HEREWARD BRINGS CORN AND WINE TO ELY.
There was no cloister-monk of Ely that better knew the legends of the
house than Elfric, for his father, Goodman Hugh, who had dwelt by saint
Ovin’s cross, and his father’s father who had dwelt in the same place,
had been great fenners and fowlers and gossips, and had hawked with the
best of the abbats and monks, and had stored their memories with the
history of the abbey and the saints of Ely, and had amused and
sanctified the long winter-nights, when the fire of wood mixed with
peat burned brightly on their hearth, by relating to little Elfric all
the legends that they knew. Now there was one of these which had made a
profound impression upon Elfric’s mind, which, by nature, loved
adventure and ingenious stratagem. It was a short tale, and simple
withal, and easy to tell.
Saint Withburga, the fourth in order of the four great female saints
that were and are the ornaments and shining lights of the great house,
did not live and die as her sister Saint Etheldreda had done, at Ely,
and as Lady Abbess. In her infancy she was sent to nurse at a village
called Holkham, belonging to the king her father, Anna, king of the
East Angles. In this place she lived many years, whence the village of
Holkham was sometimes called Withburgstowe, and a church was built
there in memory of her. On the death of the king her father, which
befel in the year of grace six hundred and fifty-four, Withburga
removed from Holkham to Dereham, another village in the country of East
Anglia; and here, affecting a retired and religious life, she founded a
monastery of nuns, over which she presided for many years. Peaceful and
holy was her life, and blessed was her end. When she died, they buried
her there, in the churchyard at Dereham.[221] And lo! after many more
years had passed, and the other tenants of this churchyard and even
those that had been buried long after had mouldered into dust, the
grave of Withburga being opened, her body was found entire and without
the slightest sign of corruption! Aye, there she lay in her shroud and
coffin, with her hands crossed upon her breast, and with her little
crucifix of silver lying upon her breast, even as she had lain on the
bier on the day of her death so many, many years before. The saintly
incorruptible body was forthwith removed into the church, where it was
preserved with great care and devotion by the good people of Dereham,
and it continued there, not without manifold miracles, until the time
of that pious monarch King Edgar,[222] who restored the monastery at
Ely, which the Danes had burned, and gave the house that precious
charter which hath been named before as not being given privately and
in a corner, but in the most public manner and under the canopy of
Heaven. Now, in restoring the abbey of Ely to its pristine splendour,
and in augmenting the number of the brotherhood, it behoved the king to
increase the lands and domains of the house; and, conformably, the
pious Edgar (may all his sins be forgiven for the good he did the
church!) conferred on the abbey of Ely the village of Dereham, with all
its demesnes and appendages, and with the church wherein the body of
the virgin Saint Withburga was preserved and venerated by the people of
Dereham[223] and by all the good Saxon people round about. Now the Lord
Abbat on that day, having the grant of Dereham and all that appertained
to it, could not feel otherwise than very desirous of getting
possession of the body of the saint in order to translate it to Ely and
there place it by the side of the body and shrine of the blessed
Etheldreda. The saintly virgin sisters had been separated in their
lives and ought to be united in death; Ely Abbey could offer a more
noble shrine than the small dependent church at Dereham; it was proper
too, and likewise was it profitable, that the pilgrims and devotees to
their four female saints of East Anglia should always come to Ely
instead of going sundry times a-year to Dereham, as had been the
custom, and that all the four shrines should be under one roof, and the
contents of the shrine-boxes poured into one common treasury. All this
had been laid before the king, and the pious Edgar, who never meant
that others should keep what he had bestowed upon his beloved house of
Ely, had given his royal licence for the translation of the body of
Saint Withburga to the abbey. But the Lord Abbat, being a prudent and
cautelous man, and taking counsel of his brother the bishop of
Winchester and of other wise and peace loving men, came to this wise
conclusion:—That, inasmuch as it was not likely that the people of
Dereham and that vicinage would part with so valuable a treasure
without resistance, if the intended translation should be made publicly
known to them, it would be expedient and commendable, and accordant
with the peaceable character of monks, to steal away the body
privately, and to admit none but a few of the most active and prudent
of the cloister-monks of Ely into the secret beforehand. Accordingly no
