Hereward The Wake (2)

The Saxon Patriot

Hereward was, naturally, the darling hero of the Saxons, and for the
patriotism of his splendid defence of Ely they forgave his final
surrender to William the Norman; then they attributed to him all the
virtues supposed to be inherent in the free-born, and all the glorious
valour on which the English prided themselves; and, lastly, they
surrounded his death with a halo of desperate fighting, and made his
last conflict as wonderful as that of Roland at Roncesvalles. If
Roland is the ideal of Norman feudal chivalry, Hereward is equally
the ideal of Anglo-Saxon sturdy manliness and knighthood, and it seems
fitting that the Saxon ideal in the individual should go down before
the representatives, however unworthy, of a higher ideal.


Leofric of Mercia

When the weak but saintly King Edward the Confessor nominally ruled
all England the land was divided into four great earldoms, of which
Mercia and Kent were held by two powerful rivals. Leofric of Mercia
and Godwin of Kent were jealous not only for themselves, but for their
families, of each other's power and wealth, and the sons of Leofric
and of Godwin were ever at strife, though the two earls were now old
and prudent men, whose wars were fought with words and craft, not with
swords. The wives of the two great earls were as different as their
lords. The Lady Gytha, Godwin's wife, of the royal Danish race, was
fierce and haughty, a fit helpmeet for the ambitious earl who was to
undermine the strength of England by his efforts to win kingly power
for his children. But the Lady Godiva, Leofric's beloved wife, was a
gentle, pious, loving woman, who had already won an almost saintly
reputation for sympathy and pity by her sacrifice to save her
husband's oppressed citizens at Coventry, where her pleading won
relief for them from the harsh earl on the pitiless condition of her
never-forgotten ride. Happily her gentle self-suppression awoke a
nobler spirit in her husband, and enabled him to play a worthier part
in England's history. She was in entire sympathy with the religious
aspirations of Edward the Confessor, and would gladly have seen one of
her sons become a monk, perhaps to win spiritual power and a saintly
reputation like those of the great Dunstan.


Hereward's Youth

For this holy vocation she fixed on her second son, Hereward, a wild,
wayward lad, with long golden curls, eyes of different colours, one
grey, one blue, great breadth and strength of limb, and a wild and
ungovernable temper which made him difficult of control. This reckless
lad the Lady Godiva vainly tried to educate for the monkish life, but
he utterly refused to adopt her scheme, would not master any but the
barest rudiments of learning, and spent his time in wrestling, boxing,
fighting and all manly exercises. Despairing of making him an
ecclesiastic, his mother set herself to inspire him with a noble ideal
of knighthood, but his wildness and recklessness increased with his
years, and often his mother had to stand between the riotous lad and
his father's deserved anger.


His Strength and Leadership

When he reached the age of sixteen or seventeen he became the terror
of the Fen Country, for at his father's Hall of Bourne he gathered a
band of youths as wild and reckless as himself, who accepted him for
their leader, and obeyed him implicitly, however outrageous were his
commands. The wise Earl Leofric, who was much at court with the
saintly king, understood little of the nature of his second son, and
looked upon his wild deeds as evidence of a cruel and lawless mind, a
menace to the peace of England, while they were in reality but the
tokens of a restless energy for which the comparatively peaceable life
of England at that time was all too dull and tame.


Leofric and Hereward

Frequent were the disputes between father and son, and sadly did Lady
Godiva forebode an evil ending to the clash of warring natures
whenever Hereward and his father met; yet she could do nothing to
avert disaster, for though her entreaties would soften the lad into
penitence for some mad prank or reckless outrage, one hint of cold
blame from his father would suffice to make him hardened and
impenitent; and so things drifted from bad to worse. In all Hereward's
lawless deeds, however, there was no meanness or crafty malice. He
hated monks and played many a rough trick upon them, but took his
punishment, when it came, with equable cheerfulness; he robbed
merchants with a high hand, but made reparation liberally, counting
himself well satisfied with the fun of a fight or the skill of a
clever trick; his band of youths met and fought other bands, but they
bore no malice when the strife was over. In one point only was
Hereward less than true to his own nobility of character--he was
jealous of admitting that any man was his superior in strength or
comeliness, and his vanity was well supported by his extraordinary
might and beauty.


