Conquest (51 page)

William bellowed to his knights and Edmund was cut down.

Hereward cried out in desperation. ‘Stop! Stop this killing! It is me you want, my Lord King. You are right, I have spoken for the justice of kings, and I am now ready to receive it. Kill me now; let it be an end to it. Spare the others, spare my family, I beg you, William, King of England, Duke of Normandy, I beseech you.’

‘So it is true, you do acknowledge my sovereignty of this land.’

‘I do, sire, I did many months ago. What we fought for here was the right to be fairly treated as Englishmen.’

‘How could I have failed to hear? You made such a din about it all over my kingdom! It is good that you now beg before your King, because I intend to make you pay for your conceit.’ William turned to his knights. ‘Have him lashed!’

Hereward was held down while his bindings were removed and he was stripped of his armour and clothes. His hands and elbows were tied again, and he was strapped to a post where he was flogged repeatedly.

His family screamed and begged the King to show mercy. He ignored them, not even glancing in their direction. Hereward did not cry out; his only sounds were deep intakes of breath to counter the searing pain of each blow. Eventually, he lost consciousness.

A pail of cold water brought Hereward back to consciousness with a shudder.

Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, then barked a question at him. ‘What say you now about the King’s justice, Hereward of Bourne?’

Hereward answered with difficulty. ‘I say the King has the right to administer justice as our sovereign lord. But he also has the responsibility to administer that justice according to the dictates of his own conscience. I would ask him this: is his justice compassionate?’

William rose in a fury, picked up his Baculus and strode towards Hereward.

As he lifted the huge mace, Hereward made himself as upright as he could and looked William in the eye. ‘Strike well for England, my Lord King. Do what you think is right.’

William took aim but, as he did so, a flicker of light from the many torches that had been brought to the ever-darkening scene was reflected in the Talisman that still hung from Hereward’s neck.

William saw the face of the Devil.

He stopped, suddenly intimidated, remembering the stories he had heard about the charm that the English leader carried around his neck. The Baculus hovered above Hereward’s head for several moments before the King let it fall to his side.

‘Lock up the women and children. Leave Hereward of Bourne where he is – no food, no water, no fire. He is to be guarded at all times. We shall see how defiant he is in the morning.’

*

By dawn the next day, Hereward was a pitiful sight; still naked and deathly pale, he shivered uncontrollably. Although the lacerations on his back had dried, early morning rain had moistened them and they stung sharply from the salt of his perspiration.

King William appeared with his retinue about an hour after dawn. Hereward’s family members were once again brought forward. They were calmer than the night before, but only through exhaustion. So that he could fully comprehend what he was about to witness, Hereward was roused by ice-cold water and a few well-aimed kicks.

Loaded on to carts, the survivors of the final redoubt of the Brotherhood were paraded before their stricken leader. Earl Morcar was shackled hand and foot, gagged and blindfolded, but he was the only man still whole. All the others had been tortured and brutalized. Some had had their eyes gouged out, others had lost hands, tongues, ears, or feet; all had been whipped and beaten. Hereward recognized almost all of them: Siward Bjorn, Bruhar the Brave, Wolnatius, Siward the Blond – ninety men, England’s finest, now mutilated such that few had much chance of survival.

‘So, Hereward of Bourne, this is what has become of your “Brotherhood”. This is what happens to men who dare to challenge me in my own domain.’

Hereward’s words came slowly from the edge of consciousness. ‘You can’t kill all Englishmen. Eventually, you will have to accept that strong kingdoms are those that are ruled with the goodwill of their subjects.’

William turned ever more puce. He walked over to Hereward and bellowed at him. ‘Is there no limit to your defiance?’

‘Sire, I beg you. I beg for compassion for the people of England.’ Hereward slumped against the post to which he was still bound.

‘Drag him into the cloisters! Bring the family!’

William led the procession into the broad cloisters of Ely Abbey, long since deserted by the citizens of Ely. Still under the care of Bishop Aethelwine, they had dispersed to their homes around the burgh – safe, for the time being, from the King’s wrath.

