Book: Hereward, The Last of the English

C >> Charles Kingsley >> Hereward, The Last of the English




"Now, lads," said Hereward, "home with you all, and make your peace with
your fathers. In this house you never drink ale again."

They looked at him, surprised.

"You are disbanded, my gallant army. As long as I could cut long thongs
out of other men's hides, I could feed you like earl's sons: but now I
must feed myself; and a dog over his bone wants no company. Outlawed I
shall be before the week is out; and unless you wish to be outlawed too,
you will obey orders, and home."

"We will follow you to the world's end," cried some.

"To the rope's end, lads: that is all you will get in my company. Go home
with you, and those who feel a calling, let them turn monks; and those who
have not, let them learn

'For to plough and to sow,
And to reap and to mow,
And to be a farmer's boy.'

Good night."

And he went in, and shut the great gates after him, leaving them
astonished.

To take his advice, and go home, was the simplest thing to be done. A few
of them on their return were soundly thrashed, and deserved it; a few were
hidden by their mothers for a week, in hay-lofts and hen-roosts, till
their father's anger had passed away. But only one turned monk or clerk,
and that was Leofric the Unlucky, godson of the great earl, and
poet-in-ordinary to the band.

The next morning at dawn Hereward mounted his best horse, armed himself
from head to foot, and rode over to Peterborough.

When he came to the abbey-gate, he smote thereon with his lance-but, till
the porter's teeth rattled in his head for fear.

"Let me in!" he shouted. "I am Hereward Leofricsson. I must see my Uncle
Brand."

"O my most gracious lord!" cried the porter, thrusting his head out of the
wicket, "what is this that you have been doing to our Steward?"

"The tithe of what I will do, unless you open the gate!"

"O my lord!" said the porter, as he opened it, "if our Lady and St. Peter
would but have mercy on your fair face, and convert your soul to the fear
of God and man--"

"She would make me as good an old fool as you. Fetch my uncle, the Prior."

The porter obeyed. The son of Earl Leofric was as a young lion among the
sheep in those parts; and few dare say him nay, certainly not the monks of
Peterborough; moreover, the good porter could not help being strangely
fond of Hereward--as was every one whom he did not insult, rob, or kill.

Out came Brand, a noble elder: more fit, from his eye and gait, to be a
knight than a monk. He looked sadly at Hereward.

"'Dear is bought the honey that is licked off the thorn,' quoth Hending,"
said he.

"Hending bought his wisdom by experience, I suppose," said Hereward, "and
so must I. So I am just starting out to see the world, uncle."

"Naughty, naughty boy! If we had thee safe here again for a week, we would
take this hot blood out of thee, and send thee home in thy right mind."

"Bring a rod and whip me, then. Try, and you shall have your chance. Every
one else has had, and this is the end of their labors."

"By the chains of St. Peter," quoth the monk, "that is just what thou
needest. Hoist thee on such another fool's back, truss thee up, and lay it
on lustily, till thou art ashamed. To treat thee as a man is only to make
thee a more heady blown-up ass than thou art already."

"True, most wise uncle. And therefore my still wiser parents are going to
treat me like a man indeed, and send me out into the world to seek my
fortunes!"

"Eh?"

"They are going to prove how thoroughly they trust me to take care of
myself, by outlawing me. Eh? say I in return. Is not that an honor, and a
proof that I have not shown myself a fool, though I may have a madman?"

"Outlaw you? O my boy, my darling, my pride! Get off your horse, and don't
sit there, hand on hip, like a turbaned Saracen, defying God and man; but
come down and talk reason to me, for the sake of St. Peter and all
saints."

Hereward threw himself off his horse, and threw his arms round his uncle's
neck.

"Pish! Now, uncle, don't cry, do what you will, lest I cry too. Help me to
be a man while I live, even if I go to the black place when I die."

"It shall not be!" .... and the monk swore by all the relics in
Peterborough minster.

