"Last scene of all,
Which ends this strange eventful history."
Once more we must ask our readers to accompany us to Aescendune--it
is for the last time--to witness the final scenes recorded in these
veracious Chronicles.
Thirty-four years have passed since the battle of Hastings; and our
tale has now advanced to the autumn of the last year of the
eleventh century.
The face of the country is little altered since we last beheld it,
so far as the works of God are concerned: the woods, His first
temples, and the everlasting hills stand, as when Elfric and his
brother hunted therein with Prince Edwy, or the sainted Bertric
suffered martyrdom in the recesses of the forest, at the hands of
the ruthless Danes {xxix}.
But the works of man are more transitory, and in them there is a
great change. The Norman castle rebuilt by Etienne stands where
erst stood the Anglo-Saxon hall; the new Priory of St. Wilfred's
resembles that of St. Denys in architecture, although it bears the
name of the old English saint, to whose honour the first sacred
pile, erected by Offa of Aescendune was dedicated; the houses which
dot the scene are of a more substantial character; stone is
superseding wood. Whatever were its darker features, the Norman
conquest brought with it a more advanced civilisation, especially
as expressed in architecture {xxx}.
Within her bower, as the retiring apartments of the lady of the
castle were termed, sat Edith of Aescendune, not the first who had
borne that name. She had now passed middle age, and her years would
soon number half a century, yet time had dealt very kindly with
her, and but few shades of grey appeared amidst her locks. The
traces of a gentle grief were upon her, but men said she mourned
for the absence of her lord and her eldest son, and her thoughts
seemed far away from the embroidery at which she worked with her
maidens--an altar frontal for the priory church.
She thought of the far East--of the sandy wastes of Syria. Or her
fancy painted the holy city, with her dear ones as worshippers in
its reconquered shrines.
For she had not found an unkind lord in Etienne. The scenes which
he had passed through, as related in the earlier pages of this
Chronicle, had produced fruit for good, which Lanfranc (under whose
spiritual guidance he placed himself) had zealously tended and
fostered.
He dared not think of his father, of whose guilt he could not but
be unwillingly convinced; nor was it true in his case:
"He who's convinced against his will
Is but an unbeliever still."
But there was one act of mercy of which he had been the object,
which above all influenced and changed his heart towards the
English. And that was the Christian charity he had received from
the aged Englishwoman, the nurse of Wilfred, whose son Eadwin he
had so cruelly slain in the Dismal Swamp.
Acting under the advice of Lanfranc, he had sought and obtained
Edith in marriage, and had thereby, like Henry Beauclerc, united
the claims of conquerors and conquered in his person. He had
obtained from the king a promise of free pardon to all the refugees
yet in the Dismal Swamp, where it will be remembered the poor
English had fled, who were unfit to accompany Wilfred to the Camp
of Refuge, and had thereupon invited them all to rebuild their old
homes and dwell in them.
At first they would not trust him, but through the mediation of
Father Kenelm and of poor old Hilda, he succeeded in gaining their
confidence, and he did not betray their trust.
So Norman and Englishman were happily united at Aescendune, and in
spite of some little difficulties, arising from the airs the
conquerors could not help giving themselves, became more like one
people daily; and in a few years, so many followed their lord's
example, and intermarried with the English, captivated by the
beauty of the Anglo-Saxon maidens, that distinction of race became
speedily abolished, and hence Aescendune was perhaps the happiest
village in the distracted island.
The priory was rebuilt, as well as the castle, and occupied by
Benedictine monks of both races; but unlike most other monasteries,
it had an English prior. Lanfranc had appointed Father Kenelm, at
Etienne's earnest request, in gratitude for events in which that
good father had borne his part in the Dismal Swamp. This
appointment, more than aught else, reconciled the English to Norman
rule.
At first Edith feared her new lord, whom she had been compelled to
marry, remembering the sadness of her mother's married life; but
his persistent kindness won her heart; and after the birth of young
Edward, whom we have introduced to our readers, all restraint was
removed, and they were as happy a pair as need be.
Their children were taught to converse in both tongues--Old English
and Norman French--and to treat all alike, the kinsfolk of father
or of mother.
Putting together the details given by Edward of Aescendune to the
Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, and these few outlines of intervening
events, our readers will have little difficulty in understanding
the history of the thirty years.
Within her bower (as we have said) was the lady of Aescendune.
Seated in an embrasure of the lofty tower in which her rooms were
situate, her attention became fixed upon a horseman, who was riding
swiftly towards the castle from the direction of Warwick.
"I wonder," thought she, "whether this be a messenger from--" and
then she checked the thought, as though it must end in disappointment.
For months she had not heard from the absent ones. She knew
Jerusalem was taken; but if any letters had been sent, they had
miscarried--no unlikely circumstance in those days.
The messenger reached the castle.
Soon steps were heard ascending the stairs with such precipitate
haste, that the lady felt sure that some important tidings had
arrived.
Young Hugh--an active, fresh-coloured boy, with his Father's
features, tempered by the softer expression of his mother,
perhaps--bounded into the room.