Hereward was on the threshold of death as he was dragged into the Chapel of St Etheldreda and thrown at the base of her tomb. Gunnhild and Estrith were pulled from the others, dragged into the chapel and spreadeagled over the image of the virgin martyr. Once more, Hereward was revived. This time, cold water was not sufficient and they had to use hot torches on his feet until he regained consciousness sufficiently to hear the King’s enraged voice.

‘Will you, Hereward of Bourne, sacrifice your children for the Oath of the Brotherhood?’

Hereward failed to respond and the King bellowed more loudly.

‘Will you sacrifice your brood for the Oath of the Brotherhood?’

As Hereward raised his head, he could see two of William’s henchmen, each with a sword to the throat of his girls.

‘They will die here and now on the Virgin’s tomb unless you renounce the Oath of the Brotherhood.’

William was shaking and sweating, his voice tremulous with rage. Estrith and Gunnhild screamed as he shouted his demands; their cries echoed around the abbey.

Hereward summoned enough strength to speak. ‘I will not renounce the Oath! Too many have died for our cause for me to reject it now. Spare my children. They are innocent of any crime; they have not offended you in any way.’

The King stepped forward and placed a gold piece on the breast of St Etheldreda. He grabbed the Talisman from Hereward’s neck and placed it over the rosary beads on her hands. One of his knights brought him the Great Axe of Göteborg and William clasped it firmly in both hands.

‘With this offering to St Etheldreda, I, William, King of England, Duke of Normandy, strike down this traitor and his kith and kin. In so doing, I bring to an end this Brotherhood and all it stands for. So help me God.’

William raised the Great Axe of Göteborg above his head and aimed it at Hereward’s neck. His two knights pulled back their swords, ready to strike at the throats of Gunnhild and Estrith, who screamed in horror.

‘My Lord King, spare my girls. Strike me down, but spare them.’

‘Renounce the Oath!’

‘I cannot! Saying the words to save my children will not negate the Oath. You cannot deny truth with an act of violence. And I cannot reject it with an act of expediency.’

‘So be it.’ William flexed the Great Axe, ready to swing it.

At that moment, a shaft of sunlight burst through the window, caught a reflection from the Great Axe and illuminated the opposite wall. The chapel shone with an amber glow. The light reflected on the crucifix of St Etheldreda’s rosary, casting a beam through the Talisman that lay on her hands. William looked at the amulet and saw the crimson
flash across the face of the Devil. He was horrified, but transfixed by it, unable to turn away until, after several moments, he blinked and shook his head, trying to gather his senses. As he did so, he was blinded by the dazzling sunbeams now pouring in through the windows, filling the chapel with light.

Suddenly panic-stricken, the King dropped the Great Axe, sending it crashing to the stone floor with a deafening clang that reverberated around Ely like a bell ringing in Hell. The knights who were about to strike the girls dropped their swords, multiplying the discordant clash of steel on stone. All the King’s men took flight and spilled out into the cloisters, leaving William alone.

Moments later, he staggered breathlessly from the chapel, his ruddy, blotchy countenance suddenly deathly white. He felt a vice-like pain tightening around his chest, jagged jolts running down his arms and, no more than five yards from the chapel, he collapsed to the ground, uttering just one sentence before slipping into unconsciousness.

‘Seal the chapel; no one goes in or out.’

31. The Reckoning

Gunnhild and Estrith were locked in the virgin martyr’s chapel with their stricken father. They soon gathered their composure and began to think about how to cope with their confinement. Outside, the Normans ran around in disarray, convinced their King had been struck down by a holy visitation wrought by St Etheldreda.

William was hurried away to his headquarters on Belsar’s Hill, where his physicians attended him. Guards were posted outside the chapel, while, inside, the girls began to care for their father. They covered his nakedness with the altar cloth and kept him warm by cutting a hole in the thatch above and starting a fire, using candles as kindling and benches as firewood. They cleaned his wounds with communion wine, prepared a crude vegetable soup from the harvest offerings at the foot of the martyr’s tomb and washed him with water from the baptismal font.

Gradually Hereward gained some strength; not so, William.

The King was only fit to leave his bed over a week after the mysterious events in St Etheldreda’s Chapel. Dressed in full armour, he donned his royal regalia and rode into Ely in great pomp. However, he entered St Etheldreda’s Chapel cautiously, with only Robert, Count of Mortain, his half-brother and most trusted lieutenant, for company.