notice was given to the hinds and in-dwellers at Dereham, nor was there
any mention made of the great matter outside of the Aula Magna of Ely
Abbey; and on the day appointed the Lord Abbat and some of the most
active and prudent of the monks, attended by the sturdiest loaf-eaters
of the abbey all well armed, and after hearing mass in the abbey
church, set out on their journey to steal the body of the saint; and on
their arrival at Dereham they were received with great respect by the
inhabitants, who thought that they had come simply to take possession
of the place in virtue of the king’s charter and donation, and who
suspected no further design. The Lord Abbat, as lord and proprietor and
chief, temporal as well as spiritual, held a court for the
administration of justice in the manner usual with bishops and abbats,
and according to the wise and good laws of our Saxon kings. And after
this public court of justice, wherein such as had stolen their
neighbours’ goods were condemned to make bot, the bountiful Lord Abbat
bade the good people of Dereham to a feast. And while the good folk of
Dereham were eating and drinking, and making merry, and were thinking
of nought but the good meat and abundant drink before them, the sturdy
loaf-eaters from Ely, unwatched and unnoticed, and working in great
stillness, were making those preparations for the translation which
they had been ordered to make. And, at the time pre-concerted and
fixed, my Lord Abbat and his active and prudent monks took occasion to
withdraw from the carousing company in the hall, and immediately
repaired to the church under colour of performing their regular
devotions. But they left the service of Nones unsaid for that day,
taking no heed of the canonical hours, but getting all things ready for
the happy and peaceful translation. After a time the abbat and his
prudent monks returned to the company and caused more drink to be
brought into the hall, still farther to celebrate the happy day of his
lordship’s taking possession. The whole day having been spent in
feasting and drinking, and dark night coming on apace, the company
retired by degrees, every man to his own house or hut, his home or
present resting place: and thereupon the monks went again to the
church, opened the tomb (of which the fastenings had been forced),
opened the coffin, and devoutly inspected the body of Saint Withburga,
and having inspected and revered it they closed up the coffin again,
and got everything in readiness for carrying it off. About the middle
of the night, or between the third and fourth watch when the matutina
or lauds are begun to be sung, the coffin in which the body of the
saint was inclosed, was put upon the shoulders of the active and
prudent monks, who forthwith conveyed it with great haste and without
any noise-making to a wheeled car which had been provided for that
purpose. The coffin was put into the car, the servants of the abbat
were placed as guards round about the car to defend it, the Lord Abbat
and the monks followed the car in processional order, other well-armed
loaf-eaters followed the abbat and the monks; and in this order they
set forward for Brandon. The journey was long and anxious, but when
they came to the village of Brandon and to the bank of the river which
leads towards the house of Ely, they found ready and waiting for them
the boats which the abbat had commanded, and immediately embarking with
their precious treasure they hoisted sail and made ply their oars at
the same time. In the meanwhile the men of Dereham, having recovered
from the deep sleep and the confusion of ideas which are brought on by
much strong drink, had discovered that the monks of Ely had stolen the
body of Saint Withburga. Hullulu! never was such noise heard in so
small a place before. Every man, woman, and child in Dereham was
roused, and ran shrieking to the empty tomb in the church, and at the
sound of the horn, all the people from all the hamlets and homesteads
near unto the pleasant hill of Dereham came trooping in with bills and
staves, not knowing what had happened, but fancying that the fiery Dane
was come again. But when they saw or were told about the empty tomb,
the people all shouted “Who hath done this deed? Who hath stolen the
body of our saint?” Now no one could gainsay that the Abbat of Ely with
his monks had done it. A serf who had gone early a-field to cut grass
while the dew was on it, had met the car and the procession on the road
between Dereham and Brandon; and what was of more significance, the
presbyter or mass-priest of the church of Dereham, coming to the
communion-table found upon it a piece of parchment whereon was written
these words: “I, Abbat of Ely and Lord of Dereham, by and with the
consent and approval of Edgar the King, have translated the body of
Saint Withburga, to be hereafter kept in Ely Abbey with increased pomp,
worship, and reverence; and this, oh presbyter of Dereham, is my
receipt for the blessed body aforesaid.” Then, I wis, were heard words
of much irreverence from the ignorant and rustical people of the place!
