Hereward, the Last of the English

  CHAPTER XXXIII.

  HOW THE MONKS OF ELY DID AFTER THEIR KIND.

  William's bolt, or rather inextinguishable Greek fire, could not havefallen into Ely at a more propitious moment.

  Hereward was away, with a large body of men, and many ships, foraging inthe northeastern fens. He might not be back for a week.

  Abbot Thurstan--for what cause is not said--had lost heart a littlewhile before, and fled to "Angerhale, taking with him the ornaments andtreasure of the church."

  Hereward had discovered his flight with deadly fear: but provisions hemust have, and forth he must go, leaving Ely in charge of half a dozenindependent English gentlemen, each of whom would needs have his ownway, just because it was his own.

  Only Torfrida he took, and put her hand into the hand of RanaldSigtrygsson, and said, "Thou true comrade and perfect knight, as I didby thy wife, do thou by mine, if aught befall."

  And Ranald swore first by the white Christ, and then by the head ofSleipnir, Odin's horse, that he would stand by Torfrida till the last;and then, if need was, slay her.

  "You will not need, King Ranald. I can slay myself," said she, as shetook the Ost-Dane's hard, honest hand.

  And Hereward went, seemingly by Mepal or Sutton. Then came the message;and all men in Ely knew it.

  Torfrida stormed down to the monks, in honest indignation, to demandthat they should send to William, and purge her of the calumny. Shefound the Chapter-door barred and bolted. They were all gabbling inside,like starlings on a foggy morning, and would not let her in. She hurriedback to Ranald, fearing treason, and foreseeing the effect of themessage upon the monks.

  But what could Ranald do? To find out their counsels was impossiblefor him, or any man in Ely. For the monks could talk Latin, and the mencould not. Torfrida alone knew the sacred tongue.

  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 ofhis housecarles, and listened, with a beating heart. She heard words nowincomprehensible. That men who most of them lived no better than theirown serfs; who could have no amount of wealth, not even the hopeof leaving that wealth to their children,--should cling towealth,--struggle, forge, lie, do anything for wealth, to be usedalmost entirely not for themselves, but for the honor and glory of theconvent,--indicates an intensity of corporate feeling, unknown in theouter world then, or now.

  The monastery would be ruined! Without this manor, without that wood,without that stone quarry, that fishery,--what would become of them?

  But mingled with those words were other words, unfortunately moreintelligible to this day,--those of superstition.

  What would St. Etheldreda say? How dare they provoke her wrath? Wouldshe submit to lose her lands? She might do,--what might she not do? Herbones would refuse ever to work a miracle again. They had been but tooslack in miracle-working for many years. She might strike the isle withbarrenness, the minster with lightning. She might send a flood up thefens. She might--

  William the Norman, to do them justice, those valiant monks fearednot; for he was man, and could but kill the body. But St. Etheldreda, avirgin goddess, with all the host of heaven to back her,--might she not,by intercession with powers still higher than her own, destroy both bodyand soul in hell?

  "We are betrayed. They are going to send for the Abbot from Angerhale,"said Torfrida at last, reeling from the door, "All is lost."

  "Shall we burst open the door and kill them all?" asked Ranald, simply.

  "No, King,--no. They are God's men; and we have blood enough on oursouls."

  "We can keep the gates, lest any go out to the King."

  "Impossible. They know the isle better than we, and have a thousandarts."

  So all they could do was to wait in fear and trembling for Hereward'sreturn, and send Martin Lightfoot off to warn him, wherever he might be.

  The monks remained perfectly quiet. The organ droned, the chants wailed,as usual; nothing interrupted the stated order of the services; and inthe hall, each day, they met the knights as cheerfully as ever. Greedand superstition had made cowards of them,--and now traitors.

  It was whispered that Abbot Thurstan had returned to the minster; but noman saw him; and so three or four days went on.

  Martin found Hereward after incredible labors, and told him all, clearlyand shrewdly. The man's manifest insanity only seemed to quicken hiswit, and increase his powers of bodily endurance.

  Hereward was already on his way home; and never did he and his goodmen row harder than they rowed that day back to Sutton. He landed, andhurried 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 thatTorfrida had foreseen. And as for Torfrida herself, he was half mad. IvoTaillebois's addition to William's message had had its due effect.He vowed even deadlier hate against the Norman than he had ever feltbefore. He ascended the heights to Sutton. It was his shortest way toEly. He could not see Aldreth from thence; but he could see Willinghamfield, and Belsar's hills, round the corner of Haddenham Hill.

