CHAPTER XXII.

HEREWARD BRINGS CORN AND WINE TO ELY.

There was no cloister-monk of Ely that better knew the legends of the house than Elfric, for his father, Goodman Hugh, who had dwelt by saint Ovin’s cross, and his father’s father who had dwelt in the same place, had been great fenners and fowlers and gossips, and had hawked with the best of the abbats and monks, and had stored their memories with the history of the abbey and the saints of Ely, and had amused and sanctified the long winter-nights, when the fire of wood mixed with peat burned brightly on their hearth, by relating to little Elfric all the legends that they knew. Now there was one of these which had made a profound impression upon Elfric’s mind, which, by nature, loved adventure and ingenious stratagem. It was a short tale, and simple withal, and easy to tell.

Saint Withburga, the fourth in order of the four great female saints that were and are the ornaments and shining lights of the great house, did not live and die as her sister Saint Etheldreda had done, at Ely, and as Lady Abbess. In her infancy she was sent to nurse at a village called Holkham, belonging to the king her father, Anna, king of the East Angles. In this place she lived many years, whence the village of Holkham was sometimes called Withburgstowe, and a church was built there in memory of her. On the death of the king her father, which befel in the year of grace six hundred and fifty-four, Withburga removed from Holkham to Dereham, another village in the country of East Anglia; and here, affecting a retired and religious life, she founded a monastery of nuns, over which she presided for many years. Peaceful and holy was her life, and blessed was her end. When she died, they buried her there, in the churchyard at Dereham.[221] And lo! after many more years had passed, and the other tenants of this churchyard and even those that had been buried long after had mouldered into dust, the grave of Withburga being opened, her body was found entire and without the slightest sign of corruption! Aye, there she lay in her shroud and coffin, with her hands crossed upon her breast, and with her little crucifix of silver lying upon her breast, even as she had lain on the bier on the day of her death so many, many years before. The saintly incorruptible body was forthwith removed into the church, where it was preserved with great care and devotion by the good people of Dereham, and it continued there, not without manifold miracles, until the time of that pious monarch King Edgar,[222] who restored the monastery at Ely, which the Danes had burned, and gave the house that precious charter which hath been named before as not being given privately and in a corner, but in the most public manner and under the canopy of Heaven. Now, in restoring the abbey of Ely to its pristine splendour, and in augmenting the number of the brotherhood, it behoved the king to increase the lands and domains of the house; and, conformably, the pious Edgar (may all his sins be forgiven for the good he did the church!) conferred on the abbey of Ely the village of Dereham, with all its demesnes and appendages, and with the church wherein the body of the virgin Saint Withburga was preserved and venerated by the people of Dereham[223] and by all the good Saxon people round about. Now the Lord Abbat on that day, having the grant of Dereham and all that appertained to it, could not feel otherwise than very desirous of getting possession of the body of the saint in order to translate it to Ely and there place it by the side of the body and shrine of the blessed Etheldreda. The saintly virgin sisters had been separated in their lives and ought to be united in death; Ely Abbey could offer a more noble shrine than the small dependent church at Dereham; it was proper too, and likewise was it profitable, that the pilgrims and devotees to their four female saints of East Anglia should always come to Ely instead of going sundry times a-year to Dereham, as had been the custom, and that all the four shrines should be under one roof, and the contents of the shrine-boxes poured into one common treasury. All this had been laid before the king, and the pious Edgar, who never meant that others should keep what he had bestowed upon his beloved house of Ely, had given his royal licence for the translation of the body of Saint Withburga to the abbey. But the Lord Abbat, being a prudent and cautelous man, and taking counsel of his brother the bishop of Winchester and of other wise and peace loving men, came to this wise conclusion:—That, inasmuch as it was not likely that the people of Dereham and that vicinage would part with so valuable a treasure without resistance, if the intended translation should be made publicly known to them, it would be expedient and commendable, and accordant with the peaceable character of monks, to steal away the body privately, and to admit none but a few of the most active and prudent of the cloister-monks of Ely into the secret beforehand. Accordingly no notice was given to the hinds and in-dwellers at Dereham, nor was there any mention made of the great matter outside of the Aula Magna of Ely Abbey; and on the day appointed the Lord Abbat and some of the most active and prudent of the monks, attended by the sturdiest loaf-eaters of the abbey all well armed, and after hearing mass in the abbey church, set out on their journey to steal the body of the saint; and on their arrival at Dereham they were received with great respect by the inhabitants, who thought that they had come simply to take possession of the place in virtue of the king’s charter and donation, and who suspected no further design. The Lord Abbat, as lord and proprietor and chief, temporal as well as spiritual, held a court for the administration of justice in the manner usual with bishops and abbats, and according to the wise and good laws of our Saxon kings. And after this public court of justice, wherein such as had stolen their neighbours’ goods were condemned to make bot, the bountiful Lord Abbat bade the good people of Dereham to a feast. And while the good folk of Dereham were eating and drinking, and making merry, and were thinking of nought but the good meat and abundant drink before them, the sturdy loaf-eaters from Ely, unwatched and unnoticed, and working in great stillness, were making those preparations for the translation which they had been ordered to make. And, at the time pre-concerted and fixed, my Lord Abbat and his active and prudent monks took occasion to withdraw from the carousing company in the hall, and immediately repaired to the church under colour of performing their regular devotions. But they left the service of Nones unsaid for that day, taking no heed of the canonical hours, but getting all things ready for the happy and peaceful translation. After a time the abbat and his prudent monks returned to the company and caused more drink to be brought into the hall, still farther to celebrate the happy day of his lordship’s taking possession. The whole day having been spent in feasting and drinking, and dark night coming on apace, the company retired by degrees, every man to his own house or hut, his home or present resting place: and thereupon the monks went