Danes, Saxons and Normans; or, Stories of our ancestors

The prayers and orisons, however, cannot be said to have proved of much avail. The enterprise of Edwin and Morkar resulted in failure; the Saxon earls were fain to retreat to the borders of Scotland; and events ere long seeming to render the Saxon cause hopeless, the chiefs, after William's coronation at York, lost heart and hope, and consented to capitulate. On the banks of the Tees, where William was encamped, a formal reconciliation took place. Edwin and Morkar, with other Saxons of high name, made their peace with the Conqueror, and with a sigh for the freedom they left behind, returned to his court.

Brief, however, was the residence of the Saxon earls in the halls of the Norman king. In fact, the deposition of the Saxon bishops, and the sufferings they had to endure, fired the soul of every Saxon with fierce indignation. A mighty conspiracy was formed, with ramifications over all England; and men, driven to the last stage of despair, determined to establish an extensive armed station.

At that time the district to the north of Cambridgeshire, of which Ely and Croyland formed part, was almost a moving bog, intersected by rivers, overgrown with rushes and willows, clouded with fogs and vapours, and presenting the appearance of a vast lake interspersed with islands. On these islands there stood, as monuments of the piety of the Saxon kings, religious houses, built on piles and earth brought from a distance – here an abbey, there a hermitage.

It was to this district, wholly impracticable for cavalry and heavily-armed troops, that Saxon chiefs despoiled of their lands, and Saxon priests deprived of their livings, repaired in great numbers. Constructing intrenchments of earth and wood, they formed what was called the Camp of Refuge. Thither, from Scotland, came Robert Stigand, the deposed Archbishop of Canterbury, and Eghelwin, the deposed Bishop of Durham; and thither, from the court of the Norman, after having escaped countless perils, and wandered for months in woods and solitary places, came Edwin and Morkar, the Saxon earls.

William was startled at this second escape of his long-haired captives, and by no means easy at the idea of their being at liberty. He immediately contrived to convey to them promises never intended to be kept, and Morkar was sufficiently credulous to listen. Yielding to the temptations held out, the young earl abandoned the camp at Ely. Scarcely, however, had he left the intrenchments when he was seized, bound hand and foot, carried to a Norman castle, put forcibly in irons, and left under the custody of Robert de Beaumont – one of those men from whose keeping there was small chance of escaping.

Edwin, hearing of his brother's imprisonment, became somewhat desperate. He resolved to leave Ely, not to surrender, but to struggle so long as life remained. With a few adherents he wandered for six months from place to place, vainly endeavouring to rouse his countrymen to a great effort for their deliverance. While thus occupied he was betrayed by three of his officers, who basely sold him to the Normans. Warned of his danger, Edwin was one day riding, with twenty attendants, towards the sea, with some notion of reaching the coast of Scotland, when a band of Normans suddenly rushed upon him. Endeavouring to escape, the Saxon earl galloped on; but stopped by a brook so swollen with the tide that it was impossible to cross, he dismounted from his steed and turned desperately to bay.

Nor in that hour did the young and popular Saxon earl bear himself in a manner unworthy of his position as one of the great race which for six centuries had given kings and war-chiefs to the British isles. For a long time he defended himself with heroic courage against a host of assailants; and at last – when overborne by numbers and forced to his knees, he fell as, in such circumstances, a brave man should – he died without fear, as he had fought without hope.

The death of Edwin was lamented by Normans as well as Saxons; even the grim Conqueror's heart was touched to the core. When the head of the Saxon earl, with its long, flowing hair, was carried to London, William could not restrain his tears. The king, says the chronicler, wept over the fate of one whom he loved, and whom he would fain have attached to his fortunes.

XXXI.

IVO TAILLE-BOIS

Among the martial adventurers of the Continent whom William the Norman, before sailing to the Conquest, allured to his standard, and whose services he rewarded with the lands and lordships of the Saxons, slain, imprisoned, or expatriated during his progress from the coast of Sussex to the verge of "mountainous Northumberland," one of the most unpopular with the vanquished islanders was Ivo Taille-Bois.

