Conquest (48 page)

A few days after the Danes had left, Hereward’s intuition that Prince Osbjorn was a man of honour was confirmed. A small chest arrived containing two handfuls of English gold – a significant sum of money, sufficient for a knight to live comfortably for the rest of his life.

It also contained a message in Latin:

Accept this gift to your cause. May it serve as my personal Oath to your Brotherhood.

Osbjorn, Prince of Denmark

Hereward drew great strength from the Prince’s message. Even though he and the Brotherhood were alone on a small island, isolated in a remote corner of a land where few were prepared to rally to his cause, Osbjorn’s testamonial reinforced his belief in the justice of his crusade.

The Brotherhood continued to send its bulletin to all England’s earldoms, monasteries and burghs: peace and justice for all under a wise and fair King.

With the defences of Ely well under way, Hereward met with Martin, Einar and Alphonso to discuss what to do about the women and girls. First of all, they decided that the orphans of Bourne should be recognized as full members of the family, meaning that there were now eleven non-combatants to worry about. Secondly, after much soul-searching, it was agreed that the women and children must escape to Aquitaine as soon as the situation in Ely became untenable.

A boat would be secreted away on the north side of the isle, in a place known only to them. It would be fully provisioned and checked regularly. At any time from when William’s attacks began, they would be ready to leave at only a moment’s notice. At the last minute, Edmund, Edwin and Gohor would be told of the plan and ordered to join them. Einar, Martin and Alphonso would execute the escape as soon as they feared the family was in imminent danger.

When the strategy was explained to the girls, it was Gunnhild who asked her father the obvious question. ‘But, Father, what about you?’

Then Estrith. ‘It sounds like you’re staying, no matter what.’

They both started to shed tears of exasperation, exhausted by the endless fight their father was engaged in.

‘You said we would go home soon.’

‘Very soon, you said.’

Hereward was at a loss to know how to answer his girls,
hoping to avoid the conclusion they had already arrived at. ‘You are going home soon, just as I promised.’

They shouted their response in unison. ‘But you’re not coming with us!’

‘I’m sorry, but I must do this; for you, for your mother and for all good people everywhere.’

Maria and Ingigerd took the girls away to try to comfort them.

Hereward turned to the three men. ‘When the time comes, get them away. Don’t hesitate, and don’t look back; think only of them and your own children.’

Einar spoke for the three of them. ‘Nobody else has to die to prove the justice of our cause; it is undeniable. This damned crusade must have driven you insane if you can even think about letting the girls go while you remain here.’

His loyal friends looked at Hereward, each knowing in his own heart that Hereward’s mind was made up and that nothing would deflect him from his course of action.

29. The Siege of Ely

Over the next few weeks, and as Easter of 1071 approached, something remarkable began to happen on the Isle of Ely.

First, entirely alone in the middle of a bleak, cold afternoon and with no personal belongings to speak of, a man appeared on the causeway who could easily have been the father of most of the defenders and the grandfather of many. He had no military experience, but carried a battle-axe that had belonged to his father, a former housecarl with the old Danish King, Harold Harefoot. He said he had heard the call to join the Brotherhood and had walked from Essex to take the Oath. Two brothers from Mercia came three days later. Next came a group eight fearsome-looking men from Richmond and the valley of the Swale, who had escaped from William’s cull of the North. They had heard that Hereward and his men had rescued Edgar the Atheling from his plight in Swaledale and felt it was their duty to join his cause.

At first it was a trickle of men, then it became a constant flow and by May it was a deluge rushing to join the Brotherhood. They came with and without weapons; some came on horseback, but many walked; some brought money, but most came with only what they wore or carried. The majority were trained soldiers, a few had land and wealth and an important number were artisans: carpenters, blacksmiths, chandlers and shipwrights. As each man took the Oath, his
name was added to the Roll of Honour of the Brotherhood.

