Hereward, the Last of the English

  CHAPTER XXXVIII.

  HOW HEREWARD CAME IN TO THE KING.

  After these things Hereward summoned all his men, and set before themthe hopelessness of any further resistance, and the promises of amnesty,lands, and honors which William had offered him, and persuaded them--andindeed he had good arguments enough and to spare--that they should goand make their peace with the King.

  They were so accustomed to look up to his determination, that when itgave way theirs gave way likewise. They were so accustomed to trust hiswisdom, that most of them yielded at once to his arguments. That theband should break up, all agreed. A few of the more suspicious, or moredesperate, said that they could never trust the Norman; that Herewardhimself had warned them again and again of his treachery. That he wasnow going to do himself what he had laughed at Gospatrick and the restfor doing; what had brought ruin on Edwin and Morcar; what he had againand again prophesied would bring ruin on Waltheof himself ere all wasover.

  But Hereward was deaf to their arguments. He had said as little to themas he could about Alftruda, for very shame; but he was utterly besottedon her. For her sake, he had determined to run his head blindly intothe very snare of which he had warned others. And he had seared--so hefancied--his conscience. It was Torfrida's fault now, not his. If sheleft him,--if she herself freed him of her own will,--why, he was free,and there was no more to be said about it.

  And Hereward (says the chronicler) took Gwenoch, Geri, and Matelgar, androde south to the King.

  Where were the two young Siwards? It is not said. Probably they, and afew desperadoes, followed the fashion of so many English in those saddays,--when, as sings the Norse scald,

  "Cold heart and bloody hand Now rule English land,"--

  and took ship for Constantinople, and enlisted in the Varanger guard,and died full of years and honors, leaving fair-haired children behindthem, to become Varangers in their turn.

  Be that as it may, Hereward rode south. But when he had gotten a longway upon the road, a fancy (says the chronicler) came over him. He wasnot going in pomp and glory enough. It seemed mean for the once greatHereward to sneak into Winchester with three knights. Perhaps it seemednot over safe for the once great Hereward to travel with only threeknights. So he went back all the way to camp, and took (says thechronicler) "forty most famous knights, all big and tall of stature,and splendid,--if from nothing else, from their looks and their harnessalone."

  So Hereward and those forty knights rode down from Peterborough, alongthe 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 thework of gods and giants, and called them after the names of their oldgods and heroes,--Irmen Street, Watling Street, and so forth.

  And then, like true Englishmen, our own forefathers showed their respectfor the said divine works, not by copying them, but by picking them topieces to pave every man his own court-yard. Be it so. The neglectof new roads, the destruction of the old ones, was a natural evilconsequence of local self-government. A cheap price, perhaps, after all,to pay for that power of local self-government which has kept Englandfree unto this day.

  Be that as it may, down the Roman road Hereward went; past AlconburyHill, of the old posting days; past Wimpole Park, then deep forest; pastHatfield, then deep forest likewise; and so to St. Alban's. And therethey 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 wentsouth, by ways which are not so clear.

  Just outside St. Alban's--Verulamium of the Romans (the ruins whereofwere believed to be full of ghosts, demons, and magic treasures)--theyturned, at St. Stephen's, to the left, off the Roman road to London; andby another Roman road struck into the vast forest which ringed Londonround from northeast to southwest. Following the upper waters of theColne, which ran through the woods on their left, they came to Watford,and then turned probably to Rickmansworth. No longer on the Romanpaved ways, they followed horse-tracks, between the forest and the richmarsh-meadows of the Colne, as far as Denham, and then struck into aRoman road again at the north end of Langley Park. From thence, overheathy commons,--for that western part of Buckinghamshire, its soilbeing light and some gravel, was little cultivated then, and hardly allcultivated now,--they held on straight by Langley town into the Vale ofThames.

  Little they dreamed, as they rode down by Ditton Green, off the heathycommons, past the poor, scattered farms, on to the vast rushy meadows,while upon them was the dull weight of disappointment, shame, all butdespair; their race enslaved, their country a prey to strangers, and allits future, like their own, a lurid blank,--little they dreamed of whatthat vale would be within eight hundred years,--the eye of England, andit may be of the world; a spot which owns more wealth and peace, moreart and civilization, more beauty and more virtue, it may be, than anyof God's gardens which make fair this earth. Windsor, on its crownedsteep, was to them but a new hunting palace of the old miracle-mongerEdward, who had just ruined England. Runnymede, a mile below them downthe broad stream, was but a horse-fen fringed with water-lilies, wherethe men of Wessex had met of old to counsel, and to bring the country tothis pass. And as they crossed, by ford or ferry-boat, the shallows ofold Windsor, whither they had been tending all along, and struck intothe moorlands of Wessex itself, they were as men going into an unknownwilderness: behind them ruin, and before them unknown danger.

