‘Gentlemen, please sit and eat with us. We are roasting some fine English mutton.’
‘Thank you, sire.’
‘Hereward of Bourne, we are honoured to have you in our camp. Your reputation goes before you. Edwin we know well. He is a fine young soldier. We were delighted to have him at our court in Aarhus.’
‘Prince Osbjorn, I will come to the point.’
‘Of course.’
‘William, Duke of Normandy has been here.’
‘He has. I am amused that you still refer to him as the “Duke of Normandy”. I thought he had ruled here as King for almost three years.’
‘Only by force of arms.’
‘Many kings win their throne by force of arms.’
‘That is true. But many kings are also unseated by force of arms, and that will be William’s fate. Isn’t that why you came here – to help us do that?’
Prince Osbjorn was a man of palpable intelligence and cunning and did not take offence at the bluntness of Hereward’s question. ‘Following your pleas, conveyed by Edwin, I was asked to lead our forces by my brother, King Svein. Our objective was to bring a large enough army to help the English in their campaign against King William – the “Duke”, as you call him. We destroyed his navy, as you asked. We caused disruption along the east coast, as you asked. And then, with Prince Edgar and his men, we stormed the gates of York and put the Normans to flight… as you asked.’
‘Yes, you did all that we asked of you, and for that we are grateful. But the final piece of the strategy was to rout William in the North with an attack on his main force, after which we would sweep south together and claim the Kingdom.’
‘Yes, we know.’
‘But then you parleyed with him and filled your longships with gold and silver!’ Hereward’s voice was rising in anger. ‘Why?’
‘Let me do some reckoning for you. We are close to six thousand; William has four thousand heavy cavalry and more could be summoned at any time. How many men could you have brought to the field?’
‘Several thousand, Prince Osbjorn.’
‘Our estimate is two thousand at best. And your cavalry is light cavalry; you don’t have heavy Norman horses.’
‘It would have been enough, sire.’
‘Forgive me, it would not. Six thousand Danes… two thousand Englishmen… Should it not have been the other way round? Aren’t we on English soil, fighting for an English crown? If the circumstances were reversed, and we were in Denmark, we would be able to put twenty-five thousand men into the fray.’
Prince Osbjorn’s blunt analysis was difficult to accept, but Hereward knew it was accurate. ‘So, you’ve taken William’s geld instead.’
‘Of course! We have an army to feed and many supporters to reward.’
The pragmatic summary delivered by the Prince was the only logical position that the Danes could have taken. Nevertheless, it made Hereward angry – angry that only two thousand Englishmen could be mustered to stand with the Danes.
‘I am sorry, Hereward of Bourne. We respect William’s heavy cavalry. Our view is that, without cavalry, we would need to have an advantage of at least two to one for our shield wall to hold. Remember what your cavalry did to Hardrada at Stamford Bridge, and bear in mind that Harold’s mighty shield wall eventually gave way to the destriers at Senlac Ridge.’
Hereward, angry and saddened, rose to leave, resigned to the brutal reality that Osbjorn had described. ‘My Lord Prince, I thank you for your candour. Many a man would have engaged in platitudes and tried to exact an advantage from us.’
The Prince beckoned Hereward to one side, away from everyone’s hearing, and spoke in a hushed voice. ‘Let me tell you frankly our position. William is no lover of the sea and has no skills as commander of a fleet. Therefore, as it has been for centuries, England’s east coast will be vulnerable to us for a long time to come. Malcolm, King of the Scots, is our ally and a serious threat to England. Then there is Edgar and your English rebellion; there is much we can exploit here and William is rich. We will take William’s money for as long as he’s prepared to offer it. As for you, we will stand with you only if you can muster six or seven thousand housecarls and at least four thousand men on war horses.’
‘And your price, my Lord?’
‘A new Danelaw: Lincoln, Nottingham, Gloucester and everything to their north would be Danish. Our capital would be at York. The South would be English.’
‘That is a high price, even for a Dane!’