Nevertheless, Ivo Taille-Bois was a remarkable man in his way. A native of Angers, he came to the Conquest as a captain of Angevin auxiliaries, with a spirit equally mercenary and unscrupulous. Fortune favoured his career; and having done much work from which a Norman noble would have shrunk, he found that his aspirations after wealth and power were likely to be realized. It was on the ruins of the great House of Leofric that Ivo eventually contrived to exalt himself.

When Edwin was killed, under circumstances so touching, and Morkar was imprisoned, under circumstances so melancholy, Ivo Taille-Bois received in marriage Lucy, the youngest sister of the two earls, and with her a large part of their hereditary domains. This immediately made Ivo a man of importance; and as the bulk of his land was situated about Spalding, towards the borders of Cambridge and Lincoln, he called himself Viscount of Spalding, and began to let the inhabitants feel his territorial power in such a way, that they cursed the chance which had metamorphosed a captain of mercenaries into a feudal lord.

Among a band of conquerors such as accompanied William the Norman to England, there must always be many more or less tyrannical to the vanquished; but the tyranny of Ivo Taille-Bois was something by itself. He was so fond of outraging the feelings and invading the rights of the populace, that he seemed to indulge in it as a luxury; and no humility on their part could in the slightest degree mitigate his violence. It was in vain that they paid all the rents he demanded; that they rendered all the services he required; that they appeared in his presence on bended knee; and that they addressed him in the most deferential tone: he only became the more cruel and more exacting.

The account given by a contemporary chronicler of the oppressions practised by Ivo Taille-Bois on the inhabitants of the district subject to his sway is sufficient, even at this distance of time, to excite strong indignation. Though they rendered him all possible honour, he showed them neither affability nor kindness; on the contrary, he vexed them, imprisoned them, tormented them, and tortured them. Often he hounded his dogs on their cattle while quietly grazing, drove their beasts into the marshes, drowned them in ponds, broke their backs or limbs, and by mutilating them in various ways, rendered them unfit for service.

Ivo seemed to delight in cruelty for cruelty's sake; and under such treatment, the people who were his victims gradually gave way to despair. Selling what little they still possessed, they sought in other lands the peace no longer to be found at home. Ivo, however, feeling the necessity of somebody to oppress, and looking round, fixed his eyes on some Saxon monks.

It happened that there stood near Spalding, and by the gates of the terrible Angevin, a religious house which was dependent on the abbey of Croyland and inhabited by some of the Croyland monks. Ivo, having forced the peasantry of the neighbourhood to decamp, turned his attention to this religious house, and soon succeeded in making it an earthly purgatory. The monks attempted to save themselves by refraining from giving the slightest offence; but this only added to his bitterness. He lamed their horses and cattle, killed their sheep and poultry, attacked their servants on the highway, and oppressed their tenants in every way which his ingenuity could invent.

Nevertheless, the monks held on. Not by any means inclined to yield their home without a struggle, they did all they could, by prayers, supplications, and presents to his dependents, to soften Ivo's heart. But they were utterly unsuccessful. They found that matters became worse and worse. Their patience and long-suffering came to an end. They packed up their books and their sacred vessels, and committing their house to God's keeping, prepared to depart. "We have tried all, and suffered all," said they; "now let us begone;" and shaking the dust from their feet, they repaired to Croyland.

On the departure of the monks Ivo was rejoiced beyond measure. He immediately despatched a messenger to his native town of Angers, and requested to have some holy men sent over to England. A prior and five monks soon appeared, and took possession of the religious house at Spalding. The Abbot of Croyland, who was an Anglo-Saxon, protested against their installation, and complained to the king's council against proceedings so lawless. But no redress could be obtained; and Ivo Taille-Bois continued in the daily perpetration of enormities, for which, had he lived two centuries later, he would have been tried before a jury at Westminster, and hanged at the Nine Elms.

XXXII.

HEREWARD THE SAXON

While Edgar Atheling was seeking refuge in Scotland, and while Edwin and Morkar were, by their wavering, bringing ruin on the House of Leofric, and rendering the Saxon cause utterly hopeless, there was living in Flanders a native of England, who bore the name of Hereward and a high reputation for courage and prowess.

Hereward, having long been settled in Flanders, had taken no part in the earlier struggle between Normans and Saxons. Some of the vanquished islanders, however, flying from the Conqueror's sword, sought their countryman, and intimated that they brought him bad news.