again to the church, opened the tomb (of which the fastenings had been forced), opened the coffin, and devoutly inspected the body of Saint Withburga, and having inspected and revered it they closed up the coffin again, and got everything in readiness for carrying it off. About the middle of the night, or between the third and fourth watch when the matutina or lauds are begun to be sung, the coffin in which the body of the saint was inclosed, was put upon the shoulders of the active and prudent monks, who forthwith conveyed it with great haste and without any noise-making to a wheeled car which had been provided for that purpose. The coffin was put into the car, the servants of the abbat were placed as guards round about the car to defend it, the Lord Abbat and the monks followed the car in processional order, other well-armed loaf-eaters followed the abbat and the monks; and in this order they set forward for Brandon. The journey was long and anxious, but when they came to the village of Brandon and to the bank of the river which leads towards the house of Ely, they found ready and waiting for them the boats which the abbat had commanded, and immediately embarking with their precious treasure they hoisted sail and made ply their oars at the same time. In the meanwhile the men of Dereham, having recovered from the deep sleep and the confusion of ideas which are brought on by much strong drink, had discovered that the monks of Ely had stolen the body of Saint Withburga. Hullulu! never was such noise heard in so small a place before. Every man, woman, and child in Dereham was roused, and ran shrieking to the empty tomb in the church, and at the sound of the horn, all the people from all the hamlets and homesteads near unto the pleasant hill of Dereham came trooping in with bills and staves, not knowing what had happened, but fancying that the fiery Dane was come again. But when they saw or were told about the empty tomb, the people all shouted “Who hath done this deed? Who hath stolen the body of our saint?” Now no one could gainsay that the Abbat of Ely with his monks had done it. A serf who had gone early a-field to cut grass while the dew was on it, had met the car and the procession on the road between Dereham and Brandon; and what was of more significance, the presbyter or mass-priest of the church of Dereham, coming to the communion-table found upon it a piece of parchment whereon was written these words: “I, Abbat of Ely and Lord of Dereham, by and with the consent and approval of Edgar the King, have translated the body of Saint Withburga, to be hereafter kept in Ely Abbey with increased pomp, worship, and reverence; and this, oh presbyter of Dereham, is my receipt for the blessed body aforesaid.” Then, I wis, were heard words of much irreverence from the ignorant and rustical people of the place! Some of them stopped not in calling the right excellent abbat a thief, a midnight robber, a perturbator of the peace of saints, a violator of the tombs of the saints! Nor did they spare King Edgar more than the abbat, saying that although he might by his kingly power and without wrong grant to the house at Ely their lands and services, and even their church, he had no right to give away the body of their saint, and order it to be removed out of their church, wherein it had reposed for thrice one hundred years; and they all presently agreed to pursue the abbat and the monks, and endeavour to recover the prey. And so, arming themselves with whatsoever weapons they could most readily meet with, they all poured out of Dereham, and took the shortest way to Brandon.[224] They were brisk men these folk of the uplands, well exercised in the game of bowls, and in pitching the bar, and in running and leaping, and in wrestling on the church-green; they were light-footed men these men of Dereham; but although they ran their best it was all too late when they got to Brandon, for the monks had got a long way down the river with the saint’s body. Nevertheless the Dereham folk continued the chase; they divided themselves into two bands or parties, and while one party ran down one bank of the river, the other ran down on the opposite side. They even came abreast of the Lord Abbat’s boats, and got near enough to see the pall which covered the coffin that contained the body of their saint; but the river being here broad and deep, and they being unprovided with boats (the prudent abbat had taken care for that), they could not get at the coffin or at the monks; and so, after spending some time on the banks shaking their bill-hooks and staves, and uttering threats and reproaches till they were tired, they gave up the pursuit as hopeless, and began to return home with sad and very angry hearts. The Lord Abbat and the monks of Ely continued their voyage without molestation.[225] They landed safely on the same day, about a mile from Ely Abbey, at the place called Tidbrithseie, but which men do now call Turbutsey.[226] Here they were received with great joy and triumph by all sorts of people, who came down to the waterside, with the monks and mass-priests, to meet them, for all the in-dwellers of Ely town, and all the people that dwelt near it, were as glad to get the body of the saint as the people of Dereham were grieved to lose it. And at eventide, or about compline or second vespers, on this self-same day, the body and coffin of the saint, being put upon another car, was conveyed by land from Turbutsey to Ely, and into the abbey, with solemn procession and the singing of praises to God, and was then, with all due reverence and a _Te Deum Laudamus_ in the choir, deposited in the abbey-church next to Saint Etheldreda, and near unto Saint Sexburga and Saint Ermenilda. Now this happy translation of Saint Withburga’s body took place on the eighth of the month of July, in the year of our Lord nine hundred and seventy-four. And is not the day of this translation ever observed as a high festival by the monks of Ely? Much did the Lord Abbat congratulate himself on his success; and well he might, for translations of the like kind, as well before his time and since, have often been attended with fighting and bloodshed, nay, with great battles between party and party, and the death of many baptized men! But through the good policy and great wisdom of this our Lord Abbat there was not a man that had either given or received so much as a blow from a staff or cudgel. Head-aches there had been at Dereham on first waking in the morning, but these had proceeded only from the over-free use of the abbat’s strong drinks, and were cured by the fresh morning air and the good exercise the men got in running after their saint. _Decus et decor, divitiæ et miracula omnia_—credit, grace, and ornament, riches and many miracles, did the saint bring to the house of Ely! And mark the goodness and bounty of the saint in making heavenly bot to the good folk of Dereham! There, in the churchyard, and out of the grave wherein Withburga had been first buried, sprang up a curing miraculous well to cure disorders of the spirit as well as of the flesh. And have its waters ever ceased to flow, and is it not called Saint Withburga’s well?[227] albeit the vulgar do name it, now-a-days, the well of Saint Winifred.