Some of them stopped not in calling the right excellent abbat a thief,
a midnight robber, a perturbator of the peace of saints, a violator of
the tombs of the saints! Nor did they spare King Edgar more than the
abbat, saying that although he might by his kingly power and without
wrong grant to the house at Ely their lands and services, and even
their church, he had no right to give away the body of their saint, and
order it to be removed out of their church, wherein it had reposed for
thrice one hundred years; and they all presently agreed to pursue the
abbat and the monks, and endeavour to recover the prey. And so, arming
themselves with whatsoever weapons they could most readily meet with,
they all poured out of Dereham, and took the shortest way to
Brandon.[224] They were brisk men these folk of the uplands, well
exercised in the game of bowls, and in pitching the bar, and in running
and leaping, and in wrestling on the church-green; they were
light-footed men these men of Dereham; but although they ran their best
it was all too late when they got to Brandon, for the monks had got a
long way down the river with the saint’s body. Nevertheless the Dereham
folk continued the chase; they divided themselves into two bands or
parties, and while one party ran down one bank of the river, the other
ran down on the opposite side. They even came abreast of the Lord
Abbat’s boats, and got near enough to see the pall which covered the
coffin that contained the body of their saint; but the river being here
broad and deep, and they being unprovided with boats (the prudent abbat
had taken care for that), they could not get at the coffin or at the
monks; and so, after spending some time on the banks shaking their
bill-hooks and staves, and uttering threats and reproaches till they
were tired, they gave up the pursuit as hopeless, and began to return
home with sad and very angry hearts. The Lord Abbat and the monks of
Ely continued their voyage without molestation.[225] They landed safely
on the same day, about a mile from Ely Abbey, at the place called
Tidbrithseie, but which men do now call Turbutsey.[226] Here they were
received with great joy and triumph by all sorts of people, who came
down to the waterside, with the monks and mass-priests, to meet them,
for all the in-dwellers of Ely town, and all the people that dwelt near
it, were as glad to get the body of the saint as the people of Dereham
were grieved to lose it. And at eventide, or about compline or second
vespers, on this self-same day, the body and coffin of the saint, being
put upon another car, was conveyed by land from Turbutsey to Ely, and
into the abbey, with solemn procession and the singing of praises to
God, and was then, with all due reverence and a _Te Deum Laudamus_ in
the choir, deposited in the abbey-church next to Saint Etheldreda, and
near unto Saint Sexburga and Saint Ermenilda. Now this happy
translation of Saint Withburga’s body took place on the eighth of the
month of July, in the year of our Lord nine hundred and seventy-four.
And is not the day of this translation ever observed as a high festival
by the monks of Ely? Much did the Lord Abbat congratulate himself on
his success; and well he might, for translations of the like kind, as
well before his time and since, have often been attended with fighting
and bloodshed, nay, with great battles between party and party, and the
death of many baptized men! But through the good policy and great
wisdom of this our Lord Abbat there was not a man that had either given
or received so much as a blow from a staff or cudgel. Head-aches there
had been at Dereham on first waking in the morning, but these had
proceeded only from the over-free use of the abbat’s strong drinks, and
were cured by the fresh morning air and the good exercise the men got
in running after their saint. _Decus et decor, divitiæ et miracula
omnia_—credit, grace, and ornament, riches and many miracles, did the
saint bring to the house of Ely! And mark the goodness and bounty of
the saint in making heavenly bot to the good folk of Dereham! There, in
the churchyard, and out of the grave wherein Withburga had been first
buried, sprang up a curing miraculous well to cure disorders of the
spirit as well as of the flesh. And have its waters ever ceased to
flow, and is it not called Saint Withburga’s well?[227] albeit the
vulgar do name it, now-a-days, the well of Saint Winifred.
Now it was in thinking upon this legend that Elfric, the sword-bearer
of the Lord of Brunn, was brought to turn his thoughts upon the now
well-peopled town and well-cultivated fields of the upland of Dereham;
and thus thinking, and knowing the store of wine and corn that might be
had in that vicinage, he had proposed to his lord to make a foray in
that direction, and to proceed, in part, after the manner in which the
Lord Abbat of the olden time had proceeded when he went to steal away
the body of the saint. And Elfric had been thanked by the Lord Hereward
for his suggestion, and had been called into council as well as
Girolamo, and had given many hints as to the best means of carrying out
the good plan of robbing the Saxons of Dereham (who had rather tamely
submitted to the Normans), in order to feed the monks of Ely and the
Saxons of the Camp of Refuge.
Because of the many waters and the streams that cut up the country into
the form and appearance of some great _echec_[228] board, Duke William
had not been able to make his line of beleaguerment quite so perfect
and strong on this side of the Fen-country as he had done on the other
sides; but he had posted a good number of archers and spearmen on the
uplands beyond the fens, and between Swaffham and Dereham, and upon
these he relied for checking the incursions of the Saxons, and keeping
them out of countries abounding with supplies. Now Lord Hereward had
caused to be collected a good number of skerries and other light and
fast boats, even as the good abbat had done aforetime, and these boats
had been sent up the river by night to the vicinage of Brandon, where,
with the brave fellows on board of them, they lay concealed among the
tall rushes. And while the Lord of Brunn, crossing the rivers and
meres, collected a good force in front of Swaffham, which would not
fail of drawing all the Norman troops towards that one point, his
sword-bearer and the Salernitan were to make rapidly for Brandon with
more men, and from Brandon to make for Dereham; so timing their
movements, in small parties and along different paths, that they should
all meet in the churchyard and by Saint Withburga’s well at midnight of
a moonless night, when the town would be buried in sleep.
