Conquest

To celebrate, Hereward declared two nights of feasting and the entire contingent was given a pouch of silver each, enough to keep a family for the best part of a year. But the celebrations were short-lived. Within days, more bad news arrived — and continued in a steady stream over the ensuing weeks.

When they had reached the safety of their homeland, the Welsh had told Eadric the Wild that, having witnessed William’s unrelenting determination and gruesome tactics, they were gravely concerned about their future security and would not be returning to England to continue the rebellion. Eadric’s daughters had been taken hostage to persuade him to submit, and he had returned to Chester to bow to William.

In the South West, Count Brian the Breton, the new Lord of Cornwall, had driven Harold’s sons back to Ireland. Their siege of Montacute had failed, and the defenders had been relieved by the Norman lord Geoffrey of Coutances, at the head of a large force that included a significant number of Englishmen from London, Winchester and Salisbury.

Disastrous news also came from the North. Of the brave men who had fought so well at York, only Siward Bjorn was prepared to continue the rebellion. Cospatrick, cowed by William’s merciless slaughter of the people of the North, was not prepared to leave the safety of Scotland and had been made Earl of Dunbar by King Malcolm. Worst of all, Earl Waltheof, horrified by the slaying of thousands of innocents in the North, had thrown himself at the mercy of William, who forgave him, and had become betrothed to William’s niece, Lady Judith.

Finally, finding that he had few honourable companions left and unable to persuade King Malcolm to do any more than offer a safe haven, Edgar the Atheling had become dispirited and was preparing to go to the court of Philip of France, to raise support for an attack on Normandy from the south.

Hereward found the depressing reports hard to take, especially the news of brave Eadric’s submission and that of the courageous Waltheof, who had decapitated Normans at York as if they were daisies in a field.

Hereward’s men were stood down and given leave until the autumn. They were to return at the beginning of October, after the harvest. The rendezvous would be at a ford over the Great Ouse just outside Huntingdon, a place all soldiers knew well. Standing the men down was a huge risk, as many might not return, but Hereward had no choice. He had no more speeches to give and no more rallying calls to issue. He had not given up, but he did not know how to continue.

His senior retinue stayed with him. Edwin had no family left, as his father and brothers had died on Senlac Ridge. Although Edmund had a family in Kent, he refused to go, perhaps fearful of what he might find. As for Gohor, he let his men go, but he decided to stay; he had adopted the womenfolk in his care, just as they had adopted him, and he now felt part of the family.

Now, as a renegade band of just fourteen souls, they travelled through England’s heartland in an arc from the Avon and the Thames to the Stour and the Trent. They kept on the move, stayed away from villages and burghs, and spoke only to the poor people of the land in their isolated communities. From a distance, they watched the Normans build their mottes and baileys and saw their soldiers scurrying about their duties.

Hereward avoided the subject of the rebellion and would not be drawn on his thoughts or his state of mind.

Accompanied only by his daughters, Gunnhild and Estrith, he made a private pilgrimage to the holy sisters at Hereford, and from there to visit Torfida’s grave. On his return, he offered few details of the trip, except to say that the nuns had taken her to a wonderful resting place in a clearing she often talked about, deep in the forest and close to the summit of Pennard Hill near Glastonbury.

There were commanding views across the water meadows below that were not unlike the fens of his own home. Glastonbury Tor stood proudly in the distance, a towering symbol of Harold, of Wessex and of England. The grave had been marked by an oak sapling, reared from an acorn gathered from the place where she had died. The nuns had called the clearing ‘Torfida’s Glade’ and made pilgrimages there to pray.

Hereward was content that it was an idyllic resting place for his wife, where her soul could mingle with the heritage of the wildwood.

27. The Brotherhood

In the middle of August 1070, Hereward announced that he would like to undertake another pilgrimage. It would be to Bourne, his Lincolnshire home, a place he had not visited in a very long time and somewhere his girls had never seen. This journey would not be a private one; he wanted his companions to see the enigmatic Fens and his unremarkable birthplace.

In the turmoil of a conquered England, he had no idea if his family would still be there. He had often thought about them and had vowed that, when the time was right, he would return.