priest; the others are an elderly man and woman.’ He paused again, knowing that Hereward would have realized what the news implied. ‘This boy must be the only one who got away.’
Hereward lowered his head and grasped it firmly in his hands. Alphonso walked away to join the others. By the time he had reached them, Hereward was on his feet, marching with purposeful strides towards Bourne.
‘Martin, stay here and keep everybody safe. Watch the trees and the road; there are Normans around. Alphonso, Einar, follow me. When I go into my father’s house, wait outside. If any Normans try to leave, cut them down.’
Hereward’s companions were used to taking his orders and acting on them precisely, so they stood and watched as their leader pushed open the door of his parents’ longhouse. They could see the three heads impaled on lances next to the church, their expressions strangely calm, their eyes closed, as if in repose. One of the men had the tonsured scalp of a monk, leading to the obvious conclusion that the grisly heads were those of the village priest and the thegn and his wife, Hereward’s parents.
The scene that confronted Hereward as he walked into the house in which he had been born more resembled a brothel than a family home. Food and drink were strewn across the table and floor, half-naked men dozed around the embers of the fire and the room stank of stale sweat, urine and vomit. Huddled together and cowering in the corner were three young village girls, perhaps fourteen or fifteen years old. They looked terrified and pulled the rug they were hiding behind tightly to their chins.
Hereward gestured to them to stay quiet, but two of the Normans stirred.
One of them spoke. ‘What do you want?’
Hereward did not answer.
The largest man, who seemed senior to the others, focused his eyes and realized that standing before him was a fully armed warrior, dressed like someone of high rank. ‘Who are you, Englishman?’
‘I am Hereward of Bourne and, now that my father has been murdered, I am Thegn of this village.’
‘Well, Hereward of Bourne, there isn’t much of a village left for you to be “Thegn” of.’ He leered cruelly. ‘Except these young wenches, who have been kind enough to keep us entertained.’
The other Normans had roused themselves and were looking around for their weapons. They were not unduly alarmed, as Hereward was but one Englishman in a room of nine, highly trained Norman soldiers.
Hereward remained calm. ‘I would like to have your name, sir.’
One of the Normans peered out of the window to see if more Englishmen lay in wait. He could see no one and turned to his leader with a reassuring shake of his head.
‘I am Ogier the Breton. These are my men and we serve William, King of England and Duke of Normandy. By his authority, I am now Lord of Bourne and all its lands. King William granted me this privilege in recognition of my service to him. Following your repeated attacks on him in the North, about which he is greatly vexed, he told me to punish the entire village and spare no one. I was also to make it abundantly clear to all before they died that it was the treasonable behaviour of Hereward of Bourne that had led to their suffering.’
Again, Hereward chose not to reply. Instead, he drew his sword and pulled the Great Axe of Goteborg from his shoulder.
The Normans scattered in every direction, but Hereward was at them like a whirlwind. He cut two men down to his left with his sword, then with his axe cleaved the Breton almost in two from his left shoulder to his midriff. The girls screamed in horror and hid their eyes while the remaining Normans shouted at one another in blind panic. Two more were dead before either of them could find a weapon, while another one threw a lance that Hereward easily deflected with his shield. He kicked one of the remaining quartet into the corner, while another clambered out of the window, only to be met by Einar’s deadly axe. A third rushed through the door, to be grabbed by Alphonso, who calmly slit his throat from ear to ear. The last Norman offering any resistance was impaled through the midriff by Hereward’s sword and pinned to the wall like a hog on a spit. Finally, he turned and brought his axe down on to the man cowering in the corner, creating a spew of blood and a deafening shriek of agony.
Einar and Alphonso appeared in the doorway to check that Hereward’s vengeance was done.
‘Einar, please go and get Maria, Ingigerd and Cristina; these girls need their help. Nobody else must see this. We leave as soon as we’ve buried the dead. Alphonso, make sure these pigs are dead too.’
Hereward looked around the house and saw no possessions that were important to him. He then went to the Normans’ horses and retrieved his father’s sword and the money and jewellery stolen from his parents. Finally, without hesitating, he set fire to his home with a log from his own hearth and watched it burn to the ground, consuming the Normans within.
A large communal grave was dug next to the church and all the bodies of the villagers were placed in it. Hereward retrieved the three heads and carefully put them in their rightful place with their bodies, a gruesome but necessary task. A simple cross was made and, when all evidence of the terrible carnage that had been visited on this tiny village had been removed, Hereward’s small band of followers joined him in a short ceremony.
In failing light, which added an appropriately sombre pall to the occasion, Hereward pushed the small cross into the ground at the head of the mass grave, stepped back and spoke solemnly. ‘Let us pray for the souls of these people of Bourne, who, like so many throughout England, have done nothing to deserve their cruel fate. May they rest in peace.’
He then closed the door of Bourne church, locked it and put the key on his belt.
He would never return.
Hereward and his extended family, now numbering eighteen with the addition of the four survivors of Bourne, spent the next few weeks well away from conflict of any kind.
They had much to reflect on, especially the young orphans from the village. Hereward spent many hours with Gunnhild and Estrith, talking to them, telling and retelling stories about their mother and teaching them as much as he knew about anything and everything. It became a special time for all of them. Only occasionally were there moments of tension, and always about the same subject: when could they return to St Cirq Lapopie? Hereward was often sorely tempted to agree to go at a day’s notice, but would only ever give the same answer: ‘Soon, one day soon.’
No matter how painful and threatening it was to those closest to him, he had unfinished business in England; the events in Bourne had only added to his resolve.
William had stood down his army and returned to Winchester, confident that the English rebellion was over. His only minor concerns were that the Danes had not yet left Humberside and that Hereward had disappeared from view. The Danish garrison had suffered badly over the harsh winter and William had not kept his word to keep them well supplied. However, he had sent the second instalment of their Danegeld and, assuming that they would not relish another winter far from home, William felt the continuing Danish presence did not warrant a further expedition to the North.
When the first flurries of snow appeared over the downs of southern England in the autumn of 1070, and the Danes had still not departed, William grew more concerned. News then arrived at Winchester that the charred remains of Ogier the Breton and his men had been found in the ruins of the longhouse at Bourne. He knew at once who was responsible and, as usual, his rage was unbounded.
The first sharp bite of winter had also prodded Hereward into action. The period of calm he had deliberately created after the events of Bourne had given him time to clear his head. Now it was time for one final clarion call. When he arrived at the agreed rendezvous on the Great Ouse in October, to his great joy almost three-quarters of his men had returned. They knew that the last few moves of Hereward’s game of chess with William were about to be made, and they had resigned themselves to whatever ending those moves would create.
Hereward now gathered together the 200 valiant souls who still followed him and asked them to sit on the ground in a relaxed, informal group; this was going to be a different kind of address.
‘Men of England, let me speak to you of things we all know to be true, but are reluctant to accept. We fought and lost in the North; we were too few in number and outmanoeuvred by a formidable opponent.’ He paused and looked around at the faces of those assembled. He was grateful to them for still being at his side after all the setbacks they had suffered and he admired their great courage when so many others had slunk away. ‘It is four years since Senlac Ridge. William has won this land.’
His men began to shake their heads and mutter.
‘It is true; an unbearable truth, but true all the same. He is relentless, vicious and cunning and a master of tactics and planning. He is also lucky; fortune has favoured him all along, especially on Senlac Ridge. The gods have smiled on the Normans: they were blessed in the Channel, when the wind didn’t blow; they were fortunate that we