On the day next after that on which the evil-minded prior of Ely had
formally accused Girolamo of witchcraft, and had spoken so daringly
against the Lord Abbat, Hereward marched from the Camp of Refuge with
only a few men, his intention being to increase his strength on his
march; and well did he know that at the sounding of his horn, and at
the sight of his banner, the hardy fenners would follow him
whithersoever he might choose to lead. The gleemen and menestrels who
sang the songs which had been made in honour of him were the best and
surest recruiters for the army of the Lord of Brunn. They were ever
going from township to township, with their voices and harps, or Saxon
lyres. They were small townships these in the fenny countries, and
rustical and wild. The fashion of house-building had little changed
here since the days of the ancient Britons: the houses or huts were of
a round shape, and not unlike the form of bee-hives; they had a door in
front, and an opening at top to let out the smoke, but window to let in
the light was there none; the walls were made of wattle and dab, the
roofs of rushes and willow branches cut in the fens; but the better
sort of the houses had stone foundations and rough stone pillars and
traves for the door-way, the stone having been brought from the quarry
belonging to Peterborough Abbey, or from some other distant quarry. Yet
these poor houses were not so comfortless within as might have been
prejudged by those who only saw the outside; the hides of the cattle,
the fleeces of the sheep, and the skins of the deer, and the abounding
feathers of the fen-fowl were good materials for warm covering and warm
clothing; neither turf nor wood for firing was ever lacking in those
parts, and the brawny churls that came forth from the townships,
blowing their blast-horns, or shouting for the Lord of Brunn, or
brandishing their fen poles over their heads, did not look as if they
were scant of meat, or fasted more frequently than mother church
prescribed. At the same time Elfric and Girolamo, with their party,
began their devious, roundabout march for Brandon, being instructed to
keep as much out of sight even of the country people as was possible,
and to shun any encounter with the Normans, even though tempted by ever
so favourable an opportunity. Hereward had said to them, “Our present
business is to get corn and wine for the abbey, and not to fight. Be
cautious and true to time, and diverge not a hair’s breadth from the
plan which hath been laid down. Conjoint or combined operations fail
oftener through vanity and conceit than through any other cause. But ye
be not men of that sort; ye will get your stores down to the boats at
Brandon by daybreak to-morrow morning, or between lauds and prime, and
I shall then have made my retreat, and be upon the bank of the
river[229] between Hockwold and Brandon, and ready to give ye the hand
if it should be needful. Elfric, mind keep thy swinging hanger in its
sheath, and think only of bread and wine!” And unto these, the parting
words of their lord and captain, the sword-bearer and the Salernitan
had both said, “Upon our souls be it!” And well did they redeem their
solemn pledge. The wise monks who went to steal away the body of the
saint were hardly so prudent and cautelous. Elfric even eschewed the
marvellous temptation of falling upon a young Norman knight that was
riding along the high-road between Brandon and Dereham, attended by
only two men-at-arms and a horse-boy. By keeping under cover, and by
creeping in little parties of twos or threes across the country where
there was no cover to conceal them, the forayers all got safely into
the churchyard and to St. Withburga’s well at midnight. The Lord of
Brunn, who had not sought concealment, but had taken the most direct
and open road, and exposed his movement as much as he could do, had got
behind Swaffham by the hour of sunset, and had made such a hubbub and
kindled such a fire in the country between Swaffham and Castle Acre
that all the Normans had marched off in that direction, even as had
been anticipated. Even the young knight and his attendants, whom Elfric
had let pass on the road, had spurred away for Castle Acre, which, at
one time, was reported to be on fire. In this sort there was not a
Norman left in Dereham; and as for the Saxons of the town, after
wondering for a season what was toward, they came to the conclusion
that it was business which did not concern them, and so went quietly to
their beds—the burgher and the freeman to his sheets of strong brown
linen, and the hind and serf to his coverlet of sheep-skins or his bed
of straw. The snoring from the little township was so loud that a good
ear could hear it in the church-yard; the very dogs of the place seemed
all asleep, and there was not a soul in Dereham awake and stirring
except a grey-headed old Saxon, who came with horn lantern in one hand
and a big wooden mallet in the other to strike upon the church bell
which hung in a little round tower apart, but not far from the church.
As the old man came tottering among the graves and hillocks of earth,
behind which the foraying party was all concealed, Elfric whispered to
Girolamo, “For this night the midnight hour must remain untold by
church-bell in Dereham. We must make capture of this good grey-beard,
and question him as to where lie the most stores, and where the best
horses and asses.”
And scarcely were the words said or whispered ere Girolamo had fast
hold of the bell-knocker on the one side, and Elfric on the other. The
patriarch of Dereham was sore affrighted, and would have screamed out
if Elfric had not thrust his cap, feather and all, into his open mouth.
Gaffer continued to think that he was clutched by goblins or by devils;
as the dim and yellow light from the horn lantern fell upon the sharp
dark face of the Salernitan, the old fellow, fortified in his belief,
shook and trembled like leaves of the witch-elm, or more tremulous
aspen, and nearly swooned outright. Elfric took the cap out of his
mouth, and let go the right arm of the old man, who thereupon took to
crossing himself, and muttering some fragment of a Saxon prayer potent
against evil spirits.