"Your father," said the exiles, "has been dead for a year; your mother has been exposed to many indignities and vexations; and your heritage is in possession of a foreigner."

"By the Holy Rood!" exclaimed Hereward, "if such are the tidings you bring from England, it is high time for me to be there."

After this, Hereward was not guilty of any delay. He prepared for a voyage, embarked for England, reached the coast, and made his way to Lincolnshire, where, surrounded by woodland and marshes, with a wide avenue in front, and an orchard in the rear, near the abbeys of Croyland and Peterborough, and near the Isle of Ely, stood the rude wooden mansion which his fathers had called their own. The sight of his birthplace fired Hereward's patriotism; and making himself known to such of his friends and kinsmen as had survived the struggle, he induced them to arm. Having, without exciting the suspicion of the Normans, assembled them in a body, he attacked the foreigner who had evicted his mother, and conducted the enterprise with such courage, that he was enabled to take possession of his property.

But scarcely had Hereward installed himself in his paternal property, when he found that he could not, with safety, limit his operations to a single exploit. Accordingly he commenced a partisan warfare in the neighbourhood of his dwelling, and at the head of his little band encountered the garrisons of towns and strongholds. Such were the skill and courage he displayed, that his name soon became celebrated over England. Songs in his praise were sung in the streets, and the Saxons turned their eyes towards him with hope long unfelt.

On hearing of the exploits of Hereward, the Saxons who had formed the Camp of Refuge at Ely requested him to become their captain; and Hereward, most readily consenting, passed, with the comrades of his victories, to the Isle. His arrival excited the courage and revived the hopes of the Saxons. Before taking the command, however, he desired to become a member of the high Saxon militia, and to be admitted with the proper ceremonies into that body.

The demand was suggestive of some difficulties, for it was necessary to have the services of a priest of high rank to bless the arms, and at this stage of the Conquest few priests of high rank were sufficiently courageous to defy the wrath of the conquerors. Among those, however, who regarded Hereward as the hero destined to save his country was Brand, the Abbot of Peterborough. This abbot, a man of high temper and indomitable spirit, consented to perform the ceremony; and Hereward repaired to the abbey. Having confessed at evening, and watched all night in the church, he laid his sword on the altar at the hour of mass in the morning, received, while kneeling, his blade from the hand of the abbot, took the sacrament, and rose to go forth and wield it in the cause of his country.

The ceremony that was performed in the abbey of Peterborough was no secret to the Normans in the neighbourhood. The knights with whom Hereward had crossed swords soon learned that he had repaired to the abbey, and sneered scornfully at the idea of a warrior's belt being girded on by an abbot.

"He who has his sword girded on by a priest," said they, "is not knight, but a degenerate burgess."

But it was against the Saxon abbot, in the first place, and not against Hereward, that the wrath of the conquerors was directed. No sooner did news of the ceremony at Peterborough reach the ears of those high in authority, than Brand was doomed; and ere long soldiers appeared to seize him in the king's name. They, however, were too late. Before their arrival he had breathed his last; and a foreigner was, without delay, appointed to fill the bold Saxon's place.

Among the fighting churchmen whom the Conquest had introduced to England was a native of Fécamp, named Turauld. Accommodated with an abbey at the expense of the vanquished, this man had rendered himself notorious by the stern method he used of drilling the Saxon monks into discipline. Whenever they proved refractory he was in the habit of crying, "A moi, mes hommes d'armes;" and he made his abbey the scene of military violence.

The system pursued by Turauld in his abbey soon became a matter of notoriety, and reached the king's ears. William thought himself bound to interfere, but was at some loss to decide in what way such an offender should be punished. On the death of Abbot Brand, however, the difficulty vanished, and Turauld was immediately appointed to the abbey of Peterborough.

"That is somewhat near the Saxon Camp of Refuge," remarked Turauld.

"It is a dangerous post, doubtless," said William, smiling grimly; "but very fit for an abbot who is so good a soldier."

Attended by Norman warriors, Turauld in due time approached Peterborough to take possession. But apprehensive of danger, he halted some leagues from the abbey, and sent men forward to ascertain the position of the refugees.

