Great was the confusion in the village that night, and sad the partings between friends and kinsfolk. All the beasts of burden were put in requisition; only a hundred of the choicest steeds reserved for the brave band who were to accompany their beloved lord to the Camp.

By midnight these steeds were laden, and all was ready for the exodus.

Then a dozen stern men bore brands of fire through the village, and soon every house burst into flames.

It was sad to see their homes burning; it seemed almost a crime to apply the torch; but each man thought it better far, than to leave them for Normans to dwell in.

And soon a brighter blaze startled the neighbourhood--the castle cast its broad banner of flame to the heavens, and thick clouds of smoke blotted out the stars. Then the priory, the short-lived priory, followed the lead of the castle, and the valley was light as in broad day, while the river seemed to run with blood as it reflected the blaze.

And by the light two parties left the village in opposite directions--the last farewells were spoken. Into the woods--gloomy and desolate, dimly lighted up by the glare, which filled the heavens, along the river, glowing as it reflected the blaze--into the woods the two different parties took their way.

The one was led by Wilfred, and Leofric as guide, the other by Haga. And so the forest swallowed them up, and Aescendune knew them no more.

The fire burnt on, but none were there to heed it; tower and rampart came crashing down into the red ruins, but a few affrighted birds were the only living witnesses of the doom of the proud building, which Hugo had erected as the badge of the slavery of his English va.s.sals.

Crash! crash! and the answer came from the priory; down fell the castle towers, down fell the priory bell turrets. Norman count and Norman monk were alike homeless.

The morning sun rose brightly upon the devastation, the birds resumed their matin songs, for it was a lovely morning in June; but as yet no human footfall broke the oppressive silence.

It was the early hour of summer sunrise, and the distant sound of a convent bell varied the monotony of the scene, as it called the faithful to prayer. A sudden sound, as of many riders riding briskly, and a band of lances--the avant garde of a mighty army--drew rein at the verge of the yawning and smoking furnace which had been the castle. There they paused abruptly, and one who seemed almost overwhelmed by surprise and disappointment, gazed as if stupefied upon the wreck of his fortunes.

It was Etienne of Aescendune c.u.m Malville.

As we have seen, the conflagration was yet at its heights when Wilfred of Aescendune and his hundred men left the scene, and took their road to the east, along the reddened waters of the river.

It was not without the deepest sorrow, that the English heir thus abandoned his inheritance, but necessity left no choice; it was plain that the force arrayed against him rendered resistance hopeless, and it was far better to go where his sword was likely to be of use in the struggle for freedom than to hide in the woods, as he said, "like a brock, until the dogs hunt it out."

And he had hope, too, that when it was discovered that he and his bravest men had fled eastward, pursuit would be attracted in that direction, and the poor fugitives in the woods left unmolested, at least for the present.

As they rode rapidly and silently along, they saw in the distance, with what bitter feelings may be imagined, the Norman castle of Warwick, where at that moment the Conqueror himself was reposing, and where the Norman heir was perhaps counting the hours, until daylight should arouse him to go and seize upon his inheritance.

Onward they rode, conducted with the greatest skill and success by their guide from the Camp of Refuge, Leofric of Deeping, who entertained them by the way, when circ.u.mstances permitted, by many a story about Hereward and his merry men, each one of whom he said was a match for three Normans, while Hereward would not turn his back upon seven at once.

When the east grew red with the coming light they were traversing an immense tract of wild forest land, bright with the gorse, then in flower, and tenanted only by myriads of rabbits; here they came upon a gra.s.sy dell, with plenty of good grazing for their horses, and a clear stream running through the bottom.

"We shall scarce find a better place than this to rest," said their guide; "I know the spot well. When a boy my grandfather lived in that ruined farmhouse which you can see peeping through the trees; I remember I was just tall enough to look over yon wall."

"Is it in English hands now?" said Wilfred, anxiously.

"It is desolate--waste--ruined. The Normans butchered the inmates long since, G.o.d knows why, save that they gave shelter to some proscribed fugitives, who were being hunted like wild beasts. They were not my own kinsfolk; by G.o.d's blessing my grandparents died while Edward was yet alive. I often feel grateful that they did not live to see these evil days."

They hobbled the horses, and took their own repast by the side of the stream. Each man had brought rations for two days with him, and there was no lack.

Then, after carefully setting sentinels in each direction, they slept under the shade of the trees. The moss was a delicious couch, the day was warm, and the murmur of the little stream, united to the hum of the insects, lulled them to sleep.

It was not till after midday that Wilfred awoke. He found Leofric already on foot, stretching himself after his nap.

"I am going to look at the old place," said he; "it stimulates my feeling of hatred to the Normans. Will you come with me and see their work?"