In addition to the survivors of the original contingent that Hereward had met on the River Ribble almost two years earlier – men like Gohor, Brohor the Brave and Wulfric the White – were added the names of new followers: Leofric the Black, Alveriz, the son of a mason from Spain, Azecier, a good friend of Alveriz, Matelgar, Alsinus, Wulric, Ailward the White, and Hugo, a Norman priest born in Rouen but with a parish near Winchester.

Soon there were 2,500 members of the Brotherhood on the Isle of Ely. If that were not remarkable enough, early one morning, emerging through the mist of the distant horizon, an even more unlikely group of men appeared. Hereward had been woken before dawn to be told that a large column of men was approaching from the west. At first, the scouts assumed it was a contingent of Normans, but then realized that they were English.

As they came into view across Ely’s causeway, Hereward recognized at once that the two men at the head of the column were England’s most senior surviving nobles, Edwin and Morcar, the Earls of Mercia and Northumbria.

Accompanying them was a substantial phalanx of housecarls and several senior members of England’s gentry, including landowners, clerics and thegns. They included Thorkill of Harringworth, a wealthy thegn from the East Midlands; Siward of Maldon, a rich merchant who was a major benefactor of Ely Abbey; Ordgar, Sheriff of Ramsey Abbey; Godric of Corby; Tostig of Davenesse; and Acore ‘the Hard’ of Lincoln. The last man to cross the causeway was Siward Bjorn, the only
English magnate from the attack on York not to have submitted to William. True to the promise he had made to the Atheling in the Swale, he brought yet more men – over 150, a contingent he had been recruiting ever since he left Edgar over a year earlier.

Siward also brought news from the Atheling. The Prince was effusive in his praise for the Brotherhood, but asked to be excused from its stand at Ely. He was in Europe encouraging opposition to William and spending time with Philip of France, trying to persuade him of the threat posed by William to all men of decency and honour. Also, as he still regarded himself as the rightful heir and had ambitions to claim the crown for himself, he could not acknowledge William as King, even though he understood Hereward’s new position and admired the principles it represented. He sent the Brotherhood his full support and looked forward to the day when it would form his honour guard at his coronation at Westminster.

Siward was accompanied by a notable companion, Aethelwine, Bishop of Durham, who was to have crowned Edgar as King at York. Aethelwine was not originally a supporter of the rising, but the actions of William in the North had appalled and frightened him. He had been initially intimidated by the King’s ruthlessness, but when he heard of the Brotherhood at Ely, he found new heart and resolved to join him.

Edwin and Morcar, being of Danish descent, had found it difficult to accept the Cerdician domination of England. Both would have preferred a separate kingdom in the North and had been reluctant members of a federal England. However, after their ignominious defeat at Gate
Fulford at the hands of Hardrada, their ambitions had been compromised. In defence of their absence at Senlac Ridge, they argued that it would have been impossible for them to get there in time. They felt it would have been much wiser for Harold to have waited, built a bigger army and then asked for their help, which they said they would have readily given.

Nevertheless, they admitted that they had not rushed to join his cause, something they deeply regretted. Their submission to William was another act that now filled them with remorse. Having, at his insistence, been at court with him and seen and heard what he was doing to England, their distaste for him had grown immeasurably, as had their shame at their own capitulation.

After their exhaustive and emotional account, they both stood and made a formal address to all present.

Earl Edwin spoke first. ‘For anything we have done or not done that has put our homeland in jeopardy, or added to its pain, we beg forgiveness.’

Earl Morcar continued. ‘We join the Brotherhood of St Etheldreda willingly and pledge our support wholeheartedly.’

They both raised their drinking horns. ‘To the Brotherhood!’

Their toast was immediately echoed by the assembly. ‘To the Brotherhood!’

It took a week and a half for all the new arrivals to be added to the Roll of Honour. When it was done, the Brotherhood had well over 3,000 members.

They all knew that there was little or no chance of inflicting any kind of significant military defeat on King
William. Even so, they had chosen to stand on principle. Although 3,000 men was not an army strong enough to defeat the King, it was more than sufficient to make a din so loud it would be heard the length and breadth of the land and across Europe. At long last, the spirit of England, those proud traditions of Saxon, Celt and Dane, had emerged from the humiliation of defeat. William was attempting to make a people cower by butchering anyone who dared utter a sound in opposition. Now, a few good men were speaking out, despite the price they knew they would eventually have to pay.