“Father,” said Elfric, who was now holding the horn lantern, “Father,
we be no evil spirits or goblins, but honest Saxons from the Camp of
Refuge come to seek corn and wine for the good monks of Ely; so tell us
where we can best provide ourselves, and find cattle to carry our store
down to Brandon. Come, quick, good Gaffer, for the time presses!”
When the old man looked into the merry laughing face of the
ruddy-cheeked, fair-haired sword-bearer, his dread evanished, for there
was no believing such a face to belong to any body or thing that was
evil. Gaffer, moreover, bethought himself that he had never yet heard
of spirit, ghost, or goblin asking for bread and wine. In brief, the
old hind was very soon comforted altogether, and having no corn or wine
of his own, and no great love for those that had, he soon gave all the
information that was demanded of him; and this being got, Elfric gave a
low whistle, and the armed Saxons started up from their hiding places
behind the grave mounds, and Saint Withburga’s well, and other parts
and corners of the churchyard, and ranged themselves in battle-array,
and marched into the one long single street of the town. The houses of
Dereham, in this dry and rich upland country, were better than the
houses in the fens, but still most of them were small, and low, and
poor, and rudely covered with thatch. Some larger and better houses
there were, and of most of these the Norman chiefs and their soldiers
had taken possession. The presbyter or mass-priest and the borhman[230]
had, however, kept the good houses that were their own, and they had
granaries with corn in them, and cellars holding both wine and ale, and
barns and yards behind their houses, and stables, that were not empty;
but these it was resolved not to touch, except, perhaps, for the
purpose of borrowing a horse or two to carry the corn and the wine,
that might be gotten elsewhere, down to the boats below Brandon. While
Girolamo remained with one good party at the end of the street watching
the road which leads into the town from Swaffham and Castle Acre,
Elfric with another party of the merry men proceeded right merrily to
levy the contribution. He began with the Norman houses. Here the Saxon
serfs, though somewhat alarmed when first roused from their deep sleep,
not only threw open their doors with alacrity, but also led Elfric’s
people to the cellars and store-houses. Nay, upon a little talk with
the fen-men, and after an agreement made between them that the doors
should be broken as if violence had been used, and some resistance
attempted, they threw open all parts of the houses, stables, and
outhouses, and assisted their countrymen in packing up their booty, in
harnessing the horses and asses, as well as in other necessary offices.
Not a murmur was heard until they came to visit some of the houses of
the freed-men of Dereham. These men, who had some small stores of their
own, were more angered than comforted by being told that the corn was
to make bread for the monks of Ely; for, strange and wicked as it may
appear, it was nevertheless quite true, that in Dereham the translation
of Saint Withburga’s body had never been forgiven, but was still held
as a piece of cheating and thievery, notwithstanding the heavenly bot
or compensation of the miraculous well, and in spite of King Edgar’s
charter, and the subsequent approval of our lord the Pope, and maugre
the fact obvious to all men that the saint was better lodged at Ely
than ever she could have been in this little church. In truth, those
freemen made an exceeding great clamour. “To the devil with the monks
of Ely for us,” said they. “In the bygone times they came to Dereham
and treacherously stole away the body of our saint by night, and now
they send armed men to break upon our sleep and carry off our grain!”
Elfric bade them remember and mind that the Lord Abbat of Ely was lord
and proprietor of Dereham, and that they were or ought to be his liege
men; and as they continued to complain, and to say that they wished the
Normans would soon get back from Swaffham and Castle Acre, Elfric broke
the pates of two or three of them with one of their own staves. But
nowhere could these men do more than grumble; their numbers being but
small, and the serfs being mostly on the other side: moreover, arms had
they none, their friends the Normans having taken care of that. Having
found cattle enough elsewhere, Elfric would not molest the mass-priest,
who slept so soundly that he heard nothing of what was passing, and
knew nothing of the matter until Elfric had gotten down to the little
Ouse, or twenty good miles from Dereham.
It was midnight when the fen-men arrived at Dereham town, and before
prime they were below Brandon, and loading their boats with the corn
and wine which had previously loaded a score of good upland
pack-horses, and more than a score of dapple asses. “This,” said
Elfric, “is not a bad lift for one night’s work! I should like to see
the face of the Normans when they return from Swaffham and Castle Acre
into Dereham!”