"Oh, mother! lady mother!--letters from father, about him and
Edward. The man below is old Tristam--you remember Tristam who went
to the wars. They have landed, landed, and are upon the road home.
Oh! happy day. Tristam was sent forward. Read,--only read."
She was as pale as death, and fainting from the sudden shock.
Excess of joy has its dangers.
Her two girls, Margaret and Hilda, had followed their brother, and
their gentle care soon restored her: but the shock had been great.
"Read, mother,--read," said Hugh.
The accomplishments of reading and writing--for they were
accomplishments then--were possessed both by husband and wife.
We will give but one paragraph in the letter:
We have landed safely at Southampton, my own Edith. God has
preserved us from many dangers, doubtless owing to thy many prayers
at St. Wilfred's altar. Thou hast, I hope, received safely the
letters I sent from Joppa last autumn, and knowest whom I am
bringing home with me. How wonderful it all is, and with what
strange feelings the exile must approach the home of his boyhood!
But he is very composed and quiet in his manner, and we grow in
mutual esteem daily. He declares that he will accept no part of his
ancient inheritance, but that he finds his highest joy in thinking
that, in his sister's children, the descendants of the ancient line
yet possess the land of their forefathers.
"What can he mean? Whom is he bringing with him? Send for Tristam.
Ah! I see there is the old prior at the gate--he is talking with
him;" and Hugh hurried down to fetch them up.
They entered the room: our old friend, Father Kenelm, as hale an
old man as one could well find at seventy-five years of
age--Wilfred's protector and friend, in the most critical moments
of his life--and Tristam--do our readers remember him?
"God bless you, my children, in joy as in sorrow," was his
salutation.
"How far are they off?"
"When will they be here?" and Tristam, who stood humbly at the
door, found himself the object of universal attraction, and did not
know which to answer first.
"Welcome, Tristam, welcome," said his lady; "thou art the morning
star, the harbinger of my sun. How far hence are they?"
"They will be here by sunset, my lady."
"I will go and meet them," cried Hugh, and ran down stairs to get
his horse ready.
"But whom is he bringing with him?"
"My child," said Father Kenelm, "has he not told thee?"
"Nay, he speaks so mysteriously--read."
Father Kenelm read. Then, looking up, he spoke with deep emotion.
Tristam had told him all.
"One long since dead to the world, and as many thought buried. I
alone knew of his existence, as a secret which I was absolutely
forbidden to disclose; and as many years had elapsed since I last
heard of him, I thought him dead--he who was once the hope of
Aescendune."
"End our suspense!"
"Thou hadst a brother once--a bright, laughing, fair-haired boy,
whom thou didst love whilst father and mother lived. I speak of
events long forgotten, save by me."
"Nay, I have never forgotten him. Hast thou not often commemorated
him amongst the faithful departed, at my request?"
"Only as one, whom the world might yet contain in the body, or
whose soul heaven might have received--I knew not which. Well, my
lady, this thy brother yet lives."
"Wilfred?"
"And is returning home with thy husband."
"Wilfred alive!--nay, thou jestest. He died at Oxenford and was
buried there, nearly thirty years agone."
"Geoffrey, then Bishop of Coutances, deceived the lad's enemies by
a fictitious death and burial, but forbade the rescued youth to
return home, or make his existence known, save to me."
At this moment, the gleams, the parting beams, of the setting sun
shone upon pennon and upon lance, issuing from the wood afar off.
The multitude, who had assembled below, saw the sight, and rushed
tumultuously forward to meet their kinsfolk.
Hugh forgot the story about his uncle, ran down stairs, and joined
the throng, who pressed over the bridge.
Amidst the pomp of banners, the crash of trumpets, and the loud
acclamations and cheers of the crowd, the Crusaders reached home,
and entered the castle yard.
Edith fell into the arms of her lord as he dismounted, then sought
her son. She knew not to which to turn.
A grave personage, who studied hard to maintain his composure, but
whose eyes were filled with tears, had also dismounted, and was
standing by.
"Edith," cried Etienne, "behold our brother."
And she fell upon his neck with a torrent of tears, as all the life
of her childhood rushed upon her--"hours that were to memory dear."
Only a few more lines are needed to dismiss the heroes and
personages of our tale to rest.
Wilfred spent a few happy days with his brother-in-law cheered by
the society of his sister and her children.
Between him and Etienne all clouds had departed; they had learned,
amidst the perils of the return journey, to appreciate each other,
and wondered they had ever been such foes.
Once only he visited the Dismal Swamp, the scene of such exciting
events in his earlier life. He found it an utter wilderness, not a
house had been left standing; Etienne had wished to abolish the
very remembrance of the scenes in which, as his conscience told
him, he had acted so ill a part, and when he had succeeded in
persuading the English to trust him, and return to Aescendune, he
had fired the little hamlet and reduced it to ashes.
The brook murmured in solitude and silence, the birds sang
undisturbed by the strife of men.
