THE CASTLE AT CAM-BRIDGE AND A BATTLE.
When the Normans first came into England, the town of Cam-Bridge, or
Grant-Bridge, was not the stately town which we have seen it since, nor
was it the flourishing place which it had been in the time of the Saxon
Heptarchy.[165] According to the Venerable Bede, Sebert, or Sigebert,
King of the East Angles, by the advice of Felix the Bishop, instituted
within his kingdom a school for learning, in imitation of what he had
seen in France; and this school is believed to have been fixed on the
very spot where the town of Cam-Bridge now stands.[166] Others there
are who say that a school had flourished there in the time of the
Romans, and that Sebert, or Sigebert, only restored this school in the
year of our Lord six hundred and thirty. Certain it is that from a very
early time Cam-Bridge was the residence of many students, who at first
lived in apartments hired of the townspeople, and afterwards in inns or
hostels of their own, where they formed separate communities, of which
each was under its own head or principal. But in the fiery distraction
of the Danish invasion of England, when abbats and monks and religious
women were slaughtered at the feet of their own altars, and churches
and abbeys and monasteries consumed, the pagan flames fell upon this
quiet seat of learning, and left nothing behind but ashes and ruins.
After this the place lay a long time neglected. There are some who
write that when, about the year of grace nine hundred and twenty, King
Edward, surnamed the Elder, and the eldest son and successor of Alfred
the Great, repaired the ravages of the Danes at Cam-Bridge, he erected
halls for students, and appointed learned professors; but these facts
appear to be questionable, and it is thought that, although learning
would no more abandon the place than the waters of the river Cam would
cease to flow by it, the scholars were in a poor and insecure
condition, and were living not in the halls or colleges of stately
architecture, but under the thatched roofs of the humble burghers, when
the blast of the Norman trumpets was first heard in the land. At that
sound all humane studies were suspended. The town and territory round
it were bestowed upon a Norman chief, and Norman men-at-arms were
quartered in the houses which had lodged the students. But it was not
until the third year after the battle of Hastings, when Duke William
became sorely alarmed at the great strength of the Saxons, gathered or
still gathering in the neighbouring isle of Ely, that Cam-Bridge felt
to their full extent the woes attendant on wars and foreign conquest.
Then it was made a great military station, and a castle was built to
lodge more soldiers, and command and control the town and all the
vicinity. Just beyond the river Cam, and opposite to the little
township, there stood, as there still stands, a lofty barrow or mound
of earth,[167] overgrown with green sward, and looking like those
mounds which the traveller observes by Salisbury plains, and on the
plain where the ancient city of Troy once stood. This great cone was
not raised and shaped by nature. The common people, who will be for
ever betraying their ignorance, said that the devil had made it, for
some ridiculous purpose; but learned men opined that it had been raised
by the ancient Britons[168] for some purpose of defence, or as some
lasting monument to the great dead. When the Romans came and conquered
the country, they had made an entrenched camp round about this mound,
and had built a tower or guard-house upon the top of the mound; but
these works had either been destroyed by the Danes or had been allowed
to fall into decay and into ruin through the too great negligence of
the Saxons. Now from top of this green hillock, looking across rivers
and meres and flat fens, where the highest tree that grew was the
marsh-willow, a good eye could see for many miles and almost penetrate
into the recesses of the isle of Ely and the Camp of Refuge. The old
Roman road or causeway, called the Ermine[169] Street, which led into
the heart of the fen country, ran close under the mound and a little
outside the trenches of the Roman camp. Seeing all the advantages of
the spot, as a barrier for the defence of the country behind the Cam,
and as an advanced position on the side of the country, and as a place
of arms wherein might be collected the means of attacking the
indomitable Camp of Refuge, the Normans cleared out the broad ditches
which the Romans had dug, and which time and accident or design had
filled up, restored the double circumvallation of earthen walls or
embankments, erected a strong castle within, and raised the Julius, or
keep or main tower of the castle, upon the summit of the mound, where
the old Roman tower or guard-house had stood. They had not been allowed
to do all this work without many interruptions and night-attacks of the
daring people of the neighbouring fens, or by the bold Saxons who had
fled for refuge into the isle of Ely. But when the work was finished
