‘Sire, I beg you. I beg for compassion for the people of England.’ Hereward slumped against the post to which he was still bound.
‘Drag him into the cloisters! Bring the family!’
William led the procession into the broad cloisters of Ely Abbey, long since deserted by the citizens of Ely. Still under the care of Bishop Aethelwine, they had dispersed to their homes around the burgh — safe, for the time being, from the King’s wrath.
Hereward was on the threshold of death as he was dragged into the Chapel of St Etheldreda and thrown at the base of her tomb. Gunnhild and Estrith were pulled from the others, dragged into the chapel and spreadeagled over the image of the virgin martyr. Once more, Hereward was revived. This time, cold water was not sufficient and they had to use hot torches on his feet until he regained consciousness sufficiently to hear the King’s enraged voice.
‘Will you, Hereward of Bourne, sacrifice your children for the Oath of the Brotherhood?’
Hereward failed to respond and the King bellowed more loudly.
‘Will you sacrifice your brood for the Oath of the Brotherhood?’
As Hereward raised his head, he could see two of William’s henchmen, each with a sword to the throat of his girls.
‘They will die here and now on the Virgin’s tomb unless you renounce the Oath of the Brotherhood.’
William was shaking and sweating, his voice tremulous with rage. Estrith and Gunnhild screamed as he shouted his demands; their cries echoed around the abbey.
Hereward summoned enough strength to speak. ‘I will not renounce the Oath! Too many have died for our cause for me to reject it now. Spare my children. They are innocent of any crime; they have not offended you in any way.’
The King stepped forward and placed a gold piece on the breast of St Etheldreda. He grabbed the Talisman from Hereward’s neck and placed it over the rosary beads on her hands. One of his knights brought him the Great Axe of Goteborg and William clasped it firmly in both hands.
‘With this offering to St Etheldreda, I, William, King of England, Duke of Normandy, strike down this traitor and his kith and kin. In so doing, I bring to an end this Brotherhood and all it stands for. So help me God.’
William raised the Great Axe of Goteborg above his head and aimed it at Hereward’s neck. His two knights pulled back their swords, ready to strike at the throats of Gunnhild and Estrith, who screamed in horror.
‘My Lord King, spare my girls. Strike me down, but spare them.’
‘Renounce the Oath!’
‘I cannot! Saying the words to save my children will not negate the Oath. You cannot deny truth with an act of violence. And I cannot reject it with an act of expediency.’
‘So be it.’ William flexed the Great Axe, ready to swing it.
At that moment, a shaft of sunlight burst through the window, caught a reflection from the Great Axe and illuminated the opposite wall. The chapel shone with an amber glow. The light reflected on the crucifix of St Etheldreda’s rosary, casting a beam through the Talisman that lay on her hands. William looked at the amulet and saw the crimson flash across the face of the Devil. He was horrified, but transfixed by it, unable to turn away until, after several moments, he blinked and shook his head, trying to gather his senses. As he did so, he was blinded by the dazzling sunbeams now pouring in through the windows, filling the chapel with light.
Suddenly panic-stricken, the King dropped the Great Axe, sending it crashing to the stone floor with a deafening clang that reverberated around Ely like a bell ringing in Hell. The knights who were about to strike the girls dropped their swords, multiplying the discordant clash of steel on stone. All the King’s men took flight and spilled out into the cloisters, leaving William alone.
Moments later, he staggered breathlessly from the chapel, his ruddy, blotchy countenance suddenly deathly white. He felt a vice-like pain tightening around his chest, jagged jolts running down his arms and, no more than five yards from the chapel, he collapsed to the ground, uttering just one sentence before slipping into unconsciousness.
‘Seal the chapel; no one goes in or out.’
31. The Reckoning
Gunnhild and Estrith were locked in the virgin martyr’s chapel with their stricken father. They soon gathered their composure and began to think about how to cope with their confinement. Outside, the Normans ran around in disarray, convinced their King had been struck down by a holy visitation wrought by St Etheldreda.
William was hurried away to his headquarters on Belsar’s Hill, where his physicians attended him. Guards were posted outside the chapel, while, inside, the girls began to care for their father. They covered his nakedness with the altar cloth and kept him warm by cutting a hole in the thatch above and starting a fire, using candles as kindling and benches as firewood. They cleaned his wounds with communion wine, prepared a crude vegetable soup from the harvest offerings at the foot of the martyr’s tomb and washed him with water from the baptismal font.
Gradually Hereward gained some strength; not so, William.
The King was only fit to leave his bed over a week after the mysterious events in St Etheldreda’s Chapel. Dressed in full armour, he donned his royal regalia and rode into Ely in great pomp. However, he entered St Etheldreda’s Chapel cautiously, with only Robert, Count of Mortain, his half-brother and most trusted lieutenant, for company.
Gunnhild and Estrith, who sat either side of their father, moved closer to him as the King appeared. William was still pale and vapid. Hereward, however, looked alert and tolerably comfortable. His daughters had done a remarkable job in keeping him alive.
The King looked around nervously and beckoned to Robert of Mortain to take the girls outside. Looking back anxiously, they struggled and screamed, but had no choice.
The Talisman still lay across St Etheldreda’s praying hands. The gold piece was still on the virgin’s breast, and the rosary still decorated her clasped fingers.
‘You have put a spell on this place, Hereward of Bourne. The hand of the Devil is at work in this chapel.’
‘There are no devils here; there is only goodness in this place.’
‘You conjured a trick to deceive me. Your wife was a sorceress; her girls have inherited her proficiency in the black arts.’
‘This has nothing to do with the black arts. It is about truth and justice.’
William inhaled a deep sigh, sat down on a bench and stared at St Etheldreda’s tomb. He suddenly seemed vulnerable. ‘I was born the son of a duke, but my mother was a tanner’s daughter from Falaise. I have had to fight all my life to be recognized as the rightful heir to the Dukedom of Normandy. Now I am a king but, again, I have to fight to be accepted. Why won’t the English recognize me? Why?’
‘Sire, Normandy is used to being ruled with an iron fist. England is a different land, with a diversity of people, languages and customs. England has always been ruled according to ancient traditions: that its rulers can be challenged; that oppression is to be resisted; and that independence is to be cherished. This is the land you have won in battle; it is very different from Normandy. You must understand that.’
‘Would you have let your daughters die when I challenged you?’
‘I had no choice, sire. I could not renounce a sacred oath under pain of death — either theirs or mine. I hope Gunnhild and Estrith, young as they are, understand that. It is a terrible thing for a father to place his daughters in mortal danger, but that peril was wrought by you, not by me.’
The King stood. ‘Something happened to me in this chapel. Whether it was visited upon me by God, the Devil, St Etheldreda or the Talisman, I do not know, but it was real. I saw a vision of Christ’s blood and a blinding light. I felt pain, like a giant hand gripping my chest. I couldn’t breathe; I believe the Hand of God was telling me to stop.’
‘Then listen to it, sire.’
The King walked towards the window of the chapel. ‘Hereward of Bourne, I acknowledge the hand that stayed my arm. Although you may be surprised to hear this, I have considered what you have said to me. The