Even Girolamo seemed merry, and almost smiled, as he counted the
measures of corn and the measures of wine. But hark! a brazon trumpet
is heard from the other side of Brandon; aye, the blast of a trumpet,
and a Norman trumpet too; and before the Saxons had half finished
loading their boats, a great body of Norman cavalry came trotting down
the road which ran along the bank of the river, being followed at no
great distance by a great company of Norman bowmen. It was not from
Dereham that these foes came—oh no! the Normans who had quitted that
town on the preceding evening to look after Lord Hereward, had not yet
returned, and some of them never would return—but it had so chanced
that an armament on the march from Saint Edmundsbury and Thetford came
this morning to Brandon and caught sight of the boats on the river, and
of the armed Saxons on the bank. Some of the midnight party thought
that it would be best to get into the boats and abandon the half of the
booty; but this was not to be thought of, inasmuch as not a drop of the
wine which the monks of Ely so much wanted had been gotten into the
boats. Girolamo and Elfric saw at a glance (and it was needful to have
quick sight and instant decision, for the Normans were almost upon
them), that the ground they stood upon, being a narrow road, with a
deep river on one side, and a ditch and a low, broad, and marshy meadow
on the other, was good defensive ground, for the horse could only
charge upon the narrow road, and it would take the archers afoot some
time to get across the ditch into the fields, if, indeed, the archers
should decide upon adventuring on that swampy ground.
“We can make them dance the dance we have given them before,” said the
Salernitan. “Tie me those pack-horses and asses tight together between
the Norman horse and us, pile up these barrels and bags; leap, twenty
good bowmen, into those boats, and ascend the river a little, and
string to ear and take these horsemen in flank as they come down the
road, while we meet them in the teeth with pikes and javelins.”
“And,” quoth Elfric, looking at the sun, “if we but keep our ground,
Lord Hereward will be on the opposite side of the river before ye can
say a dozen credos—so blow! Saxons, blow your horns to help that
blatant trumpet in telling the Lord of Brunn that fighting is toward,
and keep ready a few of the boats to waft over Lord Hereward’s force to
this side of the river!”
The Saxons blew their horns as loud as they could blow them, meaning
the blasts to be as much a note of defiance to the enemy as a signal to
their friends; and the Norman trumpeter kept blowing his brazon and
far-sounding trumpet, and the Norman cavaliers kept charging along the
road, shouting and cursing and calling the Saxons thieves and
cowards—which they had no right to do. As the enemy came near, the
Saxons set up a shout, and the scared horses and asses tied together on
the road, set up their heels with such a kicking and braying and
neighing as were never seen and heard; and up started from the sedge by
the river bank the score of good Saxon archers that had gone a little
up the river in the boats, and whiz went their arrows into the bowels
of the horses the Normans were riding, and every arrow that did not
kill, disabled some horse or man, the archers in the sedges being too
near their aim to throw away a single arrow. The knight in command
ordered the trumpeter to sound a retreat, but before the man could put
the brass to his lips, a shaft went through his cheeks and spoiled his
trumpeting for aye. But the Normans showed that they could run without
sound of trumpet; and away galloped the valorous knight to bring up his
bowmen. These Norman archers had no great appetite for the business,
and albeit they were told there was a great treasure to be gotten, they
stood at a distance, looking now down the road, and now down the river,
and now across the ditch and the plashy meadows beyond it; and thus
they stood at gaze until they heard a round of Saxon cheers, and the
too well-known war-cry of “Hereward for England!” and until they saw a
warlike band advancing towards Brandon by the opposite bank of the
river. A cockle shell to a mitre—but they tarried not long then! Away
went the Normans, horse and foot, as fast as they could go through
Brandon town and back upon the high road by which they had marched from
Thetford.
“Ha! ha!” cried the Lord of Brunn to his friends from across the river;
“what new wasps’ nest is this ye have been among?”
The sword-bearer replied that it was a Norman force which had been
marching from the south-east.
“’Tis well,” said Hereward; “and I see ye have made good booty, and so
all is well on your side. On our side we have led the Normans from
Dereham and thereabouts a very pretty dance. I drew a party of them
after me into the fens and cut them off or captured them to a man. I
count as my prisoners one rash young knight and fifteen men-at-arms.”
“We have loaded and brought hither more than a score of asses and a
full score of pack-horses. Shall we finish loading? All the wine is
here, and a good deal of the corn, and—”
“But shall we not pursue?” cried Girolamo. “Those Normans that came on
so boldly are now running like sheep. By moving across this marsh, as
light fen-men move, we shall be sure to cut off a part of them.”
“Since the corn and wine are now safe, be it as you please, Girolamo;
but take Elfric with thee, and go not too far in pursuit.”
