The crowd rushed in. It was made up of hinds and serfs from the township of Ely, and of the gaping novices and lay brothers and serving men of the abbey; but in the head of it was an old fenner, who dwelt on the Stoke river between Hilgay and Downham-market, and who was well known for his skill in fowling and decoying birds, and for no other good deed: his name was Roger Lighthand, and he was afterwards hanged for stealing. He had his tale by rote, and he told it well. He was going that morning to look after some snares near Stoke-ferry, when, to his amazement, he saw a great band of Normans marching across the fens under the guidance of some of the fenners. He concealed himself and the Normans concealed themselves: and soon afterwards there came a band of Saxons headed by the Lord of Brunn, and these Saxons fell into the ambush which the Normans had laid for them; and the Lord of Brunn, after a desperate fight, was slain, and his head was cut off by the Normans and stuck upon a spear; and then the Normans marched away in the direction of Brandon, carrying with them as prisoners all the Saxons of Lord Hereward that they had not slain—all except one man, who had escaped out of the ambush and was here to speak for himself. And now another fenner opened his mouth to give forth the lies which had been put into it; and this man said that, early in the morning, the Lord of Brunn, with a very thin attendance, had come across the fens where he dwelt, with a great blowing of horns, and with sundry gleemen, who sang songs about the victories of Hereward the Saxon, and who drew all the fenners of those parts, and himself among the rest, to join the Lord of Brunn, in order to march with him to the upland country and get corn and wine for the good monks of Ely. “When the Lord Hereward fell,” said this false loon, “I was close to him, and I afterwards saw his head upon the Norman lance.” “And I too,” quoth Roger Lighthand, “from my hiding-place among the rushes, saw the bleeding head of the Lord of Brunn as plainly as I now see the face of the Lord Abbat!”
The traitorous monks made a loud lamentation and outcry, but Thurstan could neither cry nor speak, and he sate with his face buried in his hands; while the prior ordered the crowd to withdraw, and then barred the door after them. As he returned from the door to his seat, the prior said, “Brethren, our last hope is gone!” And every monk then present, save only three, repeated the words, “Our last hope is gone!”
“The great captain hath perished,” said the chamberlain: “he will bring us no corn and wine! There is no help for us except only in tendering our submission to King William, and in showing him how to get through the fens and fall upon the rebel people in the Camp of Refuge, who have consumed our substance and brought us to these straits!”
Many voices said in a breath that there was no other chance of escaping famine or slaughter.
This roused the Saxon-hearted Lord Abbat, who had almost begun to weep in tenderness for brave Hereward’s death; and, striking the table until the hall rang again, he up and said, “Let me rather die the death of the wicked than have part in, or permit, so much base treachery! Let me die ten times over rather than be false to my country! Let me die a hundred deaths, or let me live in torture, rather than betray the noblest of the nobles of England that be in the Camp of Refuge; and the venerable archbishop and bishops, abbats and priors that have so long found a refuge in this house—a house ever famed for its hospitality. Let me, I say....”
Here the prior, with great boldness and insolence, interrupted the Lord Abbat, and said with a sneer, “The few servants of the church that now be in this house shall be looked to in our compact with the Normans; but for the fighting-lords that be in the Camp of Refuge, let them look to themselves! They have arms and may use them, or by laying down their arms they may hope to be admitted to quarter and to the King’s peace; or ... or they may save their lives by timeous flight ... they may get them back into Scotland or to their own countries from which they came, for our great sorrow, to devour our substance and bring down destruction upon our house. We, the monks of Ely, owe them nothing!”
“Liar that thou art,” said Thurstan, “we owe them years of liberty and the happy hope of being for ever free of Norman bondage and oppression. If ye bring the spoilers among us, ye will soon find what we have owed to these valorous lords and knights! We owe to them and to their fathers much of the treasure which is gone and much of the land which remains to this monastery: we owe to them the love and good faith which all true Englishmen owe to one another; and in liberal minds this debt of affection only grows the stronger in adverse seasons. We are pledged to these lords and knights by every pledge that can have weight and value between man and man!”
“All this,” quoth the chamberlain, “may or may not be true; but we cannot bargain for the lives and properties of those that are in the Camp of Refuge: and we are fully resolved to save our own lives, with such property as yet remains to this, by thee misgoverned, monastery. Nevertheless we will entreat the King to be merciful unto the rebels.”
“What rebels! what king!” roared the Lord Abbat again, smiting the table; “oh chamberlain! oh prior! oh ye back-sliding monks that sit there with your chins in your hands, not opening your lips for the defence of your superior, to whom ye have all vowed a constant obedience, it is ye that are the rebels and traitors! Deo regnante et Rege expectante, by the great God that reigns, and by King Harold that is expected, this Norman bastard is no king of ours! There is no king of England save only King Harold, who will yet come back to claim his own, and to give us our old free laws!”
“We tell thee again, oh Thurstan! that Harold lies buried in Waltham Abbey, and that there be those who have seen...”