Hereward, the Last of the English

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  HOW HEREWARD FULFILLED HIS WORDS TO THE PRIOR OF THE GOLDEN BOROUGH.

  In the course of that winter died good Abbot Brand. Hereward went overto see him, and found him mumbling to himself texts of Isaiah, andconfessing the sins of his people.

  "'Woe to the vineyard that bringeth forth wild grapes. Woe to those thatjoin house to house, and field to field,'--like us, and the Godwinssons,and every man that could, till we 'stood alone in the land.' 'Manyhouses, great and fair, shall be without inhabitants.' It is allforetold in Holy Writ, Hereward, my son. 'Woe to those who rise early tofill themselves with strong drink, and the tabret and harp are in theirfeasts; but they regard not the works of the Lord.' 'Therefore my peopleare gone into captivity, because they have no knowledge.' Ah, thoseFrenchmen have knowledge, and too much of it; while we have brainsfilled with ale instead of justice. 'Therefore hell hath enlargedherself, and opened her mouth without measure'; and all go down intoit, one by one. And dost thou think thou shalt escape, Hereward, thoustout-hearted?"

  "I neither know nor care; but this I know, that whithersoever I go, Ishall go sword in hand."

  "'They that take the sword shall perish by the sword,'" said Brand, andblessed Hereward, and died.

  A week after came news that Thorold of Malmesbury was coming to takethe Abbey of Peterborough, and had got as far as Stamford, with a rightroyal train.

  Then Hereward sent Abbot Thorold word, that if he or his Frenchmen putfoot into Peterborough, he, Hereward, would burn it over their heads.And that if he rode a mile beyond Stamford town, he should walk backinto it barefoot in his shirt.

  Whereon Thorold abode at Stamford, and kept up his spirits by singingthe songs of Roland,--which some say he himself composed.

  A week after that, and the Danes were come.

  A mighty fleet, with Sweyn Ulfsson at their head, went up the Ousetoward Ely. Another, with Osbiorn at their head, having joined them offthe mouth of the Humber, sailed (it seems) up the Nene. All the chivalryof Denmark and Ireland was come. And with it, all the chivalry andthe unchivalry of the Baltic shores. Vikings from Jomsburg and Arkona,Gottlanders from Wisby; and with them savages from Esthonia, Finns fromAeland, Letts who still offered in the forests of Rugen, human victimsto the four-headed Swantowit; foul hordes in sheep-skins and primevalfilth, who might have been scented from Hunstanton Cliff ever sincetheir ships had rounded the Skaw.

  Hereward hurried to them with all his men. He was anxious, of course,to prevent their plundering the landsfolk as they went,--and that thesavages from the Baltic shore would certainly do, if they could, howeverreasonable the Danes, Orkneymen, and Irish Ostmen might be.

  Food, of course, they must take where they could find it; but outrageswere not a necessary, though a too common, adjunct to the process ofemptying a farmer's granaries.

  He found the Danes in a dangerous mood, sulky, and disgusted, as theyhad good right to be. They had gone to the Humber, and found nothing butruin; the land waste; the French holding both the shores of the Humber;and Osbiorn cowering in Humber-mouth, hardly able to feed his men. Theyhad 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. Everyone knew that gold grew up in England out of the ground, wherever a monkput his foot. And they would plunder Crowland. Their forefathers haddone it, and had fared none the worse. English gold they would have, ifthey could not get fat English manors.

  "No! not Crowland!" said Hereward; "any place but Crowland, endowedand honored by Canute the Great,--Crowland, whose abbot was a Danishnobleman, 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 thevalue 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 manwho set foot upon his ground."

  Hereward sent off messengers to Crowland, warning all to be ready toescape into the fens; and entreating Ulfketyl to empty his storehousesinto his barges, and send food to the Danes, ere a day was past. AndUlfketyl worked hard and well, till a string of barges wound its waythrough the fens, laden with beeves and bread, and ale-barrels inplenty, and with monks too, who welcomed the Danes as their brethren,talked to them in their own tongue, blessed them in St. Guthlac's nameas the saviors of England, and went home again, chanting so sweetlytheir thanks to Heaven for their safety, that the wild Vikings wereawed, and agreed that St. Guthlac's men were wise folk and open-hearted,and that it was a shame to do them harm.

  But plunder they must have.

  "And plunder you shall have!" said Hereward, as a sudden thought struckhim. "I will show you the way to the Golden Borough,--the richestminster in England; and all the treasures of the Golden Borough shall beyours, if you will treat Englishmen as friends, and spare the people ofthe fens."

  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 goldwas better in their purses than in that of Thorold and his French monks.