The scene of Edwin's death from the arrows of Etienne's followers
could hardly be identified; but under the very tree where Pierre
had fallen in stern retaliation, Wilfred knelt, and besought pardon
for himself and rest for the soul which he had sent so hurriedly
before the judgment seat.
"Oh how much we had to forgive each other, Etienne and I," he said
half aloud.
These words caused him to raise his head, and look instinctively
over the place where the light wind was bowing down the heads of
the tall reeds and sedges, which grew where the fire, that
destroyed Count Hugo and his band, had swept over their
predecessors.
These remembrances saddened him, he returned to the castle--the
prey of conflicting emotions.
But much did Wilfred marvel at the peace and concord that reigned
in this happy village, in such contrast to the discord which
elsewhere marked the relations between Englishman and Norman, the
conquered and the conquerors; and one day he ventured to remark
upon the happy change to his old rival and brother-in-law.
"Come with me," said Etienne, "and I will explain it all."
He led Wilfred to the Priory Church, and they entered the hallowed
pale, with its round Norman arches and lofty roof, where the very
tread seemed an intrusion upon the silence, which spake of the
eternal repose that shall be, after the storms of this troublesome
world have their end.
There is something in the Early Norman architecture which appears
to the writer awe-inspiring; the massive round column, the bold and
simple arch, have a more solemn effect upon his senses than the
loveliest productions of the more florid and decorated period.
Such a stern and simple structure was this Priory Church of St.
Wilfred of Aescendune.
It was the hour of nones, and the strains of the hymn of St.
Ambrose, "Rerum Deus tenax vigor," were pealing from the
Benedictines in the choir: which has been thus paraphrased:
"O strength and stay, upholding all creation:
Who ever dost Thyself unmoved abide,
Yet, day by day, the light, in due gradation,
From hour to hour, through all its changes guide.
"Grant to life's day a calm unclouded ending,
An eve untouched by shadow of decay,
The brightness of a holy death bed, blending
With dawning glories of the eternal day {xxxi}."
His thoughts full of the ideas suggested by the solemn strain,
Wilfred followed Etienne into the south transept.
There, upon a plain altar tomb of stone lay the effigy of an aged
matron, her hands clasped in prayer, and beneath were the words:
HILDA
IN PACE
BEATI PACIFICI {xxxii}.
The "rival heirs" stood by the tomb, their hands clasped, while the
tears streamed down their cheeks. It was she indeed, who by her
simple obedience to the Divine law of love, which is the central
idea of the Gospel, had reconciled jarring hearts, and brought
about, in Aescendune, the reign of peace and love.
"I strove," said Etienne, at last breaking the long silence, "to be
a son to her, in place of the ill-fated boy whom I so cruelly slew;
nor were my efforts in vain, or my repentance unaccepted. We built
her a house, on the site of her ancient cottage, and when strife
arose, we often submitted the matter to her judgment, and she, who
had been the foster mother of one lord, and the preserver from
death of the other, reconciled the followers of both.
"When at last the hour came for her to commit her sweet soul to
God, I stood by her dying bed.
"'Mother,' said I, 'what can I do when thou art gone to show my
love for thy memory?'
"'Only go on as thou hast begun,' she replied, 'be a father to all
thy people, Englishman and Norman alike, and their prayers will
succour thee at the judgment seat of God--I go into peace.'
"And she left peace behind her--"
Here Etienne could say no more, and the two "rival heirs" stood a
long time gazing upon the "cold marble and the sculptured stone,"
while tears which were no disgrace to their manhood fell like
gentle rain from heaven.
Soon after this Wilfred had a long conference with Prior Kenelm.
The result was, that he announced his intention of retiring from
the world and ending his days in the cloister. His years had been
years of strife and tumult--he would give the residue to God.
So he entered the famous order of St. Benedict, and after the death
of Father Kenelm became the prior of the monastery dedicated to his
patron saint--founded by his own forefathers.
His greatest joy was when surrounded by his nephews and
nieces--yea, great-nephews and great-nieces, after the happy
marriage of Edward of Aescendune to Lady Agatha of Wilmcote.
Etienne and Edith lived blessed in each other's love to the end.
The Norman estates fell to Hugh, the English ones to Edward, who
not unworthily represented both English and Norman lines--"a knight
without fear and without reproach."
The last years of our hero, Wilfred, were years of tranquil
happiness and serene joy, such as Milton wrote of in later ages, in
those lines of wondrous beauty:
"Let my due feet never fail
To walk the cloisters hallowed pale,
With storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religions light,
And let the pealing organ blow
To the foil-voiced choir below,
Bring all heaven before mine eyes,
Dissolve me into ecstasies."
In the ruins of the abbey of St. Wilfred the spectator may notice a
cross-legged knight, whose feet rest upon a vanquished lion. His
whole attitude is expressive of intense action; the muscles seem
strained in the effort to draw his sword and demolish a Turk, while
the face expresses all that is noble in manly courage.
Hard by lies a prior in his vestments, his hands meekly clasped.
