Crusade by Stewart Binns Page B

ferocity that you will never forget.
    Like his father’s Harrying of the North ten years earlier, Robert ordered his conroi to travel far and wide to find the perpetrators of the atrocity at Gateshead. For understandable reasons, my conroi was spared this odious task, but within two weeks the patrols had returned.
    Their reports made my blood run cold. In total, 251 men had been killed in the chase or executed. Each arrested man had been tortured to extract the names of all who were involved in the massacre until the Normans were satisfied that all the culprits had been dealt with.
    Where a man had been hiding in a village or farm, all the buildings were torched, livestock killed and the peoplecast out. The execution of the leading figure in the outrage, Eadulf Rus, a local nobleman related to the powerful Earls of Bamburgh, was saved until last and carried out in full view of the entire population of Durham, who had been ordered to attend.
    With Normandy’s finest standing sentinel on their huge destriers, Eadulf Rus was dragged from the cage in which he had been incarcerated since his capture. He was in a bad way; he had been blinded, his tongue ripped out and his legs and arms broken by repeated blows from Norman maces.
    He was still conscious as his body was hauled across the grassy bailey beneath the newly reinforced wooden keep being built above it. The crowd, mainly Anglo-Danes and kinsmen of Eadulf who had returned to their homes to try to rebuild their lives, was silent.
    Robert sat on his destrier, his helmet set down, his face stern; he addressed the crowd in Latin.
    ‘I am Robert, Count of Normandy, son of William, King of England and Duke of Normandy. Let those who would slaughter a bishop of Christ and an earl of England, and over a hundred of his kin, understand that this will be their retribution.’
    He then signalled to the execution party and Eadulf’s limp body was laid beside a mounting block, his head raised by its hair and his neck stretched to give the executioner a clear strike. One of the Normans’ most formidable sergeants-at-arms stepped forward, bowed to his lord and took Robert’s sword.
    It took three blows to sever Eadulf’s head from his body, but it was done. There were a few gasps from the crowdand sobbing could be heard from some of the women, but in the main there was silence. The Northumbrian’s head was stuck on a spike above the gates of the castle and his body thrown into the River Wear. The crowd shuffled away dispassionately, hiding their true feelings from their Norman masters.
    It was difficult to comprehend what they must have felt about the cruelty they had just witnessed. They had seen so much killing and knew only too well what the Normans were capable of.
    Were they intimidated by what they had witnessed?
    Probably not.
    Were they angered and yet more emboldened to continue their resistance?
    Unlikely.
    Were they overwhelmed by the volume of suffering endured in over ten years of hardship, so as to be almost numb to any further pain?
    Almost certainly.
    I spent the evening with Edwin, Adela and Sweyn.
    ‘No one deserves to die like that.’
    It was the first time I had heard Adela speak with a tremor of emotion in her voice.
    ‘Adela, it was a horrific punishment. But remember, he was a man who burned to death over 100 men.’
    ‘The execution fitted the crime, but to torture him like that is no better than the bestial act that he committed. Justice has to be greater than that.’
    Sweyn concurred with Adela.
    ‘I agree. If a man has killed or raped, then he deservesto die. But his death should be just that – he forfeits his life, it is enough.’
    Edwin looked at his young friends admiringly.
    ‘Those are wise words. How did you come to such a judgement?’
    Sweyn looked at Edwin and me purposefully.
    ‘We remember what Hereward often said: “Let others make mayhem, we will make the peace.”’
    I sensed that Adela and Sweyn had come to a new and profound