  So he led them across the fens and side rivers, till they came into theold Nene, which men call Catwater and Muscal now.

  As he passed Nomanslandhirne, and the mouth of the Crowland river, hetrembled, and trusted that the Danes did not know that they were withinthree miles of St. Guthlac's sanctuary. But they went on ignorant, andup the Muscal till they saw St. Peter's towers on the wooded rise, andbehind them the great forest which now is Milton Park.

  There were two parties in Peterborough minster: a smaller faction ofstout-hearted English, a larger one who favored William and the Frenchcustoms, with Prior Herluin at their head. Herluin wanted not forforesight, and he knew that evil was coming on him. He knew that theDanes were in the fen. He knew that Hereward was with them. He knew thatthey had come to Crowland. Hereward could never mean to let them sackit. Peterborough must be their point. And Herluin set his teeth, like abold man determined to abide the worst, and barred and barricaded everygate and door.

  That night a hapless churchwarden, Ywar was his name, might have beenseen galloping through Milton and Castor Hanglands, and on by Barnackquarries over Southorpe heath, with saddlebags of huge size stuffed with"gospels, mass-robes, cassocks, and other garments, and such other smallthings as he could carry away." And he came before day to Stamford,where Abbot Thorold lay at his ease in his inn with his _hommes d'armes_asleep in the hall.

  And the churchwarden knocked them up, and drew Abbot Thorold's curtainswith a face such as his who

  "drew Priam's curtains in the dead of night, And would have told him, half his Troy was burned";

  and told Abbot Thorold that the monks of Peterborough had sent him; andthat unless he saddled and rode his best that night, with his meinie ofmen-at-arms, his Golden Borough would be even as Troy town by morninglight.

  "A moi, hommes d'armes!" shouted Thorold, as he used to shout wheneverhe wanted to scourge his wretched English monks at Malmesbury into someFrench fashion.

  The men leaped up, and poured in, growling.

  "Take me this monk, and kick him into the street for waking me with suchnews."

  "But, gracious lord, the outlaws will surely burn Peterborough; andfolks said that you were a mighty man of war."

  "So I am; but if I were Roland, Oliver, and Turpin rolled into one, howam I to fight Hereward and the Danes with forty men-at-arms? Answer methat, thou dunder-headed English porker. Kick him out."

  And Ywar was kicked into the cold, while Thorold raged up and down hischamber in mantle and slippers, wringing his hands over the treasureof the Golden Borough, snatched from his fingers just as he was closingthem upon it.

  That night the monks of Peterborough prayed in the minster till the longhours passed into the short. The poor corrodiers, and other servantsof the monastery, fled from the town outside into the Milton woods. Themonks prayed on inside till an hour after matin. When the first flushof t
he summer's dawn began to show in the northeastern sky, they heardmingling with their own chant another chant, which Peterborough had notheard since it was Medehampstead, three hundred years ago,--the terribleYuch-hey-saa-saa-saa,--the war-song of the Vikings of the north.

  Their chant stopped of itself. With blanched faces and trembling kneesthey fled, regardless of all discipline, up into the minster tower, andfrom the leads looked out northeastward on the fen.

  The first rays of the summer sun were just streaming over the vast sheetof emerald, and glittering upon the winding river; and on a windingline, too, seemingly endless, of scarlet coats and shields, blackhulls, gilded poops and vanes and beak-heads, and the flash and foam ofinnumerable oars.

  And nearer and louder came the oar-roll, like thunder working up fromthe northeast; and mingled with it that grim yet laughing Heysaa, whichbespoke in its very note the revelry of slaughter.

  The ships had all their sails on deck. But as they came nearer, themonks could see the banners of the two foremost vessels.

  The one was the red and white of the terrible Dannebrog. The other, thescarcely less terrible white bear of Hereward.

  "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 andpossessed him; and to this minster has the fiend brought him back to dohis will. Satan, my brethren, having a special spite (as must needs be)against St. Peter, rock and pillar of the Holy Church, chose out andinspired this man, even from his mother's womb, that he might be thefoe 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 tothat blessed apostle. Bring forth the relics, my brethren. Bring forth,above all things, those filings of St. Peter's own chains,--the specialglory of our monastery, and perhaps its safeguard this day."

  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, likeHerluin, a shrewd and valiant man.

  They brought out all the relics. They brought out the filingsthemselves, in a box of gold. They held them out over the walls at theships, and called on all the saints to whom they belonged. But theystopped that line of scarlet, black, and gold as much as their spiritualdescendants stop the lava-stream of Vesuvius, when they hold out similarmatters at them, with a hope unchanged by the experience of eighthundred years. The Heysaa rose louder and nearer. The Danes were coming.And they came.