Gunnhild and Estrith, who sat either side of their father, moved closer to him as the King appeared. William was still pale and vapid. Hereward, however, looked alert and tolerably comfortable. His daughters had done a remarkable job in keeping him alive.

The King looked around nervously and beckoned to Robert of Mortain to take the girls outside. Looking back anxiously, they struggled and screamed, but had no choice.

The Talisman still lay across St Etheldreda’s praying hands. The gold piece was still on the virgin’s breast, and the rosary still decorated her clasped fingers.

‘You have put a spell on this place, Hereward of Bourne. The hand of the Devil is at work in this chapel.’

‘There are no devils here; there is only goodness in this place.’

‘You conjured a trick to deceive me. Your wife was a sorceress; her girls have inherited her proficiency in the black arts.’

‘This has nothing to do with the black arts. It is about truth and justice.’

William inhaled a deep sigh, sat down on a bench and stared at St Etheldreda’s tomb. He suddenly seemed vulnerable. ‘I was born the son of a duke, but my mother was a tanner’s daughter from Falaise. I have had to fight all my life to be recognized as the rightful heir to the Dukedom of Normandy. Now I am a king but, again, I have to fight to be accepted. Why won’t the English recognize me? Why?’

‘Sire, Normandy is used to being ruled with an iron fist. England is a different land, with a diversity of people,
languages and customs. England has always been ruled according to ancient traditions: that its rulers can be challenged; that oppression is to be resisted; and that independence is to be cherished. This is the land you have won in battle; it is very different from Normandy. You must understand that.’

‘Would you have let your daughters die when I challenged you?’

‘I had no choice, sire. I could not renounce a sacred oath under pain of death – either theirs or mine. I hope Gunnhild and Estrith, young as they are, understand that. It is a terrible thing for a father to place his daughters in mortal danger, but that peril was wrought by you, not by me.’

The King stood. ‘Something happened to me in this chapel. Whether it was visited upon me by God, the Devil, St Etheldreda or the Talisman, I do not know, but it was real. I saw a vision of Christ’s blood and a blinding light. I felt pain, like a giant hand gripping my chest. I couldn’t breathe; I believe the Hand of God was telling me to stop.’

‘Then listen to it, sire.’

The King walked towards the window of the chapel. ‘Hereward of Bourne, I acknowledge the hand that stayed my arm. Although you may be surprised to hear this, I have considered what you have said to me. The resistance of the English has made me think. They surprised me at Senlac Ridge, and the defence of Ely by your Brotherhood has been beyond my comprehension. You are an exceptional man. I have never regarded anyone as my equal. When I was a child, I feared everyone, because of the endless plots to kill me and take my dukedom. When I became a man, I had the strength and desire to make other men bend to my will; there was no room
for respect, let alone for the recognition of an equal. But I respect you, Hereward of Bourne. You are the only man I have met who shares my determination and resilience.’

The King paused. There was a glimmer of compassion in him as he looked at Hereward.

‘I will not change – I am too old for that – but I will acknowledge that the English are worthy of my respect. There are things about them that I have come to admire. I will not forget; my fellow Normans will not forget.’

Hereward sighed. At long last, at the cost of thousands of lives, including those of his loyal comrades and closest friends, the King had relented. It might have been divine intervention, the mystical influence of Torfida and her father, or simply a stroke of good fortune created by nature; regardless, the King had conceded.

Hereward thought about the Old Man of the Wildwood and his long journey with Torfida and the Talisman. Now, it all made sense.

‘I am going to spare you, Hereward of Bourne.’

‘But, sire, I cannot live when all around me have died. I will happily face execution. My journey is at an end.’

‘You have no choice; I have made my decision. You will not die here and become the focus of more English resistance. If there are more risings, I will have to suppress them as ruthlessly as I have suppressed this one; you cannot want that. You must leave this land, never to return, your whereabouts always an enigma. Hereward of Bourne must fade away as mysteriously as he, his wife and their infernal amulet appeared. In exchange, I will spare you and your family. Most importantly, and this is my real concession to you, I will endeavour to understand this land and its people.’