Hereward at Court

The deeds which brought Earl Leofric's wrath upon his son in a
terrible fashion were not matters of wanton wickedness, but of lawless
personal violence. Called to attend his father to the Confessor's
court, the youth, who had little respect for one so unwarlike as "the
miracle-monger," uttered his contempt for saintly king, Norman
prelate, and studious monks too loudly, and thereby shocked the weakly
devout Edward, who thought piety the whole duty of man. But his
wildness touched the king more nearly still; for in his sturdy
patriotism he hated the Norman favourites and courtiers who surrounded
the Confessor, and again and again his marvellous strength was shown
in the personal injuries he inflicted on the Normans in mere boyish
brawls, until at last his father could endure the disgrace no longer.


Hereward's Exile

Begging an audience of the king, Leofric formally asked for a writ of
outlawry against his own son. The Confessor, surprised, but not
displeased, felt some compunction as he saw the father's affection
overborne by the judge's severity. Earl Godwin, Leofric's greatest
rival, was present in the council, and his pleading for the noble lad,
whose faults were only those of youth, was sufficient to make Leofric
more urgent in his petition. The curse of family feud, which
afterwards laid England prostrate at the foot of the Conqueror, was
already felt, and felt so strongly that Hereward resented Godwin's
intercession more than his father's sternness.


Hereward's Farewell

"What!" he cried, "shall a son of Leofric, the noblest man in England,
accept intercession from Godwin or any of his family? No. I may be
unworthy of my wise father and my saintly mother, but I am not yet
sunk so low as to ask a favour from a Godwin. Father, I thank you. For
years I have fretted against the peace of the land, and thus have
incurred your displeasure; but in exile I may range abroad and win my
fortune at the sword's point." "Win thy fortune, foolish boy!" said
his father. "And whither wilt thou fare?" "Wherever fate and my
fortune lead me," he replied recklessly. "Perhaps to join Harald
Hardrada at Constantinople and become one of the Emperor's Varangian
Guard; perhaps to follow old Beowa out into the West, at the end of
some day of glorious battle; perhaps to fight giants and dragons and
all kinds of monsters. All these things I may do, but never shall
Mercia see me again till England calls me home. Farewell, father;
farewell, Earl Godwin; farewell, reverend king. I go. And pray ye that
ye may never need my arm, for it may hap that ye will call me and I
will not come." Then Hereward rode away, followed into exile by one
man only, Martin Lightfoot, who left the father's service for that of
his outlawed son. It was when attending the king's court on this
occasion that Hereward first saw and felt the charm of a lovely little
Saxon maiden named Alftruda, a ward of the pious king.


Hereward in Northumbria

Though the king's writ of outlawry might run in Mercia, it did not
carry more than nominal weight in Northumbria, where Earl Siward ruled
almost as an independent lord. Thither Hereward determined to go, for
there dwelt his own godfather, Gilbert of Ghent, and his castle was
known as a good training school for young aspirants for knighthood.
Sailing from Dover, Hereward landed at Whitby, and made his way to
Gilbert's castle, where he was well received, since the cunning
Fleming knew that an outlawry could be reversed at any time, and
Leofric's son might yet come to rule England. Accordingly Hereward was
enrolled in the number of young men, mainly Normans or Flemings, who
were seeking to perfect themselves in chivalry before taking
knighthood. He soon showed himself a brave warrior, an unequalled
wrestler, and a wary fighter, and soon no one cared to meddle with the
young Mercian, who outdid them all in manly sports. The envy of the
young Normans was held in check by Gilbert, and by a wholesome dread
of Hereward's strong arm; until, in Gilbert's absence, an incident
occurred which placed the young exile on a pinnacle so far above them
that only by his death could they hope to rid themselves of their
feeling of inferiority.