  And all the while a thousand skylarks rose from off the fen, and chantedtheir own chant aloft, as if appealing to Heaven against that whichman's greed and man's rage and man's superstition had made of this fairearth of God.

  The relics had been brought out. But, as they would not work, the onlything to be done was to put them back again and hide them safe, lestthey should bow down like Bel and stoop like Nebo, and be carried, likethem, into captivity themselves, being worth a very large sum of moneyin the eyes of the more Christian part of the Danish host.

  Then to hide the treasures as well as they could; which (says theAnglo-Saxon Chronicle) they hid somewhere in the steeple.

  The Danes were landing now. The shout which they gave, as they leapedon shore, made the hearts of the poor monks sink low. Would they bemurdered, as well as robbed? Perhaps not,--probably not. Hereward wouldsee to that. And some wanted to capitulate.

  Herluin would not hear of it. They were safe enough. St. Peter's relicmight not have worked a miracle on the spot; but it must have donesomething. St. Peter had been appealed to on his honor, and on his honorhe must surely take the matter up. At all events, the walls and gateswere strong, and the Danes had no artillery. Let them howl and rageround the holy place, till Abbot Thorold and the Frenchmen of thecountry rose and drove them to their ships.

  In that last thought the cunning Norman was not so far wrong. TheDanes pushed up through the little town, and to the minster gates: butentrance was impossible; and they prowled round and round like ragingwolves about a winter steading; but found no crack of entry.

  Prior Herluin grew bold; and coming to the leads of the gatewaytower, looked over cautiously, and holding up a certain most sacredemblem,--not to be profaned in these pages,--cursed them in the name ofhis whole Pantheon.

  "Aha, Herluin! Are you there?" asked a short, square man in gay armor."Have you forgotten the peat-stack outside Bolldyke Gate, and how youbade light it under me thirty years since?"

  "Thou art Winter?" and the Prior uttered what would be considered, fromany but a churchman's lips, a blasphemous and bloodthirsty curse; butwhich was, as their writings sufficiently testify, merely one of thelawful weapons or "arts" of those Christians who were "forbidden tofight,"--the other weapon or art being that of lying.

  "Aha! That goes like rain off a duck's back to one who has been aminster scholar in his time. You! Danes! Ostmen! down! If you shoot atthat man I'll cut your heads off. He is the oldest foe I have in theworld, 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."

  The Danes--humorous all of them--saw that there was a jest toward, andperhaps some earnest too, and joined in jeering the Prior.

  Herluin had ducked his head behind the parapet; not from cowardice, butsimply because he had on no mail, and might be shot any moment. But whenhe heard Winter forbid them to touch him, he lifted up his head, andgave his old pupil as good as he brought.

  With his sharp, swift Norman priest's tongue he sneered, he jeered, hescolded, he argued; and then threatened, suddenly changing his tone,in words of real eloquence. He appealed to the superstitions of hishearers. He threatened them with supernatural vengeance.

  Some of them began to slink away frightened. St. Peter was an ill man tohave a blood feud with.

  Winter stood, laughing and jeering again, for full ten minutes. At last:"I asked, and you have not answered: have you forgotten the peat-stackoutside Bolldyke Gate? For if you have, Hereward has not. He has piledit against the gate, and it should be burnt through by this time. Go andsee."

  Herluin disappeared with a curse.

  "Now, you sea-cocks," said Winter, springing up, "we'll to the BolldykeGate, and all start fair."

  The Bolldyke Gate was on fire; and more, so were the suburbs. There wasno time to save them, as Hereward would gladly have done, for the sakeof the poor corrodiers. They must go,--on to the Bolldyke Gate. Whocared to put out flames behind him, with all the treasures of GoldenBorough before him? In a few minutes all the town was alight. In a fewminutes more, the monastery likewise.

  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 itswickedness is revealed without its beauty. You see its works, and littlemore. The flame is hardly noticed. All that is seen is a canker eatingup God's works, cracking the bones of its prey,--for that horriblecracking is uglier than all stage-scene glares,--cruelly and shamelesslyunder the very eye of the great, honest, kindly sun.

  And that felt Hereward, as he saw Peterborough burn. He could not puthis thoughts into words, as men of this day can: so much the betterfor him, perhaps. But he felt all the more intensely--as did men of hisday--the things he could not speak. All he said was aside to Winter,--

  "It is a dark job. I wish it had been done in the dark." And Winter knewwhat he meant.