the Normans boasted that they had bitted and bridled the wild Saxon
horse of the fens. For some time past knights, and men-at-arms, and
bowmen, and foot-soldiers, drawn from nearly every country in Europe to
aid the son of Robert the Devil in conquering the little island of
England, had been arriving at the entrenched camp and castle of
Cam-Bridge; whither also had come from the city of London and from
various of the towns and ports which had quietly submitted to the
strangers, great convoys of provisions and stores of arms and armour
and clothes; and all these aliens had been telling such of the English
people as could understand them, and had not fled from the town, that
they were going to assault the great house at Ely and the Camp of
Refuge, and hang all the traitors and rebels they might find there,
upon the willow trees. Nothing, however, could be undertaken in the
land of marshes and rushes until the rainy season should be over and
the waters somewhat abated. Now it happened this year that the rains
ceased much earlier than was usual, and that the summer sun, as if
impatient for empire, began to rule and to dry up the wet ground long
before the season of spring was passed. There fell very little rain
after the quinquane of Pasche,[170] but after the feast of Saint
Walburga the Virgin there fell no rain at all, and the weather became
uncommonly dry and hot. It was pleasant to the eye to see the waters of
the Cam, the Ouse, the Welland, the Nene, the Witham, and the other
rivers retiring as it were into their natural beds, and flowing very
smoothly and clearly towards the great Wash; to see green meadows
re-appear where pools and meres had been, and flocks and herds
beginning to graze where boats and skerries and men walking upon tall
stilts had been seen but a few weeks before; to see, as far as the eye
could reach, a beautiful green prospect, with rich pastures, gliding
rivers, and adornments of woods and islands. But if this was pleasant
to the eye, it was not conducive to the security of the Saxon chiefs.
On the vigil of Saint Bede the Venerable, priest and confessor, which
falls on the twenty-seventh of the decades of May, Eustache of
Ambleville, a Norman captain of high repute, who had come over with
William and the first incomers, and had fought at the battle of
Hastings, arrived at Cam-Bridge with more soldiers, and with orders
from William to take the entire command of all the forces collected in
the camp and castle. Eustache was so confident of an easy victory that
he would not allow himself to think of the possibility of any defeat or
reverse. As he looked from the top of the keep towards Ely, he said,
triumphantly, “The waters are gone, and I am come. The Camp of Refuge
is no more! In three days’ time we shall be feasting in the hall of
this rebellious abbat, who hath so long defied us!” The other knights
that were to follow him in this adventure were just as confident as
Eustache of Ambleville, and the men-at-arms were already calculating
how they should divide the spoil that was to be made at Ely. Little did
they think how the shrine-boxes had all been emptied! Less still did
they think of the great loss of goods they themselves were going to
sustain!
Much did these Normans pretend to despise our Saxon fathers for their
ignorance of the stratagems of war, and for their general dulness: and
yet it must be confessed that they themselves gave very many proofs of
ignorance and dulness, as well as of great negligence, the fruit of the
unwise contempt in which they held their adversaries. Before the
arrival of Eustache some few of the Normans had ridden along the
causeway as far as they could conveniently go on horseback, but for the
state of the country beyond their ride they trusted to mere report,
taking no pains whatever to inform themselves accurately. They had all
been told of the extraordinary deeds which Hereward had performed, but
they gave the whole merit of these exploits to Crowland devils and
other fiends and goblins that were not to be feared in summer weather
or in daylight. They had been told that the Lord of Brunn was a
well-skilled commander, but they would not believe that any Saxon
whatsoever could be a great soldier. Instead of being cautious and
silent as to their intended attack, they had been loudly proclaiming it
on every side. Certes, Duke William was a knowing soldier himself, and
one that did great things in war, being cautelous and discreet; but,
wherever he was not, his chiefs in command did not much. It was rather
for the sake of avoiding the heat of the day than for any other reason
that Eustache resolved to begin his march at midnight. He did not think
of surprising the Saxons, and, as for being surprised by them, he
scornfully laughed at the notion. He wished, he said, that the rebels
and traitors should know that he was coming, in order that they might
collect all their forces in the camp, and so afford him the opportunity
of destroying them all at one blow. His chief fear was that Hereward
the Saxon would flee from the mere terror of his name.
