own labor. + No man could commit such a sin without shaking his whole character to the + root. Hereward tried to persuade himself that his was not shaken; that he + was the same Hereward as ever. But he could not deceive himself long. His + conscience was evil. He was discontented with all mankind, and with + himself most of all. He tried to be good,—as good as he chose to be. + If he had done wrong in one thing, he might make up for it in others; but + he could not. + </p> + <p> + All his higher instincts fell from him one by one. He did not like to + think of good and noble things; he dared not think of them. He felt, not + at first, but as the months rolled on, that he was a changed man; that God + had left him. His old bad habits began to return to him. Gradually he sank + back into the very vices from which Torfrida had raised him sixteen years + before. He took to drinking again, to dull the malady of thought; he + excused himself to himself; he wished to forget his defeats, his + disappointment, the ruin of his country, the splendid past which lay + behind him like a dream. True: but he wished to forget likewise Torfrida + fasting and weeping in Crowland. He could not bear the sight of Crowland + tower on the far green horizon, the sound of Crowland bells booming over + the flat on the south-wind. He never rode down into the fens; he never + went to see his daughter at Deeping, because Crowland lay that way. He + went up into the old Bruneswald, hunted all day long through the glades + where he and his merry men had done their doughty deeds, and came home in + the evening to get drunk. + </p> + <p> + Then he lost his sleep. He sent down to Crowland, to Leofric the priest, + that he might come to him, and sing his sagas of the old heroes, that he + might get rest. But Leofric sent back for answer that he would not come. + </p> + <p> + That night Alftruda heard him by her side in the still hours, weeping + silently to himself. She caressed him: but he gave no heed to her. + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” said she bitterly at last, “that you love Torfrida still + better than you do me.” + </p> + <p> + And Hereward answered, like Mahomet in like case, “That do I, by heaven. + She believed in me when no one else in the world did.” + </p> + <p> + And the vain, hard Alftruda answered angrily; and there was many a fierce + quarrel between them after that. + </p> + <p> + With his love of drinking, his love of boasting came back. Because he + could do no more great deeds—or rather had not the spirit left in + him to do more—he must needs, like a worn-out old man, babble of the + great deeds which he had done; insult and defy his Norman neighbors; often + talk what might be easily caricatured into treason against King William + himself. + </p> + <p> + There were great excuses for his follies, as there are for those of every + beaten man; but Hereward was spent. He had lived his life, and had no more + life which he could live; for every man, it would seem, brings into the + world with him a certain capacity, a certain amount of vital force, in + body and in soul; and when that is used up, the man must sink down into + some sort of second childhood, and end, like Hereward, very much where he + began; unless the grace of God shall lift him up above the capacity of the + mere flesh, into a life literally new, ever-renewing, ever-expanding, and + eternal. + </p> + <p> + But the grace of God had gone away from Hereward, as it goes away from all + men who are unfaithful to their wives. + </p> + <p> + It was very pitiable. Let no man judge him. Life, to most, is very hard + work. There are those who endure to the end, and are saved; there are + those, again, who do not endure: upon whose souls may God have mercy. + </p> + <p> + So Hereward soon became as intolerable to his Norman neighbors as they + were intolerable to him. + </p> + <p> + Whereon, according to the simple fashion of those primitive times, they + sought about for some one who would pick a quarrel with Hereward, and slay + him in fair fight. But an Archibald Bell-the-Cat was not to be found on + every hedge. + </p> + <p> + But it befell that Oger the Breton, he who had Morcar’s lands round + Bourne, came up to see after his lands, and to visit his friend and + fellow-robber, Ivo Taillebois. + </p> + <p> + Ivo thought the hot-headed Breton, who had already insulted Hereward with + impunity at Winchester, the fittest man for his purpose; and asked him, + over his cups, whether he had settled with that English ruffian about the + Docton land? + </p> + <p> + Now, King William had judged that Hereward and Oger should hold that land + between them, as he and Toli had done. But when “two dogs,” as Ivo said, + “have hold of the same bone, it is hard if they cannot get a snap at each + other’s noses.” + </p> + <p> + Oger agreed to that opinion; and riding into Bourne, made inquisition into + the doings at Docton. And—scandalous injustice!—he found that + an old woman had sent six hens to Hereward, whereof she should have kept + three for him. + </p> + <p> + So he sent to demand formally of Hereward those three hens; and was + unpleasantly disappointed when Hereward, instead of offering to fight him, + sent him them in an hour, and a lusty young cock into the bargain, with + this message,—That he hoped they might increase and multiply; for it + was a shame of an honest Englishman if he did not help a poor Breton churl + to eat roast fowls for the first time in his life, after feeding on + nothing better than furze-toppings, like his own ponies. + </p> + <p> + To which Oger, who, like a true Breton, believed himself descended from + King Arthur, Sir Tristram, and half the knights of the Round Table, + replied that his blood was to that of Hereward as wine to peat-water; and + that Bretons used furze-toppings only to scourge the backs of insolent + barbarians. + </p> + <p> + To which Hereward replied, that there were gnats enough pestering him in + the fens already, and that one more was of no consequence. + </p> + <p> + Wherefrom the Breton judged, as at Winchester, that Hereward had no lust + to fight. + </p> + <p> + The next day he met Hereward going out to hunt, and was confirmed in his + opinion when Hereward lifted his cap to him most courteously, saying that + he was not aware before that his neighbor was a gentleman of such high + blood. + </p> + <p> + “Blood? Better at least than thine, thou bare-legged Saxon, who has dared + to call me churl. So you must needs have your throat cut? I took you for a + wiser man.” + </p> + <p> + “Many have taken me for that which I am not. If you will harness yourself, + I will do the same; and we will ride up into the Bruneswald, and settle + this matter in peace.” + </p> + <p> + “Three men on each side to see fair play,” said the Breton. + </p> + <p> + And up into the Bruneswald they rode; and fought long without advantage on + either side. + </p> + <p> + Hereward was not the man which he had been. His nerve was gone, as well as + his conscience; and all the dash and fury of his old onslaughts gone + therewith. + </p> + <p> + He grew tired of the fight, not in body, but in mind; and more than once + drew back. + </p> + <p> + “Let us stop this child’s play,” said he, according to the chronicler; + “what need have we to fight here all day about nothing?” + </p> + <p> + Whereat the Breton fancied him already more than half-beaten, and attacked + more furiously than ever. He would be the first man on earth who ever had + had the better of the great outlaw. He would win himself eternal glory, as + the champion of all England. + </p> + <p> + But he had mistaken his man, and his indomitable English pluck. “It was + Hereward’s fashion, in fight and war,” says the chronicler, “always to ply + the man most at the last.” And so found the Breton; for Hereward suddenly + lost patience, and rushing on him with one of his old shouts, hewed at him + again and again, as if his arm would never tire. + </p> + <p> + Oger gave back, would he or not. In a few moments his sword-arm dropt to + his side, cut half through. + </p> + <p> + “Have you had enough, Sir Tristram the younger?” quoth Hereward, wiping + his sword, and walking moodily away. + </p> + <p> + Oger went out of Bourne with his arm in a sling, and took counsel with Ivo + Taillebois. Whereon they two mounted, and rode to Lincoln, and took + counsel with Gilbert of Ghent. + </p> + <p> + The fruit of which was this. That a fortnight after Gilbert rode into + Bourne with a great meinie, full a hundred strong, and with him the + sheriff and the king’s writ, and arrested Hereward on a charge of speaking + evil of the king, breaking his peace, compassing the death of his faithful + lieges, and various other wicked, traitorous, and diabolical acts. + </p> + <p> + Hereward was minded at first to fight and die. But Gilbert, who—to + do him justice—wished no harm to his ancient squire, reasoned with + him. Why should he destroy not only himself, but perhaps his people + likewise? Why