  Then the men rushed into the Bolldyke Gate, while Hereward and Winterstood and looked with their men, whom they kept close together, waitingtheir commands. The Danes and their allies cared not for the greatglowing heap of peat. They cared not for each other, hardly forthemselves. They rushed into the gap; they thrust the glowing heapinward through the gateway with their lances; they thrust each otherdown into it, and trampled over them to fall themselves, rising scorchedand withered, and yet struggling on toward the gold of the GoldenBorough. One savage Lett caught anoth
er round the waist, and hurled himbodily into the fire, crying in his wild tongue:--

  "You will make a good stepping-stone for me."

  "That is not fair," quoth Hereward, and clove him to the chine.

  It was wild work. But the Golden Borough was won.

  "We must in now and save the monks," said Hereward, and dashed over theembers.

  He was only just in time. In the midst of the great court were allthe monks, huddled together like a flock of sheep, some kneeling, mostweeping bitterly, after the fashion of monks.

  Only Herluin stood in front of them, at bay, a lofty crucifix in hishand. 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 timeneeded. Therefore they should be given. To-morrow he would write toBishop Egelsin, to excommunicate with bell, book, and candle, to thelowest pit of Tartarus, all who had done the deed.

  But to-day he spoke them fair. However, his fair speeches profitedlittle, not being understood by a horde of Letts and Finns, who howledand bayed at him, and tried to tear the crucifix from his hands; butfeared "the white Christ."

  They were already gaining courage from their own yells; in a momentmore blood would have been shed, and then a general massacre must haveensued.

  Hereward saw it, and shouting, "After me, Hereward's men! a bear! abear!" swung Letts and Finns right and left like corn-sheaves, and stoodface to face with Herluin.

  An angry Finn smote him on the hind-head full with a stone axe. Hestaggered, and then looked round and laughed.

  "Fool! hast thou not heard that Hereward's armor was forged by dwarfs inthe mountain-bowels? Off, and hunt for gold, or it will be all gone."

  The Finn, who was astonished at getting no more from his blow than a fewsparks, and expected instant death in return, took the hint and vanishedjabbering, as did his fellows.

  "Now, Herluin, the Frenchman!" said Hereward.

  "Now, Hereward, the robber of saints!" said Herluin.

  It was a fine sight. The soldier and the churchman, the Englishmanand the Frenchman, the man of the then world, and the man of the thenChurch, pitted fairly, face to face.

  Hereward tried, for one moment, to stare down Herluin. But thoseterrible eye-glances, before which Vikings had quailed, turned offharmless from the more terrible glance of the man who believed himselfbacked by the Maker of the universe, and all the hierarchy of heaven.

  A sharp, unlovely face it was: though, like many a great churchman'sface of those days, it was neither thin nor haggard; but rather round,sleek, of a puffy and unwholesome paleness. But there was a thin lipabove a broad square jaw, which showed that Herluin was neither fool norcoward.

  "A robber and a child of Belial thou hast been from thy cradle; and arobber and a child of Belial thou art now. Dare thy last iniquity, andslay the servants of St. Peter on St. Peter's altar, with thy worthycomrades, the heathen Saracens [Footnote: The Danes were continuallymistaken, by Norman churchmen, for Saracens, and the Saracens consideredto be idolaters. A maumee, or idol, means a Mahomet.], and set upMahound with them in the holy place."

  Hereward laughed so jolly a laugh, that the Prior was taken aback.

  "Slay St. Peter's rats? I kill men, not monks. There shall not a hairof your head be touched. Here! Hereward's men! march these traitors andtheir French Prior safe out of the walls, and into Milton Woods, to lookafter their poor corrodiers, and comfort their souls, after they haveruined their bodies by their treason!"

  "Out of this place I stir not. Here I am, and here I will live or die,as St. Peter shall send aid."

  But as he spoke, he was precipitated rudely forward, and hurriedalmost into Hereward's arms. The whole body of monks, when they heardHereward's words, cared to hear no more, but desperate between fear andjoy, rushed forward, bearing away their Prior in the midst.

  "So go the rats out of Peterborough, and so is my dream fulfilled. Nowfor the treasure, and then to Ely."

  But Herluin burst himself clear of the frantic mob of monks, and turnedback on Hereward.

  "Thou wast dubbed knight in that church!"

  "I know it, man; and that church and the relics of the saints in it aresafe, therefore. Hereward gives his word."

  "That,--but not that only, if thou art a true knight, as thou holdest,Englishman."

  Hereward growled savagely, and made an ugly step toward Herluin. Thatwas a point which he would not have questioned.

  "Then behave as a knight, and save, save,"--as the monks dragged himaway,--"save the hospice! There are women,--ladies there!" shouted he,as he was borne off.

  They never met again on earth; but both comforted themselves in afteryears, that two old enemies' last deed in common had been one of mercy.