Now it was in thinking upon this legend that Elfric, the sword-bearer of the Lord of Brunn, was brought to turn his thoughts upon the now well-peopled town and well-cultivated fields of the upland of Dereham; and thus thinking, and knowing the store of wine and corn that might be had in that vicinage, he had proposed to his lord to make a foray in that direction, and to proceed, in part, after the manner in which the Lord Abbat of the olden time had proceeded when he went to steal away the body of the saint. And Elfric had been thanked by the Lord Hereward for his suggestion, and had been called into council as well as Girolamo, and had given many hints as to the best means of carrying out the good plan of robbing the Saxons of Dereham (who had rather tamely submitted to the Normans), in order to feed the monks of Ely and the Saxons of the Camp of Refuge.

Because of the many waters and the streams that cut up the country into the form and appearance of some great _echec_[228] board, Duke William had not been able to make his line of beleaguerment quite so perfect and strong on this side of the Fen-country as he had done on the other sides; but he had posted a good number of archers and spearmen on the uplands beyond the fens, and between Swaffham and Dereham, and upon these he relied for checking the incursions of the Saxons, and keeping them out of countries abounding with supplies. Now Lord Hereward had caused to be collected a good number of skerries and other light and fast boats, even as the good abbat had done aforetime, and these boats had been sent up the river by night to the vicinage of Brandon, where, with the brave fellows on board of them, they lay concealed among the tall rushes. And while the Lord of Brunn, crossing the rivers and meres, collected a good force in front of Swaffham, which would not fail of drawing all the Norman troops towards that one point, his sword-bearer and the Salernitan were to make rapidly for Brandon with more men, and from Brandon to make for Dereham; so timing their movements, in small parties and along different paths, that they should all meet in the churchyard and by Saint Withburga’s well at midnight of a moonless night, when the town would be buried in sleep.

