CHAPTER XV.

THE CASTLE AT CAM-BRIDGE AND A BATTLE.

When the Normans first came into England, the town of Cam-Bridge, or Grant-Bridge, was not the stately town which we have seen it since, nor was it the flourishing place which it had been in the time of the Saxon Heptarchy.[165] According to the Venerable Bede, Sebert, or Sigebert, King of the East Angles, by the advice of Felix the Bishop, instituted within his kingdom a school for learning, in imitation of what he had seen in France; and this school is believed to have been fixed on the very spot where the town of Cam-Bridge now stands.[166] Others there are who say that a school had flourished there in the time of the Romans, and that Sebert, or Sigebert, only restored this school in the year of our Lord six hundred and thirty. Certain it is that from a very early time Cam-Bridge was the residence of many students, who at first lived in apartments hired of the townspeople, and afterwards in inns or hostels of their own, where they formed separate communities, of which each was under its own head or principal. But in the fiery distraction of the Danish invasion of England, when abbats and monks and religious women were slaughtered at the feet of their own altars, and churches and abbeys and monasteries consumed, the pagan flames fell upon this quiet seat of learning, and left nothing behind but ashes and ruins. After this the place lay a long time neglected. There are some who write that when, about the year of grace nine hundred and twenty, King Edward, surnamed the Elder, and the eldest son and successor of Alfred the Great, repaired the ravages of the Danes at Cam-Bridge, he erected halls for students, and appointed learned professors; but these facts appear to be questionable, and it is thought that, although learning would no more abandon the place than the waters of the river Cam would cease to flow by it, the scholars were in a poor and insecure condition, and were living not in the halls or colleges of stately architecture, but under the thatched roofs of the humble burghers, when the blast of the Norman trumpets was first heard in the land. At that sound all humane studies were suspended. The town and territory round it were bestowed upon a Norman chief, and Norman men-at-arms were quartered in the houses which had lodged the students. But it was not until the third year after the battle of Hastings, when Duke William became sorely alarmed at the great strength of the Saxons, gathered or still gathering in the neighbouring isle of Ely, that Cam-Bridge felt to their full extent the woes attendant on wars and foreign conquest. Then it was made a great military station, and a castle was built to lodge more soldiers, and command and control the town and all the vicinity. Just beyond the river Cam, and opposite to the little township, there stood, as there still stands, a lofty barrow or mound of earth,[167] overgrown with green sward, and looking like those mounds which the traveller observes by Salisbury plains, and on the plain where the ancient city of Troy once stood. This great cone was not raised and shaped by nature. The common people, who will be for ever betraying their ignorance, said that the devil had made it, for some ridiculous purpose; but learned men opined that it had been raised by the ancient Britons[168] for some purpose of defence, or as some lasting monument to the great dead. When the Romans came and conquered the country, they had made an entrenched camp round about this mound, and had built a tower or guard-house upon the top of the mound; but these works had either been destroyed by the Danes or had been allowed to fall into decay and into ruin through the too great negligence of the Saxons. Now from top of this green hillock, looking across rivers and meres and flat fens, where the highest tree that grew was the marsh-willow, a good eye could see for many miles and almost penetrate into the recesses of the isle of Ely and the Camp of Refuge. The old Roman road or causeway, called the Ermine[169] Street, which led into the heart of the fen country, ran close under the mound and a little outside the trenches of the Roman camp. Seeing all the advantages of the spot, as a barrier for the defence of the country behind the Cam, and as an advanced position on the side of the country, and as a place of arms wherein might be collected the means of attacking the indomitable Camp of Refuge, the Normans cleared out the broad ditches which the Romans had dug, and which time and accident or design had filled up, restored the double circumvallation of earthen walls or embankments, erected a strong castle within, and raised the Julius, or keep or main tower of the castle, upon the summit of the mound, where the old Roman tower or guard-house had stood. They had not been allowed to do all this work without many interruptions and night-attacks of the daring people of the neighbouring fens, or by the bold Saxons who had fled for refuge into the isle of Ely. But when the work was finished the Normans boasted that they had bitted and bridled the wild Saxon horse of the fens. For some time past knights, and men-at-arms, and bowmen, and foot-soldiers, drawn from nearly every country in Europe to aid the son of Robert the Devil in conquering the little island of England, had been arriving at the entrenched camp and castle of Cam-Bridge; whither also had come from the city of London and from various of the towns and ports which had quietly submitted to the strangers, great convoys of provisions and stores of arms and armour and clothes; and all these aliens had been telling such of the English people as could understand them, and had not fled from the town, that they were going to assault the great house at Ely and the Camp of Refuge, and hang all the traitors and rebels they might find there, upon the willow trees. Nothing, however, could be undertaken in the land of marshes and rushes until the rainy season should be over and the waters somewhat abated. Now it happened this year that the rains ceased much earlier than was usual, and that the summer sun, as if impatient for empire, began to rule and to dry up the wet ground long before the season of spring was passed. There fell very little rain after the quinquane of Pasche,[170] but after the feast of Saint Walburga the Virgin there fell no rain at all, and the weather became uncommonly dry and hot. It was pleasant to the eye to see the waters of the Cam, the Ouse, the Welland, the Nene, the Witham, and the other rivers retiring as it were into their natural beds, and flowing very smoothly and clearly towards the great Wash; to see green meadows re-appear where pools and meres had been, and flocks and herds beginning to graze where boats and skerries and men walking upon tall stilts had been seen but a few weeks before; to see, as far as the eye could reach, a beautiful green prospect, with rich pastures, gliding rivers, and adornments of woods and islands. But if this was pleasant to the eye, it was not conducive to the security of the Saxon chiefs. On the vigil of Saint Bede the Venerable, priest and confessor, which falls on the twenty-seventh of the decades of May, Eustache of Ambleville, a Norman captain of high repute, who had come over with William and the first incomers, and had fought at the battle of Hastings, arrived at Cam-Bridge with more soldiers, and with orders from William to take the entire command of all the forces collected in the camp and castle. Eustache was so confident of an easy victory that he would not allow himself to think of the possibility of any defeat or reverse. As he looked from the top of the keep towards Ely, he said, triumphantly, “The waters are gone, and I am come. The Camp of Refuge is no more! In three days’ time we shall be feasting in the hall of this rebellious abbat, who hath so long defied us!” The other knights that were to follow him in this adventure were just as confident as Eustache of Ambleville, and the men-at-arms were already calculating how they should divide the spoil that was to be made at Ely. Little did they think how the shrine-boxes had all been emptied! Less still did they think of the great loss of goods they themselves were going to sustain!