"It must be. It shall be. I like to be outlawed. I want to be outlawed. It
makes one feel like a man. There is not an earl in England, save my
father, who has not been outlawed in his time. My brother Alfgar will be
outlawed before he dies, if he has the spirit of a man in him. It is the
fashion, my uncle, and I must follow it. So hey for the merry greenwood,
and the long ships, and the swan's bath, and all the rest of it. Uncle,
you will lend me fifty silver pennies?"

"I? I would not lend thee one, if I had it, which I have not. And yet, old
fool that I am, I believe I would."

"I would pay thee back honestly. I shall go down to Constantinople to the
Varangers, get my Polotaswarf [Footnote: See "The Heimskringla," Harold
Hardraade's Saga, for the meaning of this word.] out of the Kaiser's
treasure, and pay thee back five to one."

"What does this son of Belial here?" asked an austere voice.

"Ah! Abbot Leofric, my very good lord. I have come to ask hospitality of
you for some three days. By that time I shall be a wolf's head, and out of
the law: and then, if you will give me ten minutes' start, you may put
your bloodhounds on my track, and see which runs fastest, they or I. You
are a gentleman, and a man of honor; so I trust to you to feed my horse
fairly the meanwhile, and not to let your monks poison me."

The Abbot's face relaxed. He tried to look as solemn as he could; but he
ended in bursting into a very great laughter, and swearing likewise.

"The insolence of this lad passes the miracles of all saints. He robs St.
Peter on the highway, breaks into his abbey, insults him to his face, and
then asks him for hospitality; and--"

"And gets it," quoth Hereward.

"What is to be done with him, Brand, my friend? If we turn him out--"

"Which we cannot do," said Brand, looking at the well-mailed and armed
lad, "without calling in half a dozen of our men-at-arms."

"In which case there would be blood shed, and scandal made in the holy
precincts."

"And nothing gained; for yield he would not till he was killed outright,
which God forbid!"

"Amen. And if he stay here, he may be persuaded to repentance."

"And restitution."

"As for that," quoth Hereward (who had remounted his horse from prudential
motives, and set him athwart the gateway, so that there was no chance of
the doors being slammed behind him), "if either of you will lend me
sixteen pence, I will pay it back to you and St. Peter before I die, with
interest enough to satisfy any Jew, on the word of a gentleman and an
earl's son."

The Abbot burst again into a great laughter. "Come in, thou graceless
renegade, and we will see to thee and thy horse; and I will pray to St.
Peter; and I doubt not he will have patience with thee, for he is very
merciful; and after all, thy parents have been exceeding good to us, and
the righteousness of the father, like his sins, is sometimes visited on
the children."

Now, why were the two ecclesiastics so uncanonically kind to this wicked
youth?

Perhaps because both the old bachelors were wishing from their hearts that
they had just such a son of their own. And beside, Earl Leofric was a very
great man indeed; and the wind might change; for it is an unstable world.

"Only, mind, one thing," said the naughty boy, as he dismounted, and
halloed to a lay-brother to see to his horse,--"don't let me see the face
of that Herluin."

"And why? You have wronged him, and he will forgive you, doubtless, like a
good Christian as he is."

"That is his concern. But if I see him, I cut off his head. And, as Uncle
Brand knows, I always sleep with my sword under my pillow."

"O that such a mother should have borne such a son." groaned the Abbot, as
they went in.

On the fifth day came Martin Lightfoot, and found Hereward in Prior
Brand's private cell.

"Well?" asked Hereward coolly.

"Is he--? Is he--?" stammered Brand, and could not finish his sentence.

Martin nodded.

Hereward laughed,--a loud, swaggering, hysterical laugh.

"See what it is to be born of just and pious parents. Come, Master
Trot-alone, speak out and tell us all about it. Thy lean wolf's legs have
run to some purpose. Open thy lean wolf's mouth and speak for once, lest I
ease thy legs for the rest of thy life by a cut across the hams. Find thy
lost tongue, I say!"