On the day next after that on which the evil-minded prior of Ely had formally accused Girolamo of witchcraft, and had spoken so daringly against the Lord Abbat, Hereward marched from the Camp of Refuge with only a few men, his intention being to increase his strength on his march; and well did he know that at the sounding of his horn, and at the sight of his banner, the hardy fenners would follow him whithersoever he might choose to lead. The gleemen and menestrels who sang the songs which had been made in honour of him were the best and surest recruiters for the army of the Lord of Brunn. They were ever going from township to township, with their voices and harps, or Saxon lyres. They were small townships these in the fenny countries, and rustical and wild. The fashion of house-building had little changed here since the days of the ancient Britons: the houses or huts were of a round shape, and not unlike the form of bee-hives; they had a door in front, and an opening at top to let out the smoke, but window to let in the light was there none; the walls were made of wattle and dab, the roofs of rushes and willow branches cut in the fens; but the better sort of the houses had stone foundations and rough stone pillars and traves for the door-way, the stone having been brought from the quarry belonging to Peterborough Abbey, or from some other distant quarry. Yet these poor houses were not so comfortless within as might have been prejudged by those who only saw the outside; the hides of the cattle, the fleeces of the sheep, and the skins of the deer, and the abounding feathers of the fen-fowl were good materials for warm covering and warm clothing; neither turf nor wood for firing was ever lacking in those parts, and the brawny churls that came forth from the townships, blowing their blast-horns, or shouting for the Lord of Brunn, or brandishing their fen poles over their heads, did not look as if they were scant of meat, or fasted more frequently than mother church prescribed. At the same time Elfric and Girolamo, with their party, began their devious, roundabout march for Brandon, being instructed to keep as much out of sight even of the country people as was possible, and to shun any encounter with the Normans, even though tempted by ever so favourable an opportunity. Hereward had said to them, “Our present business is to get corn and wine for the abbey, and not to fight. Be cautious and true to time, and diverge not a hair’s breadth from the plan which hath been laid down. Conjoint or combined operations fail oftener through vanity and conceit than through any other cause. But ye be not men of that sort; ye will get your stores down to the boats at Brandon by daybreak to-morrow morning, or between lauds and prime, and I shall then have made my retreat, and be upon the bank of the river[229] between Hockwold and Brandon, and ready to give ye the hand if it should be needful. Elfric, mind keep thy swinging hanger in its sheath, and think only of bread and wine!” And unto these, the parting words of their lord and captain, the sword-bearer and the Salernitan had both said, “Upon our souls be it!” And well did they redeem their solemn pledge. The wise monks who went to steal away the body of the saint were hardly so prudent and cautelous. Elfric even eschewed the marvellous temptation of falling upon a young Norman knight that was riding along the high-road between Brandon and Dereham, attended by only two men-at-arms and a horse-boy. By keeping under cover, and by creeping in little parties of twos or threes across the country where there was no cover to conceal them, the forayers all got safely into the churchyard and to St. Withburga’s well at midnight. The Lord of Brunn, who had not sought concealment, but had taken the most direct and open road, and exposed his movement as much as he could do, had got behind Swaffham by the hour of sunset, and had made such a hubbub and kindled such a fire in the country between Swaffham and Castle Acre that all the Normans had marched off in that direction, even as had been anticipated. Even the young knight and his attendants, whom Elfric had let pass on the road, had spurred away for Castle Acre, which, at one time, was reported to be on fire. In this sort there was not a Norman left in Dereham; and as for the Saxons of the town, after wondering for a season what was toward, they came to the conclusion that it was business which did not concern them, and so went quietly to their beds—the burgher and the freeman to his sheets of strong brown linen, and the hind and serf to his coverlet of sheep-skins or his bed of straw. The snoring from the little township was so loud that a good ear could hear it in the church-yard; the very dogs of the place seemed all asleep, and there was not a soul in Dereham awake and stirring except a grey-headed old Saxon, who came with horn lantern in one hand and a big wooden mallet in the other to strike upon the church bell which hung in a little round tower apart, but not far from the church. As the old man came tottering among the graves and hillocks of earth, behind which the foraying party was all concealed, Elfric whispered to Girolamo, “For this night the midnight hour must remain untold by church-bell in Dereham. We must make capture of this good grey-beard, and question him as to where lie the most stores, and where the best horses and asses.”

And scarcely were the words said or whispered ere Girolamo had fast hold of the bell-knocker on the one side, and Elfric on the other. The patriarch of Dereham was sore affrighted, and would have screamed out if Elfric had not thrust his cap, feather and all, into his open mouth. Gaffer continued to think that he was clutched by goblins or by devils; as the dim and yellow light from the horn lantern fell upon the sharp dark face of the Salernitan, the old fellow, fortified in his belief, shook and trembled like leaves of the witch-elm, or more tremulous aspen, and nearly swooned outright. Elfric took the cap out of his mouth, and let go the right arm of the old man, who thereupon took to crossing himself, and muttering some fragment of a Saxon prayer potent against evil spirits.