Much did these Normans pretend to despise our Saxon fathers for their ignorance of the stratagems of war, and for their general dulness: and yet it must be confessed that they themselves gave very many proofs of ignorance and dulness, as well as of great negligence, the fruit of the unwise contempt in which they held their adversaries. Before the arrival of Eustache some few of the Normans had ridden along the causeway as far as they could conveniently go on horseback, but for the state of the country beyond their ride they trusted to mere report, taking no pains whatever to inform themselves accurately. They had all been told of the extraordinary deeds which Hereward had performed, but they gave the whole merit of these exploits to Crowland devils and other fiends and goblins that were not to be feared in summer weather or in daylight. They had been told that the Lord of Brunn was a well-skilled commander, but they would not believe that any Saxon whatsoever could be a great soldier. Instead of being cautious and silent as to their intended attack, they had been loudly proclaiming it on every side. Certes, Duke William was a knowing soldier himself, and one that did great things in war, being cautelous and discreet; but, wherever he was not, his chiefs in command did not much. It was rather for the sake of avoiding the heat of the day than for any other reason that Eustache resolved to begin his march at midnight. He did not think of surprising the Saxons, and, as for being surprised by them, he scornfully laughed at the notion. He wished, he said, that the rebels and traitors should know that he was coming, in order that they might collect all their forces in the camp, and so afford him the opportunity of destroying them all at one blow. His chief fear was that Hereward the Saxon would flee from the mere terror of his name.