The monks of Peterborough, in the utmost trepidation, determined to admit the foreigner; and Hereward, not unaware of their intentions, made a descent on the abbey. Finding that the monks could not be relied on, he resolved on a desperate expedient. While the scouts of Turauld were making observations, he carried off the crosses, chalices, sacred vessels, and whatever valuable ornaments the abbey contained, and conveyed them by water to the camp.

"Now," he said, "we have hostages for the fidelity of the monks."

Soon after Hereward left the abbey of Peterborough, Turauld, encompassed by Norman lances, presented himself at the gates. The monks, trembling for their lives, bent their shaven crowns, and admitted their new abbot without hesitation; and Turauld, having taken possession, was forthwith installed. At the same time he appropriated sixty-two hides of land belonging to the abbey to his soldiers, to reward their services and encourage their zeal.

Meantime, Ivo Taille-Bois, clad in his linked mail, and followed by armed men, rode to the abbey of Peterborough. On being admitted to the abbot's presence Ivo proposed an expedition to the Isle of Ely, to destroy the Camp of Refuge and crush the insurgents. Turauld sanctioned the expedition, but declined to take an active part in it; and everything having been arranged, the Angevin viscount advanced boldly with his men through the forests and willows which served the Saxons as intrenchments, while the abbot, surrounded by Normans of high rank, remained at what he considered a safe distance.

But Ivo Taille-Bois was destined to miss his foes, and Turauld to meet those whom Ivo sought. Aware of the projects of the Normans and of their movements, Hereward was on the alert. Contriving to escape unobserved from the wood by one side while Ivo entered by the other, the Saxon chief, leaving the Angevin viscount to pursue his search in vain, fell suddenly upon the abbot and the abbot's Norman attendants, seized them without difficulty as prisoners, and kept them securely in the marshes till they paid a large ransom.

Nevertheless, the position of Hereward and his comrades became every day more perilous. About this time, however, they were reinforced by allies, whose presence inspired them with some hope of accomplishing their country's deliverance. Indignant at his brother's conduct at York, Sweyn, King of Denmark, fitted out a new fleet, and came in person to the aid of the vanquished islanders. But the royal Dane soon tired of an enterprise which he found was much less promising than he had anticipated. After sailing up the Humber without receiving any particular encouragement, he returned to Denmark.

But, however disappointed he might have been, Sweyn, while departing from the shores of England, did not withdraw his fleet. Entering Boston Wash, the Danish ships, by the mouth of the Ouse and the Glen, succeeded in reaching the Isle of Ely. Hereward hailed with joy the arrival of the Danes, and welcomed them as friends and liberators.

William was startled at the arrival of Danish auxiliaries, but he was not particularly perplexed. Perfectly comprehending how to deal with King Sweyn, the Conqueror hastened to send ambassadors to Denmark with artful messages and costly presents. The successor of Canute, completely won over to the Norman cause, did without scruple that which he had, some months earlier, punished his brother for doing; and Hereward and his comrades soon learned to their dismay that they were once more betrayed by their Northern allies.

When the Danes at Ely, on whose powerful aid Hereward had built such hopes, received orders to return home, they were far from manifesting any reluctance. They seemed determined, however, not to go empty-handed. In fact, the temptation of carrying off the ornaments and sacred vessels which Hereward had brought from the abbey of Peterborough was more than the grisly Northmen could resist; and seizing everything in the way of treasure upon which they could lay hands, they embarked, and turning the prows of their ships homewards, gave their sails to the wind, laughing grimly at the ridiculous plight in which they left the men they had come to save.

Affairs now hurried to a catastrophe. Ivo Taille-Bois and Abbot Turauld rejoiced in the hope of triumph and revenge; and Hereward could not but confess that the prospects of the Saxons at Ely were dismal in the extreme. By-and-by news reached the Camp of Refuge that William was assembling forces, and that a great blow was to be struck, and as weeks passed on, the Camp of Refuge was invested by land and water. On every side workmen were set to form dykes and causeways over the marshes; and on the west, over waters covered with reeds and willows, the Normans commenced the construction of a road three hundred paces in length.