“Father,” said Elfric, who was now holding the horn lantern, “Father, we be no evil spirits or goblins, but honest Saxons from the Camp of Refuge come to seek corn and wine for the good monks of Ely; so tell us where we can best provide ourselves, and find cattle to carry our store down to Brandon. Come, quick, good Gaffer, for the time presses!”

When the old man looked into the merry laughing face of the ruddy-cheeked, fair-haired sword-bearer, his dread evanished, for there was no believing such a face to belong to any body or thing that was evil. Gaffer, moreover, bethought himself that he had never yet heard of spirit, ghost, or goblin asking for bread and wine. In brief, the old hind was very soon comforted altogether, and having no corn or wine of his own, and no great love for those that had, he soon gave all the information that was demanded of him; and this being got, Elfric gave a low whistle, and the armed Saxons started up from their hiding places behind the grave mounds, and Saint Withburga’s well, and other parts and corners of the churchyard, and ranged themselves in battle-array, and marched into the one long single street of the town. The houses of Dereham, in this dry and rich upland country, were better than the houses in the fens, but still most of them were small, and low, and poor, and rudely covered with thatch. Some larger and better houses there were, and of most of these the Norman chiefs and their soldiers had taken possession. The presbyter or mass-priest and the borhman[230] had, however, kept the good houses that were their own, and they had granaries with corn in them, and cellars holding both wine and ale, and barns and yards behind their houses, and stables, that were not empty; but these it was resolved not to touch, except, perhaps, for the purpose of borrowing a horse or two to carry the corn and the wine, that might be gotten elsewhere, down to the boats below Brandon. While Girolamo remained with one good party at the end of the street watching the road which leads into the town from Swaffham and Castle Acre, Elfric with another party of the merry men proceeded right merrily to levy the contribution. He began with the Norman houses. Here the Saxon serfs, though somewhat alarmed when first roused from their deep sleep, not only threw open their doors with alacrity, but also led Elfric’s people to the cellars and store-houses. Nay, upon a little talk with the fen-men, and after an agreement made between them that the doors should be broken as if violence had been used, and some resistance attempted, they threw open all parts of the houses, stables, and outhouses, and assisted their countrymen in packing up their booty, in harnessing the horses and asses, as well as in other necessary offices. Not a murmur was heard until they came to visit some of the houses of the freed-men of Dereham. These men, who had some small stores of their own, were more angered than comforted by being told that the corn was to make bread for the monks of Ely; for, strange and wicked as it may appear, it was nevertheless quite true, that in Dereham the translation of Saint Withburga’s body had never been forgiven, but was still held as a piece of cheating and thievery, notwithstanding the heavenly bot or compensation of the miraculous well, and in spite of King Edgar’s charter, and the subsequent approval of our lord the Pope, and maugre the fact obvious to all men that the saint was better lodged at Ely than ever she could have been in this little church. In truth, those freemen made an exceeding great clamour. “To the devil with the monks of Ely for us,” said they. “In the bygone times they came to Dereham and treacherously stole away the body of our saint by night, and now they send armed men to break upon our sleep and carry off our grain!”

Elfric bade them remember and mind that the Lord Abbat of Ely was lord and proprietor of Dereham, and that they were or ought to be his liege men; and as they continued to complain, and to say that they wished the Normans would soon get back from Swaffham and Castle Acre, Elfric broke the pates of two or three of them with one of their own staves. But nowhere could these men do more than grumble; their numbers being but small, and the serfs being mostly on the other side: moreover, arms had they none, their friends the Normans having taken care of that. Having found cattle enough elsewhere, Elfric would not molest the mass-priest, who slept so soundly that he heard nothing of what was passing, and knew nothing of the matter until Elfric had gotten down to the little Ouse, or twenty good miles from Dereham.

It was midnight when the fen-men arrived at Dereham town, and before prime they were below Brandon, and loading their boats with the corn and wine which had previously loaded a score of good upland pack-horses, and more than a score of dapple asses. “This,” said Elfric, “is not a bad lift for one night’s work! I should like to see the face of the Normans when they return from Swaffham and Castle Acre into Dereham!”