  The sun was setting long before they reached Ely; but just as he sankinto the western fen, Winter stopped, pointing. "Was that the flash ofarms? There, far away, just below Willingham town. Or was it the settingsun upon the ripple of some long water?"

  "There is not wind enough for such a ripple," said one. But ere theycould satisfy themselves, the sun was down, and all the fen was gray.

  Hereward was still more uneasy. If that had been the flash of arms, itmust have come off a very large body of men, moving in column, and onthe old straight road between Cambridge and Ely. He hastened on his men.But ere they were within sight of the minster-tower, they were awareof a horse galloping violently towards them through the dusk. Herewardcalled a halt. He heard his own heart beat as he stopped. The horse waspulled up short among them, and a lad threw himself off.

  "Hereward? Thank God, I am in time!"

  The voice was the voice of Torfrida.

  "Treason!" she gasped.

  "I knew it."

  "The French are in the island. They have got Aldreth. The whole army ismarching from Cambridge. The whole fleet is coming up from Southrey. Andyou have time--"

  "To burn Ely over the monks' heads. Men! Get bogwood out of yon cottage,make yourselves torches, and onward!"

  Then rose a babel of questions, which Torfrida answered as she could.But she had nothing to tell. "Clerks' cunning," she said bitterly, "wasan overmatch for woman's wit." She had sent out a spy: but he had notreturned till an hour since. Then he came back breathless, with the newsthat the French army was on the march from Cambridge, and that, as hecame over the water at Alrech, he found a party of French knights in thefort on the Ely side, talking peaceably with the monks on guard.

  She had run up to the borough hill,--which men call Cherry Hill at thisday,--and one look to the northeast had shown her the river swarmingwith ships. She had rushed home, put on men's clothes, hid a few jewelsin her bosom, saddled Swallow, and ridden for her life thither.

  "And King Ranald?"

  He and his men had gone desperately out towards Haddenham, with whatEnglish they could muster; but all were in confusion. Some were gettingthe women and children into boats, to hide them in the reeds. Othersbattering the minster gates, vowing vengeance on the monks.

  "Then Ranald will be cut off! Alas for the day that ever brought hisbrave heart hither!"

  And when the men heard that, a yell of fury and despair burst from allthroats.

  Should they go back to their boats?

  "No! onward," cried Hereward. "Revenge first, and safety after. Let usleave nothing for the accursed Frenchmen but smoking ruins, and thengather our comrades, and cut our way back to the north."

  "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 islandwithout their being able to follow us a mile."

  They hurried on; but stopped once more, at the galloping of ano
therhorse.

  "Who comes, friend or foe?"

  "Alwyn, son of Orgar!" cried a voice under breath. "Don't make such anoise, men! The French are within half a mile of you."

  "Then one traitor monk shall die ere I retreat," cried Hereward, seizinghim by the throat.

  "For Heaven's sake, hold!" cried Torfrida, seizing his arm. "You knownot what he may have to say."

  "I am no traitor, Hereward; I have fought by your side as well as thebest; and if any but you had called Alwyn--"

  "A curse on your boasting. Tell us the truth."

  "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 Icould; but who was I to resist the whole chapter? Could I alone braveSt. Etheldreda's wrath?"

  "Alwyn, the valiant, afraid of a dead girl!"

  "Blaspheme not, Hereward! She may hear you at this moment! Look there!"and pointing up, the monk cowered in terror, as a meteor flashed throughthe sky.

  "That is St. Etheldreda shooting at us, eh? Then all I can say is, sheis a very bad marksman. And the French are in the island?"

  "They are."

  "Then forward, men, for one half-hour's pleasure; and then to die likeEnglishmen."

  "On?" cried Alwyn. "You cannot go on. The King is at Whichford at thismoment with all his army, half a mile off! Right across the road toEly!"

  Hereward grew Berserk. "On! men!" shouted he, "we shall kill a fewFrenchmen apiece before we die!"

  "Hereward," cried Torfrida, "you shall not go on! If you go, I shallbe taken. And if I am taken, I shall be burned. And I cannot burn,--Icannot! I shall go mad with terror before I come to the stake. I cannotgo stript to my smock before those Frenchmen. I cannot be roastedpiecemeal! Hereward, take me away! Take me away! or kill me, now andhere!"

  He paused. He had never seen Torfrida thus overcome.