The colour has not yet quite faded, which embellished the statue;
but the remarkable thing is the face. Even yet, in spite of the
broken and mouldering stone, there is a calmness of repose about
that face which is simply wonderful.
It has been our task to call them both back to life--knight and
prior, and to make them live in our pages. Pardon us, gentle
readers, for the imperfect way in which we have fulfilled it.
Thus ends the Third and last Chronicle of Aescendune.
i Ordericus Vitalis, lib. iv. 523.
ii William of Malmesbury.
iii Sassenach equals Saxon.
iv It seems strange how such a misconception could ever have
arisen and coloured English literature to so great an extent, for
if we turn to the pages of the contemporaneous historians, such as
Henry of Huntingdon, William of Malmesbury, Florence of Worcester,
Ordericus Vitalis--born within the century of the Conquest--we find
that they all describe the Anglo-Saxons as English, not Saxons.
v See the Second Chronicle, chapter VI.
vi Genealogy of Aescendune.
The reader may be glad to have the genealogy of the family, in whom
it has been the author's aim to interest him, placed clearly before
him. The following table includes the chief names in the three
Chronicles; the date of decease is given in each case.
Offa, 940.
* Oswald, 937.
+ Ragnar, 959.
* Ella, 959.
+ Elfric, 960.
+ Alfred, 998, m. Alftrude.
o Elfric, 975.
o Elfwyn, 1036, m. Hilda.
# Bertric, 1006.
# Ethelgiva, 1064, m. Alfgar.
@ Edmund, 1066, m. Winifred.
- Wilfred, 1122.
- Edith, 1124, m. Etienne, 1110.
@ Elfleda, 1030.
o Cuthbert, 1034 (Prior).
o Bertha, 1030, m. Herstan.
# Winifred, 1067.
+ Edgitha, 990.
vii This Herstan figures largely in "Alfgar the Dane." He
married Bertha, daughter of Alfred of Aescendune, the hero of the
"First Chronicle." See the genealogical table at the end of the
book.
viii
"By Thy Cross and Passion;
Good Lord, deliver her."
ix Poison amongst the Normans.
It may be thought by many readers that the poisoner's art could
never have flourished among so chivalrous a people as the Normans;
but the contrary was the case; and there are several instances of
such foul murders in the pages of the old chroniclers, sufficient
to justify the introduction of the scene in our story.
At the plot called the Bridal of Norwich, A.D. 1075, Roger, Earl of
Hereford, and Ralph, Earl of Norwich, did not scruple to accuse
William himself of the murder of Conan, Duke of Brittany, who,
finding that the duke was on the point of withdrawing all his
troops for the invasion of England, prepared to take advantage of
it by making a raid upon Normandy. It was said that William could
think of no other means of meeting the difficulty, than by causing
the gauntlets and helmet of the unfortunate Conan to be poisoned by
one of his chamberlains, who held lands in Normandy, and was under
William's influence. Conan, however, did not die till the 11th of
December, after the battle of Senlac, and the accusation is hard to
reconcile with the general character of William. Ordericus relates
that Walter, Count of Pontoise, and his wife, were murdered at
Falaise, when prisoners, by poison "treacherously administered by
their enemies," A.D. 1064.
x Anglo-Saxon Outlaws.
The true secret of the sympathy of the English people with such
noted outlaws as Robin Hood and Little John, and their companions,
is, that they were made such by Norman tyranny, and maintained
their freedom in the greenwoods, when the usurping barons had
reduced the people elsewhere to slavery. Hence their exploits were
sung by every minstrel, and received with enthusiasm.
"History," says Thierry, "has not understood these outlaws; it has
passed them over in silence, or else, adopting the legal acts of
the time, it has branded them with names which deprive them of all
interest--such as 'rebels,' 'robbers,' 'banditti.'
"But let us not," continues the historian, "be misled by these
odious titles; in all countries, subjugated by foreigners, they
have been given by the victors to the brave men who took refuge in
the mountains and forests, abandoning the towns and cities to such
as were content to live in slavery."
Such were our refugees in the Dismal Swamp.
xi See "Alfgar the Dane."
xii "If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him
drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head."
xiii Martyrdom of St. Edmund, King of East Anglia.
This saintly king fought against the Danes, under Hinguar and
Hubba, in defence of his country. Being defeated, he was taken
prisoner by the enemy, who offered him his life, and restoration to
his kingdom, if he would renounce Christianity, and become
tributary. Upon his refusal he was tied naked to a tree, cruelly
scourged, and then shot slowly to death with arrows, calling upon
the name of Christ throughout his protracted martyrdom, Who
doubtless did not fail His servant in his hour of extreme need.
The strangest part of the story has yet to be told. An old oak was
pointed out as the tree of the martyrdom until very recent years.
Sceptics, of course, doubted the fact; but when the tree was blown
down in a violent storm, a Danish arrowhead was found embedded in
the very centre of the trunk, grown over, and concealed for nearly
a thousand years--the silent witness to the agonies of a martyr.