Even Girolamo seemed merry, and almost smiled, as he counted the measures of corn and the measures of wine. But hark! a brazon trumpet is heard from the other side of Brandon; aye, the blast of a trumpet, and a Norman trumpet too; and before the Saxons had half finished loading their boats, a great body of Norman cavalry came trotting down the road which ran along the bank of the river, being followed at no great distance by a great company of Norman bowmen. It was not from Dereham that these foes came—oh no! the Normans who had quitted that town on the preceding evening to look after Lord Hereward, had not yet returned, and some of them never would return—but it had so chanced that an armament on the march from Saint Edmundsbury and Thetford came this morning to Brandon and caught sight of the boats on the river, and of the armed Saxons on the bank. Some of the midnight party thought that it would be best to get into the boats and abandon the half of the booty; but this was not to be thought of, inasmuch as not a drop of the wine which the monks of Ely so much wanted had been gotten into the boats. Girolamo and Elfric saw at a glance (and it was needful to have quick sight and instant decision, for the Normans were almost upon them), that the ground they stood upon, being a narrow road, with a deep river on one side, and a ditch and a low, broad, and marshy meadow on the other, was good defensive ground, for the horse could only charge upon the narrow road, and it would take the archers afoot some time to get across the ditch into the fields, if, indeed, the archers should decide upon adventuring on that swampy ground.

“We can make them dance the dance we have given them before,” said the Salernitan. “Tie me those pack-horses and asses tight together between the Norman horse and us, pile up these barrels and bags; leap, twenty good bowmen, into those boats, and ascend the river a little, and string to ear and take these horsemen in flank as they come down the road, while we meet them in the teeth with pikes and javelins.”

“And,” quoth Elfric, looking at the sun, “if we but keep our ground, Lord Hereward will be on the opposite side of the river before ye can say a dozen credos—so blow! Saxons, blow your horns to help that blatant trumpet in telling the Lord of Brunn that fighting is toward, and keep ready a few of the boats to waft over Lord Hereward’s force to this side of the river!”

The Saxons blew their horns as loud as they could blow them, meaning the blasts to be as much a note of defiance to the enemy as a signal to their friends; and the Norman trumpeter kept blowing his brazon and far-sounding trumpet, and the Norman cavaliers kept charging along the road, shouting and cursing and calling the Saxons thieves and cowards—which they had no right to do. As the enemy came near, the Saxons set up a shout, and the scared horses and asses tied together on the road, set up their heels with such a kicking and braying and neighing as were never seen and heard; and up started from the sedge by the river bank the score of good Saxon archers that had gone a little up the river in the boats, and whiz went their arrows into the bowels of the horses the Normans were riding, and every arrow that did not kill, disabled some horse or man, the archers in the sedges being too near their aim to throw away a single arrow. The knight in command ordered the trumpeter to sound a retreat, but before the man could put the brass to his lips, a shaft went through his cheeks and spoiled his trumpeting for aye. But the Normans showed that they could run without sound of trumpet; and away galloped the valorous knight to bring up his bowmen. These Norman archers had no great appetite for the business, and albeit they were told there was a great treasure to be gotten, they stood at a distance, looking now down the road, and now down the river, and now across the ditch and the plashy meadows beyond it; and thus they stood at gaze until they heard a round of Saxon cheers, and the too well-known war-cry of “Hereward for England!” and until they saw a warlike band advancing towards Brandon by the opposite bank of the river. A cockle shell to a mitre—but they tarried not long then! Away went the Normans, horse and foot, as fast as they could go through Brandon town and back upon the high road by which they had marched from Thetford.

“Ha! ha!” cried the Lord of Brunn to his friends from across the river; “what new wasps’ nest is this ye have been among?”

The sword-bearer replied that it was a Norman force which had been marching from the south-east.

“’Tis well,” said Hereward; “and I see ye have made good booty, and so all is well on your side. On our side we have led the Normans from Dereham and thereabouts a very pretty dance. I drew a party of them after me into the fens and cut them off or captured them to a man. I count as my prisoners one rash young knight and fifteen men-at-arms.”

“We have loaded and brought hither more than a score of asses and a full score of pack-horses. Shall we finish loading? All the wine is here, and a good deal of the corn, and—”

“But shall we not pursue?” cried Girolamo. “Those Normans that came on so boldly are now running like sheep. By moving across this marsh, as light fen-men move, we shall be sure to cut off a part of them.”

“Since the corn and wine are now safe, be it as you please, Girolamo; but take Elfric with thee, and go not too far in pursuit.”