A light skerry was drawn from the river and laid across the ditch in
less than a credo; and then away went the Salernitan and the
sword-bearer, and all the best archers and boldest men of their party,
across the plashy fields; and soon they came up with the rear of the
flying Normans, and engaged them in battle on the dry road between
Brandon and Thetford, and slew many of them, and captured many more,
together with all the baggage and stores of the armament. The short but
fierce battle was over, and Elfric was counting the prisoners, when one
of them after surrendering his sword, and after begging for and
receiving quarter, sneaked out of the throng and endeavoured to escape
by running into a thicket near the roadside. The Salernitan, who was
resting himself after his exertion, and leaning on the cross of his
well-used sword, now in its sheath, saw the intention of the
man-at-arms, and rushed after him into the thicket. Now that caitiff,
in giving up his sword, had not given up a concealed dagger, and when
Girolamo touched him on the shoulder, merely with the point of his
still-sheathed sword, he drew that dastardly and unknightly weapon from
his breast, and plunged it into the left side of the Salernitan.
Girolamo fell to the ground with the murderer’s knife in his side; but
in the next instant, the murderer was shot through the brain by a
well-directed arrow, and as he fell, several Saxons fell with their
swords upon him, and, in their fury at his treachery, they hacked his
body to pieces. Yet these honest men, though they saw the blood was
welling from his side, had much ado to believe that the dark stranger
was really hurt with a mortal hurt, and could die like other men. It
would be hard to say how long they might have stood looking upon him,
stupidly, but not unkindly, if he had not said, “Saxons, raise my head,
place me with my back to a tree, and go seek Elfric, and tell him I am
hurt by one of his felon prisoners.”
Elfric came running to the spot with rage, grief, and astonishment on
his countenance. The sword-bearer was breathless and could not speak;
the Salernitan was already half-suffocated with the blood that flowed
inwardly, but it was he that spoke first and said, “Elfric! after
twenty-five years of war and mortal hate between me and them, the
Normans have killed me at last! Elfric, let me not die unavenged. Slay
me every Norman prisoner thou hast taken on this foul day.”
The sword-bearer, knowing that Lord Hereward allowed not of such
massacres, and wishing not to irritate Girolamo by a refusal, did some
violence to his conscience and sense of truth, first by nodding his
head as if in assent, and next by saying that the prisoners should
assuredly rue the atrocious deed which had been done. [But these words
were truer than Elfric had reason to think they would be; for while he
was in the wood some of the fen-men, having no longer any commander
with them to control their wrath, beat and wounded the prisoners, and
dispatched some of them outright.] When the Salernitan spoke again he
said, “Elfric, leave not my body here to be tracked and outraged by the
accursed Normans. Get it carried to Ely and see it interred like the
body of a Christian man. And, Elfric, sprinkle a little holy water over
my grave, and go there at times to say a _De profundis_ for the peace
of my soul!”
Here the sword-bearer said he hoped the hurt was not so bad but that
some skilful leech might cure it.
“Alas, no! not all the leeches between this and Salerno could do me any
good. Dear Salerno! shining bay, bright sky, blue hills, I shall never
see ye more! I lived but for the hope of that, and for vengeance upon
the Normans! My life hath been a life of woe, but I have done them some
harm, thank God for that! But it is over.... I grow faint. Oh, that
some godly confessor were at hand to shrieve me!”
“Shall I run into Brandon and seek a priest,” said the sword-bearer;
“or shall I send one of these our true men into the town?”
“No, Elfric, thou must not leave me in my last agony, and there is no
time for sending and seeking. But, Elfric, undo my collar, and unbutton
this hard mail-jacket, and bring out the silver crucifix, which I
received from my mother, and which hath never been from my neck—no,
not for a second of time—during these last forty years. Elfric, I have
kissed that silver crucifix openly, and in despite of the accursed
ravings of Jews and Saracens, upon the very spot where our Lord was
crucified! Elfric, that little cross was round my neck, held by the
same silver chain to which my mother hung it, when, sailing between
Cyprus and Palestine with turbaned infidels, the bark went down in deep
water, and every soul perished, save only I! Kind Saxon, it was my
faith in that cross that saved my health and life in Alexandria, when
pestilence raged throughout the land of Egypt, and depopulated
Alexandria, and all the cities of Egypt! Let my dying lips close upon
that cross:—and, good Elfric, as thou hopest thyself to die in peace,
and to be admitted into the dominions of the saints, see that chain and
cross buried with me,—round my neck and upon my breast, as they now
are! And take and keep for thyself whatever else I possess, except this
sword, which thou wilt give in my name to the Lord of Brunn. Dear boy!
the Normans have not left me much to give thee ... but I had broad and
rich lands once, and horses of high breed and price, and rich
furniture, and sparkling jewels brought from the Orient by the
Amalfitans!”[231]
While the dying Salernitan was thus speaking—his voice ever growing
fainter and fainter—the sword-bearer gently and piously did all that
he had been required to do, undoing the collar, and unbuttoning the
coat of mail which the Salernitan wore under his loose mantle of
woollen cloth, and bringing out from beneath the under-vest the silver
crucifix, and placing it in the feeble right hand of the Salernitan,
who then kissed it and said, “Mother dear, I shall soon be with thee!