The martyrdom took place A.D. 870, the year before Alfred ascended
the throne. In the churches of Norfolk and Suffolk the picture of
St. Edmund, pierced with arrows, is often seen on old rood screens.
xiv Norman Torture Chamber.
We read in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle of the barons in Stephen's
days.
"They greatly oppressed the wretched people by making them work at
their castles, and when the castles were finished they filled them
with devils and evil men. Then they took those whom they suspected
to have any goods, by night and by day, seizing both men and women,
and they put them in prison for their gold and silver, and tortured
them with pains unspeakable. They hung some up by their feet, and
smoked them with foul smoke; some by their thumbs, or by the head,
and they hung burning things on their feet. They put a knotted
string about their heads, and twisted it till it went into their
brain. They put them into dungeons, wherein were adders and snakes
and toads, and thus wore them out. Some they put into a crucet
house--that is, into a chest that was short and narrow, and not
deep, and they put sharp stones in it, and crushed the man therein
so that they broke all his limbs. There were hateful and grim
things called Sachenteges in many of the castles, and which two or
three men had enough to do to carry. The sachentege was made thus:
it was fastened to a beam having a sharp iron to go round a man's
throat and neck, so that he might noways sit, or lie, or sleep, but
must bear all the iron. Many thousands they exhausted with hunger.
I cannot and I may not tell of all the wounds and all the tortures
they inflicted upon the wretched men of this land."
This awful description of the cruelty of the Norman barons under
the grandson of the Conqueror may partially apply to the barons of
an earlier period, such as Hugo de Malville.
xv Destruction of Norman Forces by Fire.
We read that at the instigation of Ivo Taille-Bois (see Note),
William had the weakness to employ a sorceress to curse the English
in the Camp of Refuge, and by her spells to defeat those of the
supposed English magicians. She was placed in a wooden turret at
the head of the road, which the Conqueror was labouring to make
across the fens, to get at the refugees; but Hereward, watching his
opportunity, set fire to the flags and reeds; the wind rapidly
spread the conflagration; and the witch, her guards, the turret,
and the workmen, all alike perished in the flames, even as in our
story, Hugo de Malville in the Dismal Swamp.
xvi State of England in 1069.
In order that the reader may the better comprehend the chances
which lay before the insurgents of this year, the third after
Hastings, we will briefly summarise the state of affairs.
At the close of the preceding year the Midlands, after several
spasmodic struggles, appeared prostrate and helpless at the feet of
the Conqueror, who had taken advantage of the opportunity to build
strong castles everywhere, and to garrison them with brave captains
and trusty soldiers. Warwick Castle was given to Henry de Beaumont,
whose lady we have seen at Aescendune, at the dedication of the
priory, and the jousts which followed; Nottingham was held by
William Peverill; and similar measures were taken at York, Lincoln,
Huntingdon, Oxford, Cambridge, and elsewhere.
But ere all this was fully accomplished, the three sons of King
Harold--Godwin, Edmund and Magnus--who had been kindly received by
Dermot, King of Leinster in Ireland, reappeared in the southwest,
and although, after some partial success, they were forced to
retreat, yet they aroused anew the spirit of resistance to the
Norman yoke, and kindled the expiring embers of patriotism.
In the month of February 1069--at which period the city of York was
the extreme limit of the Conquest--one Robert de Comyn was sent to
reduce Durham and the banks of the Tyne to subjection. As he
approached the city, Egelwin the bishop met him, and begged him not
to enter or there would be bloodshed; but he disdained the mild
request, and, entering, his soldiers behaved with the utmost
insolence, and slew a few inoffensive men "pour encourager les
autres," to intimidate the rest. The soldiers then encamped in the
streets of the town, and the general took up his quarters in the
bishop's palace.
When night came on, the gallant countrymen who dwelt on the Tyne
lit the beacon fires on all the hills; the country arose, and all
hastened to Durham. By daybreak they had forced the gates, which
the Normans defended; the soldiers then took refuge from the people
they had so cruelly insulted, in the Episcopal palace; thence they
had the advantage with their arrows, until the English, unable to
storm the place, set it on fire, and burned the dwelling, with
Robert de Comyn, who well deserved his fate, and all his men:
twelve hundred horse, and a large number of foot soldiers and
military attendants, perished, and only two escaped.
A larger body, sent to avenge them, halted between York and Durham,
and, seized with an unwonted terror, refused to proceed; the good
people said that Saint Cuthbert had struck them motionless by
supernatural power to protect his shrine in Durham.
This success stirred up the people of Yorkshire, who, later in the
year, besieged William Mallet in York, aided by a Danish force
which had landed on the coasts, and took it on the eighth day, when
all the garrison was slain--"three thousand men of France," as the
Chronicles express it. The Earl Waltheof killed, with his own
battle-axe, twenty Normans in their flight, and, chasing a hundred
more into the woody marshes, took advantage of the dry season, like
our friends at Aescendune, and burned them all with the wood.