On the midnight which followed the feast of Saint Bede the Normans
began to issue from their castle and camp. There shone a bright moon
along the causeway where they formed their array. First went a great
troop of horse with lances and long pennants floating from them. Next
went a body of archers bearing long bows and quivers well stocked with
long arrows. Then followed a large and miserable company of Saxon serfs
and hinds, who had been forcibly impressed into the service, and who
were laden like beasts of burthen, carrying stores and provisions on
their backs, and hurdles, and planks, and other pieces of timber, by
means of which these too confident Normans hoped to be able to cross
every ditch, stream, and river. After this unhappy company there
marched another band of archers; and then there went another and still
greater body of horse; and in the rear of all were more bowmen. As the
raised road was very narrow the horsemen marched only two abreast, and
the footmen only three abreast; and thus, as the total number of the
army was great, the line was very long and thin; and the knights riding
in the rear would seldom either hear or see what was passing in the
van. Yet merrily and thoughtlessly they went on singing their Norman
war-songs, their bridles ringing sharp and clear in the cool night air
as if to accompany the music of their songs, and their bright
lance-heads glinting in the moon-light: thus merrily and thoughtlessly
until the van came abreast of Fenny Ditton, where the road or causeway
was flanked on either side by a broad deep ditch or canal, and by a
long belt of thick growing willows and alders. But here Eustache, and
the other knights that rode in the van, heard a loud voice shouting in
very good Norman-French—“Halt, horse and foot! No farther to-night!
Saxons true do forbid your advance!” And, well nigh at the same moment
those knights and soldiers that rode in the rear heard another loud
voice shouting—“Halt, Normans! Halt ye must, but ye shall not get back
to Cam-Bridge unless ye can swim the ditch.” It seemed as though some
hollow willow-trees had spoken, for neither in front nor rear was there
a man seen. But presently the loud voices spoke again, and a still
louder voice was heard about mid-way between the two, and all the three
voices cried—“Saxons, your bow-strings to your ears, and next a charge
for England and Lord Hereward!” As soon as these words were heard in
the centre, the Saxon serfs, whom the Normans had impressed, threw the
provisions and stores they carried right across the broad ditches;
threw down the hurdles and beams and timber on the road, and then, with
a wild yell, rushed into the water and swam across to the covering of
the trees. But in the centre those trees were all alive before these
men reached them, and no sooner were they seen to be safe than a rush
was made towards the ground which they had abandoned. All fen-men swim,
but to make their passage the quicker light bridges were laid across
the ditches, and moving from the right-hand side of the road and from
the left-hand side two bodies of Saxons, well armed with bows and
billhooks, established themselves on the causeway just where Eustache’s
long line was broken. In vain did the Normans nearest to it think of
closing up that fatal gap; the Saxon serfs had so thrown about their
timber on the road that they could not cross it without falling or
stumbling. The Saxons, who had just got into the gap, making themselves
shields of the hurdles, fought fiercely with bill and bow, and their
comrades behind the willow trees smote the thin Norman lines on both
sides with their arrows. Eustache of Ambleville, without seeing or
knowing that his army was cut in twain, went charging along the
causeway with his van, the Saxon arrows rattling on their steel jackets
all the while; for here, as in the centre and rear, every tree that
grew on either side the road covered some Saxon bowman. But short was
Eustache’s career, for he found the causeway cut away before his
horse’s feet, and a trench much broader than any horse could leap, cut
across from ditch to ditch; and beyond this trench was a good barricade
formed of felled trees, after the fashion used by that true Saxon the
late Lord Abbat of Saint Alban’s: and from behind that breastwork and
across the trench there came such a flight of arrows and spears and
javelins, and other missiles, that neither Eustache nor any of his
people could stand it. Then the trumpet in the van sounded the retreat.
