‘Nothing could be further from my mind. I am only interested in killing Normans, until they respect justice and the law.’
Thurstan’s face contorted into a sneer. ‘I see, vengeance used to be your hallmark, now it is self- righteousness.’
‘Thurstan, I have had to live with the consequences of my actions, just as you have had to live with yours. It seems I am coping with the legacy of my deeds somewhat better than you are handling yours.’
Thurstan’s face turned to fury. ‘What do you want in my abbey?’
‘Tomorrow, we go to the tomb of the virgin martyr, St Etheldreda, to swear an Oath to our Brotherhood of Englishmen and assert our rights as subjects of King William.’
‘Have you not learned your lesson by now? Senlac Ridge was lost, Harold is dead, England is William’s; he will do with it as he sees fit.’
‘All those things are beyond dispute, except the last. We mean to convince him that kings should rule with wisdom.’ Hereward clasped the Talisman, which he now wore openly outside his armour.
‘Ah yes, I’ve heard about this magic amulet you wear. You have become the hero of legend: a saviour, protected by a magic spell woven by a sorcerer from the forest and his enchantress of a daughter. So what do you expect from me?’
‘I expect nothing from you. We will stay outside the cloisters, which come under your jurisdiction, except for the right of passage to visit St Etheldreda’s tomb. However, if, as an Englishman, you feel you should take the Oath of the Brotherhood, that is for your conscience to consider. I intend to fortify Ely against an onslaught by William and no one will come or go without my direct authority. Other than that, just stay out of my way.’
‘And what of our reckoning — surely you must seek a resolution?’
‘I do not. God will punish you for your actions and, from the look of you, the fires of Hell already begin to burn brightly within you. As for me, your evil deed set me on a course which has brought me a life few have been fortunate enough to experience.’ He paused for a second and looked Thurstan in the eye. ‘Don’t misunderstand me. If you cross me in any way, take any action, or say anything that undermines the cause our Brotherhood has proclaimed, I will kill you in the blink of an eye.’
Hereward turned and left, his heavy steps once more echoing around the cloisters of Ely Abbey.
Built to hold her remains, and to allow pilgrims to make their devotions to her, St Etheldreda’s vault stood in a small chapel on the northern side of the cloisters of the abbey. Except for her hands, clasped in prayer and standing proudly from it, the stone slab of her tomb had her elaborately carved life-size outline cut into it. Laid across her hands by the nuns was a beautiful rosary in pearl and ruby beads, culminating in a delicate silver cross on which was chased the figure of the crucified Christ.
The daughter of a seventh-century East Anglian king, she had taken holy orders rather than relinquish her virginity in an arranged marriage imposed on her by her father, and was the foundress of the Abbey of Ely. She had become revered for her generosity, piety and wisdom and lived the rest of her life in poverty, bearing the constant pain of a large tumour on her neck, an infliction that she regarded as appropriate punishment for all the fine jewellery she had worn as a child. St Etheldreda was the perfect patron for the Brotherhood’s cause.
The entire burgh of Ely looked on as the Brotherhood filed into the chapel to take their Oath. Hereward stood at the head of the sepulchre as each man placed his weapons on Etheldreda’s image and rested his left hand on her rosary. He then placed the Talisman of Truth over their head as they pressed the clenched fist of their right hand to their chest and recited the Oath.
On the holy remains of the martyr, St Etheldreda, and in the sight of God, I swear to assert the rights of all Englishmen to live in peace and justice.
By wearing this amulet of the ancients, I attest to my belief in truth and wisdom.
By this salute, I enter the Brotherhood of St Etheldreda and do solemnly commit my life to it and its noble cause.
So help me God.
Hereward’s family were the last to take the Oath. As they finished, Thurstan appeared with the entire community of Ely Abbey, all of whom asked to take the Oath.
When it came to Thurstan’s turn, he was helped to the tomb. ‘Hereward of Bourne, I humbly offer myself to your cause. I am one of the many who has submitted to the King, but there is no contradiction in submitting to a rightful king and seeking to be governed with fairness and equanimity. Thus, I will happily take the Oath of the Brotherhood.’ He turned to Hereward and addressed him in a voice loud enough to be heard way beyond the confines of the chapel. ‘Your fellowship needs a chaplain. I offer myself to you as its priest and confessor.’
Hereward suspected evil intent in Thurstan’s conversion, but knew that he could hardly refuse his gesture. ‘Your offer is accepted, Abbot Thurstan.’
Hereward placed the Talisman over Thurstan’s head. For reasons only the Abbot knew, the Talisman did not sit well with him. As he took the Oath, he seemed very agitated by it, his eyes darting around in their sockets and his face twitching even more than usual.
Finally, Hereward took the Oath himself. As he did so, the monks formed into a choir around the cloisters and raised their voices in a majestic canticle of celebration. Every Christian soul present hoped and prayed that the Brotherhood would find favour with God and the King.
Thus the Brotherhood of St Etheldreda was sworn; its deeds would soon become legend.
Hereward immediately set about reinforcing the fortifications of the burgh. Paying well for them, he commandeered all the boats in the area, built watchtowers around Ely’s walls and posted sentries around the perimeter of the island.
Within a couple of days, the Danes arrived. Their entire fleet had made its way from the Humber to Wisbech, where it anchored. King Svein Estrithson, his brother Prince Osbjorn, his three sons and Christian, Bishop of Aarhus, travelled to Ely in ceremonial style. The King was accompanied by his hearthtroop and was heralded by the Danes’ distinctive hunting horns and the measured beat of their war drums. Flying his royal standard, the Eagle of the Skagerrak, and wearing his heavy bearskin cloak, he was the epitome of his renowned Viking ancestors.
As he had no Great Hall to accommodate the royal delegation, Hereward had benches brought from St Etheldreda’s chapel and met the King in the open.
After the usual formalities, Svein Estrithson began. ‘I hear you have become like the slave Spartacus — a man who fights against the tyranny of his rulers?’
‘Yes, my Lord King, I fight for the freedom to live in peace and with justice.’
‘So you reject the rule of kings?’
‘I do not, sire. I simply ask that they rule with wisdom and fairness.’
‘And who decides that?’
Beginning to resent the tone of Svein’s questions, Hereward bristled. ‘The people do.’
Estrithson continued to goad. ‘I’m sure King William will think that he should decide what is wise and fair.’
‘Sire, that is his prerogative; it is ours to disagree with him.’
‘An interesting philosophy.’
Estrithson looked around at his companions, the elite of the Danish aristocracy. ‘But I’m not sure it’s an idea we would embrace in Denmark.’
The King’s companions began to snigger, except for Osbjorn, who was watching the exchange intently.
Hereward had had enough of the teasing, even from a king. ‘You are not in Denmark; you are in England, in the presence of the Brotherhood of St Etheldreda. You have come here for a purpose, King Svein of Denmark.’
The King stiffened in anger.
Prince Osbjorn quickly intervened. ‘My brother, Hereward is a man I respect. He responds tersely because he is a man of principle. Besides, I suspect he no longer needs our support; what he fights for now needs faith, not an army.’
‘That doesn’t excuse an insult to me!’
Hereward stepped forward. ‘Svein, King of the Danes, you are welcome in Ely. The Brotherhood and I are honoured by the presence of a great warrior and a noble king.’
Hereward’s conciliatory tone defused the King’s anger.
Prince Osbjorn continued the discussion. ‘By not keeping his word, King William owes us a debt — not the Danegeld that he duly paid, but compensation for the harm he has done to us and the insult of his indifference.
