king’s business. Turn back now. None may approach Ely, by order of King William.’
‘You are fishermen,’ the cleric said with a laugh.
‘Aye, were. Till we found a good catch of coin.’ Laughter rippled around the other boat. Hereward guessed there were four or five men aboard.
‘The king has bought the services of every boat in the east,’ another voice said. ‘Let the fish swim free. Silver in the hand is better than any basket of eels.’
Hereward felt his mood darken. Ivo the Butcher had raised a sea blockade of Ely before, but it had been a half-hearted venture. William the Bastard would not be so lax. If the crown had control of the waters, then the noose had started to choke the life from Ely.
‘Are you not afraid of God’s will?’ Alric was asking the fishermen.
After a moment’s hesitation, one asked, ‘What do you say?’
‘In the church at Ely lies the arm of St Oswald. God’s power has been visited upon that relic. Have you not heard?’
‘Aye,’ the other man replied with a note of unease. ‘I have heard of this thing.’
‘I travel now to see this holy sight, for I hear tales of great wonders in Ely. It is said that God stands with the English.’
Hereward raised one ear better to hear the response. For a long moment only the creaking of the oars upon the side rolled out. He imagined the fishermen blanching and bowing their heads as they thought about opposing God’s will. The monk was clever indeed.
‘Aye, we are frit of God,’ one of the men muttered, ‘in the next world. But we fear the king in this one. All know of the doom he has visited upon the north.’
‘He has already taken the heads of many who have not done his bidding,’ the second man said in a low voice, as if he feared the monarch himself would overhear. ‘And he has commanded us to do the same to all who disobey his order.’
‘Turn back,’ the first man said. ‘Even a monk will not be spared.’
‘Very well,’ Alric replied, ‘but know that you will be judgedfor these actions.’ He began to row the boat round, but slowly enough for Hereward to keep himself hidden.
Once they were out of sight, the monk hauled on the mooring rope and helped his friend back into the vessel. The Mercian huddled in the prow, drying off in the afternoon sun. ‘What now?’ Alric asked. ‘We would risk our necks in these currents under cover of the night.’
‘The Bastard would be ready for us, even in the dark. Enough ships will be sailing these waters now. Not an eel could swim through.’ Squinting, Hereward glanced back at the vessels disappearing into the glare. ‘My brother will have told the Normans about all our secret paths through the wetlands.’
‘Aye, and where we forage for food, and which merchants have helped us.’
Hereward clenched one fist. ‘Any English blood that has been spilled because of his weakness must be paid for in full.’
‘But our army is trapped within the camp, and we are shut out here.’ The monk let his head sag.
‘No, there is another path, one kept secret lest the English ever have to flee Ely to escape the king’s wrath. It is wild in parts, through the most treacherous bogs where one wrong step means death. When the tides come in, the waters sweep across it and a man can be washed away and drowned. No one would walk it of free will. But we have no choice.’ He picked up his oar and gave his friend a lupine grin. ‘Where there is life there is hope, monk. You taught me that.’
They sailed back to the north and the west, dragging the boat up into the mud of the first dry land they found. Through thick sedge, dense walls of willow snarled by bramble, and sucking bogs that appeared deceptively solid, they struggled on. Begging for scraps of food on the way, the two men forged west through the chill night until they were too tired to walk any further. Then they huddled in their cloaks in the roots of a giant oak and tried to sleep until first light.
Bands of Norman
‘You are fishermen,’ the cleric said with a laugh.
‘Aye, were. Till we found a good catch of coin.’ Laughter rippled around the other boat. Hereward guessed there were four or five men aboard.
‘The king has bought the services of every boat in the east,’ another voice said. ‘Let the fish swim free. Silver in the hand is better than any basket of eels.’
Hereward felt his mood darken. Ivo the Butcher had raised a sea blockade of Ely before, but it had been a half-hearted venture. William the Bastard would not be so lax. If the crown had control of the waters, then the noose had started to choke the life from Ely.
‘Are you not afraid of God’s will?’ Alric was asking the fishermen.
After a moment’s hesitation, one asked, ‘What do you say?’
‘In the church at Ely lies the arm of St Oswald. God’s power has been visited upon that relic. Have you not heard?’
‘Aye,’ the other man replied with a note of unease. ‘I have heard of this thing.’
‘I travel now to see this holy sight, for I hear tales of great wonders in Ely. It is said that God stands with the English.’
Hereward raised one ear better to hear the response. For a long moment only the creaking of the oars upon the side rolled out. He imagined the fishermen blanching and bowing their heads as they thought about opposing God’s will. The monk was clever indeed.
‘Aye, we are frit of God,’ one of the men muttered, ‘in the next world. But we fear the king in this one. All know of the doom he has visited upon the north.’
‘He has already taken the heads of many who have not done his bidding,’ the second man said in a low voice, as if he feared the monarch himself would overhear. ‘And he has commanded us to do the same to all who disobey his order.’
‘Turn back,’ the first man said. ‘Even a monk will not be spared.’
‘Very well,’ Alric replied, ‘but know that you will be judgedfor these actions.’ He began to row the boat round, but slowly enough for Hereward to keep himself hidden.
Once they were out of sight, the monk hauled on the mooring rope and helped his friend back into the vessel. The Mercian huddled in the prow, drying off in the afternoon sun. ‘What now?’ Alric asked. ‘We would risk our necks in these currents under cover of the night.’
‘The Bastard would be ready for us, even in the dark. Enough ships will be sailing these waters now. Not an eel could swim through.’ Squinting, Hereward glanced back at the vessels disappearing into the glare. ‘My brother will have told the Normans about all our secret paths through the wetlands.’
‘Aye, and where we forage for food, and which merchants have helped us.’
Hereward clenched one fist. ‘Any English blood that has been spilled because of his weakness must be paid for in full.’
‘But our army is trapped within the camp, and we are shut out here.’ The monk let his head sag.
‘No, there is another path, one kept secret lest the English ever have to flee Ely to escape the king’s wrath. It is wild in parts, through the most treacherous bogs where one wrong step means death. When the tides come in, the waters sweep across it and a man can be washed away and drowned. No one would walk it of free will. But we have no choice.’ He picked up his oar and gave his friend a lupine grin. ‘Where there is life there is hope, monk. You taught me that.’
They sailed back to the north and the west, dragging the boat up into the mud of the first dry land they found. Through thick sedge, dense walls of willow snarled by bramble, and sucking bogs that appeared deceptively solid, they struggled on. Begging for scraps of food on the way, the two men forged west through the chill night until they were too tired to walk any further. Then they huddled in their cloaks in the roots of a giant oak and tried to sleep until first light.
Bands of Norman
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