  "Let us flee! The stars are against us. God is against us! Let ushide,--escape abroad: beg our bread, go on pilgrimage to Jerusalemtogether,--for together it must be always: but take me away!"

  "We will go back to the boats, men," said Hereward.

  But they did not go. They stood there, irresolute, looking towards Ely.

  The sky was pitchy dark. The minster roofs, lying northeast, wereutterly invisible against the blackness.

  "We may at least save some who escape out," said Hereward. "March onquickly to the left, under the hill to the plough-field."

  They did so.

  "Lie down, men. There are the French, close on our right. Down among thebushes."

  And they heard the heavy tramp of men within a quarter of a mile.

  "Cover the mare's eyes, and hold her mouth, lest she neigh," saidWinter.

  Hereward and Torfrida lay side by side upon the heath. She was shiveringwith cold and horror. He laid his cloak over her; put his arm round her.

  "Your stars did not foretell you this, Torfrida." He spoke not bitterly,but in utter sadness.

  She burst into an agony of weeping.

  "My stars at least foretold me nothing but woe, since first I saw yourface."

  "Why did you marry me, then?" asked he, half angrily.

  "Because I loved you. Because I love you still."

  "Then you do not regret?"

  "Never, never, never! I am quite happy,--quite happy. Why not?"

  A low murmur from the men made them look up. They were near enough tothe town to hear,--only too much. They heard the tramp of men, shoutsand yells. Then the shrill cries of women. All dull and muffledthe sounds came to them through the still night; and they lay therespell-bound, as in a nightmare, as men assisting at some horribletragedy, which they had no power to prevent. Then there was a glare, anda wisp of smoke against the black sky, and then a house began burningbrightly, and then another.

  "This is the Frenchman's faith!"

  And all the while, as the sack raged in the town below, the minsterstood above, dark, silent, and safe. The church had provided forherself, by sacrificing the children beneath her fostering shadow.

  They waited nearly an hour: but no fugitives came out.

  "Come, men," said Hereward, wearily, "we may as well to the boats."

  And so they went, walking on like men in a dream, as yet too stunnedto realize to themselves the hopeless horror of their situation.Only Hereward and Torfrida saw it all, looking back on the splendidpast,--the splendid hopes for the future: glory, honor, an earldom, afree Danish England,--and this was all that was left!

  "No it is not!" cried Torfrida suddenly, as if answering her ownunspoken thoughts, and his. "Love is still left. The gallows and thestake cannot take that away." And she clung closer to her husband'sside, and he again to hers.

  They reached the shore, and told their tale to their comrades. Whithernow?

  "To Well. To the wide mere," said Hereward.

  "But their ships will hunt us out there."

  "We shall need no hunting. We must pick up the men at Cissham. You wouldnot leave them to be murdered, too, as we have left the Ely men?"

  No. They would go to Well. And then?

  "The Bruneswald, and the merry greenwood," said Hereward.

  "Hey for the merry greenwood!" shouted Leofric the Deacon. And the men,in the sudden delight of finding any place, any purpose, answered with alusty cheer.

  "Brave hearts," said Hereward. "We will live and die together likeEnglishmen."

  "We will, we will, Viking."

  "Where shall we stow the mare?" asked Geri, "the boats are fullalready."

  "Leave her to me. On board, Torfrida."

  He got on board last, leading the mare by the bridle.

  "Swim, good lass!" said he, as they pushed off; and the good lass, whohad 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 astrange gurgle, a splash, and a swirl. He turned round, and sat uprightagain. They rowed on.

  "That mare will never swim all the way to Well," said one.

  "She will not need it," said Hereward.

  "Why," cried Torfrida, feeling in the darkness, "she is loose. What isthis in your hand? Your dagger! And wet!"

  "Mare Swallow is at the bottom of the reach. We could never have got herto Well."

  "And you have--" cried a dozen voices.

  "Do you think that I would let a cursed Frenchman--ay, even William'sself--say that he had bestridden Hereward's mare?"

  None answered: but Torfrida, as she laid her head upon her husband'sbosom, felt the great tears running down from his cheek on to her own.

  None spoke a word. The men were awe-stricken. There was somethingdespairing and ill-omened in the deed. And yet there was a savagegrandeur in it, which bound their savage hearts still closer to theirchief.

  And so mare Swallow's bones lie somewhere in the peat unto this day.