A light skerry was drawn from the river and laid across the ditch in less than a credo; and then away went the Salernitan and the sword-bearer, and all the best archers and boldest men of their party, across the plashy fields; and soon they came up with the rear of the flying Normans, and engaged them in battle on the dry road between Brandon and Thetford, and slew many of them, and captured many more, together with all the baggage and stores of the armament. The short but fierce battle was over, and Elfric was counting the prisoners, when one of them after surrendering his sword, and after begging for and receiving quarter, sneaked out of the throng and endeavoured to escape by running into a thicket near the roadside. The Salernitan, who was resting himself after his exertion, and leaning on the cross of his well-used sword, now in its sheath, saw the intention of the man-at-arms, and rushed after him into the thicket. Now that caitiff, in giving up his sword, had not given up a concealed dagger, and when Girolamo touched him on the shoulder, merely with the point of his still-sheathed sword, he drew that dastardly and unknightly weapon from his breast, and plunged it into the left side of the Salernitan. Girolamo fell to the ground with the murderer’s knife in his side; but in the next instant, the murderer was shot through the brain by a well-directed arrow, and as he fell, several Saxons fell with their swords upon him, and, in their fury at his treachery, they hacked his body to pieces. Yet these honest men, though they saw the blood was welling from his side, had much ado to believe that the dark stranger was really hurt with a mortal hurt, and could die like other men. It would be hard to say how long they might have stood looking upon him, stupidly, but not unkindly, if he had not said, “Saxons, raise my head, place me with my back to a tree, and go seek Elfric, and tell him I am hurt by one of his felon prisoners.”

Elfric came running to the spot with rage, grief, and astonishment on his countenance. The sword-bearer was breathless and could not speak; the Salernitan was already half-suffocated with the blood that flowed inwardly, but it was he that spoke first and said, “Elfric! after twenty-five years of war and mortal hate between me and them, the Normans have killed me at last! Elfric, let me not die unavenged. Slay me every Norman prisoner thou hast taken on this foul day.”

The sword-bearer, knowing that Lord Hereward allowed not of such massacres, and wishing not to irritate Girolamo by a refusal, did some violence to his conscience and sense of truth, first by nodding his head as if in assent, and next by saying that the prisoners should assuredly rue the atrocious deed which had been done. [But these words were truer than Elfric had reason to think they would be; for while he was in the wood some of the fen-men, having no longer any commander with them to control their wrath, beat and wounded the prisoners, and dispatched some of them outright.] When the Salernitan spoke again he said, “Elfric, leave not my body here to be tracked and outraged by the accursed Normans. Get it carried to Ely and see it interred like the body of a Christian man. And, Elfric, sprinkle a little holy water over my grave, and go there at times to say a _De profundis_ for the peace of my soul!”

Here the sword-bearer said he hoped the hurt was not so bad but that some skilful leech might cure it.

“Alas, no! not all the leeches between this and Salerno could do me any good. Dear Salerno! shining bay, bright sky, blue hills, I shall never see ye more! I lived but for the hope of that, and for vengeance upon the Normans! My life hath been a life of woe, but I have done them some harm, thank God for that! But it is over.... I grow faint. Oh, that some godly confessor were at hand to shrieve me!”

“Shall I run into Brandon and seek a priest,” said the sword-bearer; “or shall I send one of these our true men into the town?”

“No, Elfric, thou must not leave me in my last agony, and there is no time for sending and seeking. But, Elfric, undo my collar, and unbutton this hard mail-jacket, and bring out the silver crucifix, which I received from my mother, and which hath never been from my neck—no, not for a second of time—during these last forty years. Elfric, I have kissed that silver crucifix openly, and in despite of the accursed ravings of Jews and Saracens, upon the very spot where our Lord was crucified! Elfric, that little cross was round my neck, held by the same silver chain to which my mother hung it, when, sailing between Cyprus and Palestine with turbaned infidels, the bark went down in deep water, and every soul perished, save only I! Kind Saxon, it was my faith in that cross that saved my health and life in Alexandria, when pestilence raged throughout the land of Egypt, and depopulated Alexandria, and all the cities of Egypt! Let my dying lips close upon that cross:—and, good Elfric, as thou hopest thyself to die in peace, and to be admitted into the dominions of the saints, see that chain and cross buried with me,—round my neck and upon my breast, as they now are! And take and keep for thyself whatever else I possess, except this sword, which thou wilt give in my name to the Lord of Brunn. Dear boy! the Normans have not left me much to give thee ... but I had broad and rich lands once, and horses of high breed and price, and rich furniture, and sparkling jewels brought from the Orient by the Amalfitans!”[231]

While the dying Salernitan was thus speaking—his voice ever growing fainter and fainter—the sword-bearer gently and piously did all that he had been required to do, undoing the collar, and unbuttoning the coat of mail which the Salernitan wore under his loose mantle of woollen cloth, and bringing out from beneath the under-vest the silver crucifix, and placing it in the feeble right hand of the Salernitan, who then kissed it and said, “Mother dear, I shall soon be with thee! Oh, heavenly Mother, let my soul pass easily from this hapless body!”