"Walls have ears, as well as the wild-wood," said Martin.

"We are safe here," said the Prior; "so speak, and tell us the whole
truth."

"Well, when the Earl read the letter, he turned red, and pale again, and
then naught but, 'Men, follow me to the King at Westminster.' So we went,
all with our weapons, twenty or more, along the Strand, and up into the
King's new hall; and a grand hall it is, but not easy to get into, for the
crowd of monks and beggars on the stairs, hindering honest folks'
business. And there sat the King on a high settle, with his pink face and
white hair, looking as royal as a bell-wether new washed; and on either
side of him, on the same settle, sat the old fox and the young wolf."

"Godwin and Harold? And where was the Queen?"

"Sitting on a stool at his feet, with her hands together as if she were
praying, and her eyes downcast, as demure as any cat. And so is fulfilled
the story, how the sheep-dog went out to get married, and left the fox,
the wolf, and the cat to guard the flock."

"If thou hast found thy tongue," said Brand, "thou art like enough to lose
it again by slice of knife, talking such ribaldry of dignities. Dost not
know"--and he sank his voice--"that Abbot Leofric is Earl Harold's man,
and that Harold himself made him abbot?"

"I said, walls have ears. It was you who told me that we were safe.
However, I will bridle the unruly one." And he went on. "And your father
walked up the hall, his left hand on his sword-hilt, looking an earl all
over, as he is."

"He is that," said Hereward, in a low voice.

"And he bowed; and the most magnificent, powerful, and virtuous Godwin
would have beckoned him up to sit on the high settle; but he looked
straight at the King, as if there were never a Godwin or a Godwinsson on
earth, and cried as he stood,--

"'Justice, my Lord the King!'

"And at that the King turned pale, and said, 'Who? What? O miserable
world! O last days drawing nearer and nearer! O earth, full of violence
and blood! Who has wronged thee now, most dear and noble Earl?'

"'Justice against my own son.'

"At that the fox looked at the wolf, and the wolf at the fox; and if they
did not smile it was not for want of will, I warrant. But your father went
on, and told all his story; and when he came to your robbing master
monk,--'O apostate!' cries the bell-wether, 'O spawn of Beelzebub!
excommunicate him, with bell, book, and candle. May he be thrust down with
Korah, Balaam, and Iscariot, to the most Stygian pot of the sempiternal
Tartarus.'

"And at that your father smiled. 'That is bishops' work,' says he; 'and I
want king's work from you, Lord King. Outlaw me this young rebel's sinful
body, as by law you can; and leave his sinful soul to the priests,--or to
God's mercy, which is like to be more than theirs.'

"Then the Queen looked up. 'Your own son, noble Earl? Think of what you
are doing, and one whom all say is so gallant and so fair. O persuade him,
father,--persuade him, Harold my brother,--or, if you cannot persuade him,
persuade the King at least, and save this poor youth from exile.'"

"Puss Velvet-paw knew well enough," said Hereward, in a low voice, "that
the way to harden my father's heart was to set Godwin and Harold on
softening it. They ask my pardon from the King? I would not take it at
their asking, even if my father would."

"There spoke a true Leofricsson," said Brand, in spite of himself.

"'By the--'" (and Martin repeated a certain very solemn oath), "said your
father, 'justice I will have, my Lord King. Who talks to me of my own son?
You put me into my earldom to see justice done and law obeyed; and how
shall I make others keep within bound if I am not to keep in my own flesh
and blood? Here is this land running headlong to ruin, because every
nobleman--ay, every churl who owns a manor, if he dares--must needs arm
and saddle, and levy war on his own behalf, and harry and slay the king's
lieges, if he have not garlic to his roast goose every time he
chooses,'--and there your father did look at Godwin, once and for
all;--'and shall I let my son follow the fashion, and do his best to leave
the land open and weak for Norseman, or Dane, or Frenchman, or whoever
else hopes next to mount the throne of a king who is too holy to leave an
heir behind him?'"