should he throw away his last chance? The king was not so + angry as he seemed; and if Hereward would but be reasonable, the matter + might be arranged. As it was, he was not to be put to strong prison. He + was to be in the custody of Robert of Herepol, Châtelain of Bedford, who, + Hereward knew, was a reasonable and courteous man. The king had asked him, + Gilbert, to take charge of Hereward. + </p> + <p> + “And what said you?” + </p> + <p> + “That I had rather have in my pocket the seven devils that came out of St. + Mary Magdalene; and that I would not have thee within ten miles of Lincoln + town, to be Earl of all the Danelagh. So I begged him to send thee to Sir + Robert, just because I knew him to be a mild and gracious man.” + </p> + <p> + A year before, Hereward would have scorned the proposal; and probably, by + one of his famous stratagems, escaped there and then out of the midst of + all Gilbert’s men. But his spirit was broken; indeed, so was the spirit of + every Englishman; and he mounted his horse sullenly, and rode alongside of + Gilbert, unarmed for the first time for many a year. + </p> + <p> + “You had better have taken me,” said Sir Ascelin aside to the weeping + Alftruda. + </p> + <p> + “I? helpless wretch that I am! What shall I do for my own safety, now he + is gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me come and provide for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Out! wretch! traitor!” cried she. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing very traitorous in succoring distressed ladies,” said + Ascelin. “If I can be of the least service to Alftruda the peerless, let + her but send, and I fly to do her bidding.” + </p> + <p> + So they rode off. + </p> + <p> + Hereward went through Cambridge and Potton like a man stunned, and spoke + never a word. He could not even think, till he heard the key turned on him + in a room—not a small or doleful one—in Bedford keep, and + found an iron shackle on his leg, fastened to the stone bench on which he + sat. + </p> + <p> + Robert of Herepol had meant to leave his prisoner loose. But there were + those in Gilbert’s train who told him, and with truth, that if he did so, + no man’s life would be safe. That to brain the jailer with his own keys, + and then twist out of his bowels a line wherewith to let himself down from + the top of the castle, would be not only easy, but amusing, to the famous + “Wake.” + </p> + <p> + So Robert consented to fetter him so far, but no further; and begged his + pardon again and again as he did it, pleading the painful necessities of + his office. + </p> + <p> + But Hereward heard him not. He sat in stupefied despair. A great black + cloud had covered all heaven and earth, and entered into his brain through + every sense, till his mind, as he said afterwards, was like hell, with the + fire gone out. + </p> + <p> + A jailer came in, he knew not how long after, bringing a good meal, and + wine. He came cautiously toward the prisoner, and when still beyond the + length of his chain, set the food down, and thrust it toward him with a + stick, lest Hereward should leap on him and wring his neck. + </p> + <p> + But Hereward never even saw him or the food. He sat there all day, all + night, and nearly all the next day, and hardly moved hand or foot. The + jailer told Sir Robert in the evening that he thought the man was mad, and + would die. + </p> + <p> + So good Sir Robert went up to him, and spoke kindly and hopefully. But all + Hereward answered was, that he was very well. That he wanted nothing. That + he had always heard well of Sir Robert. That he should like to get a + little sleep: but that sleep would not come. + </p> + <p> + The next day Sir Robert came again early, and found him sitting in the + same place. + </p> + <p> + “He was very well,” he said. “How could he be otherwise? He was just where + he ought to be. A man could not be better than in his right place.” + </p> + <p> + Whereon Sir Robert gave him up for mad. + </p> + <p> + Then he bethought of sending him a harp, knowing the fame of Hereward’s + music and singing. “And when he saw the harp,” the jailer said, “he wept; + but bade take the thing away. And so sat still where he was.” + </p> + <p> + In this state of dull despair he remained for many weeks. At last he woke + up. + </p> + <p> + There passed through and by Bedford large bodies of troops, going as it + were to and from battle. The clank of arms stirred Hereward’s heart as of + old, and he sent to Sir Robert to ask what was toward. + </p> + <p> + Sir Robert, “the venerable man,” came to him joyfully and at once, glad to + speak to an illustrious captive, whom he looked on as an injured man; and + told him news enough. + </p> + <p> + Taillebois’s warning about Ralph Guader and Waltheof had not been + needless. Ralph, as the most influential of the Bretons, was on no good + terms with the Normans, save with one, and that one of the most powerful,—Fitz-Osbern, + Earl of Hereford. His sister Ralph was to have married; but William, for + reasons unknown, forbade the match. The two great earls celebrated the + wedding in spite of William, and asked Waltheof as a guest. And at Exning, + between the fen and Newmarket Heath,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Was that bride-ale + Which was man’s bale.” + </pre> + <p> + For there was matured the plot which Ivo and others had long seen brewing. + William had made himself hateful to all men by his cruelties and + tyrannies; and indeed his government was growing more unrighteous day by + day. Let them drive him out of England, and part the land between them. + Two should be dukes, the third king paramount. + </p> + <p> + “Waltheof, I presume, plotted drunk, and repented sober, when too late. + The wittol! He should have been a monk.” + </p> + <p> + “Repented he has, if ever he was guilty. For he fled to Archbishop + Lanfranc, and confessed to him so much, that Lanfranc declares him + innocent, and has sent him on to William in Normandy.” + </p> + <p> + “O kind priest! true priest! To send his sheep into the wolf’s mouth.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget, dear sire, that William is our king.” + </p> + <p> + “I can hardly forget that, with this pretty ring upon my ankle. But after + my experience of how he has kept faith with me, what can I expect for + Waltheof the wittol, save that which I have foretold many a time?” + </p> + <p> + “As for you, dear sire, the king has been misinformed concerning you. I + have sent messengers to reason with him again and again; but as long as + Taillebois, Warrenne, and Robert Malet had his ear, of what use were my + poor words?” + </p> + <p> + “And what said they?” + </p> + <p> + “That there would be no peace in England if you were loose.” + </p> + <p> + “They lied. I am no boy, like Waltheof. I know when the game is played + out. And it is played out now. The Frenchman is master, and I know it + well. Were I loose to-morrow, and as great a fool as Waltheof, what could + I do, with, it may be, some forty knights and a hundred men-at-arms, + against all William’s armies? But how goes on this fool’s rebellion? If I + had been loose I might have helped to crush it in the bud.” + </p> + <p> + “And you would have done that against Waltheof?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not against him? He is but bringing more misery on England. Tell that + to William. Tell him that if he sets me free, I will be the first to + attack Waltheof, or whom he will. There are no English left to fight + against,” said he, bitterly, “for Waltheof is none now.” + </p> + <p> + “He shall know your words when he returns to England.” + </p> + <p> + “What, is he abroad, and all this evil going on?” + </p> + <p> + “In Normandy. But the English have risen for the King in Herefordshire, + and beaten Earl Roger; and Odo of Bayeux and Bishop Mowbray are on their + way to Cambridge, where they hope to give a good account of Earl Ralph; + and that the English may help them there.” + </p> + <p> + “And they shall! They hate Ralph Guader as much as I do. Can you send a + message for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Whither?” + </p> + <p> + “To Bourne in the Bruneswald; and say to Hereward’s men, wherever they + are, Let them rise and arm, if they love Hereward, and down to Cambridge, + to be the foremost at Bishop Odo’s side against Ralph Guader, or Waltheof + himself. Send! send! O that I were free!” + </p> + <p> + “Would to Heaven thou wert free, my gallant sir!” said the good man. + </p> + <p> + From that day Hereward woke up somewhat. He was still a broken man, + querulous, peevish; but the hope of freedom and the hope of battle woke + him up. If he could but get to his men! But his melancholy returned. His + men—some of them at least—went down to Odo at Cambridge, and + did good service. Guader was utterly routed, and escaped to Norwich, and + thence to Brittany,—his home. The bishops punished their prisoners, + the rebel Normans, with horrible mutilations. + </p> + <p> + “The wolves are beginning to eat each other,” said Hereward to himself. + But it was a sickening thought to him, that his men had been fighting and + he not at their head. + </p> + <p> + After a while there came to Bedford Castle two witty knaves. One was a + cook, who “came to buy milk,” says the chronicler; the other seemingly a + gleeman. They told stories, jested, harped, sang, drank, and pleased much + the garrison and Sir Robert, who let them hang about the place. + </p> + <p> + They asked next, whether it were true that the famous Hereward was there? + If so, might a man have a look at him? + </p> + <p> + The jailer said that many men might have gone to see him, so easy was Sir + Robert to him. But he would have no man; and none dare enter save Sir + Robert and he, for fear of their lives. But he would ask him of Herepol. + </p> + <p> + The good knight of Herepol said, “Let the rogues go in; they may amuse the + poor man.” + </p> + <p> + So they went in, and as soon as they went, he knew them. One was Martin + Lightfoot, the other Leofric the Unlucky. + </p> + <p> + “Who sent you?” asked he surlily, turning his face away. + </p> + <p> + “She.