  Hereward uttered a cry of horror. If the wild Letts, even theJomsburgers, had got in, all was lost. He rushed to the door. It was notyet burst: but a bench, swung by strong arms, was battering it in fast.

  "Winter! Geri! Siwards! To me, Hereward's men! Stand back, fellows. Hereare friends here inside. If you do not, I'll cut you down."

  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 orsix of his own men round him, and went into the hall.

  On the rushes lay some half-dozen grooms. They were butchered instantly,simply because they were there. Hereward saw, but could not prevent. Heran as hard as he could to the foot of the wooden stair which led to theupper floor.

  "Guard the stair-foot, Winter!" and he ran up.

  Two women cowered upon the floor, shrieking and praying with handsclasped over their heads. He saw that the arms of one of them were ofthe most exquisite whiteness, and judging her to be the lady, bent overher. "Lady! you are safe. I will protect you. I am Hereward."

  She sprang up, and threw herself with a scream into his arms.

  "Hereward! Hereward! Save me. I am--"

  "Alftruda!" said Hereward.

  It was Alftruda; if possible more beautiful than ever.

  "I have got you!" she cried. "I am safe now. Take me away,--out of thishorrible place! Take me into the woods,--anywhere. Only do not let mebe burnt here,--stifled like a rat. Give me air! Give me water!" And sheclung to him so madly, that Hereward, as he held her in his arms, andgazed on her extraordinary beauty, forgot Torfrida for the second time.

  But there was no time to indulge in evil thoughts, even had any crossedhis mind. He caught her in his arms, and commanding the maid to follow,hurried down the stair.

  Winter and the Siwards were defending the foot with swinging blades.The savages were howling round like curs about a bull; and when Herewardappeared above with the women, there was a loud yell of rage and envy.

  He should not have the women to himself,--they would share the plunderequally,--was shouted in half a dozen barbarous dialects.

  "Have you left any valuables in the chamber?" whispered he to Alftruda.

  "Yes, jewels,--robes. Let them have all, only save me!"

  "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!"

  And he rushed forward. Winter and the housecarles formed round him andthe women, and hurried down the hall, while the savages hurried up theladder, to quarrel over their spoil.

  They were out in the court-yard, and safe for the moment. But whithershould he take her?

  "To Earl Osbiorn," said one of the Siwards. But how to find him?

  "There is Bishop Christiern!" And the Bishop was caught and stopped.

  "This is an evil day's work, Sir Hereward."

  "Then help to mend it by taking care of these ladies, like a man ofGod." And he explained the case.

  "You may come safely with me, my poor lambs," said the Bishop. "Iam glad to find something to do fit for a churchman. To me, myhousecarles."

  But they were all off plundering.

  "We will stand by you and the ladies, and see you safe down to
theships," said Winter, and so they went off.

  Hereward would gladly have gone with them, as Alftruda piteouslyentreated him. But he heard his name called on every side in angrytones.

  "Who wants Hereward?"

  "Earl Osbiorn,--here he is."

  "Those scoundrel monks have hidden all the altar furniture. If you wishto save them from being tortured to death, you had best find it."

  Hereward ran with him into the Cathedral. It was a hideous sight; tornbooks and vestments; broken tabernacle work; foul savages swarming inand 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 goldencrown from the head of the crucifix, another the golden footstool fromits feet. [Footnote: The crucifix was probably of the Greek pattern, inwhich the figure stood upon a flat slab, projecting from the cross.]

  As Hereward came up, crucifix and man fell together, crashing upon thepavement, amid shouts of brutal laughter.

  He hurried past them, shuddering, into the choir. The altar was bare,the golden pallium which covered it, gone.

  "It may be in the crypt below. I suppose the monks keep their relicsthere," said Osbiorn.

  "No! Not there. Do not touch the relics! Would you have the curse of allthe saints? Stay! I know an old hiding-place. It may be there. Up intothe steeple with me."

  And in a chamber in the steeple they found the golden pall, andtreasures countless and wonderful.

  "We had better keep the knowledge of this to ourselves awhile," saidEarl Osbiorn, looking with greedy eyes on a heap of wealth such as hehad never beheld before.

  "Not we! Hereward is a man of his word, and we will share and sharealike." And he turned and went down the narrow winding stair.

  Earl Osbiorn gave one look at his turned back; an evil spirit ofcovetousness came over him; and he smote Hereward full and strong uponthe hind-head.

  The sword turned upon the magic helm, and the sparks flashed out brightand wide.

  Earl Osbiorn shrunk back, appalled and trembling.