The Norman knight, commanding in the rear, had sounded the retreat
before this, and finding that he could not force his way forward, he
had begun to retrace his steps towards Cam-Bridge Castle: but this
rearward knight had not gone further in arrear than Eustache had
careered in advance ere he found the road broken, and a barricade of
freshly cut willow trees laid across it with bowmen and billmen behind
it. Horsemen and archers being mixed, as in the van, the rear turned
back again along the causeway, as if determined to drive the Saxons
from off the road and so unite themselves with the van from which they
were severed; and thus van and rear were moving in opposite
directions—were rushing to meet and hustle against each other on that
narrow way, even as waves beat against waves in a mighty storm. Their
meeting would have been very fatal; but they could not meet at all, for
the Saxons that had made the great gap had been reinforced from either
side; they had made barricades of the timber, and they plied with their
sharp archery the heads of both the Norman columns, while other Saxons
assailed those columns on their flanks, and still another band throwing
a flying-bridge over the chasm, where Eustache had been made to halt,
and turn back, charged along the causeway, still shouting, “Hereward
for England! Pikes, strike home, for the Lord of Brunn sees ye!” And
foremost of all those pikes was the Lord Hereward himself, who shouted
more than once, “Stop, Eustache! Run not so fast, Eustache of
Ambleville! This is not the way to the Camp of Refuge!”
Broken, confused beyond all precedent of confusion, disheartened,
assailed on every side, and driven to desperation, the Normans began to
leap from the fatal narrow causeway into the ditches, where many of the
heavily-armed men and divers knights were drowned. Some surrendered to
Lord Hereward on the road, and were admitted to quarter. Others were
killed in heaps; and the rest, succeeding in crossing the ditches, and
in getting through the willow groves, ran for their lives across the
open country towards Cam-Bridge. Dry as the season was, there were
still many bogs and morasses in those plains, and into these many of
the panic-stricken fugitives ran and sank up to their necks. As
Girolamo, the Salernitan, led one of the parties of Saxons in pursuit,
he muttered to himself in his own tongue, “Those Normans in English
bogs look like so many Mariuses[171] in the marshes of Minturnum!”
Those were the most fortunate that sank where the sedges grew thick, or
the bulrushes concealed them. Those who showed their heads above the
bog were for the most part slain by spears or arrows. In all, not
one-third of the force, which Sir Eustache had led forth a few hours
before with so much pride and confidence, got back alive to the camp
and castle at Cam-Bridge: all the horses had been drowned or
suffocated, or wounded, and rendered useless, or killed or taken.
Provisions, stores, and all the implements of the army had been lost;
and, although Eustache of Ambleville had escaped with life, he had left
his standard behind him in the hands of the Lord Hereward, who, after
this signal victory, returned in triumph, and with his spolia opima, to
Ely Abbey, where the monks in the choir sang “Te Deum Laudamus.”
As for Eustache of Ambleville, he soon quitted the command of the post
at Cam-Bridge, and cursing the Fen Country, as a place where knights
and horses were of no use, he made the best haste he could back to
London city. For many a long day the Normans left at Cam-Bridge would
not venture outside the walls of their castle.
It boots not to tell of what became of that other Norman force
collected in Huntingdon for the invasion of the isle of Ely. Was it not
overthrown and totally discomfited at Fenny Stanton? And was not this,
and were not other victories gained by the Saxons from the Camp of
Refuge, recited in the songs in praise of Lord Hereward, which the
Saxon people now began to sing about the streets of our cities and
great towns, even in the hearing of their Norman oppressors?