But most of the labour was found to be in vain. The Normans had no rest. Hereward and his friends, incessant in their attacks and artful in their stratagems, constantly interrupted the work; and the workmen, finding themselves disturbed in the most sudden and unexpected manner, gave way to superstitious terror.

"Assuredly," they exclaimed, "this Hereward is in league with the Evil One."

"Think you so?" cried Ivo Taille-Bois; "then we must fight him with his own weapons."

The idea of the Angevin viscount was highly approved of; and he soon procured the services of a witch, whose enchantments, he declared, would disenchant Hereward's operations. Accordingly this woman was brought to the scene of action, and posted in a wooden tower at the place where the work was in progress. The result, however, was not such as Ivo had predicted. In fact, while the Norman pioneers and soldiers were all confident in the potency of the witch's charms, Hereward suddenly made a sally, set fire to the osiers that covered the marsh like a forest, and gave witch, workmen, and warriors to the flames.

At this fresh misfortune the Normans began to consider their enterprise hopeless, and the blood of Ivo Taille-Bois boiled at the thought of being baffled by a "degenerate burgess" like Hereward. The address and activity of the Saxon chief really seemed to preclude the possibility of success. Nevertheless, the Normans persevered; and for months the Isle of Ely was blockaded so closely that provisions were with extreme difficulty obtained from without.

When the operations reached this stage, William bethought him of the monks of Ely, and devised a scheme for enforcing their aid. Without warning he seized all the manors belonging to the abbey situated without the Isle; and the monks, unable to endure poverty and misery, and the famine that stared them in the face, resolved to put an end to the contest. With this view they sent to the Norman camp, and offered to show a passage, on condition of being left in possession of their property. Gilbert de Clare and William Warren having plighted their faith, and a treaty having been entered into, the monks fulfilled their promise, and the Normans prepared to penetrate into the Isle.

Hereward and the Saxons, utterly unsuspicious of the treachery of the monks of Ely, were resting from their arduous exertions, when the sound of arms and the war-cry of Normans intimated that their foes were upon them. Completely taken by surprise, the Saxons were in no position to resist; and after a thousand of them had fallen, the camp was closely surrounded, and the majority were forced to lay down their arms. But better far would it have been for them to fight to the last. Many of those who submitted had their hands cut off and their eyes put out, and were then turned adrift as warnings against future revolts; others – and among them Archbishop Stigand and Bishop Eghelwin – were incarcerated and sentenced to imprisonment for life.

But in the midst of carnage and disaster, Hereward was undaunted. When others laid down their arms, he still disdained the thought of yielding. Closely attended by a few zealous adherents, the Saxon chief broke from the assailants, retreated by paths into which the Normans did not venture to follow, passed from marsh to marsh, and overcoming every obstacle, made his way to the lowlands of Lincolnshire.

It happened that the Normans had a station in the immediate neighbourhood of the place where Hereward and his friends found themselves after their hair-breadth escape. The temptation of a daring adventure was, under the circumstances, irresistible. Hereward made himself known to some fishermen, who were in the habit of every day taking fish to the garrison; and the fishermen, sympathizing with his views, were induced to lend their aid. Receiving Hereward and his companions into the boats, and concealing them under straw, the fishermen, next day, approached the station as usual; and the Normans, who were just sitting down to dinner, preparatory to riding forth on an expedition, were not in the least apprehensive of danger. Suddenly strange voices were heard, and Hereward and his men entering with their axes in their hands, rushed upon the Normans, and hewed down many before they knew what was taking place. Alarmed and despairing, the survivors fled, leaving their horses, which were ready saddled, a prey to the victors.

After this exploit, which struck dismay into the hearts of his enemies, and considerably modified the joy with which the Normans announced their success at Ely, Hereward resumed operations with his old spirit. With a band of patriotic men, which gradually swelled to the number of a hundred, the indomitable Saxon performed countless feats of valour. Ever lying in ambush, and granting no quarter, he exerted his skill and energy with such effect, that he well avenged, if he could not redeem, the disaster of Ely. His comrades, all well armed and inspired by his example, encountered the foe with a degree of courage seldom equalled, and appearing suddenly at various points, never shrunk from odds save such as appeared overwhelming. Not one of them was known to have declined a conflict with fewer than four Normans; and Hereward, on his part, often fought with as many as seven.