  "Aha!" said Hereward without looking round. "I never thought there wouldbe loose stones in the roof. Here! Up here, Vikings, Berserker, andsea-cocks all! Here, Jutlanders, Jomsburgers, Letts, Finns, witches'sons and devils' sons all! Here!" cried he, while Osbiorn profited bythat moment to thrust an especially brilliant jewel into his boot. "Hereis gold, here is the dwarfs work! Come up and take your Polotaswarf! Youwould not get a richer out of the Kaiser's treasury. Here, wolves andravens, eat gold, drink gold, roll in gold, and know that Hereward is aman of his word, and pays his soldiers' wages royally!"

  They rushed up the narrow stair, trampling each other to death, andthrust Hereward and the Earl, choking, into a corner. The room was sofull 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.

  "That was an unlucky blow," said Hereward, "that fell upon my head."

  "Very unlucky. I saw it coming, but had no time to warn you. Why do youhold my wrist?"

  "Men's daggers are apt to get loose at such times as these."

  "What do you mean?" and Earl Osbiorn went from him, and into the nowthinning press. Soon only a few remained, to search, by the glare of theflames, for what their fellows might have overlooked.

  "Now the play is played out," said Hereward, "we may as well go down,and to our ships."

  Some drunken ruffians would have burnt the church for mere mischief. ButOsbiorn, as well as Hereward, stopped that. And gradually they got themen down to the ships; some drunk, some struggling under plunder; somecursing and quarrelling because nothing had fallen to their lot. It wasa hideous scene; but one to which Hereward, as well as Osbiorn, was toowell accustomed to see aught in it save an hour's inevitable trouble ingetting the men on board.

  The monks had all fled. Only Leofwin the Long was left, and he lay sickin the infirmary. Whether he was burned therein, or saved by Hereward'smen, is not told.

  And so was the Golden Borough sacked and burnt. Now then, whither?

  The Danes were to go to Ely and join the army there. Hereward wouldmarch on to Stamford; secure that town if he could; then to Huntingdon,to secure it likewise; and on to Ely afterwards.

  "You will not leave me among these savages?" said Alftruda.

  "Heaven forbid! You shall come with me as far as Stamford, and then Iwill set you on your way."

  "My way?" said Alftruda, in a bitter and hopeless tone.

  Hereward mounted her on a good horse, and rode beside her, looking--andhe well knew it--a very perfect knight. Soon they began to talk. Whathad brought Alftruda to Peterborough, of all places on earth?

  "A woman's fortune. Because I am rich,--and some say fair,--I am apuppet, and a slave, a prey. I was going back to my,--to Dolfin."

  "Have you been away from him, then?"

  "What! Do you not know?"

  "How should I know, lady?"

  "Yes, most true. How should Hereward know anything about Alftruda? But Iwill tell you. Maybe you may not care to hear?"

  "About you? Anything. I have often longed to know how,--what you weredoing."

  "Is it possible? Is there one human being left on earth who cares tohear about Alftruda? Then listen. You know when Gospatrick fled toScotland his sons went with him. Young Gospatrick, Waltheof, [Footnote:This Waltheof Gospatricksson must not be confounded with WaltheofSiwardsson, the young Earl. He became a wild border chieftain, thenBaron of Atterdale, and then gave Atterdale to his sister QueenEthelreda, and turned monk, and at last Abbot, of Crowland: crawlinghome, poor fellow, like many another, to die in peace in the sanctuaryof the Danes.] and he,--Dolfin. Ethelreda, his girl, went too,--and sheis to marry, they say, Duncan, Malcolm's eldest son by Ingebiorg. SoGospatrick will find himself, some day, father-in-law of the King ofScots."

  "I will warrant him to find his nest well lined, wherever he be. But ofyourself?"

  "I refused to go. I could not face again that bleak black North.Beside--but that is no concern of Hereward's--"

  Hereward was on the point of saying, "Can anything concern you, and notbe interesting to me?"

  But she went on,--

  "I refused, and--"

  "And he misused you?" asked he, fiercely.

  "Better if he had. Better if he had tied me to his stirrup, and scourgedme along into Scotland, than have left me to new dangers and to oldtemptations."

  "What temptations?"

  Alftruda did not answer; but went on,--

  "He told me, in his lofty Scots' fashion, that I was free to do what Ilist. That he had long since seen that I cared not for him; and that hewould find many a fairer lady in his own land."

  "There he lied. So you did not care for him? He is a noble knight."

  "What is that to me? Women's hearts are not to be bought and sold withtheir bodies, as I was sold. Care for him? I care for no creature uponearth. Once I cared for Hereward, like a silly child. Now I care noteven for him."

  Hereward was sorry to hear that. Men are vainer than women, just aspeacocks are vainer than peahens; and Hereward was--alas for him!--aspecially vain man. Of course, for him to fall in love with Alftrudawould have been a shameful sin,--he would not have committed it for allthe treasures of Constantinople; but it was a not unpleasant thoughtthat Alftruda should fall in love with him. But he only said, tenderlyand courteously,--

  "Alas, poor lady!"