When the warmer days arrived, Hereward ordered that the causeway, Ely’s lifeline, be destroyed. Ely would, like England itself, become an island again.

Once more, as he had in 1066, William would confront a military challenge across an expanse of water.

Throughout the early summer of 1071, the Norman army gathered around Ely and William’s newly commissioned ships sailed into fenland waters.

The fleet consisted of standard longships carrying butescarls, smaller, flat-bottomed boats to navigate shallow waterways, and vessels adapted to carry catapults and ballisti. There was also a flotilla stationed in the Wash to act as supply ships and to prevent any naval ambush by Danish or Scottish allies of the Brotherhood.

On land, William ordered permanent camps to be prepared on the solid ground around the Isle of Ely and assembled a formidable show of strength. There were 4,000 infantry, 40 squadrons of cavalry, 500 archers and crossbowmen, and an array of blacksmiths, sappers and
shipwrights. He had thought carefully about the assault; his planning, as always, was scrupulous. He intended to use catapults on any surrounding hillocks and islands that were within range of Ely and build tall towers for ballisti that could hurl stones, fire and boiling oil at the defenders. Finally, and most significantly, he intended to use pontoons to construct a new causeway for a final assault on the island.

When all the King’s forces were in position, the Brotherhood was heavily outnumbered. Just 3,000 defenders faced an amphibious Norman assault force of almost 8,000. Crucially, William was able to bring in more men, equipment and materiel to an all but limitless extent.

The first assault would come from ground to the south-east of the island. While archers and crossbowmen loosed hails of arrows, and catapults launched their projectiles on to the Isle, Norman sappers would build a new causeway to the island. It would be a floating pontoon to span a stretch of water almost 800 yards across. The causeway would have to fall short of the island by about 200 yards because of the threat from the arrows of the defenders, but William estimated that his horses could cope with the shallow water at that point and reach the island. When it was completed, William planned to mount a cavalry attack with infantry in support.

Hereward’s defence on the landfall side was a high peat bank and ditch. However, to prevent him massing too many defenders behind the bank, William planned simultaneous amphibious attacks all around the island, thinly stretching Hereward’s forces around Ely’s twenty-mile perimeter. Communications would be vital for the defenders, and
Martin Lightfoot’s messengers would have one of the most difficult tasks.

When, several weeks later, the pontoon was ready, William’s first cavalry attack, early on a clear June morning, was heralded by a single arrow shot high into the sky. Dawn had brought an amber glow to the water and the distant clouds were framed by golden sunbursts. There was silence, the meres and waterways of the Fens still, but the calm was soon interrupted by the rumble of heavy cavalry. As the riders began to cross the causeway, three abreast in tight formation, their horses’ hooves clattering on the timber of the new bridge sent a chilling echo around the Isle.

The attack was a hopeless failure.

William had to put a large body of cavalry on to the causeway for the attack to have any momentum, but the structure appeared unable to support such a volume of men and horses, especially in the middle where it crossed the much deeper course of the River Cam. The pontoon began to give way after about 250 yards, and the charge lost its discipline. The lead horses panicked and, within minutes, hundreds of men and their steeds were floundering in the murky waters and deep mud.

Few got out alive.

William ordered his senior engineer to be executed on the spot and twenty of his sappers were flogged in front of the entire army.

Although the design of the pontoon was flawed, what William did not know was that its imperfections were significantly exacerbated by Hereward’s cunning. Night after night, Alphonso and Hereward and their squads of saboteurs had slipped into the cold waters of the Great
Fen to partially sever the structure’s ropes and timbers beneath the waterline. Thanks to their handy work, the pontoon was doomed.

William rarely made mistakes, so to have made two in one day was unprecedented. Not only had he built an inadequate causeway, he had also failed to realize the significance of the day chosen for the attack. If he had owned an astrolabe, he would have known that it was the twenty-third day of June.