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” + </p> + <p> + “We know but one she, and she is at Crowland.” + </p> + <p> + “She sent you? and wherefore?” + </p> + <p> + “That we might sing to you, and make you merry.” + </p> + <p> + Hereward answered them with a terrible word, and turned his face to the + wall, groaning, and then bade them sternly to go. + </p> + <p> + So they went, for the time. + </p> + <p> + The jailer told this to Sir Robert, who saw all, being a kind-hearted man. + </p> + <p> + “From his poor first wife, eh? Well, there can be no harm in that. Nor if + they came from this Lady Alftruda either, for that matter; let them go in + and out when they will.” + </p> + <p> + “But they may be spies and traitors.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we can but hang them.” + </p> + <p> + Robert of Herepol, it would appear from the chronicle, did not much care + whether they were spies or not. + </p> + <p> + So the men went to and fro, and often sat with Hereward. But he forbade + them sternly to mention Torfrida’s name. + </p> + <p> + Alftruda sent to him meanwhile, again and again, messages of passionate + love and sorrow, and he listened to them as sullenly as he did to his two + servants, and sent no answer back. And so sat more weary months, in the + very prison, it may be in the very room, in which John Bunyan sat nigh six + hundred years after: but in a very different frame of mind. + </p> + <p> + One day Sir Robert was going up the stairs with another knight, and met + the two coming down. He was talking to that knight earnestly, indignantly: + and somehow, as he passed Leofric and Martin he thought fit to raise his + voice, as if in a great wrath. + </p> + <p> + “Shame to all honor and chivalry! good saints in heaven, what a thing is + human fortune! That this man, who had once a gallant army at his back, + should be at this moment going like a sheep to the slaughter, to + Buckingham Castle, at the mercy of his worst enemy, Ivo Taillebois, of all + men in the world. If there were a dozen knights left of all those whom he + used to heap with wealth and honor, worthy the name of knights, they would + catch us between here and Stratford, and make a free man of their lord.” + </p> + <p> + So spake—or words to that effect, according to the Latin chronicler, + who must have got them from Leofric himself—the good knight of + Herepol. + </p> + <p> + “Hillo, knaves!” said he, seeing the two, “are you here eavesdropping? out + of the castle this instant, on your lives.” + </p> + <p> + Which hint those two witty knaves took on the spot. + </p> + <p> + A few days after, Hereward was travelling toward Buckingham, chained upon + a horse, with Sir Robert and his men, and a goodly company of knights + belonging to Ivo. Ivo, as the story runs, seems to have arranged with + Ralph Pagnel at Buckingham to put him into the keeping of a creature of + his own. And how easy it was to put out a man’s eyes, or starve him to + death, in a Norman keep, none knew better than Hereward. + </p> + <p> + But he was past fear or sorrow. A dull heavy cloud of despair had settled + down upon his soul. Black with sin, his heart could not pray. He had + hardened himself against all heaven and earth, and thought, when he + thought at all, only of his wrongs: but never of his sins. + </p> + <p> + They passed through a forest, seemingly somewhere near what is Newport + Pagnel, named after Ralph, his would-be jailer. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly from the trees dashed out a body of knights, and at their head + the white-bear banner, in Ranald of Ramsey’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “Halt!” shouted Sir Robert; “we are past the half-way stone. Earl Ivo’s + and Earl Ralph’s men are answerable now for the prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + “Treason!” shouted Ivo’s men, and one would have struck Hereward through + with his lance; but Winter was too quick for him, and bore him from his + saddle; and then dragged Hereward out of the fight. + </p> + <p> + The Normans, surprised while their helmets were hanging at their saddles, + and their arms not ready for battle, were scattered at once. But they + returned to the attack, confident in their own numbers. + </p> + <p> + They were over confident. Hereward’s fetters were knocked off; and he was + horsed and armed, and, mad with freedom and battle, fighting like himself + once more. + </p> + <p> + Only as he rode to and fro, thrusting and hewing, he shouted to his men to + spare Sir Robert, and all his meinie, crying that he was the savior of his + life; and when the fight was over, and all Ivo’s and Ralph’s men who were + not slain had ridden for their lives into Stratford, he shook hands with + that venerable knight, giving him innumerable thanks and courtesies for + his honorable keeping; and begged him to speak well of him to the king. + </p> + <p> + And so these two parted in peace, and Hereward was a free man. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLI. — HOW EARL WALTHEOF WAS MADE A SAINT. + </h2> + <p> + A few months after, there sat in Abbot Thorold’s lodgings in Peterborough + a select company of Normans, talking over affairs of state after their + supper. + </p> + <p> + “Well, earls and gentlemen,” said the Abbot, as he sipped his wine, “the + cause of our good king, which is happily the cause of Holy Church, goes + well, I think. We have much to be thankful for when we review the events + of the past year. We have finished the rebels; Roger de Breteuil is safe + in prison, Ralph Guader unsafe in Brittany, and Waltheof more than unsafe + in—the place to which traitors descend. We have not a manor left + which is not in loyal Norman hands; we have not an English monk left who + has not been scourged and starved into holy obedience; not an English + saint for whom any man cares a jot, since Guerin de Lire preached down St. + Adhelm, the admirable primate disposed of St. Alphege’s martyrdom, and + some other wise man—I am ashamed to say that I forget who—proved + that St. Edmund of Suffolk was merely a barbarian knight, who was killed + fighting with Danes only a little more heathen than himself. We have had + great labors and great sufferings since we landed in this barbarous isle + upon our holy errand ten years since; but, under the shadow of the + gonfalon of St. Peter, we have conquered, and may sing ‘Dominus + illuminatio mea’ with humble and thankful hearts.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that,” said Ascelin, “my Lord Uncle; I shall never sing + ‘Dominus Illuminatio’ till I see your coffers illuminated once more by + those thirty thousand marks.” + </p> + <p> + “Or I,” said Oger le Breton, “till I see myself safe in that bit of land + which Hereward holds wrongfully of me in Locton.” + </p> + <p> + “Or I,” said Ivo Taillebois, “till I see Hereward’s head on Bourne gable, + where he stuck up those Norman’s heads seven years ago. But what the Lord + Abbot means by saying that we have done with English saints I do not see, + for the villains of Crowland have just made a new one for themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “A new one?” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you truth and fact; I will tell you all, Lord Abbot; and you shall + judge whether it is not enough to drive an honest man mad to see such + things going on under his nose. Men say of me that I am rough, and swear + and blaspheme. I put it to you, Lord Abbot, if Job would not have cursed + if he had been Lord of Spalding? You know that the king let these Crowland + monks have Waltheof’s body?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I thought it an unwise act of grace. It would have been wiser to + leave him, as he desired, out on the down, in ground unconsecrate.