  "Poor lady. Too true, that last. For whither am I going now? Back tothat man once more."

  "To Dolfin?"

  "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 thatbreathe. But now that Gospatrick is come into the king's grace again,and has bought the earldom of Northumbria, from Tweed to Tyne--"

  "Bought the earldom?"

  "That has he; and paid for it right heavily."

  "Traitor and fool! He will not keep it seven y
ears. The Frenchman willpick a quarrel with him, and cheat him out of earldom and money too."

  The which William did, within three years.

  "May it be so! But when he came into the king's grace, he must needsdemand me back in his son's name."

  "What does Dolfin want with you?"

  "His father wants my money, and stipulated for it with the king. Andbesides, I suppose I am a pretty plaything enough still."

  "You? You are divine, perfect. Dolfin is right. How could a man who hadonce enjoyed you live without you?"

  Alftruda laughed,--a laugh full of meaning; but what that meaning was,Hereward could not divine.

  "So now," she said, "what Hereward has to do, as a true and courteousknight, is to give Alftruda safe conduct, and, if he can, a guard;and to deliver her up loyally and knightly to his old friend andfellow-warrior, Dolfin Gospatricksson, earl of whatever he can lay holdof for the current month."

  "Are you in earnest?"

  Alftruda laughed one of her strange laughs, looking straight before her.Indeed, she had never looked Hereward in the face during the whole ride.

  "What are those open holes? Graves?"

  "They are Barnack stone-quarries, which Alfgar my brother gave toCrowland."

  "So? That is pity. I thought they had been graves; and then you mighthave covered me up in one of them, and left me to sleep in peace."

  "What can I do for you, Alftruda, my old play-fellow: Alftruda, whom Isaved from the bear?"

  "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, whichnever since, men say, has struck without victory and renown. You wonyour first honor for my sake. But who am I now, that you should turn outof your glorious path for me?"

  "I will do anything,--anything. But why miscall this noble prince amonster?"

  "If he were fairer than St. John, more wise than Solomon, and morevaliant than King William, he is to me a monster; for I loathe him, andI know not why. But do your duty as a knight, sir. Convey the lawfulwife to her lawful spouse."

  "What cares an outlaw for law, in a land where law is dead and gone? Iwill do what I--what you like. Come with me to Torfrida at Bourne; andlet me see the man who dares try to take you out of my hand."

  Alftruda laughed again.

  "No, no. I should interrupt the little doves in their nest. Beside, thebilling and cooing might make me envious. And I, alas! who carry miserywith me round the land, might make your Torfrida jealous."

  Hereward was of the same opinion, and rode silent and thoughtful throughthe great woods which are now the noble park of Burghley.

  "I have found it!" said he at last. "Why not go to Gilbert of Ghent, atLincoln?"

  "Gilbert? Why should he befriend me?"

  "He will do that, or anything else, which is for his own profit."

  "Profit? All the world seems determined to make profit out of me. Ipresume you would, if I had come with you to Bourne."

  "I do not doubt it. This is a very wild sea to swim in; and a man mustbe forgiven, if he catches at every bit of drift-timber."

  "Selfishness, selfishness everywhere;--and I suppose you expect to gainby sending me to Gilbert of Ghent?"

  "I shall gain nothing, Alftruda, save the thought that you are not sofar from me--from us--but that we can hear of you,--send succor to youif you need."

  Alftruda was silent. At last--

  "And you think that Gilbert would not be afraid of angering the king?"

  "He would not anger the king. Gilbert's friendship is more importantto William, at this moment, than that of a dozen Gospatricks. He holdsLincoln town, and with it the key of Waltheof's earldom: and things mayhappen, Alftruda--I tell you; but if you tell Gilbert, may Hereward'scurse be on you!"

  "Not that! Any man's curse save yours!" said she in so passionate avoice that a thrill of fire ran through Hereward. And he recollectedher scoff at Bruges,--"So he could not wait for me?" And a storm ofevil thoughts swept through him. "Would to heaven!" said he to himself,crushing them gallantly down, "I had never thought of Lincoln. But thereis no other plan."

  But he did not tell Alftruda, as he meant to do, that she might see himsoon in Lincoln Castle as its conqueror and lord. He half hoped thatwhen that day came, Alftruda might be somewhere else.

  "Gilbert can say," he went on, steadying himself again, "that you fearedto 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 itwisest to detain you, as a hostage for Dolfin's allegiance."

  "He shall say so. I will make him say so."