‘Yes, it is half your kingdom – and we Danes would say it’s the better half! But when you have found ten thousand men, we can haggle about the price. As you know, we have decided to stay for the winter. We thought there would be a few more twists in this tale before it ran its course. Come back and talk in the spring; you will always be welcome here.’
‘Thank you. But you must realize that if I had ten thousand men, I wouldn’t need the support of the Danes.’
‘Perhaps, but William is an awesome opponent. Never underestimate him.’
‘I’ve learned not to. Winter well here in Axholme.’
‘Thank you. Good luck in your noble attempts to rouse your English comrades.’
The two men parted far more amicably than at first seemed possible. At least Hereward now knew the full extent of the dilemma he faced.
It was going to be a long hard winter of reflection in his Pennine eyrie.
Clitheroe Hill, his family and his girls were an uplifting sight as Hereward approached the camp – a home that was beginning to have an air of permanence about it. Gohor’s men had built a wooden hall with a stone hearth for the family, and his men were building longhouses to replace their canvas tents and pelt lean-tos; the Pennines was not a place to be huddled in a makeshift shelter through the long winter months.
Hereward’s band had become smaller. Some men were ill, some had injuries or wounds that refused to heal, and some had asked to go, weary of the fight. When the four squadrons which had been campaigning with Eadric returned, the 80 men who had gone with him had dwindled to 56. A roll-call was taken. Only 268 Englishmen remained at Hereward’s side.
The winter of 1069 was particularly hard. Pen Hill was enveloped by deep snow from mid-November onwards, and the camp was engulfed by several heavy blizzards. At the turn of the year, although it did not seem possible, the weather worsened. Hunting became difficult, even dangerous; nights were long and black; firewood became sparse and spring seemed a long way off. The only comfort was that the dead of winter made England subdued. Few men stirred, offering at least a chimera of peace and tranquillity.
That falsehood was rudely exposed on the Sabbath of the second week of January.
Hereward had sent a scout to York to reconnoitre the disposition of William’s forces and assess the progress of the building of the new Norman city and fortifications. To the scout’s astonishment, within hours of his arrival, he watched as William rode out of the city with a force of nearly 2,000 men. A return to Winchester, in the depths of a winter as fierce as this one, would have been an intrepid move, but Winchester was not his destination; when he passed the new gates of the city, instead of turning south, he turned north.
The scout galloped back to Clitheroe Hill as quickly as his mount would carry him, eager to give his report.
Hereward looked at him in disbelief. ‘How long has it taken you to get back here?’
‘Less than a day, sir.’
Alphonso spoke before Hereward. ‘That is an outstanding ride. Well done!’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Hereward’s mind was racing, realizing what the implications of William’s move might be. ‘That can only mean he’s looking for Edgar and is a day ahead of us. He must have heard that he is not with the Scots and realized that he is in hiding in the North. By the time we’re ready, we’ll have lost another day. Then we have a day’s riding east or west before we turn north; that means he’s got three days on us –’
Einar interrupted. ‘We c
an get to him in time if we’re a small enough group and don’t mind a bit of snow and hard toil. There is a route up the watershed of the Pennines. There are some high traverses, but it’s not impossible.’
‘How many men?’
‘Twenty, no more. Two horses each, no baggage.’
‘Not many of us if we stumble across two thousand Normans!’
‘The Normans won’t be able to go where we’re going.’
‘We must make haste. Alphonso, you take charge of the camp, organize a series of wide-ranging patrols. I don’t care how bad the weather is, they’re to go as far east as Skipton, west to Preston, south around Pen Hill to the valleys beyond and the settlement at Burnlea, and north over Bowland Trough to the old road at Lancaster. If any Normans come close to Clitheroe Hill, break camp immediately and go north, high into the Pennines, taking only what a horse will carry. Send word of your final destination; we will come and find you. There’s much to do. Let’s get moving.’