"Ahoi! Martin the silent! Where learnt you so suddenly the trade of
preaching? I thought you kept your wind for your running this two years
past. You would make as good a talker among the Witan as Godwin himself.
You give it us all, word for word, and voice and gesture withal, as if you
were King Edward's French Chancellor."

Martin smiled. "I am like Falada the horse, my lords, who could only speak
to his own true princess. Why I held my tongue of late was only lest they
should cut my head off for talking, as they did poor Falada's."

"Thou art a very crafty knave," said Brand, "and hast had clerk-learning
in thy time, I can see, and made bad use of it. I misdoubt very much that
thou art some runaway monk."

"That am I not, by St. Peter's chains!" said Martin, in an eager,
terrified voice. "Lord Hereward, I came hither as your father's messenger
and servant. You will see me safe out of this abbey, like an honorable
gentleman!"

"I will. All I know of him, uncle, is that he used to tell me stories,
when I was a boy, of enchanters, and knights, and dragons, and such like,
and got into trouble for filling my head with such fancies. Now let him
tell his story in peace."

"He shall; but I misdoubt the fellow very much. He talks as if he knew
Latin; and what business has a foot-running slave to do that?"

So Martin went on, somewhat abashed. "'And,' said your father, 'justice I
will have, and leave injustice, and the overlooking of it, to those who
wish to profit thereby.'

"And at that Godwin smiled, and said to the King, 'The Earl is wise, as
usual, and speaks like a very Solomon. Your Majesty must, in spite of your
own tenderness of heart, have these letters of outlawry made out.'

"Then all our men murmured,--and I as loud as any. But old Surturbrand the
housecarle did more; for out he stepped to your father's side, and spoke
right up before the King.

"'Bonny times,' he said, 'I have lived to see, when a lad of Earl Oslac's
blood is sent out of the land, a beggar and a wolf's head, for playing a
boy's trick or two, and upsetting a shaveling priest! We managed such wild
young colts better, we Vikings who conquered the Danelagh. If Canute had
had a son like Hereward--as would to God he had had!--he would have dealt
with him as old Swend Forkbeard (God grant I meet him in Valhalla, in
spite of all priests!) did by Canute himself when he was young, and kicked
and plunged awhile at being first bitted and saddled.'

"'What does the man say?' asked the King, for old Surturbrand was talking
broad Danish.

"'He is a housecarle of mine, Lord King, a good man and true; but old age
and rough Danish blood has made him forget that he stands before kings and
earls.'

"'By ----, Earl!' says Surturbrand, 'I have fought knee to knee beside a
braver king than that there, and nobler earls than ever a one here; and
was never afraid, like a free Dane, to speak my mind to them, by sea or
land. And if the King, with his French ways, does not understand a plain
man's talk, the two earls yonder do right well, and I say,--Deal by this
lad in the good old fashion. Give him half a dozen long ships, and what
crews he can get together, and send him out, as Canute would have done, to
seek his fortune like a Viking; and if he comes home with plenty of
wounds, and plenty of plunder, give him an earldom as he deserves. Do you
ask your Countess, Earl Godwin:--she is of the right Danish blood, God
bless her! though she is your wife,--and see if she does not know how to
bring a naughty lad to his senses.'

"Then Harold the Earl said: 'The old man is right. King, listen to what he
says.' And he told him all, quite eagerly."

"How did you know that? Can you understand French?"

"I am a poor idiot, give me a halfpenny," said Martin, in a doleful voice,
as he threw into his face and whole figure a look of helpless stupidity
and awkwardness, which set them both laughing.

But Hereward checked himself. "And you think he was in earnest?"

"As sure as there are holy crows in Crowland. But it was of no use. Your
father got a parchment, with an outlandish Norman seal hanging to it, and
sent me off with it that same night to give to the lawman. So wolfs head
you are, my lord, and there is no use crying over spilt milk."