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, of course; for what has happened?” + </p> + <p> + “That old traitor, Ulfketyl, and his monks bring the body to Crowland, and + bury it as if it had been the Pope’s. In a week they begin to spread their + lies,—that Waltheof was innocent; that Archbishop Lanfranc himself + said so.” + </p> + <p> + “That was the only act of human weakness which I have ever known the + venerable prelate commit,” said Thorold. + </p> + <p> + “That these Normans at Winchester were so in the traitor’s favor, that the + king had to have him out and cut off his head in the gray of the morning, + ere folks were up and about; that the fellow was so holy that he passed all + his time in prison in weeping and praying, and said over the whole Psalter + every day, because his mother had taught it him,—I wish she had + taught him to be an honest man;—and that when his head was on the + block he said all the Paternoster, as far as ‘Lead us not into + temptation,’ and then off went his head; whereon, his head being off, + finished the prayer with—you know best what comes next, Abbot?” + </p> + <p> + “Deliver us from evil, Amen! What a manifest lie! The traitor was not + permitted, it is plain, to ask for that which could never be granted to + him; but his soul, unworthy to be delivered from evil, entered instead + into evil, and howls forever in the pit.” + </p> + <p> + “But all the rest may be true,” said Oger; “and yet that be no reason why + these monks should say it.” + </p> + <p> + “So I told them, and threatened them too; for, not content with making him + a martyr, they are making him a saint.” + </p> + <p> + “Impious! Who can do that, save the Holy Father?” said Thorold. + </p> + <p> + “You had best get your bishop to look to them, then, for they are carrying + blind beggars and mad girls by the dozen to be cured at the man’s tomb, + that is all. Their fellows in the cell at Spalding went about to take a + girl that had fits off one of my manors, to cure her; but that I stopped + with a good horse-whip.” + </p> + <p> + “And rightly.” + </p> + <p> + “And gave the monks a piece of my mind, and drove them clean out of their + cell home to Crowland.” + </p> + <p> + What a piece of Ivo’s mind on this occasion might be, let Ingulf describe. + </p> + <p> + “Against our monastery and all the people of Crowland he was, by the + instigation of the Devil, raised to such an extreme pitch of fury, that he + would follow their animals in the marshes with his dogs, drive them to a + great distance down in the lakes, mutilate some in the tails, others in + the ears, while often, by breaking the backs and legs of the beasts of + burden, he rendered them utterly useless. Against our cell also (at + Spalding) and our brethren, his neighbors, the prior and monks, who dwelt + all day within his presence, he rages with tyrannical and frantic fury, + lamed their oxen and horses, daily impounded their sheep and poultry, + striking down, killing, and slaying their swine and pigs; while at the + same time the servants of the prior were oppressed in the Earl’s court + with insupportable exactions, were often assaulted in the highways with + swords and staves, and sometimes killed.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” went on the injured Earl, “this Hereward gets news of me,—and + news too, I don’t know whence, but true enough it is,—that I had + sworn to drive Ulfketyl out of Crowland by writ from king and bishop, and + lock him up as a minister at the other end of England.” + </p> + <p> + “You will do but right. I will send a knight off to the king this day, + telling him all, and begging him to send us up a trusty Norman as abbot of + Crowland, that we may have one more gentleman in the land fit for our + company.” + </p> + <p> + “You must kill Hereward first. For, as I was going to say, he sent word to + me ‘that the monks of Crowland were as the apple of his eye, and Abbot + Ulfketyl to him as more than a father; and that if I dared to lay a finger + on them or their property, he would cut my head off.’” + </p> + <p> + “He has promised to cut my head off likewise,” said Ascelin. “Earl, + knights, and gentlemen, do you not think it wiser that we should lay our + wits together once and for all, and cut off his.” + </p> + <p> + “But who will catch the Wake sleeping?” said Ivo, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “That will I. I have my plans, and my intelligencers.” + </p> + <p> + And so those wicked men took counsel together to slay Hereward. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLII. — HOW HEREWARD GOT THE BEST OF HIS SOUL’S PRICE. + </h2> + <p> + In those days a messenger came riding post to Bourne. The Countess Judith + wished to visit the tomb of her late husband, Earl Waltheof; and asked + hospitality on her road of Hereward and Alftruda. + </p> + <p> + Of course she would come with a great train, and the trouble and expense + would be great. But the hospitality of those days, when money was scarce, + and wine scarcer still, was unbounded, and a matter of course; and + Alftruda was overjoyed. No doubt, Judith was the most unpopular person in + England at that moment; called by all a traitress and a fiend. But she was + an old acquaintance of Alftruda’s; she was the king’s niece; she was + immensely rich, not only in manors of her own, but in manors, as + Domesday-book testifies, about Lincolnshire and the counties round, which + had belonged to her murdered husband,—which she had too probably + received as the price of her treason. So Alftruda looked to her visit as + to an honor which would enable her to hold her head high among the proud + Norman dames, who despised her as the wife of an Englishman. + </p> + <p> + Hereward looked on the visit in a different light. He called Judith ugly + names, not undeserved; and vowed that if she entered his house by the + front door he would go out at the back. “Torfrida prophesied,” he said, + “that she would betray her husband, and she had done it.” + </p> + <p> + “Torfrida prophesied? Did she prophesy that I should betray you likewise?” + asked Alftruda, in a tone of bitter scorn. + </p> + <p> + “No, you handsome fiend: will you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I am a handsome fiend, am I not?” and she bridled up her magnificent + beauty, and stood over him as a snake stands over a mouse. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; you are handsome,—beautiful: I adore you.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you will not do what I wish?” + </p> + <p> + “What you wish? What would I not do for you? what have I not done for + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Then receive Judith. And now, go hunting, and bring me in game. I want + deer, roe, fowls; anything and everything from the greatest to the + smallest. Go and hunt.” + </p> + <p> + And Hereward trembled, and went. + </p> + <p> + There are flowers whose scent is so luscious that silly children will + plunge their heads among them, drinking in their odor, to the exclusion of + all fresh air. On a sudden sometimes comes a revulsion of the nerves. The + sweet odor changes in a moment to a horrible one; and the child cannot + bear for years after the scent which has once disgusted it by + over-sweetness. + </p> + <p> + And so had it happened to Hereward. He did not love Alftruda now: he + loathed, hated, dreaded her. And yet he could not take his eyes for a + moment off her beauty. He watched every movement of her hand, to press it, + obey it. He would have preferred instead of hunting, simply to sit and + watch her go about the house at her work. He was spell-bound to a thing + which he regarded with horror. + </p> + <p> + But he was told to go and hunt; and he went, with all his men, and sent + home large supplies for the larder. And as he hunted, the free, fresh air + of the forest comforted him, the free forest life came back to him, and he + longed to be an outlaw once more, and hunt on forever. He would not go + back yet, at least to face that Judith. So he sent back the greater part + of his men with a story. He was ill; he was laid up at a farm-house far + away in the forest, and begged the countess to excuse his absence. He had + sent fresh supplies of game, and a goodly company of his men, knights and + housecarles, who would escort her royally to Crowland. + </p> + <p> + Judith cared little for his absence; he was but an English barbarian. + Alftruda was half glad to have him out of the way, lest his now sullen and + uncertain temper should break out; and bowed herself to the earth before + Judith, who patronized her to her heart’s content, and offered her slyly + insolent condolences on being married to a barbarian. She herself could + sympathize,—who more? + </p> + <p> + Alftruda might have answered with scorn that she was an Adeliza, and of + better English blood than Judith’s Norman blood; but she had her ends to + gain, and gained them. + </p> + <p> + For Judith was pleased to be so delighted with her that she kissed her + lovingly, and said with much emotion that she required a friend who would + support her through her coming trial; and who better than one who herself + had suffered so much? Would she accompany her to Crowland? + </p> + <p> + Alftruda was overjoyed, and away they went. + </p> + <p> + And to Crowland they came; and to the tomb in the minster, whereof men + said already that the sacred corpse within worked miracles of healing. + </p> + <p> + And Judith, habited in widow’s weeds, approached the tomb, and laid on it, + as a peace-offering to the manes of the dead, a splendid pall of silk and + gold. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “A miracle!” cried all the monks at once; and honestly enough, like true + Englishmen as they were. + </p> + <p> + “The Holy heart refuses the gift, Countess,” said old Ulfketyl in a voice + of awe. + </p> + <p> + Judith covered her face with her hands, and turned away trembling, and + walked out, while all looked upon her as a thing accursed. + </p> + <p> + Of her subsequent life, her folly, her wantonness, her disgrace, her + poverty, her wanderings, her wretched death, let others tell. + </p> + <p> + But these Normans believed that the curse of Heaven was upon her from that + day. And the best of them believed likewise that Waltheof’s murder was the + reason that William, her uncle, prospered no more in life. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, saucy sir,” said Alftruda to Ulfketyl, as she went out, “there is one + waiting at Peterborough now who will teach thee manners,—Ingulf of + Fontenelle, Abbot, in thy room.” + </p> + <p> + “Does Hereward know that?” asked Ulfketyl, looking keenly at her. + </p> + <p> + “What is that to thee?” said she, fiercely, and flung out of the minster. + But Hereward did not know. There were many things abroad of which she told + him nothing. + </p> + <p> + They went back and were landed at Deeping town, and making their way along + the King Street, or old Roman road, to Bourne. Thereon a man met them, + running. They had best stay where they were. The Frenchmen were out, and + there was fighting up in Bourne. + </p> + <p> + Alftruda’s knights wanted to push on, to see after the Bourne folk; + Judith’s knights wanted to push on to help the French; and the two parties + were ready to fight each other. There was a great tumult. The ladies had + much ado to still it. + </p> + <p> + Alftruda said that it might be but a countryman’s rumor; that, at least, + it was shame to quarrel with their guests. At last it was agreed that two + knights should gallop on into Bourne, and bring back news. + </p> + <p> + But those knights never came back. So the whole body moved on Bourne, and + there they found out the news for themselves. + </p> + <p> + Hereward had gone home as soon as they had departed, and sat down to eat + and drink. His manner was sad and strange. He drank much at the midday + meal, and then lay down to sleep, setting guards as usual. + </p> + <p> + After a while he leapt up with a shriek and a shudder. + </p> + <p> + They ran to him, asking whether he was ill. + </p> + <p> + “Ill? No. Yes. Ill at heart. I have had a dream,—an ugly dream. I + thought that all the men I ever slew on earth came to me with their wounds + all gaping, and cried at me, ‘Our luck then, thy luck now.’ Chaplain! is + there not a verse somewhere,—Uncle Brand said it to me on his + deathbed,—‘Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be + shed’?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely the master is fey,” whispered Gwenoch in fear to the chaplain. + “Answer him out of Scripture.” + </p> + <p> + “Text? None such that I know of,” quoth Priest Ailward, a graceless fellow + who had taken Leofric’s place. “If that were the law, it would be but few + honest men that would die in their beds. Let us drink, and drive girls’ + fancies out of our heads.” + </p> + <p> + So they drank again; and Hereward fell asleep once more. + </p> + <p> + “It is thy turn to watch, Priest,” said Gwenoch to Ailward. “So keep the + door well, for I am worn out with hunting,” and so fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + Ailward shuffled into his harness, and went to the door. The wine was + heady; the sun was hot. In a few minutes he was asleep likewise. + </p> + <p> + Hereward slept, who can tell how long? But at last there was a bustle, a + heavy fall; and waking with a start, he sprang up. He saw Ailward lying + dead across the gate, and above him a crowd of fierce faces, some of which + he knew too well. He saw Ivo Taillebois; he saw Oger; he saw his + fellow-Breton, Sir Raoul de Dol; he saw Sir Ascelin; he saw Sir Aswa, + Thorold’s man; he saw Sir Hugh of Evermue, his own son-in-law; and with + them he saw, or seemed to see, the Ogre of Cornwall, and O’Brodar of + Ivark, and Dirk Hammerhand of Walcheren, and many another old foe long + underground; and in his ear rang the text,—“Whoso sheddeth man’s + blood, by man shall his blood be shed.” And Hereward knew that his end was + come. + </p> + <p> + There was no time to put on mail or helmet. He saw the old sword and + shield hang on a perch, and tore them down. As he girded the sword on + Winter sprang to his side. + </p> + <p> + “I have three lances,—two for me and one for you, and we can hold + the door against twenty.” + </p> + <p> + “Till they fire the house over our heads. Shall Hereward die like a wolf + in a cave? Forward, all Hereward’s men!” + </p> + <p> + And he rushed out upon his fate. No man followed him, save Winter. The + rest, disperst, unarmed, were running hither and thither helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “Brothers in arms, and brothers in Valhalla!” shouted Winter as he rushed + after him. + </p> + <p> + A knight was running to and fro in the Court, shouting Hereward’s name. + “Where is the villain? Wake! We have caught thee asleep at last.” + </p> + <p> + “I am out,” quoth Hereward, as the man almost stumbled against him; “and + this is in.” + </p> + <p> + And through shield, hauberk, and body, as says Gaima, went Hereward’s + javelin, while all drew back, confounded for the moment at that mighty + stroke. + </p> + <p> + “Felons!” shouted Hereward, “your king has given me his truce; and do you + dare break my house, and kill my folk? Is that your Norman law? And is + this your Norman honor?—To take a man unawares over his meat? Come + on, traitors all, and get what you can of a naked man; [Footnote: i. e. + without armor.] you will buy it dear—Guard my back, Winter!” + </p> + <p> + And he ran right at the press of knights; and the fight began. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He gored them like a wood-wild boar, + As long as that lance might endure,” + </pre> + <p> + says Gaimar. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And when that lance did break in hand, + Full fell enough he smote with brand.” + </pre> + <p> + And as he hewed on silently, with grinding teeth and hard, glittering + eyes, of whom did he think? Of Alftruda? + </p> + <p> + Not so. But of that pale ghost, with great black hollow eyes, who sat in + Crowland, with thin bare feet, and sackcloth on her tender limbs, + watching, praying, longing, loving, uncomplaining. That ghost had been for + many a month the background of all his thoughts and dreams. It was so + clear before his mind’s eye now, that, unawares to himself, he shouted + “Torfrida!” as he struck, and struck the harder at the sound of his old + battle-cry. + </p> + <p> + And now he is all wounded and be-bled; and Winter, who has fought back to + back with him, has fallen on his face; and Hereward stands alone, turning + from side to side, as he sweeps his sword right and left till the forest + rings with the blows, but staggering as he turns. Within a ring of eleven + corpses he stands. Who will go in and make the twelfth? + </p> + <p> + A knight rushes in, to fall headlong down, cloven through the helm: but + Hereward’s blade snaps short, and he hurls it away as his foes rush in + with a shout of joy. He tears his shield from his left arm, and with it, + says Gaimar, brains two more. + </p> + <p> + But the end is come. Taillebois and Evermue are behind him now; four + lances are through his back, and bear him down to his knees. + </p> + <p> + “Cut off his head, Breton!” shouted Ivo. Raoul de Dol rushed forward, + sword in hand. At that cry Hereward lifted up his dying head. One stroke + more ere it was all done forever. + </p> + <p> + And with a shout of “Torfrida!” which made the Bruneswald ring, he hurled + the shield full in the Breton’s face, and fell forward dead. + </p> + <p> + The knights drew their lances from that terrible corpse slowly and with + caution, as men who have felled a bear, yet dare not step within reach of + the seemingly lifeless paw. + </p> + <p> + “The dog died hard,” said Ivo. “Lucky for us that Sir Ascelin had news of + his knights being gone to Crowland. If he had had them to back him, we had + not done this deed to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I will