Einar led the small troop of men on his hazardous path through the heart of the Pennines. The route went due north; the snow was deep, the rivers icily cold and the wind piercing. Conditions were even worse at a gallop, when faces ached from the chill of the cold air.
It took them four and a half days before, on a bitterly cold but clear day, they crested the summit of their last high traverse and descended into the head of the valley of the Swale. The sky was sapphire blue and cloudless. But rising from the horizon, about twenty-five miles to the east, was a plume of darkness.
‘Richmond.’ It was all Einar needed to say.
Hereward turned to his men. ‘We must hurry.’
As they cantered down the fell, they could see below the tiny specks of a column of men moving along the north bank of the river.
‘Let’s hope that is Prince Edgar and his men, retreating from the Norman advance. Martin, you have the sharpest eyes here, how many men?’
‘No more than fifty.’
‘If it is Edgar, he has lost many comrades.’
It took them nearly an hour to reach the retreating column. They were shocked by the condition of Edgar’s men: they no longer had the bearing of an elite escort for a king-in-waiting. Winter had obviously taken its toll on them; they were dirty, their weapons and horses neglected, and they had the vacant stare of men who were cold and hungry.
Hereward immediately sent a patrol down the valley of the Swale to determine the Normans’ progress. He ordered fires to be lit, hot food prepared and instigated the familiar routines of soldiers. With the wintry sun offering a little warmth, Edgar and his men were made to take a quick plunge in the Swale, cut their hair and beards, clean their armour, sharpen their weapons, and feed and groom their horses. Only then were they allowed to relax by the fires while Hereward and his troop fed them bowls of broth and bread.
When they had eaten, Hereward gave them a short but inspiring speech. It ended with a simple rallying cry: ‘Your responsibility is the greatest of all. You ride with England’s only hope – Edgar, the rightful King. Keep him safe. Do this for me. Do this for our people!’
Prince Edgar then told Hereward the grim tale of his winter in Upper Swaledale.
‘It has been awful here. Usulf, the man Einar spoke of, died a couple of years ago and when we arrived, the locals fled, taking everything with them. There isn’t much game up here in the middle of winter and we were reluctant to venture too far down the valley, so we had to scavenge for whatever we could find. The men became restless; many deserted, some in broad daylight. Then, about a month ago, one of Cospatrick’s spies in York heard a rumour that William was planning a major campaign for the New Year.’
‘So it is true? William is looking for you?’
‘Only in part. The word is that he spent every night before Christmas getting blind drunk, bellowing that he was going to rid England of its vermin once and for all, burn every house and slaughter every animal. As soon as they heard the spy’s story, Cospatrick and Waltheof left for their earldoms to protect their communities.’
‘And Siward Bjorn?’
‘He had left earlier, to go on a recruiting mission for more men. He said he was embarrassed that so few Englishmen had joined the revolt. What do you think we should do now?’
‘You have to go to King Malcolm. With William on the rampage like this, Scotland is the only safe place for you. I’ve never known anyone like him; he’s totally ruthless and utterly relentless. If he’s prepared to maraude through the Pennines in the middle of winter and massacre his subjects on the supposition that a few of them might be rebels, then nowhere in England is safe for you.’
‘But I’d prefer to come with you.’
‘That is not a good idea. I have my own plan, which will put you in harm’s way. I’ve had enough of avoiding William until the time is right; I’m going to confront him directly, not in a pitched battle, but close enough so that he knows it’s me. That will infuriate him and make him come after me. And when he does, I’ll be able to choose my ground and stand and face him.’
‘Then I should be at your side.’
‘No, my prospects are not great in such a challenge. You have to survive, albeit in exile in Scotland, Flanders, or wherever you choose, but you must live. You are the only legitimate heir England has. Can you rely on your men to get you to Scotland?’
‘Yes, I think so, now that you have reminded them of their discipline.’
‘Good, then our cause is not lost. We go on.’
‘Do you think William knows you lead the revolt?’
‘I’m sure he does. He must know by now that I was on Senlac Ridge. When we meet again, it will be quite a reckoning.’