The Fairy Bear

Gilbert kept in his castle court an immense white Polar bear, dreaded
by all for its enormous strength, and called the Fairy Bear. It was
even believed that the huge beast had some kinship to old Earl Siward,
who bore a bear upon his crest, and was reputed to have had something
of bear-like ferocity in his youth. This white bear was so much
dreaded that he was kept chained up in a strong cage. One morning as
Hereward was returning with Martin from his morning ride he heard
shouts and shrieks from the castle yard, and, reaching the great gate,
entered lightly and closed it behind him rapidly, for there outside
the shattered cage, with broken chain dangling, stood the Fairy Bear,
glaring savagely round the courtyard. But one human figure was in
sight, that of a girl of about twelve years of age.


Hereward Slays the Bear

There were sounds of men's voices and women's shrieks from within the
castle, but the doors were fast barred, while the maid, in her terror,
beat on the portal with her palms, and begged them, for the love of
God, to let her in. The cowards, refused, and in the meantime the
great bear, irritated by the dangling chain, made a rush towards the
child. Hereward dashed forward, shouting to distract the bear, and
just managed to stop his charge at the girl. The savage animal turned
on the new-comer, who needed all his agility to escape the monster's
terrible onset. Seizing his battle-axe, the youth swung it around
his head and split the skull of the furious beast, which fell dead. It
was a blow so mighty that even Hereward himself was surprised at its
deadly effect, and approached cautiously to examine his victim. In the
meantime the little girl, who proved to be no other than the king's
ward, Alftruda, had watched with fascinated eyes first the approach of
the monster, and then, as she crouched in terror, its sudden
slaughter; and now she summoned up courage to run to Hereward, who had
always been kind to the pretty child, and to fling herself into his
arms. "Kind Hereward," she whispered, "you have saved me and killed
the bear. I love you for it, and I must give you a kiss, for my dame
says so do all ladies that choose good knights to be their champions.
Will you be mine?" As she spoke she kissed Hereward again and again.


Hereward's Trick on the Knights

"Where have they all gone, little one?" asked the young noble; and
Alftruda replied: "We were all out here in the courtyard watching the
young men at their exercises, when we heard a crash and a roar, and
the cage burst open, and we saw the dreadful Fairy Bear. They all ran,
the ladies and knights, but I was the last, and they were so
frightened that they shut themselves in and left me outside; and when
I beat at the door and prayed them to let me in they would not, and I
thought the bear would eat me, till you came."

"The cowards!" cried Hereward. "And they think themselves worthy of
knighthood when they will save their own lives and leave a child in
danger! They must be taught a lesson. Martin, come hither and aid me."
When Martin came, the two, with infinite trouble, raised the carcase
of the monstrous beast, and placed it just where the bower door,
opening, would show it at once. Then Hereward bade Alftruda call to
the knights in the bower that all was safe and they could come out,
for the bear would not hurt them. He and Martin, listening, heard with
great glee the bitter debate within the bower as to who should risk
his life to open the door, the many excuses given for refusal, the
mischievous fun in Alftruda's voice as she begged some one to open to
her, and, best of all, the cry of horror with which the knight who had
ventured to draw the bolt shut the door again on seeing the Fairy Bear
waiting to enter. Hereward even carried his trick so far as to thrust
the bear heavily against the bower door, making all the people within
shriek and implore the protection of the saints. Finally, when he was
tired of the jest, he convinced the valiant knights that they might
emerge safely from their retirement, and showed how he, a stripling of
seventeen, had slain the monster at one blow. From that time Hereward
was the darling of the whole castle, petted, praised, beloved by all
its inmates, except his jealous rivals.


Hereward Leaves Northumbria

The foreign knights grew so jealous of the Saxon youth, and so restive
under his shafts of sarcastic ridicule, that they planned several
times to kill him, and once or twice nearly succeeded. This
insecurity, and a feeling that perhaps Earl Siward had some kinship
with the Fairy Bear, and would wish to avenge his death, made Hereward
decide to quit Gilbert's castle. The spirit of adventure was strong
upon him, the sea seemed to call him; now that he had been
acknowledged superior to the other noble youths in Gilbert's
household, the castle no longer afforded a field for his ambition.
Accordingly he took a sad leave of Alftruda, an affectionate one of
Sir Gilbert, who wished to knight him for his brave deed, and a
mocking one of his angry and unsuccessful foes.