All over England the struggle spread. Hereward took the command at
the Camp of Refuge, in the Isle of Ely, and crippled the Normans
around. Somerset and Dorset rose again; the men of Chester and a
body of Welshmen under "Edric the Wild" (sometimes called the
Forester), besieged Shrewsbury. The men of Cornwall attacked
Exeter, and a large body of insurgents collected at Stafford.
It was in putting down the northern insurrection that William
devastated Yorkshire and Northumberland, with such severity that
the country did not recover for centuries, while the victims to
famine, fire, and sword equalled a hundred thousand. These
spasmodic insurrections were only the dying throes of Anglo-Saxon
liberty. Everywhere they miscarried, and the Normans prevailed.
xvii The readers of Alfgar the Dane will remember that we gave
a brief account of this interesting spot in that chronicle. It was
the town to which Edmund Ironside and Alfgar first repaired after
their escape from the Danes in the Isle of Wight.
xviii On one of these islands now stands the mill, on the other
the Nag's Head Inn; the site of the old abbey is chiefly occupied
by a brewery!
xix Monastic Offices.
These were seven in number, besides the night hours. Lauds, before
daybreak; Prime, 7 A.M.; Terce, 9 A.M.; Sext, noon; Nones, 3 P.M.;
Vespers, 6 P.M.; and Compline, 9 P.M. These were in addition to
many daily celebrations of Mass.
Our modern prayer-book Matins is an accumulation and abridgment of
Matins, Lauds, and Prime; our Evensong of Vespers and Compline.
Terce, Sext, and Nones, which consisted mainly of portions of Psalm
119, with varying Versicles and Collects, are unrepresented in our
Anglican office.
If the older reader is curious to learn of what Compline consisted,
he may be told that its main features were Psalms 4, 31, 91, and
184; the hymn, Te Lucis ante Terminum, "Before the ending of the
day."--H. A. & M. 15; and the Collect, "Lighten our Darkness."
xx Roll of the Conquerors.
These names are taken from a charter, long preserved in Battle
Abbey, and quoted in the notes to Thierry's Norman Conquest. It
gives a list of the principal warriors who fought at Hastings,
whose names are afterwards found, much to their advantage, in
Domesday Book. Many names now common, even amongst the poor, make
their first appearance in England therein, besides the noble ones
quoted in our text. We regret that our space does not allow us to
give the roll, which is many columns in length.
xxi Ivo Taille-Bois.
This petty tyrant, of infamous memory, was the chief of the Angevin
auxiliaries of William, who received as his reward the hand of
Lucy, sister of the Earls Edwin and Morcar; and with her also
received all the ancient domains of their family in the
neighbourhood of the Camp of Refuge, which proximity did not
augment his prosperity. The ancient chronicler of the Abbey of
Croyland (Ingulf) says:
"All the people of that district honoured Ivo with the greatest
attention, and supplicated him on bended knee, bestowed on him all
the honour they could, and the services they were bound to render;
still he did not repay their confidence, but tortured and harassed,
worried and annoyed, imprisoned and tormented them, every day
loading them with fresh burdens, till he drove them, by his
cruelty, to seek other and milder lords. Against the monastery and
the people of Croyland he raged with the utmost fury; he would
chase their cattle with dogs, drown them in the lakes, mutilate
them in various ways, or break their backs or legs."
It is pleasing to learn that he met some punishment for his evil
deeds. Hereward took him prisoner, very ignominiously, and held him
a captive for a long time, to the delight of the poor vassals; he
fell under the displeasure of William Rufus, in 1089, as a partisan
of Robert and was sent home to Anjou deprived of all his ill-gotten
wealth. He was, however, allowed to return under Henry, and died of
paralysis in 1114 at his manor of Spalding, where, the old
chronicler pithily says, "he was buried amidst the loudly expressed
exultation of all his neighbours."
xxii The Camp of Refuge.
There still exists, in the southeastern district of Lincolnshire
and the northern part of Cambridgeshire, a vast extent of flat
land, intersected in every direction by rivers and dykes, known as
the fen country.
Eight centuries ago, before many attempts had been made to confine
the streams within their banks, this country resembled an inland
sea, interspersed with flat islands of firm ground.
One portion of this country was called the "Isle of Ely;" another
the "Isle of Thorney;" another, partially drained by the monks, the
"Isle of Croyland."
In many parts half bog, it was quite impracticable for heavy-armed
soldiers, and hence it offered a refuge to bands of patriots from
all the neighbouring districts when worsted by the Normans.
Hither came the true Englishman Stigand, sometime Archbishop of
Canterbury, and after the conquest of the north, Egelwin, Bishop of
Durham, who found both substantial entertainment at the board of
Abbot Thurstan, abbot of the great monastery of Ely, and one of the
stoutest patriots of the day.
At this time Hereward was living in Flanders; but hearing that his
father was dead, that a Norman had seized his inheritance, and was
grievously maltreating his aged mother, he returned home secretly,
and, assembling a band of relations and retainers, expelled the
intruder from his house after a sharp but brief conflict.