Prince Edgar, the Saxon Atheling to the English throne, left within the hour. The patrol Hereward had despatched returned shortly afterwards and confirmed that the reports from York were true: William had split his force into several smaller groups, which were fanning out into every habitable part of Northumbria, hell bent on finding all the English rebels and exterminating them. The patrol had met dozens of people trying to escape from Richmond. Disorientated, hungry and tired, there was little hope for them; if the Normans failed to ensnare them, then winter and starvation would do its worst.
Whole villages were being put to the sword and entire families burned alive in their homes.
It was a massacre of the innocents.
26. The Ambush
When Hereward and his men returned to Clitheroe Hill from Upper Swaledale, all was well. There had been no sightings of William’s forces, not even at Skipton, and everything was calm. Hereward called a gathering of his entire contingent and related the gruesome details of what was happening east of the Pennines.
The stories were heard in silence, in a mood of disbelief and anger.
Hereward paused, before outlining yet another strategy. ‘For the time being, we hold what we have. William is sweeping north; I suspect he will go to Durham, then perhaps as far as the Tweed. He knows that Edgar was not in Scotland for the winter, but let’s pray that he doesn’t discover that he soon will be. He is punishing the people east of the Pennines for opposing him by turning it into a wasteland. He will soon turn towards the west, to the fertile plains along the coast, and to Chester, the stronghold of our ally, Eadric the Wild.
‘Einar says there are only two logical places where William can cross the Pennines. If he goes much further north than Durham, he will cross through Alston to Penrith and then south. If Durham is his furthest point north, then he will turn and go south through Ripon and Harrogate, before turning west through the Pennines to Skipton, right under our noses. Let’s hope he chooses the Skipton route. If he doesn’t, we will have to intercept him at Preston. Whichever way he chooses, we’re going to provoke him, in the hope that he might make the mistake we need. He’s now on our ground, close to our camp; he has split his forces and, because none of the innocent victims of his killing spree has been able to fight back, his guard might be down. Alphonso, we need a rota of men t
o watch the approaches to Skipton, and a party to climb Bowland Fell to watch the road from Lancaster. See to it.’
‘It will be done.’
‘Martin, send someone to York. We need to hear the latest news of William’s movements and of any other Normans on the rampage.’
‘He will leave immediately.’
‘The rest of us will sit tight here.’
On the last day of January 1070 word arrived from York and a patrol returned from the east. William had chosen the southerly option to cross the Pennines and was moving quickly towards Skipton. After the months they had spent there, they knew all the contours of the fells, and they also knew William would not expect anything untoward in such a remote location. Hereward ordered the lookouts on Bowland Fell to be recalled and gathered his entire contingent together to announce that he intended to ambush the Duke.
‘Men of England, today our struggle adopts a new guise. William comes to us and into the jaws of a trap we will set for him. This is the last time we will see Clitheroe Hill. It has been a good home to us, but today we move on. From now on, we move only on horseback and take only what each of us can carry. The Duke will soon pass through our valley. I intend to get close to him; close enough to kill him.’
Later that day, Hereward’s force left Clitheroe Hill for the final time and moved north-east towards Skipton. Gohor and his small group continued to protect the family, who were under strict orders to stay close to Hereward’s hearthtroop. The women and girls had cut their hair, dressed in men’s clothes and put a seax into their belts; they too were now at war.
With his hearthtroop taking the central position, Hereward split his squadrons into six groups and ordered each to camp at one-mile intervals along the valley. In the shadow of the mighty Pen Hill, Hereward’s squadrons waited.
They were concealed in the trees of Piked Acre Wood, above Chat’s Burn, a ford on Hey’s Brook, a small tributary of the nearby Ribble just north of the settlement of Downham. They knew that William’s force would be following an old Roman road that had become dilapidated and overgrown, and would cross the brook at this point. The ford was two parallel pairs of clapper stones, supported by a central pier, just wide enough for a cart. The column would have to cross at no more than two abreast.
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