make sure,” said Ascelin, as he struck off the once fair and + golden head. + </p> + <p> + “Ho, Breton,” cried Ivo, “the villain is dead. Get up, man, and see for + yourself. What ails him?” + </p> + <p> + But when they lifted up Raoul de Dol his brains were running down his + face; and all men stood astonished at that last mighty stroke. + </p> + <p> + “That blow,” said Ascelin, “will be sung hereafter by minstrel and maiden + as the last blow of the last Englishman. Knights, we have slain a better + knight than ourselves. If there had been three more such men in this + realm, they would have driven us and King William back again into the + sea.” + </p> + <p> + So said Ascelin; those words of his, too, were sung by many a jongleur, + Norman as well as English, in the times that were to come. + </p> + <p> + “Likely enough,” said Ivo; “but that is the more reason why we should set + that head of his up over the hall-door, as a warning to these English + churls that their last man is dead, and their last stake thrown and lost.” + </p> + <p> + So perished “the last of the English.” + </p> + <p> + It was the third day. The Normans were drinking in the hall of Bourne, + casting lots among themselves who should espouse the fair Alftruda, who + sat weeping within over the headless corpse; when in the afternoon a + servant came in, and told them how a barge full of monks had come to the + shore, and that they seemed to be monks from Crowland. Ivo Taillebois bade + drive them back again into the barge with whips. But Hugh of Evermue spoke + up. + </p> + <p> + “I am lord and master in Bourne this day, and if Ivo have a quarrel + against St. Guthlac, I have none. This Ingulf of Fontenelle, the new abbot + who has come thither since old Ulfketyl was sent to prison, is a loyal + man, and a friend of King William’s, and my friend he shall be till he + behaves himself as my foe. Let them come up in peace.” + </p> + <p> + Taillebois growled and cursed: but the monks came up, and into the hall; + and at their head Ingulf himself, to receive whom all men rose, save + Taillebois. + </p> + <p> + “I come,” said Ingulf, in most courtly French, “noble knights, to ask a + boon and in the name of the Most Merciful, on behalf of a noble and + unhappy lady. Let it be enough to have avenged yourself on the living. + Gentlemen and Christians war not against the dead.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Master Abbot!” shouted Taillebois; “Waltheof is enough to keep + Crowland in miracles for the present. You shall not make a martyr of + another Saxon churl. He wants the barbarian’s body, knights, and you will + be fools if you let him have it.” + </p> + <p> + “Churl? barbarian?” said a haughty voice; and a nun stepped forward who + had stood just behind Ingulf. She was clothed entirely in black. Her bare + feet were bleeding from the stones; her hand, as she lifted it, was as + thin as a skeleton’s. + </p> + <p> + She threw back her veil, and showed to the knights what had been once the + famous beauty of Torfrida. + </p> + <p> + But the beauty was long past away. Her hair was white as snow; her cheeks + were fallen in. Her hawk-like features were all sharp and hard. Only in + their hollow sockets burned still the great black eyes, so fiercely that + all men turned uneasily from her gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Churl? barbarian?” she said, slowly and quietly, but with an intensity + which was more terrible than rage. “Who gives such names to one who was as + much better born and better bred than those who now sit here, as he was + braver and more terrible than they? The base wood-cutter’s son? The + upstart who would have been honored had he taken service as yon dead man’s + groom?” + </p> + <p> + “Talk to me so, and my stirrup leathers shall make acquaintance with your + sides,” said Taillebois. + </p> + <p> + “Keep them for your wife. Churl? Barbarian? There is not a man within this + hall who is not a barbarian compared with him. Which of you touched the + harp like him? Which of you, like him, could move all hearts with song? + Which of you knows all tongues from Lapland to Provence? Which of you has + been the joy of ladies’ bowers, the counsellor of earls and heroes, the + rival of a mighty king? Which of you will compare yourself with him,—whom + you dared not even strike, you and your robber crew, fairly in front, but, + skulked round him till he fell pecked to death by you, as Lapland + Skratlings peck to death the bear. Ten years ago he swept this hall of + such as you, and hung their heads upon yon gable outside; and were he + alive but one five minutes again, this hall would be right cleanly swept + again! Give me his body,—or bear forever the name of cowards, and + Torfrida’s curse.” + </p> + <p> + And she fixed her terrible eyes first on one, and then on another, calling + them by name. + </p> + <p> + “Ivo Taillebois,—basest of all—” + </p> + <p> + “Take the witch’s accursed eyes off me!” and he covered his face with his + hands. “I shall be overlooked,—planet struck. Hew the witch down! + Take her away!” + </p> + <p> + “Hugh of Evermue,—the dead man’s daughter is yours, and the dead + man’s lands. Are not these remembrances enough of him? Are you so fond of + his memory that you need his corpse likewise?” + </p> + <p> + “Give it her! Give it her!” said he, hanging down his head like a rated + cur. + </p> + <p> + “Ascelin of Lincoln, once Ascelin of Ghent,—there was a time when + you would have done—what would you not?—for one glance of + Torfrida’s eyes.—Stay. Do not deceive yourself, fair sir, Torfrida + means to ask no favor of you, or of living man. But she commands you. Do + the thing she bids, or with one glance of her eye she sends you childless + to your grave.” + </p> + <p> + “Madam! Lady Torfrida! What is there I would not do for you? What have I + done now, save avenge your great wrong?” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida made no answer, but fixed steadily on him eyes which widened + every moment. + </p> + <p> + “But, madam,”—and he turned shrinking from the fancied spell,—“what + would you have? The—the corpse? It is in the keeping of—of + another lady.” + </p> + <p> + “So?” said Torfrida, quietly. “Leave her to me”; and she swept past them + all, and flung open the bower door at their backs, discovering Alftruda + sitting by the dead. + </p> + <p> + The ruffians were so utterly appalled, not only by the false powers of + magic, but by veritable powers of majesty and eloquence, that they let her + do what she would. + </p> + <p> + “Out!” cried she, using a short and terrible epithet. “Out, siren, with + fairy’s face and tail of fiend, and leave the husband with his wife!” + </p> + <p> + Alftruda looked up, shrieked; and then, with the sudden passion of a weak + nature, drew a little knife, and sprang up. + </p> + <p> + Ivo made a coarse jest. The Abbot sprang in: “For the sake of all holy + things, let there be no more murder here!” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida smiled, and fixed her snake’s eye upon her wretched rival. + </p> + <p> + “Out! woman, and choose thee a new husband among these French gallants, + ere I blast thee from head to foot with the leprosy of Naaman the Syrian.” + </p> + <p> + Alftruda shuddered, and fled shrieking into an inner room. + </p> + <p> + “Now, knights, give me—that which hangs outside.” + </p> + <p> + Ascelin hurried out, glad to escape. In a minute he returned. + </p> + <p> + The head was already taken down. A tall lay brother, the moment he had + seen it, had climbed the gable, snatched it away, and now sat in a corner + of the yard, holding it on his knees, talking to it, chiding it, as if it + had been alive. When men had offered to take it, he had drawn a battle-axe + from under his frock, and threatened to brain all comers. And the monks + had warned off Ascelin, saying that the man was mad, and had Berserk fits + of superhuman strength and rage. + </p> + <p> + “He will give it me!” said Torfrida, and went out. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that gable, foolish head,” said the madman. “Ten years agone, you + and I took down from thence another head. O foolish head, to get yourself + at last up into that same place! Why would you not be ruled by her, you + foolish golden head?” + </p> + <p> + “Martin!” said Torfrida. + </p> + <p> + “Take it and comb it, mistress, as you used to do. Comb out the golden + locks again, fit to shine across the battle-field. She has let them get + all tangled into elf-knots, that lazy slut within.” + </p> + <p> + Torfrida took it from his hands, dry-eyed, and went in. + </p> + <p> + Then the monks silently took up the bier, and all went forth, and down the + hill toward the fen. They laid the corpse within the barge, and slowly + rowed away. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And on by Porsad and by Asendyke, + By winding reaches on, and shining meres + Between gray reed-ronds and green alder-beds, + A dirge of monks and wail of women rose + In vain to Heaven for the last Englishman; + Then died far off within the boundless mist, + And left the Norman master of the land. +</pre> + <p> + So Torfrida took the corpse home to Crowland, and buried it in the choir, + near the blessed martyr St. Waltheof; after which she did not die, but + lived on many years, [Footnote: If Ingulf can be trusted, Torfrida died + about A.D. 1085.] spending all day in nursing and feeding the Countess + Godiva, and lying all night on Hereward’s tomb, and praying that he might + find grace and mercy in that day. + </p> + <p> + And at last Godiva died; and they took her away and buried her with great + pomp in her own minster church of Coventry. + </p> + <p> + And after that Torfrida died likewise; because she had nothing left for + which to live. And they laid her in Hereward’s grave, and their dust is + mingled to this day. + </p> + <p> + And Leofric the priest lived on to a good old age, and above all things he + remembered the deeds and the sins of his master, and wrote them in a book, + and this is what remains thereof. + </p> + <p> + But when Martin Lightfoot died, no man has said; for no man in those days + took account of such poor churls and running serving-men. + </p> + <p> + And Hereward’s comrades were all scattered abroad, some maimed, some + blinded, some with tongues cut out, to beg by the wayside, or crawl into + convents, and then die; while their sisters and daughters, ladies born and + bred, were the slaves of grooms and scullions from beyond the sea. + </p> + <p> + And so, as sang Thorkel Skallason,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Cold heart and bloody hand + Now rule English land.” [Footnote: Laing’s Heimskringla.] +</pre> + <p> + And after that things waxed even worse and worse, for sixty years and + more; all through the reigns of the two Williams, and of Henry Beauclerc, + and of Stephen; till men saw visions and portents, and thought that the + foul fiend was broken loose on earth. And they whispered oftener and + oftener that the soul of Hereward haunted the Bruneswald, where he loved + to hunt the dun deer and the roe. And in the Bruneswald, when Henry of + Poitou was made abbot, [Footnote: Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, A.D. 1127.] men + saw—let no man think lightly of the marvel which we are about to + relate, for it was well known all over the country—upon the Sunday, + when men sing, “Exsurge quare, O Domine,” many hunters hunting, black, and + tall, and loathly, and their hounds were black and ugly with wide eyes, + and they rode on black horses and black bucks. And they saw them in the + very deer-park of the town of Peterborough, and in all the woods to + Stamford; and the monks heard the blasts of the horns which they blew in + the night. Men of truth kept watch upon them, and said that there might be + well about twenty or thirty horn-blowers. This was seen and heard all that + Lent until Easter, and the Norman monks of Peterborough said how it was + Hereward, doomed to wander forever with Apollyon and all his crew, because + he had stolen the riches of the Golden Borough: but the poor folk knew + better, and said that the mighty outlaw was rejoicing in the chase, + blowing his horn for Englishmen to rise against the French; and therefore + it was that he was seen first on “Arise, O Lord” Sunday. + </p> + <p> + But they were so sore trodden down that they could never rise; for the + French [Footnote: Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, A.D. 1137.] had filled the land + full of castles. They greatly oppressed the wretched people by making them + work at these castles; and when the castles were finished, they filled + them with devils and evil men. They took those whom they suspected of + having any goods, both men and women, and they put them in prison for + their gold and silver, and tortured them with pains unspeakable, for never + were any martyrs tormented as these were. They hung some by their feet, + and smoked them with foul smoke; some by the thumbs, or by the head, and + put burning things on their feet. They put a knotted string round their + heads, and twisted it till it went into the brain. They put them in + dungeons wherein were adders, and snakes, and toads, and thus wore them + out. Some they put into a crucet-house,—that is, into a chest that + was short and narrow, and they put sharp stones therein, and crushed the + man so that they broke all his bones. There were hateful and grim things + called Sachenteges in many of the castles, which two or three men had + enough to do to carry. This Sachentege was made thus: It was fastened to a + beam, having a sharp iron to go round a man’s throat and neck, so that he + might no ways sit, nor lie, nor sleep, but he must bear all the iron. Many + thousands they wore out with hunger.... They were continually levying a + tax from the towns, which they called truserie, and when the wretched + townsfolk had no more to give, then burnt they all the towns, so that well + mightest thou walk a whole day’s journey or ever thou shouldest see a man + settled in a town, or its lands tilled.... + </p> + <p> + “Then was corn dear, and flesh, and cheese, and butter, for there was none + in the land. Wretched men starved with hunger. Some lived on alms who had + been once rich. Some fled the country. Never was there more misery, and + never heathens acted worse than these.” + </p> + <p> + For now the sons of the Church’s darlings, of the Crusaders whom the Pope + had sent, beneath a gonfalon blessed by him, to destroy the liberties of + England, turned, by a just retribution, upon that very Norman clergy who + had abetted all their iniquities in the name of Rome. “They spared neither + church nor churchyard, but took all that was valuable therein, and then + burned the church and all together. Neither did they spare the lands of + bishops, nor of abbots, nor of priests; but they robbed the monks and + clergy, and every man plundered his neighbor as much as he could. If two + or three men came riding to a town, all the townsfolk fled before them, + and thought that they were robbers. The bishops and clergy were forever + cursing them; but this to them was nothing, for they were all accursed and + forsworn and reprobate. The earth bare no corn: you might as well have + tilled the sea, for all the land was ruined by such deeds, and it was said + openly that Christ and his saints slept.” + </p> + <p> + And so was avenged the blood of Harold and his brothers, of Edwin and + Morcar, of Waltheof and Hereward. + </p> + <p> + And those who had the spirit of Hereward in them fled to the merry + greenwood, and became bold outlaws, with Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John, + Adam Bell, and Clym of the Cleugh, and William of Cloudeslee; and watched + with sullen joy the Norman robbers tearing in pieces each other, and the + Church who had blest their crime. + </p> + <p> + And they talked and sung of Hereward, and all his doughty deeds, over the + hearth in lone farm-houses, or in the outlaw’s lodge beneath the hollins + green; and all the burden of their song was, “Ah that Hereward were alive + again!” for they knew not that Hereward was alive forevermore; that only + his husk and shell lay mouldering there in Crowland choir; that above + them, and around them, and in them, destined to raise them out of that + bitter bondage, and mould them into a great nation, and the parents of + still greater nations in lands as yet unknown, brooded the immortal spirit + of Hereward, now purged from all earthly dross, even the spirit of + Freedom, which can never die. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIII. — HOW DEEPING FEN WAS DRAINED. + </h2> + <p> + But war and disorder, ruin and death, cannot last forever. They are by + their own nature exceptional and suicidal, and spend themselves with what + they feed on. And then the true laws of God’s universe, peace and order, + usefulness and life, will reassert themselves, as they have been waiting + all along to do, hid in God’s presence from the strife of men. + </p> + <p> + And even so it was with Bourne. + </p> + <p> + Nearly eighty years after, in the year of Grace 1155, there might have + been seen sitting, side by side and hand in hand, upon a sunny bench on + the Bruneswald slope, in the low December sun, an old knight and an old + lady, the master and mistress of Bourne. + </p> + <p> + Much had changed since Hereward’s days. The house below had been raised a + whole story. There were fresh herbs and flowers in the garden, unknown at + the time of the Conquest. But the great change was in the fen, especially + away toward Deeping on the southern horizon. + </p> + <p> + Where had been lonely meres, foul watercourses, stagnant slime, there were + now great dikes, rich and fair corn and grass lands, rows of pure white + cottages. The newly-drained land swarmed with stocks of new breeds: horses + and sheep from Flanders, cattle from Normandy; for Richard de Rulos was + the first—as