"And Harold spoke for me? It will be as well to tell Abbot Leofric that,
in case he be inclined to turn traitor, and refuse to open the gates. Once
outside them, I care not for mortal man."

"My poor boy, there will be many a one whom thou hast wronged only too
ready to lie in wait for thee, now thy life is in every man's hand. If the
outlawry is published, thou hadst best start to-night, and get past
Lincoln before morning."

"I shall stay quietly here, and get a good night's rest; and then ride out
to-morrow morning in the face of the whole shire. No, not a word! You
would not have me sneak away like a coward?"

Brand smiled and shrugged his shoulders: being very much of the same mind.

"At least, go north."

"And why north?"

"You have no quarrel in Northumberland, and the King's writ runs very
slowly there, if at all. Old Siward Digre may stand your friend."

"He? He is a fast friend of my father's."

"What of that? the old Viking will like you none the less for having shown
a touch of his own temper. Go to him, I say, and tell him that I sent
you."

"But he is fighting the Scots beyond the Forth."

"So much the better. There will be good work for you to do. And Gislebert
of Ghent is up there too, I hear, trying to settle himself among the
Scots. He is your mother's kinsman; and as for your being an outlaw, he
wants hard hitters and hard riders, and all is fish that comes to his net.
Find him out, too, and tell him I sent you."

"You are a good old uncle," said Hereward. "Why were you not a soldier?"

Brand laughed somewhat sadly.

"If I had been a soldier, lad, where would you have looked for a friend
this day? No. God has done what was merciful with me and my sins. May he
do the same by thee and thine."

Hereward made an impatient movement. He disliked any word which seemed
likely to soften his own hardness of heart. But he kissed his uncle
lovingly on both cheeks.

"By the by, Martin,--any message from my lady mother?"

"None!"

"Quite right and pious. I am an enemy to Holy Church and therefore to her.
Good night, uncle."

"Hey?" asked Brand; "where is that footman,--Martin you call him? I must
have another word with him."

But Martin was gone.

"No matter. I shall question him sharply enough to-morrow, I warrant."

And Hereward went out to his lodging; while the good Prior went to his
prayers.

When Hereward entered his room, Martin started out of the darkness, and
followed him in. Then he shut to the door carefully, and pulled out a bag.

"There was no message from my lady: but there was this."

The bag was full of money.

"Why did you not tell me of this before?"

"Never show money before a monk."

"Villain! would you mistrust my uncle?"

"Any man with a shaven crown. St. Peter is his God and Lord and
conscience; and if he saw but the shine of a penny, for St. Peter he would
want it."

"And he shall have it," quoth Hereward; and flung out of the room, and
into his uncle's.

"Uncle, I have money. I am come to pay back what I took from the Steward,
and as much more into the bargain." And he told out eight-and-thirty
pieces.

"Thank God and all his saints!" cried Brand, weeping abundantly for joy;
for he had acquired, by long devotion, the _donum lachrymarum_,--that
lachrymose and somewhat hysterical temperament common among pious monks,
and held to be a mark of grace.

"Blessed St. Peter, thou art repaid; and thou wilt be merciful!"

Brand believed, in common with all monks then, that Hereward had robbed,
not merely the Abbey of Peterborough, but, what was more, St. Peter
himself; thereby converting into an implacable and internecine foe the
chief of the Apostles, the rock on which was founded the whole Church.

"Now, uncle," said Hereward, "do me one good deed in return. Promise me
that, if you can help it, none of my poor housecarles shall suffer for my
sins. I led them into trouble. I am punished. I have made restitution,--at
least to St. Peter. See that my father and mother, if they be the
Christians they call themselves, forgive and forget all offences except
mine."

"I will; so help me all saints and our Lord. O my boy, my boy, thou
shouldst have been a king's thane, and not an outlaw!"