Here Elfric, who had been well indoctrinated in the days of his youth by the best of the monks of Spalding, crossed himself and said, that it was God himself who had enjoined the forgiveness of our enemies, and that holy men had ever declared that the moribund died easiest when he forgave all the wrongs that had been done him, and died in peace with all mankind.

Girolamo had to gasp for breath before he could speak; but at length he said, “Saxon, I die in peace with all mankind, or with all that profess the Christian faith—save only the Normans. I forgive all men as I hope to be forgiven. _Fiat misericordia tua, Domine_; yea, I forgive all and die in peace with all, save only the detestable ungodly Normans, who have heaped upon me such wrong as cannot be forgiven, and who have belied the promises made at their baptism, and who be Christians but in name. Elfric, remember! they slew my kindred and all the friends of my youth, or they caused them to die in sickly dungeons or in exile and beggary; they surprised and stole from me the young bride of my heart and gave her over to violence and infamy! Elfric, wouldst ever forgive them if they should thus seize and treat thy Mildred?”

Elfric shook his head as though he would say he never could; but albeit Elfric was not dying, he ought not to have done this. Girolamo’s head was now falling on his breast, and he several times essayed to speak and could not. At last he said to Elfric, who was kneeling by his side, “Tell the Lord Hereward that I die his constant friend, and call upon him to avenge my death! Elfric, put thine ear closer to my mouth.... So ... and Elfric, go tell the monks at Ely that I am not the Jew that cannot die!”

Here the sword-bearer, who was supporting the Salernitan with his right arm, felt a short and slight shivering, and raising his head so as to look in his face, he saw that the eyelids were dropping over the dark eyes,—and, in another brief instant, Girolamo was dead.

The Saxons cut down branches of trees, and with the branches and their fen poles, and some of the lances which had been taken from the Normans, they made a rude catafalk or bier, and placing the Salernitan upon it, with many a _De profundis_, and many expressions of wonderment that he should have died, they carried him from the thicket and over the Thetford road and across the plashy meadows. The bier was followed by the surviving Norman prisoners, all expecting to be offered up as an holocaust, and crying _Misericorde_ and _Nôtre Dame_. The pursuit and the fight, the capture and the woe which had followed it, had altogether filled a very short space of time; and Hereward, who had crossed the river with all his forces, and having embarked in the boats all that remained to be embarked, was congratulating Elfric on his speed, when he saw that the body stretched upon the bier was no less a man than Girolamo of Salerno. At first the Lord of Brunn thought or hoped that Girolamo was only wounded; but when his sword-bearer told him that he was dead, he started as one that hears a great and unexpected calamity, and he put his hand to his brow and said, “Then, by all the saints of Ely, we have bought the corn and wine for the monks at too dear a price!”

Some short season Hereward passed in silent and sad reflections. Then approaching the bier whereon the body of Girolamo lay with the face turned to the skies, and the little silver cross lying on the breast, and the limbs decently composed, all through the pious care of Elfric, the Lord of Brunn muttered a _De profundis_ and a _Requiescat in pace_, and then said, “Elfric, I never loved that man! Perhaps, at times, I almost feared him, with the reach of his skill and the depth and darkness of his passions. I never could hate the foul fiend himself so much as Girolamo hated these Normans! But, be it said, his wrongs and sufferings have far exceeded mine. England and I stand deeply indebted to him!”

“He bade me give thee this his sword, and to tell thee that he died thy friend,” said Elfric.

“There never yet was sword deeper in the gore of our foes,” said Hereward; “I know he was my friend, and in many things my instructor, and I reproach my heart for that it never could love him, albeit it was ever grateful towards him! But, Elfric, we must down the river without delay, for the monks of Ely will be clamorous for their wine, and traitors may take advantage of mine absence from the camp. See to it, Elfric, for a heaviness is upon my heart such as I have never known before. I had bad dreams in my last sleep, visions of surprisings and burnings by the Normans, and now the great loss and bad omen of Girolamo’s death bring those dreams back upon my mind with more force than they had before.”

“I have had my dreams too of late,” said the sword-bearer; “but dreams, good my lord, are to be read contrariwise. Let me give your lordship a slice of wheaten bread and a cup of wine.”

Quoth the Lord of Brunn, “’Tis not badly thought, for I am fasting since last sunset, and the monks of Ely must hold us excused if we broach one cask. Elfric, I say again, we have paid all too dearly for this corn and wine.”