  "So be it, Now, here we are at Stamford town; and I must to my trade. Doyou like to see fighting, Alftruda,--the man's game, the royal game, theonly game worth a thought on earth? For you are like to see a little inthe next ten minutes."

  "I should like to see you fight. They tell me none is so swift andterrible in the battle as Hereward. How can you be otherwise, who slewthe bear,--when we were two happy children together? But shall I besafe?"

  "Safe? of course," said Hereward, who longed, peacock-like, to show offhis prowess before a lady who was--there was no denying it--far morebeautiful than even Torfrida.

  But he had no opportunity to show off his prowess. For as he galloped inover Stamford Bridge, Abbot Thorold galloped out at the opposite end ofthe town through Casterton, and up the Roman road to Grantham.

  After whom Hereward sent Alftruda (for he heard that Thorold was goingto Gilbert at Lincoln) with a guard of knights, bidding them do him noharm, but say that Hereward knew him to be a _preux chevalier_ andlover of fair ladies; that he had sent him a right fair one to bear himcompany to Lincoln, and hoped that he would sing to her on the way thesong of Roland.

  And Alftruda, who knew Thorold, went willingly, since it could no betterbe.

  After which, according to Gaimar, Hereward tarried three days atStamford, laying a heavy tribute on the burgesses for harboring Thoroldand his Normans; and also surprised at a drinking-bout a certain specialenemy of his, and chased him from room to room sword in hand, till hetook refuge shamefully in an outhouse, and begged his life. And when hisknights came back from Grantham, he marched to Bourne.

  "The next night," says Leofric the deacon, or rather the monk whoparaphrased his saga in Latin prose,--"Hereward saw in his dreams aman standing by him of inestimable beauty, old of years, terrible ofcountenance, in all the raiment of his body more splendid than allthings which he had ever seen, or conceived in his mind; who threatenedhim with a great club which he carried in his hand, and with a fearfuldoom, that he should take back to his church all that had been carriedoff 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 thespot a pitiable death. But when awakened, he was seized with a divineterror, and restored in the same hour all that he took away, and sodeparted, going onward with all his men."

  So says Leofric, wishing, as may be well believed, to advance the gloryof 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 worldshould spy out their nakedness, and become aware that the Golden Boroughwas stript of all its gold.

  Nevertheless, truth will out. Golden Borough was Golden Borough no more.The treasures were never restored; they went to sea with the Danes, andwere scattered far and wide,--to Norway, to Ireland, to Denmark; "allthe spoils," says the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, "which reached the lattercountry, being the pallium and some of the shrines and crosses; and manyof the other treasures they brought to one of the king's towns, and laidthem up in the church. But one night, through their carelessness anddrunkenness, the church was burned, with all that was therein. Thus wasthe minster of Peterborough burned and pillaged. May Almighty God havepity on it in His great mercy."

  Hereward, when blamed for the deed, said always that he did it "becauseof his allegiance to the monastery." Rather than that the treasuresgathered by
Danish monks should fall into the hands of the Frenchrobbers, let them be given to their own Danish kinsmen, in payment fortheir help to English liberty.

  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, whenmarching past Stamford, they lost their way. "To whom, when they hadlost their way, a certain wonder happened, and a miracle, if it can besaid that such would be worked in favor of men of blood. For while inthe 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. Andthey, taking the gray beast in the darkness for a white dog, cheered oneach other to follow him to his farm, which ought to be hard by. Andin the silence of the midnight, that they might see their way, suddenlycandles appeared, burning, and clinging to the lances of all theknights,--not very bright, however; but like those which the folk call_candelae nympharum_,--wills of the wisp. But none could pull them off,or altogether extinguish them, or throw them from their hands. And thusthey saw their way, and went on, although astonished out of mind, withthe wolf leading them, until day dawned, and they saw, to theirgreat astonishment, that he was a wolf. And as they questionedamong themselves about what had befallen, the wolf and the candlesdisappeared, and they came whither they had been minded,--beyondStamford town,--thanking God, and wondering at what had happened."

  After which Hereward took Torfrida, and his child, and all he had, andtook 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 dealof bad language; and (after his men had refused, reasonably enough, toswim the Ouse and attack Hereward) an arrow, which Hereward, "_modicumse inclinans_," stooping forward, says Leofric,--who probably saw thedeed,--shot at him across the Ouse, as the Earl stood cursing on the topof the dike. Which arrow flew so stout and strong, that though it sprangback from Earl Warrenne's hauberk, it knocked him almost senseless offhis horse, and forced him to defer his purpose of avenging Sir Frederichis brother.

  After which Hereward threw himself into Ely, and assumed, by consent ofall, the command of the English who were therein.