Hereward in Cornwall

Entering into a merchant-ship, he sailed for Cornwall, and there was
taken to the court of King Alef, a petty British chief, who, on true
patriarchal lines, disposed of his children as he would, and had
betrothed his fair daughter to a terrible Pictish giant, breaking off,
in order to do it, her troth-plight with Prince Sigtryg of Waterford,
son of a Danish king in Ireland. Hereward was ever chivalrous, and
little Alftruda had made him feel pitiful to all maidens. Seeing
speedily how the princess loathed her new betrothed, a hideous,
misshapen wretch, nearly eight feet high, he determined to slay him.
With great deliberation he picked a quarrel with the giant, and killed
him the next day in fair fight; but King Alef was driven by the
threats of the vengeful Pictish tribe to throw Hereward and his man
Martin into prison, promising trial and punishment on the morrow.


Hereward Released from Prison

To the young Saxon's surprise, the released princess appeared to be as
grieved and as revengeful as any follower of the Pictish giant, and
she not only advocated prison and death the next day, but herself
superintended the tying of the thongs that bound the two strangers.
When they were left to their lonely confinement Hereward began to
blame the princess for hypocrisy, and to protest the impossibility of
a man's ever knowing what a woman wants. "Who would have thought," he
cried, "that that beautiful maiden loved a giant so hideous as this
Pict? Had I known, I would never have fought him, but her eyes said
to me, 'Kill him,' and I have done so; this is how she rewards me!"
"No," replied Martin, "this is how"; and he cut Hereward's bonds,
laughing silently to himself. "Master, you were so indignant with the
lady that you could not make allowances for her. I knew that she must
pretend to grieve, for her father's sake, and when she came to test
our bonds I was sure of it, for as she fingered a knot she slipped a
knife into my hands, and bade me use it. Now we are free from our
bonds, and must try to escape from our prison."


The Princess Visits the Captives

In vain, however, the master and man ranged round the room in which
they were confined; it was a tiny chapel, with walls and doors of
great thickness, and violently as Hereward exerted himself, he could
make no impression on either walls or door, and, sitting sullenly down
on the altar steps, he asked Martin what good was freedom from bonds
in a secure prison. "Much, every way," replied the servant; "at least
we die with free hands; and I, for my part, am content to trust that
the princess has some good plan, if we will only be ready." While he
was speaking they heard footsteps just outside the door, and the sound
of a key being inserted into the lock. Hereward beckoned silently to
Martin, and the two stood ready, one at each side of the door, to make
a dash for freedom, and Martin was prepared to slay any who should
hinder. To their great surprise, the princess entered, accompanied by
an old priest bearing a lantern, which he set down on the altar step,
and then the princess turned to Hereward, crying, "Pardon me, my
deliverer!" The Saxon was still aggrieved and bewildered, and replied:
"Do you now say 'deliverer'? This afternoon it was 'murderer,
villain, cut-throat.' How shall I know which is your real mind?" The
princess almost laughed as she said: "How stupid men are! What could I
do but pretend to hate you, since otherwise the Picts would have slain
you then and us all afterwards, but I claimed you as my victims, and
you have been given to me. How else could I have come here to-night?
Now tell me, if I set you free will you swear to carry a message for
me?"


Sigtryg Ranaldsson of Waterford

"Whither shall I go, lady, and what shall I say?" asked Hereward.
"Take this ring, my ring of betrothal, and go to Prince Sigtryg, son
of King Ranald of Waterford. Say to him that I am beset on every side,
and beg him to come and claim me as his bride; otherwise I fear I may
be forced to marry some man of my father's choosing, as I was being
driven to wed the Pictish giant. From him you have rescued me, and I
thank you; but if my betrothed delays his coming it may be too late,
for there are other hateful suitors who would make my father bestow my
hand upon one of them. Beg him to come with all speed." "Lady, I will
go now," said Hereward, "if you will set me free from this vault."


Hereward Binds the Princess

"Go quickly, and safely," said the princess; "but ere you go you have
one duty to fulfil: you must bind me hand and foot, and fling me, with
this old priest, on the ground." "Never," said Hereward, "will I bind
a woman; it were foul disgrace to me for ever." But Martin only
laughed, and the maiden said again: "How stupid men are! I must
pretend to have been overpowered by you, or I shall be accused of
having freed you, but I will say that I came hither to question you,
and you and your man set on me and the priest, bound us, took the key,
and so escaped. So shall you be free, and I shall have no blame, and
my father no danger; and may Heaven forgive the lie."

