Crusade

I admired Hereward enormously, and wanted so much to be like him. When the campaign became too dangerous, he sent me with a small force high into the Pennines, into Upper Swaledale, a remote and harsh place, to see out the winter. But it proved disastrous — I wasn’t strong enough, and the morale of my men disintegrated.

When William and his Normans began their massacres in the North, it looked as though we were trapped. My men had lost the will to fight. Then, when all seemed lost, Hereward and a small squadron of his redoubtable followers appeared from the top of the fells, as if from nowhere, their horses sinking to their chests in deep snow. It was a miracle — a moment I will never forget.

Hereward breathed new life into us, just by his presence and sense of purpose. I vowed then to find a way to follow his example.

He sent me to Malcolm Canmore, King of the Scots, for my protection and organized a last redoubt on the Isle of Ely. Hundreds flocked to his standard, including all the prominent men of England who still had the courage to resist. These included, to their ultimate credit, the last two English earls, Edwin of Mercia and Morcar of Northumbria, who had previously disgraced themselves by not joining Harold at Senlac Ridge and then by submitting to William at his court. A Brotherhood in honour of St Etheldreda was sworn and word was sent to all corners of the land proclaiming the right of the people to be ruled justly by common law.

It was the bravest act I have ever known. I should have been there, but Hereward wanted me to survive as the embodiment of England’s past and to remain a symbol of resistance for the future. For many years I asked myself if I had given in too readily to Hereward’s insistence. Did I take the easy way out? In my heart I know I did not, but, again, I grew stronger from the experience.

It took the King several months to break the besieged city. The end came in October 1071, almost five years to the day from Senlac Ridge. Few survived the Norman vengeance. Those who did were mutilated; most died from their wounds or, unable to care for themselves, starved to death. Morcar was the only one spared and left whole, but was imprisoned for the rest of his life.

Hereward’s loyal companions — Martin Lightfoot, Einar of Northumbria and Alphonso of Granada — were also killed, but some of his family escaped to the home they had made in Aquitaine. However, the fate of his twin daughters, Gunnhild and Estrith, only became known to me many years later.

As for Hereward himself, that became an even greater mystery. It was rumoured he had been taken alive, but then flogged to death by William’s men. Others believed he was killed by William’s own hand in the Chapel of St Etheldreda and buried in secret at Crowland Abbey. A few even believed he escaped into the Bruneswald and lived a long life away from England. Some even believe that he is still alive now. Sadly, that is not possible, as he would be almost 100 years old, but he deserved a long and contented life for all he did in leading our fight against the Normans. The Siege of Ely may have ended when the rebels’ resistance was broken, but he made sure our spirit never was.

My memory of him is still vivid. He was an extraordinary man, very tall, with great strength and courage. He carried a mighty double-headed battle-axe, the Great Axe of Goteborg, with which he slew countless victims. He also wore a mystical talisman given to him by his wife, the seer, Torfida. She too was said to be a remarkable woman, but I never met her. Sadly, she died in strange circumstances a few months after Senlac Ridge.

I hope that one day, despite what the Norman scribes may write, the heroism of Hereward and all those who fought for freedom and justice with him at Ely will be remembered for generations to come.

I spent the years after the fall of Ely at the court of Malcolm Canmore in Scotland with my sisters Margaret and Christina, feeling sorry for myself and for England. Canmore was good to me but he could be a brute. He had little learning of any kind — he was a thug, on a par with the harshest of his housecarls. He sent Christina to the nuns in England and demanded that my beloved sister Margaret marry him. She was not only beautiful and kind, she also carried the bloodline of England’s kings stretching back to Alfred the Great, which was very appealing to Canmore. The poor woman had no choice if we were to have the safety of his kingdom.

She, on the other hand, was a saint. She produced a large brood of children for him, brought culture and sophistication to the court and worked tirelessly for the poor and the Church. She was everything he was not, and much loved for it. Happily, she was a good influence on him and he began to moderate his ways. Eventually, she became fond of him — perhaps she felt it was her duty to bring a woeful sinner back into God’s fold.