far as history tells—of that noble class of + agricultural squires, who are England’s blessing and England’s pride. + </p> + <p> + “For this Richard de Rulos,” says Ingulf, or whoever wrote in his name, + “who had married the daughter and heiress of Hugh of Evermue, Lord of + Bourne and Deeping, being a man of agricultural pursuits, got permission + from the monks of Crowland, for twenty marks of silver, to enclose as much + as he would of the common marshes. So he shut out the Welland by a strong + embankment, and building thereon numerous tenements and cottages, in a + short time he formed a large ‘vill,’ marked out gardens, and cultivated + fields; while, by shutting out the river, he found in the meadow land, + which had been lately deep lakes and impassable marshes (wherefore the + place was called Deeping, the deep meadow), most fertile fields and + desirable lands, and out of sloughs and bogs accursed made quiet a garden + of pleasaunce.” + </p> + <p> + So there the good man, the beginner of the good work of centuries, sat + looking out over the fen, and listening to the music which came on the + southern breeze—above the low of the kine, and the clang of the + wild-fowl settling down to rest—from the bells of Crowland minster + far away. + </p> + <p> + They were not the same bells which tolled for Hereward and Torfrida. Those + had run down in molten streams upon that fatal night when Abbot Ingulf + leaped out of bed to see the vast wooden sanctuary wrapt in one sheet of + roaring flame, from the carelessness of a plumber who had raked the ashes + over his fire in the bell-tower, and left it to smoulder through the + night. + </p> + <p> + Then perished all the riches of Crowland; its library too, of more than + seven hundred volumes, with that famous Nadir, or Orrery, the like whereof + was not in all England, wherein the seven planets were represented, each + in their proper metals. And even worse, all the charters of the monastery + perished, a loss which involved the monks thereof in centuries of + lawsuits, and compelled them to become as industrious and skilful forgers + of documents as were to be found in the minsters of the middle age. + </p> + <p> + But Crowland minster had been rebuilt in greater glory than ever, by the + help of the Norman gentry round. Abbot Ingulf, finding that St. Guthlac’s + plain inability to take care of himself had discredited him much in the + fen-men’s eyes, fell back, Norman as he was, on the virtues of the holy + martyr, St. Waltheof, whose tomb he opened with due reverence, and found + the body as whole and uncorrupted as on the day on which it was buried: + and the head united to the body, while a fine crimson line around the neck + was the only sign remaining of his decollation. + </p> + <p> + On seeing which Ingulf “could not contain himself for joy: and + interrupting the response which the brethren were singing, with a loud + voice began the hymn ‘Te Deum Laudamus,’ on which the chanter, taking it + up, enjoined the rest of the brethren to sing it.” After which Ingulf—who + had never seen Waltheof in life, discovered that it was none other than he + whom he had seen in a vision at Fontenelle, as an earl most gorgeously + arrayed, with a torc of gold about his neck, and with him an abbot, two + bishops, and two saints, the two former being Usfran and Ausbert, the + abbots, St. Wandresigil of Fontenelle, and the two saints, of course St. + Guthlac and St. Neot. + </p> + <p> + Whereon, crawling on his hands and knees, he kissed the face of the holy + martyr, and “perceived such a sweet odor proceeding from the holy body, as + he never remembered to have smelt, either in the palace of the king, or in + Syria with all its aromatic herbs.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Quid plura?</i> What more was needed for a convent of burnt-out monks? + St. Waltheof was translated in state to the side of St. Guthlac; and the + news of this translation of the holy martyr being spread throughout the + country, multitudes of the faithful flocked daily to the tomb, and + offering up their vows there, tended in a great degree “to resuscitate our + monastery.” + </p> + <p> + But more. The virtues of St. Waltheof were too great not to turn + themselves, or be turned, to some practical use. So if not in the days of + Ingulf, at least in those of Abbot Joffrid who came after him, St. + Waltheof began, says Peter of Blois, to work wonderful deeds. “The blind + received their sight, the deaf their hearing, the lame their power of + walking, and the dumb their power of speech; while each day troops + innumerable of other sick persons were arriving by every road, as to the + very fountain of their safety, ... and by the offerings of the pilgrims + who came flocking in from every part, the revenues of the monastery were + increased in no small degree.” + </p> + <p> + Only one wicked Norman monk of St. Alban’s, Audwin by name, dared to + dispute the sanctity of the martyr, calling him a wicked traitor who had + met with his deserts. In vain did Abbot Joffrid, himself a Norman from St. + Evroult, expostulate with the inconvenient blasphemer. He launched out + into invective beyond measure; till on the spot, in presence of the said + father, he was seized with such a stomach-ache, that he went home to St. + Alban’s, and died in a few days; after which all went well with Crowland, + and the Norman monks who worked the English martyr to get money out of the + English whom they had enslaved. + </p> + <p> + And yet,—so strangely mingled for good and evil are the works of + men,—that lying brotherhood of Crowland set up, in those very days, + for pure love of learning and of teaching learning, a little school of + letters in a poor town hard by, which became, under their auspices, the + University of Cambridge. + </p> + <p> + So the bells of Crowland were restored, more melodious than ever; and + Richard of Rulos doubtless had his share in their restoration. And that + day they were ringing with a will, and for a good reason; for that day had + come the news, that Henry Plantagenet was crowned king of England. + </p> + <p> + “‘Lord,’” said the good old knight, “‘now lettest thou thy servant depart + in peace.’ This day, at last, he sees an English king head the English + people.” + </p> + <p> + “God grant,” said the old lady, “that he may be such a lord to England as + thou hast been to Bourne.” + </p> + <p> + “If he will be,—and better far will he be, by God’s grace, from what + I hear of him, than ever I have been,—he must learn that which I + learnt from thee,—to understand these Englishmen, and know what + stout and trusty prudhommes they are all, down to the meanest serf, when + once one can humor their sturdy independent tempers.” + </p> + <p> + “And he must learn, too, the lesson which thou didst teach me, when I + would have had thee, in the pride of youth, put on the magic armor of my + ancestors, and win me fame in every tournament and battle-field. Blessed + be the day when Richard of Rulos said to me, ‘If others dare to be men of + war, I dare more; for I dare to be a man of peace. Have patience with me, + and I will win for thee and for myself a renown more lasting, before God + and man, than ever was won with lance!’ Do you remember those words, + Richard mine?” + </p> + <p> + The old man leant his head upon his hands. “It may be that not those + words, but the deeds which God has caused to follow them, may, by Christ’s + merits, bring us a short purgatory and a long heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “Amen. Only whatever grief we may endure in the next life for our sins, + may we endure it as we have the griefs of this life, hand in hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Amen, Torfrida. There is one thing more to do before we die. The tomb in + Crowland. Ever since the fire blackened it, it has seemed to me too poor + and mean to cover the dust which once held two such noble souls. Let us + send over to Normandy for fair white stone of Caen, and let carve a tomb + worthy of thy grandparents.” + </p> + <p> + “And what shall we write thereon?” + </p> + <p> + “What but that which is there already? ‘Here lies the last of the + English.’” + </p> + <p> + “Not so. We will write,—‘Here lies the last of the old English.’ But + upon thy tomb, when thy time comes, the monks of Crowland shall write,—‘Here + lies the first of the new English; who, by the inspiration of God, began + to drain the Fens.’” + </p> + <h3> + EXPLICIT. + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Hereward, The Last of the English, by +Charles Kingsley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEREWARD, THE LAST OF THE ENGLISH *** + +***** This file should be named 7815-h.htm or 7815-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/8/1/7815/ + + +Text file produced by Anne Soulard, Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, +S.R.Ellison and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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