Hereward reluctantly agreed, and, with Martin's help, bound the two
hand and foot and laid them before the altar; then, kissing the
maiden's hand, and swearing loyalty and truth, he turned to depart.
But the princess had one question to ask. "Who are you, noble
stranger, so gallant and strong? I would fain know for whom to pray."
"I am Hereward Leofricsson, and my father is the Earl of Mercia." "Are
you that Hereward who slew the Fairy Bear? Little wonder is it that
you have slain my monster and set me free." Then master and man left
the chapel, after carefully turning the key in the lock. Making their
way to the shore, they succeeded in getting a ship to carry them to
Ireland, and in course of time reached Waterford.


Prince Sigtryg

The Danish kingdom of Waterford was ruled by King Ranald, whose only
son, Sigtryg, was about Hereward's age, and was as noble-looking a
youth as the Saxon hero. The king was at a feast, and Hereward,
entering the hall with the captain of the vessel, sat down at one of
the lower tables; but he was not one of those who can pass unnoticed.
The prince saw him, distinguished at once his noble bearing, and asked
him to come to the king's own table. He gladly obeyed, and as he drank
to the prince and their goblets touched together he contrived to drop
the ring from the Cornish princess into Sigtryg's cup. The prince saw
and recognised it as he drained his cup, and, watching his
opportunity, left the hall, and was soon followed by his guest.


Hereward and Sigtryg

Outside in the darkness Sigtryg turned hurriedly to Hereward, saying,
"You bring me a message from my betrothed?" "Yes, if you are that
Prince Sigtryg to whom the Princess of Cornwall was affianced." "Was
affianced! What do you mean? She is still my lady and my love." "Yet
you leave her there unaided, while her father gives her in marriage to
a hideous giant of a Pict, breaking her betrothal, and driving the
hapless maiden to despair. What kind of love is yours?" Hereward said
nothing yet about his own slaying of the giant, because he wished to
test Prince Sigtryg's sincerity, and he was satisfied, for the prince
burst out: "Would to God that I had gone to her before! but my father
needed my help against foreign invaders and native rebels. I will go
immediately and save my lady or die with her!" "No need of that, for I
killed that giant," said Hereward coolly, and Sigtryg embraced him in
joy and they swore blood-brotherhood together. Then he asked: "What
message do you bring me, and what means her ring?" The other replied
by repeating the Cornish maiden's words, and urging him to start at
once if he would save his betrothed from some other hateful marriage.


Return to Cornwall

The prince went at once to his father, told him the whole story, and
obtained a ship and men to journey to Cornwall and rescue the
princess; then, with Hereward by his side, he set sail, and soon
landed in Cornwall, hoping to obtain his bride peaceably. To his grief
he learnt that the princess had just been betrothed to a wild Cornish
leader, Haco, and the wedding feast was to be held that very day.
Sigtryg was greatly enraged, and sent a troop of forty Danes to King
Alef demanding the fulfilment of the troth-plight between himself and
his daughter, and threatening vengeance if it were broken. To this
threat the king returned no answer, and no Dane came back to tell of
their reception.


Hereward in the Enemy's Hall

Sigtryg would have waited till morning, trusting in the honour of the
king, but Hereward disguised himself as a minstrel and obtained
admission to the bridal feast, where he soon won applause by his
beautiful singing. The bridegroom, Haco, in a rapture offered him any
boon he liked to ask, but he demanded only a cup of wine from the
hands of the bride. When she brought it to him he flung into the empty
cup the betrothal ring, the token she had sent to Sigtryg, and said:
"I thank thee, lady, and would reward thee for thy gentleness to a
wandering minstrel; I give back the cup, richer than before by the
kind thoughts of which it bears the token." The princess looked at
him, gazed into the goblet, and saw her ring; then, looking again, she
recognised her deliverer and knew that rescue was at hand.