But he could not hope to rest after such an exploit; therefore he
waged open war with the Normans around, and by his extraordinary
bravery and good fortune soon attracted such universal attention
that the patriots in the Camp of Refuge besought him to come and be
their leader.
Here, for nearly three years, he defied all the efforts of William.
His uncle Brand, Abbot of Peterborough, conferred on him the order
of knighthood, for which act William designed adequate punishment.
The abbot would doubtless have been expelled, but death anticipated
the Conqueror of England. To punish the monks, the King appointed
the fighting abbot, Turauld, as the successor of Brand, and in
order to conciliate this ruffian-for such he was-the monks of
Peterborough prepared their best cheer. But Hereward and his merry
men anticipated Turauld's arrival by an hour or two, ate up the
dinner prepared for the Normans, and spoiled what the did not eat;
carried away, for safe keeping at Ely, all the treasures of the
abbey, and left an empty house for the intruder.
Shortly afterwards, that worthy, together with Ivo Taille-Bois,
concerted a plan for attacking the English. Hereward entrapped them
both, and kept them in captivity, much to the joy of the monks of
Peterborough, and the vassals of Ivo, as we have elsewhere noted.
All the valour and nobility of Old England yet surviving, gathered
around the great chieftain; thither came Edwin and Morcar, the
brothers-in-law of King Harold; and many an earl and knight,
fearless as the warriors of the Round Table, fought beneath the
banner of Hereward, and banqueted while there was aught left to
eat, at the board of the large-hearted Abbot Thurstan.
The Danes, who had been summoned to the aid of the English
patriots, were bought off soon after their arrival by the gold of
William, but still Hereward fought on.
At length William stationed his fleet in the Wash, with orders to
guard every outlet from the fens to the ocean; still he could not
reach Hereward, who had retired, with his valiant men, to their
stronghold, situate in an expanse of water, which, in the narrowest
part, was at least two miles in breadth. Then the king undertook a
tremendous task-that of constructing a solid road through the
inundated marshes, throwing bridges over the deeper channels, and
building a causeway elsewhere. But in the face of an active enemy
this was no easy task; and so frequently were the Normans surprised
by Hereward that they believed he must be aided by sorcery, and
employed the "witch," who perished by fire (as mentioned in another
Note), to counteract his magic, with the result already described.
But William was determined that the last refuge of English liberty
should fall, and, backed by all the resources of a kingdom, the end
came at last. The monks of Ely, starved out, deposed their abbot,
the gallant Thurstan, and betrayed the secret approaches of the
camp to the Normans.
In the gray dawn of an autumnal morning, in the year 1071, the
Normans, guided through the labyrinth by the traitors-the guards
having been decoyed from their posts-entered the camp.
Hereward and his men fought like heroes, with all the courage of
despair; they did all that men could do; but, assailed from all
sides, many of the English lords, dismayed by the hopeless
character of the conflict, threw down their swords, and cried for
quarter. But their brave chieftain-with a mere handful of
men-disdaining to save their lives by submission, cut their way
through the foe, and escaped across the marshes, after most doughty
deeds of valour, for the assault was led by William in person.
For a long time Hereward maintained the hopeless struggle-for it
was now hopeless-till the king sent to offer him his favour, and
restoration to his paternal estates, on condition his accepting
accomplished facts, and taking the oath of allegiance to the
Conqueror. Feeling that all hope of shaking off the Norman yoke was
lost, Hereward laid down his arms and accepted "the king's peace."
There are two accounts of his death; the one, which we hope is
true, that he ended his days in peace; the other, that his Norman
neighbours fell upon him as he was sleeping in the open air; that
he awoke in time to defend himself, and slew fifteen men-at-arms
and a Breton knight ere he succumbed to numbers-the chief of the
troop, named Asselin, swearing, as he cut the head from the corpse,
that he had never seen so valiant a man. It was long a popular
saying amongst the English, and amongst the Normans that, had there
been four such as he, the Conquest could not have been accomplished.
The fate of those who submitted, or were taken in the Camp of
Refuge, was pitiable; many had their hands cut off, or their eyes
put out, and with cruel mockery were set "free;" the leaders were
imprisoned in all parts of England.
Egelwin, Bishop of Durham, was sent to Abingdon, where within a few
months he died of hunger, either voluntary or enforced; while
Archbishop Stigand was condemned to perpetual imprisonment.
xxiii Lanfranc.
This noted ecclesiastic was a native of Pavia; he was bred up to
the law, and, coming to France, established a school at Avranches,
which was attended by pupils of the highest rank.
On a journey to Rouen he was robbed and left bound in a wood, where
some peasants found him, and brought him for shelter to the Abbey
of Bec, recently founded by Herluin. Here he felt himself called to
the monastic life, and became a monk at Bec, which sprang up
rapidly under him into a school no less of literature than of
piety, where William often retired to make spiritual retreats, and
where an intimacy sprang up between them. He became successively
Prior of Bec and abbot of William's new foundation of St. Stephen's
at Caen. His influence with the Pope procured the papal sanction
for the invasion of England; and afterwards, in 1070, the
Archbishopric of Canterbury was pressed upon him by William, which
he held until his death in 1089, in the eighty-fourth year of his
age.