And he hurried off with the news to the Abbot.

When Hereward returned to his room, Martin was gone.

"Farewell, good men of Peterborough," said Hereward, as he leapt into the
saddle next morning. "I had made a vow against you, and came to try you;
to see whether you would force me to fulfil it or not. But you have been
so kind that I have half repented of it; and the evil shall not come in
the days of Abbot Leofric, nor of Brand the Prior, though it may come in
the days of Herluin the Steward, if he live long enough."

"What do you mean, you incarnate fiend, only fit to worship Thor and
Odin?" asked Brand.

"That I would burn Goldenborough, and Herluin the Steward within it, ere I
die. I fear I shall do it; I fear I must do it. Ten years ago come Lammas,
Herluin bade light the peat-stack under me. Do you recollect?"

"And so he did, the hound!" quoth Brand. "I had forgotten that."

"Little Hereward never forgets foe or friend. Ever since, on Lammas night,
--hold still, horse!--I dream of fire and flame, and of Goldenborough in
the glare of it. If it is written in the big book, happen it must; if not,
so much the better for Goldenborough, for it is a pretty place, and honest
Englishmen in it. Only see that there be not too many Frenchmen crept in
when I come back, beside our French friend Herluin; and see, too, that
there be not a peat-stack handy: a word is enough to wise men like you.
Good by!"

"God help thee, thou sinful boy!" said the Abbot.

"Hereward, Hereward! Come back!" cried Brand.

But the boy had spurred his horse through the gateway, and was far down
the road.

"Leofric, my friend," said Brand, sadly, "this is my sin, and no man's
else. And heavy penance will I do for it, till that lad returns in peace."

"Your sin?"

"Mine, Abbot. I persuaded his mother to send him hither to be a monk.
Alas! alas! How long will men try to be wiser than Him who maketh men?"

"I do not understand thee," quoth the Abbot. And no more he did.

It was four o'clock on a May morning, when Hereward set out to see the
world, with good armor on his back, good weapon by his side, good horse
between his knees, and good money in his purse. What could a lad of
eighteen want more, who under the harsh family rule of those times had
known nothing of a father's, and but too little of a mother's, love? He
rode away northward through the Bruneswald, over the higher land of
Lincolnshire, through primeval glades of mighty oak and ash, holly and
thorn, swarming with game, which was as highly preserved then as now,
under Canute's severe forest laws. The yellow roes stood and stared at him
knee-deep in the young fern; the pheasant called his hens out to feed in
the dewy grass; the blackbird and thrush sang out from every bough; the
wood-lark trilled above the high oak-tops, and sank down on them as his
song sank down. And Hereward rode on, rejoicing in it all. It was a fine
world in the Bruneswald. What was it then outside? Not to him, as to us, a
world circular, sailed round, circumscribed, mapped, botanized,
zoologized; a tiny planet about which everybody knows, or thinks they know
everything: but a world infinite, magical, supernatural,--because unknown;
a vast flat plain reaching no one knew whence or where, save that the
mountains stood on the four corners thereof to keep it steady, and the
four winds of heaven blew out of them; and in the centre, which was to him
the Bruneswald, such things as he saw; but beyond, things
unspeakable,--dragons, giants, rocs, orcs, witch-whales, griffins,
chimeras, satyrs, enchanters, Paynims, Saracen Emirs and Sultans, Kaisers
of Constantinople, Kaisers of Ind and of Cathay, and beyond them again of
lands as yet unknown. At the very least he could go to Brittany, to the
forest of Brocheliaunde, where (so all men said) fairies might be seen
bathing in the fountains, and possibly be won and wedded by a bold and
dexterous knight after the fashion of Sir Gruelan. [Footnote: Wace, author
of the "Roman de Rou," went to Brittany a generation later, to see those
same fairies: but had no sport; and sang,--
"Fol i alai, fol m'en revins;
Folie quis, por fol me tins"]

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