Oh, heavenly Mother, let my soul pass easily from this hapless body!”
Here Elfric, who had been well indoctrinated in the days of his youth
by the best of the monks of Spalding, crossed himself and said, that it
was God himself who had enjoined the forgiveness of our enemies, and
that holy men had ever declared that the moribund died easiest when he
forgave all the wrongs that had been done him, and died in peace with
all mankind.
Girolamo had to gasp for breath before he could speak; but at length he
said, “Saxon, I die in peace with all mankind, or with all that profess
the Christian faith—save only the Normans. I forgive all men as I hope
to be forgiven. _Fiat misericordia tua, Domine_; yea, I forgive all and
die in peace with all, save only the detestable ungodly Normans, who
have heaped upon me such wrong as cannot be forgiven, and who have
belied the promises made at their baptism, and who be Christians but in
name. Elfric, remember! they slew my kindred and all the friends of my
youth, or they caused them to die in sickly dungeons or in exile and
beggary; they surprised and stole from me the young bride of my heart
and gave her over to violence and infamy! Elfric, wouldst ever forgive
them if they should thus seize and treat thy Mildred?”
Elfric shook his head as though he would say he never could; but albeit
Elfric was not dying, he ought not to have done this. Girolamo’s head
was now falling on his breast, and he several times essayed to speak
and could not. At last he said to Elfric, who was kneeling by his side,
“Tell the Lord Hereward that I die his constant friend, and call upon
him to avenge my death! Elfric, put thine ear closer to my mouth.... So
... and Elfric, go tell the monks at Ely that I am not the Jew that
cannot die!”
Here the sword-bearer, who was supporting the Salernitan with his right
arm, felt a short and slight shivering, and raising his head so as to
look in his face, he saw that the eyelids were dropping over the dark
eyes,—and, in another brief instant, Girolamo was dead.
The Saxons cut down branches of trees, and with the branches and their
fen poles, and some of the lances which had been taken from the
Normans, they made a rude catafalk or bier, and placing the Salernitan
upon it, with many a _De profundis_, and many expressions of wonderment
that he should have died, they carried him from the thicket and over
the Thetford road and across the plashy meadows. The bier was followed
by the surviving Norman prisoners, all expecting to be offered up as an
holocaust, and crying _Misericorde_ and _Nôtre Dame_. The pursuit and
the fight, the capture and the woe which had followed it, had
altogether filled a very short space of time; and Hereward, who had
crossed the river with all his forces, and having embarked in the boats
all that remained to be embarked, was congratulating Elfric on his
speed, when he saw that the body stretched upon the bier was no less a
man than Girolamo of Salerno. At first the Lord of Brunn thought or
hoped that Girolamo was only wounded; but when his sword-bearer told
him that he was dead, he started as one that hears a great and
unexpected calamity, and he put his hand to his brow and said, “Then,
by all the saints of Ely, we have bought the corn and wine for the
monks at too dear a price!”
Some short season Hereward passed in silent and sad reflections. Then
approaching the bier whereon the body of Girolamo lay with the face
turned to the skies, and the little silver cross lying on the breast,
and the limbs decently composed, all through the pious care of Elfric,
the Lord of Brunn muttered a _De profundis_ and a _Requiescat in pace_,
and then said, “Elfric, I never loved that man! Perhaps, at times, I
almost feared him, with the reach of his skill and the depth and
darkness of his passions. I never could hate the foul fiend himself so
much as Girolamo hated these Normans! But, be it said, his wrongs and
sufferings have far exceeded mine. England and I stand deeply indebted
to him!”
“He bade me give thee this his sword, and to tell thee that he died thy
friend,” said Elfric.
“There never yet was sword deeper in the gore of our foes,” said
Hereward; “I know he was my friend, and in many things my instructor,
and I reproach my heart for that it never could love him, albeit it was
ever grateful towards him! But, Elfric, we must down the river without
delay, for the monks of Ely will be clamorous for their wine, and
traitors may take advantage of mine absence from the camp. See to it,
Elfric, for a heaviness is upon my heart such as I have never known
before. I had bad dreams in my last sleep, visions of surprisings and
burnings by the Normans, and now the great loss and bad omen of
Girolamo’s death bring those dreams back upon my mind with more force
than they had before.”
“I have had my dreams too of late,” said the sword-bearer; “but dreams,
good my lord, are to be read contrariwise. Let me give your lordship a
slice of wheaten bread and a cup of wine.”
Quoth the Lord of Brunn, “’Tis not badly thought, for I am fasting
since last sunset, and the monks of Ely must hold us excused if we
broach one cask. Elfric, I say again, we have paid all too dearly for
this corn and wine.”