In some respects he dealt harshly with the English clergy, and
connived at their wholesale deprivation. We must own, in
extenuation, that their lives and conduct had not been such as to
do honour to God, that they were said to be the most ignorant
clergy in Europe; and that the sins of the nation under their
guidance were owned, even by the English, to have brought the heavy
judgment of the Conquest upon them. Otherwise, Lanfranc was a
protector of the oppressed, in which character he is introduced in
the tale.
If Englishmen can only forgive him his share in the Conquest, few
Archbishops of Canterbury can be named more worthy of our respect.
xxiv It must be remembered that Lanfranc was a firm believer in
the right of King William, in the supposed testament of Edward the
Confessor; and in the right of Rome to dispose of disputed thrones.
Good man though he was, he believed in all this rubbish, as true
Englishmen must ever deem it.
xxv Oxford in the Olden Time.
The earliest authentic record in which Oxford finds a place is of
the year 912, when we read in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle that King
Edward took possession of the city, when he took upon himself the
responsibility of defending the valley of the Thames against Danish
incursions, upon the death of his sister's husband, Aethelred,
Ealdorman of the Mercians, to whom the city had formerly belonged.
Then, probably, was that mound thrown up which still exists
opposite the old Norman tower of Robert D'Oyly; and from that
period the city gradually grew into importance, until it quite
superseded the more ancient city, Dorchester. which was situated at
the angle formed by the tributary river Tame, fifteen miles lower
down the stream, even as Oxford occupied the similar angle formed
by the Cherwell.
The charge of Oxford, and the district around, was committed to
Robert D'Oyly, afore-mentioned, who built the lofty tower opposite
the mound, deepened the ditches, enlarged the fortifications he
found already there; and, about the date of our tale, founded the
Church of St. George in the Castle.
He had a ruinous city to preside over. Before the Conquest it
contained about three thousand inhabitants; but the number was
greatly diminished, for out of seven hundred and twenty-one houses
formerly inhabited, four hundred and seventy-eight were now lying
waste.
The University was yet a thing of the future. Mr. James Parker (in
his pamphlet, on the history of Oxford during the tenth and
eleventh centuries, which he kindly presented to the writer.) has
clearly shown that its supposed foundation by Alfred is a myth. The
passage in Asser, commonly quoted in support of the statement, is
an interpolation not older, perhaps, than the days of Edward III.
During the twelfth century the town appears, from whatever causes,
to have recovered from the effects of the Conquest, and from that
period its growth was rapid, until circumstances brought about the
growth of a University honoured throughout the civilised world.
xxvi An undisciplined mob had preceded them and perished on the
road. We have not space to write their history.
xxvii The Varangians.
Ordericus Vitalis, B. iv., says, "When the English had lost their
freedom, they turned themselves eagerly to discover the means of
regaining their liberty. Some fled to Sweyn, King of Denmark, to
excite him to fight for the inheritance of his grandfather, Canute.
Not a few fled into exile in other lands, either to escape the
Norman rule, or in the hope of acquiring the means of renewing the
struggle at home. Some of these, in early manhood, penetrated into
a far distant land, and offered their services to the Emperor of
Constantinople, against whom (the Norman) Robert Guiscard had
arrayed all his forces. The English exiles were favourably
received, and opposed in battle to the Normans, who were far too
strong for the Greeks in personal combat.
"The Emperor Alexius began to build a town for the English, a
little above Constantinople; but the troubles from the Normans
increasing, he soon recalled them to the capital, and intrusted the
palace, with all its treasures, to their keeping. This was the way
in which the English found their way to Ionia, where they still
remain, honoured by the Emperor and his people."
xxviii Particularly those portions found in the Gospels for the
different Sundays in the Christian year, which even then (and long
before) existed in nearly the same order as in our present
Prayer-book, and were read in the vernacular each Sunday at Mass.
xxix See First and Second Chronicles.
xxx Anglo-Saxon and Norman Churches.
Originally, the churches of the Anglo-Saxons were built of wood,
with perhaps a foundation of stone; but before the Conquest nobler
buildings were introduced. Thus, for instance, the church which
Harold built at Waltham was designed in the new style of
architecture, of which the earliest specimen in England was
Edward's Abbey Church at Westminster. Waltham was sumptuously
adorned: the capitals and bases of the pillars were curiously
carved; and the ornaments of the altar, vestments, hooks,
furniture, most elaborate (see the tract De Inventione Sanctae
Crucis, edited by Professor Stubbs). But with the advent of a more
highly civilised people, the churches generally shared in the
revival of architecture, as the many massive remains, still extant,
of that early period sufficiently testify.
xxxi H. A. & M. 12.
xxxii "Blessed are the peacemakers."--St. Matthew v.