  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. Illnews, as usual, had travelled fast. They had heard of the fall of Ely,and hidden themselves "in a certain very small island which is calledStimtench," where, thinking that the friends in search of them wereFrenchmen in pursuit, they hid themselves among the high reeds. Theretwo of them--one Starkwolf by name, the other Broher--hiding near eachother, "thought that, as they were monks, it might conduce to theirsafety if they had shaven crowns; and set to work with their swords toshave each other's heads as well as they could. But at last, by theirwar-cries and their speech, recognizing each other, they left offfighting," and went after Hereward.

  So jokes, grimly enough, Leofric the Deacon, who must have seen themcome in the next morning, with bleeding coxcombs, and could laugh overthe thing in after years. But he was in no humor for jesting in thedays in which they lay at Well. Nor was he in jesting humor when, aweek afterwards, hunted by the Normans from Well, and forced too take tomeres and waterways known only to them, and too shallow and narrow forthe Norman ships, they found their way across in
to the old Nene, and soby Thorney on toward Crowland, leaving Peterborough far on the left. Foras they neared Crowland, they saw before them, rowing slowly, a bargefull of men. And as they neared that barge, behold, all they who rowedwere blind of both their eyes; and all they who sat and guided them weremaimed of both their hands. And as they came alongside, there was nota man in all that ghastly crew but was an ancient friend, by whose sidethey had fought full many a day, and with whom they had drunk deep fullmany a night. They were the first-fruits of William's vengeance; thrustinto that boat, to tell the rest of the fen-men what those had to expectwho dared oppose the Norman. And they were going, by some by-stream, toCrowland, to the sanctuary of the Danish fen-men, that they might castthemselves down before St. Guthlac, and ask of him that mercy for theirsouls which the conqueror had denied to their bodies. Alas for them!they were but a handful among hundreds, perhaps thousands, of mutilatedcripples, who swarmed all over England, and especially in the north andeast, throughout the reign of the Norman conquerors. They told theircomrades' fate, slaughtered in the first attack, or hanged afterwards asrebels and traitors to a foreigner whom they had never seen, and to whomthey owed no fealty by law of God or man.

  "And Ranald Sigtrygsson?"

  None knew aught of him. He never got home again to his Irish princess.

  "And the poor women?" asked Torfrida.

  But she received no answer.

  And the men swore a great oath, and kept it, never to give quarter to aNorman, as long as there was one left on English ground.

  Neither were the monks of Ely in jesting humor, when they came to countup the price of their own baseness. They had (as was in that day thecant of all cowardly English churchmen, as well as of the more craftyNormans) "obeyed the apostolic injunction, to submit to the powersthat be, because they are ordained," &c. But they found the hand of thepowers that be a very heavy one. Forty knights were billeted on themat free quarters with all their men. Every morning the butler had todistribute to them food and pay in the great hall; and in vain weretheir complaints of bad faith. William meanwhile, who loved money aswell as he "loved the tall deer," had had 1,000 (another says 700) marksof 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 goldand silver, crosses, altars, coffers, covers, chalices, platters, ewers,urnets, basons, cups, and saucers." Nay, the idols themselves were notspared, "for," beside that, "they sold a goodly image of our Lady withher little Son, in a throne wrought with marvellous workmanship, whichElsegus the abbot had made. Likewise, they stripped many images of holyvirgins of much furniture of gold and silver." [Footnote: These detailsare from a story found in the Isle of Ely, published by Dr. Giles. Itseems a late composition,--probably of the sixteenth century,--andhas manifest errors of fact; but _valeat quantum_.] So that poor St.Etheldreda had no finery in which to appear on festivals, and wentin russet for many years after. The which money (according to another[Footnote: Stow's "Annals."]) they took, as they had promised, to Picotthe Viscount at Cambridge. He weighed the money; and finding it an ounceshort, accused them of cheating the King, and sentenced them to pay300 marks more. After which the royal commissioners came, plundered theabbey of all that was left, and took away likewise "a great mass of goldand silver found in Wentworth, wherewith the brethren meant to repairthe altar vessels"; and also a "notable cope which Archbishop Stigandgave, which the church hath wanted to this day."

  Thurstan, the traitor Abbot, died in a few months. Egelwin, the Bishopof Durham, was taken in the abbey. He was a bishop, and they dared notkill him. But he was a patriot, and must have no mercy. They accused himof stealing the treasures of Durham, which he had brought to Ely for theservice 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 orenforced"; and so ended another patriot prelate. But we do not readthat the Normans gave back the treasure to Durham. And so, yieldingan 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.