Haco's Plan

While men feasted Hereward listened and talked, and found out that the
forty Danes were prisoners, to be released on the morrow when Haco was
sure of his bride, but released useless and miserable, since they
would be turned adrift blinded. Haco was taking his lovely bride back
to his own land, and Hereward saw that any rescue, to be successful,
must be attempted on the march. Yet he knew not the way the bridal
company would go, and he lay down to sleep in the hall, hoping that
he might hear something more. When all men slept a dark shape came
gliding through the hall and touched Hereward on the shoulder; he
slept lightly, and awoke at once to recognise the old nurse of the
princess. "Come to her now," the old woman whispered, and Hereward
went, though he knew not that the princess was still true to her
lover. In her bower, which she was soon to leave, Haco's sorrowful
bride awaited the messenger.


Rescue for Haco's Bride

Sadly she smiled on the young Saxon as she said: "I knew your face
again in spite of the disguise, but you come too late. Bear my
farewell to Sigtryg, and say that my father's will, not mine, makes me
false to my troth-plight." "Have you not been told, lady, that he is
here?" asked Hereward. "Here?" the princess cried. "I have not heard.
He loves me still and has not forsaken me?" "No, lady, he is too true
a lover for falsehood. He sent forty Danes yesterday to demand you of
your father and threaten his wrath if he refused." "And I knew not of
it," said the princess softly; "yet I had heard that Haco had taken
some prisoners, whom he means to blind." "Those are our messengers,
and your future subjects," said Hereward. "Help me to save them and
you. Do you know Haco's plans?" "Only this, that he will march
to-morrow along the river, and where the ravine is darkest and forms
the boundary between his kingdom and my father's the prisoners are to
be blinded and released." "Is it far hence?" "Three miles to the
eastward of this hall," she replied. "We will be there. Have no fear,
lady, whatever you may see, but be bold and look for your lover in the
fight." So saying, Hereward kissed the hand of the princess, and
passed out of the hall unperceived by any one.


The Ambush

Returning to Sigtryg, the young Saxon told all that he had learnt, and
the Danes planned an ambush in the ravine where Haco had decided to
blind and set free his captives. All was in readiness, and side by
side Hereward and Sigtryg were watching the pathway from their covert,
when the sound of horses' hoofs heard on the rocks reduced them to
silence. The bridal procession came in strange array: first the Danish
prisoners bound each between two Cornishmen, then Haco and his unhappy
bride, and last a great throng of Cornishmen. Hereward had taken
command, that Sigtryg might look to the safety of his lady, and his
plan was simplicity itself. The Danes were to wait till their
comrades, with their guards, had passed through the ravine; then while
the leader engaged Haco, and Sigtryg looked to the safety of the
princess, the Danes would release the prisoners and slay every
Cornishman, and the two parties of Danes, uniting their forces, would
restore order to the land and destroy the followers of Haco.


Success

The whole was carried out exactly as Hereward had planned. The
Cornishmen, with Danish captives, passed first without attack; next
came Haco, riding grim and ferocious beside his silent bride, he
exulting in his success, she looking eagerly for any signs of rescue.
As they passed Hereward sprang from his shelter, crying, "Upon them,
Danes, and set your brethren free!" and himself struck down Haco and
smote off his head. There was a short struggle, but soon the rescued
Danes were able to aid their deliverers, and the Cornish guards were
all slain; the men of King Alef, never very zealous for the cause of
Haco, fled, and the Danes were left masters of the field. Sigtryg had
in the meantime seen to the safety of the princess, and now placing
her between himself and Hereward, he escorted her to the ship, which
soon brought them to Waterford and a happy bridal. The Prince and
Princess of Waterford always recognised in Hereward their deliverer
and best friend, and in their gratitude wished him to dwell with them
always; but he knew "how hard a thing it is to look into happiness
through another man's eyes," and would not stay. His roving and daring
temper drove him to deeds of arms in other lands, where he won a
renown second to none, but he always felt glad in his own heart, even
in later days, when unfaithfulness to a woman was the one great sin of
his life, that his first feats of arms had been wrought to rescue two
maidens from their hapless fate, and that he was rightly known as
Hereward the Saxon, the Champion of Women.