They crossed two or three fields lying fallow--indeed, no hand of man had been busy there for more than a year; soon they came upon the blackened ruins of a house, of which, however, some portions had escaped the general conflagration; upon which Leofric observed:

"This was the work of Ivo Taille-Bois {xxi}, a Norman woodcutter, whom the duke has manufactured into a n.o.ble, and set to tyrannise over free-born Englishmen. Like a fiend he ever loves to do evil, and when there is neither man, woman, nor child to destroy, he will lame cattle, drive them into the water, break their backs, or otherwise destroy them."

"But does not William ever administer justice, according to the oath he swore at his coronation?"

"Not when the case is Englishman against Norman; then these foreigners stick together like the scales on the dragon's back, one overlapping the other. But we must waste no more time; it is just possible, although unlikely, owing to the unfrequented route we have taken, that your old enemy may be upon our track, with five hundred Norman horse to back him."

They rejoined their comrades, and all were soon again in the saddle--horses and men alike refreshed by the halt; with great knowledge of the country their guide led them by unfrequented routes towards the fenny country; in the distance they beheld the newly rising castles, and heard from time to time an occasional trumpet; more frequently they pa.s.sed ruined villages, burnt houses and farms, and saw on every side the evidence of the ferocity of their conquerors.

Nightfall came and still they continued their route; Leofric enlivening the way with many a tale of the exploits of the great hero, whom he looked upon with confidence as the future deliverer of England.

At length they left the woods and entered, just as the east was brightening, into the level plains and marshes of East Anglia, and here for the first time had reason to think they were pursued.

Looking back towards the deep shades of the woods they had left, they caught sight of a dark moving ma.s.s, which seemed pursuing them; but even as they looked its movements became uncertain, and appeared to halt.

"The cowards fear to pursue us farther; they have a wholesome dread of Hereward and his merry men, and we may embark in peace: we are near an old manor house belonging to our great captain, and there we may leave the horses in safety, satisfied no Norman will get them--such is the terror of his name; then we will all take boat for Ely."

The morning, the second of their journey, was already breaking across a vast expanse of water and fenland, and the dawn was empurpling the skies and making the waters glow like burnished metal; so beautiful was the scene that it seemed a happy omen to our tired wanderers.

The face of the country was level as the sea itself; no hillock varied the monotony of the surface; but here and there some sail glistened in the glowing light; and afar off Leofric pointed out the towers of Ely Abbey, white and distinct in the rays of the rising sun, which, just then, rose grandly out of the waters.

They left their horses at the manor house, which was garrisoned by Hereward's retainers, and broke their fast, gladdened by an enthusiastic reception; hope was not yet dead here.

Afterwards, they all embarked in large flat-bottomed boats, which were sluggishly impelled, by oar and sail, towards the distant towers of Ely.

The sweet fresh breeze, the cheerful warmth of the sun, soothed our travellers, wearied with their long night ride; the monotonous splash of the oars a.s.sisted to lull them into sleep, oblivious of past fatigue. Wilfred awoke to find himself approaching the wharf of Ely.

And here our narrative must perforce leave him for the s.p.a.ce of two years, sharing the fortunes of the famous Hereward, until the fall of the last refuge of English liberty: the events of those two years are matters of history {xxii}.

CHAPTER XXI. TWO DOc.u.mENTS.

Two years had pa.s.sed away since his last visit, and Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances, was again a visitor in England, this time the guest of the new primate of the conquered country, Archbishop Lanfranc, a native of Pavia, and formerly abbot of the famed monastery of Bec in Normandy, to whom the king had been greatly indebted for his services as negotiator with the Court of Rome, while the conquest was in deliberation.

He was a man of deep learning and great personal piety, yet not without some of the faults of the race, under whose auspices he had come to England. Still, in spite of his deep prejudices, he was often, as we shall see in these pages, the protector of the oppressed English.

Lanfranc was seated with his episcopal brother in the embrasure of a deep window, looking out upon the cathedral close of Canterbury.

"It was sad, indeed, my brother," said the archbishop. "I scarcely have known a sadder day than that of my installation. The cathedral which thou seest slowly rising from its ruins yonder, had been destroyed by fire, with all its ornaments, charters, and t.i.tle deeds. One would think that the heathen Danes had once more overspread the land, instead of our own Christian countrymen."

"And yet we two are answerable to some extent for this conquest.

Without thee it had never been; thou didst gain the sanction of the Pope and then preach it as a crusade. I followed the army to Hastings, absolved the troops, and blessed its banners on the day of the great victory."

"Heaven grant we may not have done wrong; but the sheep are scattered abroad, as when a wolf entereth the fold."

"Thou mayest yet be the means of reconciling the conquerors and the conquered--the Church is their natural mediator."