Crusade

Disguised as Benedictine monks and nuns, we arrived in Ely in early December 1095. It was an emotional experience for all of us. So much had happened in all our lives as a consequence of the events at Ely in that momentous autumn of 1071.

Estrith was particularly distraught to discover that St Etheldreda’s Chapel had been torn down, along with the abbey and its cloisters, so that there was no trace of any of the buildings that were so prominent in her memory. In their place, twelve years of toil by an army of masons, carpenters and blacksmiths had produced the substantial beginnings of yet another towering tribute to Norman audacity. Begun by Abbot Simeon in 1083 under the direct instructions of Robert’s father, the walls were already high enough to be seen across the Fens for miles around, making the new cathedral resemble a ship floating across the watery landscape.

The King had been true to his word and ordered that the keystone of the central arch of the crypt be positioned exactly where St Etheldreda’s tomb had stood. He had been tempted to destroy the tomb, but relented on advice from Simeon and his clerics. To Estrith’s great relief, the tomb had been moved down into the crypt when it was finished a year ago.

Abbot Simeon had died and King Rufus had not appointed a replacement, so we sought the help of Gyrth, acting Abbot, who happened to be English, to gain access to the crypt. We swore him to secrecy about our visit, and he agreed to grant us access to the crypt at the end of the working day.

He met us after evening prayers, and gave me the sad news that Wolnatius, the survivor of Ely whom I had met on my previous visit, had died a few years ago. As far as Gyrth knew, he had been the last survivor of the siege still alive.

As the monks of Ely made their way back to their cells after prayers, we lit torches and made our way to the crypt. Striding across the huge flagstones of the nave, I was amused to think about the price the quarry in Northamptonshire had received in payment for the stone: 8,000 barrels of Ely’s finest produce — eels!

As we descended to the crypt, we all felt apprehensive. What we were about to do would forge an unbreakable covenant between us — one which we knew, in due course, would almost certainly reveal our true destinies. Not only that, but we were going to take the vow in a place that held so much meaning and symbolism.

The din of the hordes of workmen had stopped and the gentle plainchant of the monks had drifted away, but the silence was only fleeting as a raw easterly wind began to whistle through the fragmentary skeleton of the cathedral and our footfalls boomed around the vast space. Our breath turned to mist in the cold night air and the echoes made us whisper to one another.

Sweyn led the way. He was the first to lift his lantern to reveal the low, vaulted ceiling of the crypt and the colossal round columns that supported their counterparts in the nave. The space was bare, except for St Etheldreda’s tomb, standing proudly in the middle. Estrith recognized it immediately, and we all stood back to allow her to reflect on those chilling moments when her life and that of her sister had been spared by the intervention of a mysterious burst of sunlight.

Estrith went over to the tomb. It was just as it had been described to me. The plain stone sarcophagus was topped by a finely dressed slab, unadorned save for the outline of the saint’s form chased into it and, carved in relief, standing proud of it, her hands in prayer. We stood in silence, deep beneath the nave, the echoes gone, the wind now barely audible.

It is strange how something as plain as a block of stone can strike fear into the hearts of even the most resolute of men. Cold and unyielding, and piled high with others of its kind, it creates an eerie presence that seems to possess a life of its own. The stones of the crypt reverberated, as if they could speak, and gave birth to dark corners and gloomy shadows which concealed secrets and mysteries.

Estrith ended the unnerving silence by pulling a rosary from a small purse on her belt.

‘Nobody noticed me take this when we were dragged from the chapel all those years ago. I have kept it ever since. As we don’t have the Talisman to wear, I thought we should each wear this rosary as we take the oath.’

Made of striking pearls and rubies, the beads culminated in a delicate silver cross on which was chased the figure of the crucified Christ. Estrith placed it around our necks in turn. We then each placed our left hand on St Etheldreda’s hands and clasped our right hand to our chest in the Roman salute of the Brotherhood of Ely, taking it in turns to recite the words which would become the guiding light of the rest of our days.