  On through Windsor Forest, Edward the Saint's old hunting-ground; itsbottoms choked with beech and oak, and birch and alder scrub; its upperlands vast flats of level heath; along the great trackway which runsalong 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 wornthe ruts too deep, struck out a fresh wandering line for himself acrossthe dreary heath.

  Over the Blackwater by Sandhurst, and along the flats of HartfordBridge, 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 themagain at Basing, on to the clean crisp chalk turf; to strike at PophamLane the Roman road from Silchester, and hold it over the high downs,till they saw far below them the royal city of Winchester.

  Itchen, silver as they looked on her from above, but when they came downto her, so clear that none could see where water ended and where airbegan, hurried through the city in many a stream. Beyond it rose the"White Camp,"' the "Venta Belgarum," the circular earthwork of whitechalk 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, andEthelred's before him; and the great Earl Godwin, who seemed to Herewardto have died, not twenty, but two hundred years ago;--and it may be anold Saxon hall upon the little isle whither Edgar had bidden bring theheads of all the wolves in Wessex, where afterwards the bishops builtWolvesey Palace. But nearer to them, on the down which sloped up tothe west, stood an uglier thing, which they saw with curses deep andloud,--the keep of the new Norman castle by the west gate.

  Hereward halted his knights upon the down outside the northern gate.Then he rode forward himself. The gate was open wide; but he did notcare to go in.

  So he rode into the gateway, and smote upon that gate with hislance-but. But the porter saw the knights upon the down, and was afraidto come out; for he feared treason.

  Then Hereward smote a second time; but the porter did not come out.

  Then he took the lance by the shaft, and smote a third time. And hesmote so hard, that the lance-but flew to flinders against WinchesterGate.

  And at that started out two knights, who had come down from the castle,seeing the meinie on the down, and asked,--

  "Who art thou who knockest here so bold?"

  "Who I am any man can see by those splinters, if he knows what men areleft in England this day."


  The knights looked at the broken wood, and then at each other. Who couldthe man be who could beat an ash stave to flinders at a single blow?

  "You are young, and do not know me; and no shame to you. Go and tellWilliam the King, that Hereward is come to put his hands between theKing's, and be the King's man henceforth."

  "You are Hereward?" asked one, half awed, half disbelieving atHereward's short stature.

  "You are--I know not who. Pick up those splinters, and take them to KingWilliam; and say, 'The man who broke that lance against the gate is hereto make his peace with thee,' and he will know who I am."

  And so cowed were these two knights with Hereward's royal voice, androyal eye, and royal strength, that they went simply, and did what hebade them.

  And when King William saw the splinters, he was as joyful as man couldbe, and said,--

  "Send him to me, and tell him, Bright shines the sun to me that lightsHereward into Winchester."

  "But, Lord King, he has with him a meinie of full forty knights."

  "So much the better. I shall have the more valiant Englishmen to help myvaliant French."

  So Hereward rode round, outside the walls, to William's new entrenchedpalace, outside the west gate, by the castle.

  And then Hereward went in, and knelt before the Norman, and put hishands between William's hands, and swore to be his man.

  "I have kept my word," said he, "which I sent to thee at Rouen sevenyears agone. Thou art King of all England; and I am the last man to sayso."

  "And since thou hast said it, I am King indeed. Come with me, and dine;and to-morrow I will see thy knights."

  And William walked out of the hall leaning on Hereward's shoulder, atwhich all the Normans gnashed their teeth with envy.

  "And for my knights, Lord King? Thine and mine will mix, for a whileyet, like oil and water; and I fear lest there be murder done betweenthem."

  "Likely enough."

  So the knights were bestowed in a "vill" near by; "and the next day thevenerable king himself went forth to see those knights, and caused themto stand, and march before him, both with arms, and without. With whombeing much delighted, he praised them, congratulating them on theirbeauty and stature, and saying that they must all be knights of famein war." After which Hereward sent them all home except two; and waitedtill he should marry Alftruda, and get back his heritage.

  "And when that happens," said William, "why should we not have twoweddings, beausire, as well as one? I hear that you have in Crowland afair daughter, and marriageable."

  Hereward bowed.

  "And I have found a husband for her suitable to her years, and who mayconduce to your peace and serenity."

  Hereward bit his lip. To refuse was impossible in those days. But--

  "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."

  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."

  "If a king ask my pardon, I can only ask his in return."

  "You must be friends with Taillebois. He is a brave knight, and a wisewarrior."

  "None ever doubted that."

  "And to cover any little blots in his escutcheon, I have made him anearl, as I may make you some day."

  "Your Majesty, like a true king, knows how to reward. Who is this knightwhom you have chosen for my lass?"

  "Sir Hugh of Evermue, a neighbor of yours, and a man of blood andbreeding."

  "I know him, and his lineage; and it is very well. I humbly thank yourMajesty."

  "Can I be the same man?" said Hereward to himself, bitterly.

  And he was not the same man. He was besotted on Alftruda, and humbledhimself accordingly.