On the midnight which followed the feast of Saint Bede the Normans began to issue from their castle and camp. There shone a bright moon along the causeway where they formed their array. First went a great troop of horse with lances and long pennants floating from them. Next went a body of archers bearing long bows and quivers well stocked with long arrows. Then followed a large and miserable company of Saxon serfs and hinds, who had been forcibly impressed into the service, and who were laden like beasts of burthen, carrying stores and provisions on their backs, and hurdles, and planks, and other pieces of timber, by means of which these too confident Normans hoped to be able to cross every ditch, stream, and river. After this unhappy company there marched another band of archers; and then there went another and still greater body of horse; and in the rear of all were more bowmen. As the raised road was very narrow the horsemen marched only two abreast, and the footmen only three abreast; and thus, as the total number of the army was great, the line was very long and thin; and the knights riding in the rear would seldom either hear or see what was passing in the van. Yet merrily and thoughtlessly they went on singing their Norman war-songs, their bridles ringing sharp and clear in the cool night air as if to accompany the music of their songs, and their bright lance-heads glinting in the moon-light: thus merrily and thoughtlessly until the van came abreast of Fenny Ditton, where the road or causeway was flanked on either side by a broad deep ditch or canal, and by a long belt of thick growing willows and alders. But here Eustache, and the other knights that rode in the van, heard a loud voice shouting in very good Norman-French—“Halt, horse and foot! No farther to-night! Saxons true do forbid your advance!” And, well nigh at the same moment those knights and soldiers that rode in the rear heard another loud voice shouting—“Halt, Normans! Halt ye must, but ye shall not get back to Cam-Bridge unless ye can swim the ditch.” It seemed as though some hollow willow-trees had spoken, for neither in front nor rear was there a man seen. But presently the loud voices spoke again, and a still louder voice was heard about mid-way between the two, and all the three voices cried—“Saxons, your bow-strings to your ears, and next a charge for England and Lord Hereward!” As soon as these words were heard in the centre, the Saxon serfs, whom the Normans had impressed, threw the provisions and stores they carried right across the broad ditches; threw down the hurdles and beams and timber on the road, and then, with a wild yell, rushed into the water and swam across to the covering of the trees. But in the centre those trees were all alive before these men reached them, and no sooner were they seen to be safe than a rush was made towards the ground which they had abandoned. All fen-men swim, but to make their passage the quicker light bridges were laid across the ditches, and moving from the right-hand side of the road and from the left-hand side two bodies of Saxons, well armed with bows and billhooks, established themselves on the causeway just where Eustache’s long line was broken. In vain did the Normans nearest to it think of closing up that fatal gap; the Saxon serfs had so thrown about their timber on the road that they could not cross it without falling or stumbling. The Saxons, who had just got into the gap, making themselves shields of the hurdles, fought fiercely with bill and bow, and their comrades behind the willow trees smote the thin Norman lines on both sides with their arrows. Eustache of Ambleville, without seeing or knowing that his army was cut in twain, went charging along the causeway with his van, the Saxon arrows rattling on their steel jackets all the while; for here, as in the centre and rear, every tree that grew on either side the road covered some Saxon bowman. But short was Eustache’s career, for he found the causeway cut away before his horse’s feet, and a trench much broader than any horse could leap, cut across from ditch to ditch; and beyond this trench was a good barricade formed of felled trees, after the fashion used by that true Saxon the late Lord Abbat of Saint Alban’s: and from behind that breastwork and across the trench there came such a flight of arrows and spears and javelins, and other missiles, that neither Eustache nor any of his people could stand it. Then the trumpet in the van sounded the retreat. The Norman knight, commanding in the rear, had sounded the retreat before this, and finding that he could not force his way forward, he had begun to retrace his steps towards Cam-Bridge Castle: but this rearward knight had not gone further in arrear than Eustache had careered in advance ere he found the road broken, and a barricade of freshly cut willow trees laid across it with bowmen and billmen behind it. Horsemen and archers being mixed, as in the van, the rear turned back again along the causeway, as if determined to drive the Saxons from off the road and so unite themselves with the van from which they were severed; and thus van and rear were moving in opposite directions—were rushing to meet and hustle against each other on that narrow way, even as waves beat against waves in a mighty storm. Their meeting would have been very fatal; but they could not meet at all, for the Saxons that had made the great gap had been reinforced from either side; they had made barricades of the timber, and they plied with their sharp archery the heads of both the Norman columns, while other Saxons assailed those columns on their flanks, and still another band throwing a flying-bridge over the chasm, where Eustache had been made to halt, and turn back, charged along the causeway, still shouting, “Hereward for England! Pikes, strike home, for the Lord of Brunn sees ye!” And foremost of all those pikes was the Lord Hereward himself, who shouted more than once, “Stop, Eustache! Run not so fast, Eustache of Ambleville! This is not the way to the Camp of Refuge!”

Broken, confused beyond all precedent of confusion, disheartened, assailed on every side, and driven to desperation, the Normans began to leap from the fatal narrow causeway into the ditches, where many of the heavily-armed men and divers knights were drowned. Some surrendered to Lord Hereward on the road, and were admitted to quarter. Others were killed in heaps; and the rest, succeeding in crossing the ditches, and in getting through the willow groves, ran for their lives across the open country towards Cam-Bridge. Dry as the season was, there were still many bogs and morasses in those plains, and into these many of the panic-stricken fugitives ran and sank up to their necks. As Girolamo, the Salernitan, led one of the parties of Saxons in pursuit, he muttered to himself in his own tongue, “Those Normans in English bogs look like so many Mariuses[171] in the marshes of Minturnum!” Those were the most fortunate that sank where the sedges grew thick, or the bulrushes concealed them. Those who showed their heads above the bog were for the most part slain by spears or arrows. In all, not one-third of the force, which Sir Eustache had led forth a few hours before with so much pride and confidence, got back alive to the camp and castle at Cam-Bridge: all the horses had been drowned or suffocated, or wounded, and rendered useless, or killed or taken. Provisions, stores, and all the implements of the army had been lost; and, although Eustache of Ambleville had escaped with life, he had left his standard behind him in the hands of the Lord Hereward, who, after this signal victory, returned in triumph, and with his spolia opima, to Ely Abbey, where the monks in the choir sang “Te Deum Laudamus.”

As for Eustache of Ambleville, he soon quitted the command of the post at Cam-Bridge, and cursing the Fen Country, as a place where knights and horses were of no use, he made the best haste he could back to London city. For many a long day the Normans left at Cam-Bridge would not venture outside the walls of their castle.

It boots not to tell of what became of that other Norman force collected in Huntingdon for the invasion of the isle of Ely. Was it not overthrown and totally discomfited at Fenny Stanton? And was not this, and were not other victories gained by the Saxons from the Camp of Refuge, recited in the songs in praise of Lord Hereward, which the Saxon people now began to sing about the streets of our cities and great towns, even in the hearing of their Norman oppressors?