There was no objection to a halt being made; but when the Earl Edwin heard that the new-suggested combat area was still some five miles off, and in the swamps, and moreover learned that the total Norman force was only about two thousand five hundred, he argued that this projected programme was ridiculous. He had nearly five thousand men and this Hereward four thousand, more than three times the Norman numbers. To suggest that nine thousand should scurry and hide and flounder about in bogs in order to achieve the destruction of two thousand five hundred was absurd, humiliating. They would choose a good tactical position, here on firm ground, where the Saxons could fight like honest men, not bog-trotters; and if they had not defeated the Normans before Hereward and his savages crawled up out of their fens, in the rear, they could finish off the task between them.
Cospatrick pointed out that the entire strategy was based on forcing the Normans to fight, out of their element and depth, away from firm ground, where horses and armour would be a drawback, their famed discipline nullified. Maldred reminded that the Saxons all along had been considering themselves the bait rather than the trap. But the earls insisted that the numbers situation changed all. The five thousand Saxons under their command were not going to play the partridge with the broken wing just to coax half that number of the enemy into the arms of these mud-walloping Angles. It was unthinkable.
Unfortunately Edgar, when he came up, agreed with his fellow-Saxons rather than with the Scots — not having forgiven Cospatrick over the Archbishop's gold.
Cospatrick was furiously angry, but could make no headway with the obdurate Saxons. They had had their gold and he could by no means take it back. Malcolm's fiat that he, Cospatrick, was to be in overall command did not impress the other earls, particularly with Edgar now calling himself their King and siding with them. The only faint compromise achieved was that they agreed to move forward meantime in the required direction until a better battleground was found, the present position scarcely suitable.
Maldred was sent on to inform Abbot Thurstan. He had some difficulty in finding him, not unnaturally in the circumstances; indeed he glimpsed and had to avoid two Norman scouting parties, all gleaming steel and banners, before he ran the Abbot's group to earth in thorn scrub just north of Chatteris, with the van of the enemy force just visible a couple of miles away.
Thurstan was upset by the situation. But, an eminently practical man, he adjusted quickly. Questioning Maldred closely as to the attitudes, position and direction of the Saxons, he sent messengers by different routes to inform Hereward. Then he accompanied Maldred back to the earls' column, leaving the rest of his party to watch and report.
If the Abbot thought that he could convince the Saxons, where Cospatrick and Maldred had failed, he was disappointed. He found them, in a fairly strong position admittedly, where two streams joined — or wide drains might better describe them at this dry season with practically no flow in the water. They had protection on two sides, therefore; and on the third side of the triangle they were busy erecting a barrier of thorn-trees and stakes and willows to hold up horses. Most of the force was to remain within this redoubt, but two companies of five hundred or so were to be detached to threaten the enemy flanks. Movable gangways were being constructed to span the ditches when required for sallying out.
Cospatrick was far from happy with all this, pointing out that despite the Saxons' aggressive intentions, these represented purely defensive tactics. Also, the archery risk was being underestimated. Thurstan added that to change to the attack from here would be very difficult. Likewise, that Hereward's strategy was being wasted, made void.
All to no effect. Pride was involved now, no sound basis for military decisions.
Cospatrick, Thurstan and Maldred drew apart, to confer. Could they still rescue their plan, or some part or alternative of it? Could they even yet entice the Normans into a trap? If Hereward could move up on their left, eastwards, into Pymore Fen, then perhaps later they could prevail on the Saxon host, or some part of it, to withdraw down into that, in seeming disorder, and the Normans after them, or some of them? They must achieve some gain out of it all, somehow. . . Messengers were sent off.
Scouts reported the enemy only two miles away now, and coming directly towards them. There was no word of Hereward. The barriers were almost finished. The two flanking companies had improved their positions, defensively.
The Normans appeared in sight. They might be only half of the Saxons' numbers, but they looked a sufficiently daunting array, with the massed cavalry in front, long lines of fluttering banners and pennons, steel glittering everywhere, especially on the tips of a forest of spearheads, formation upon formation of these, massed, controlled, disciplined. The Saxons raised a great shout of challenge and defiance.
The enemy drew up less than half-a-mile away, and a small party under a white flag rode forward to within hailing distance.
"In the name of William, King of England, your liege-lord, the Lord Abbot Turold of Peterborough declares that any large gathering of armed subjects is contrary to the law and the King's express command," a colourfully-dressed herald shouted. "The Lord Abbot should take steps to break up this assembly by force. And hang such as lead it. But he is merciful, and declares that if all will disperse quietly, in companies, and return whence they have come, he will hold his hand. He will overlook the offence. In the name of King William. How say you?"
There was a roar of scorn and hate.
"What does the fool think we are? Children?" the Earl Edwin demanded. "To run at resounding words? Belly-wind!"
"Scarcely a fool, I think," Cospatrick commented. "This is to gain time. While he considers your situation. Plans his attack. Disposes his force ..."
"Look!" Thurstan was pointing. "There is the size of his folly!" A sizeable portion of the Norman strength was moving off to its right, slantwise, eastwards. "You see — down towards the fen ..."
"Where you want him to go, do you not?" Edgar put in. "Is not that your intent?"
"Why should he go there now, my lord Prince? We are not coaxing him. He must know of Hereward's force, and sends out this screen to keep us from joining him. These will not go down into the marshes, but stay on the firm ground at the edge, to keep us from doing so."
"At least it divides his forces, gives us even greater advantage of numbers," Morkar said.
The herald's hail came again, demanding what message to take back.
Edwin raised his voice. "Tell your insolent cleric that I, Edwin of Mercia, have come to hang him! Just as the true King of England, the Prince Edgar, here at my side, will in due course hang your bastard master, William of Normandy! Tell him . . ." The rest was lost in bellowed approval from all the Saxon rank-and-file within hearing.
The white-flag party turned to trot back.
There was little delay thereafter. Two long columns of spearmen came marching forward from the Norman front, some four hundred yards apart, four or five deep, on and on, fully a thousand strong, the greater number on the west side. When the front ranks of these came near to the Saxon barricade, they halted, and thereafter both ranks turned to face outwards in drilled fashion, there to set their spears at different heights and angles to form a lengthy, bristling frieze of sharp steel. The very orderliness and precision of this obviously practised manoeuvre was alarming to men whose battle tactics tended to be a yelling charge with sword and battle-axe.
"They are countering our flanking companies," Cospatrick declared. "Few will penetrate that fence."
No sooner were the spearmen in position than troops of horsemen rode out, some within the corridor of spears, some outside it. As these drew closer, it could be seen that each rider carried another man behind him.
"Archers!" Thurstan cried. "Now may the good Lord preserve us!"
"We are out of their range. Behind the barricade," Edwin asserted.
"From direct shooting, yes. But if they shoot into the air, dropping shots, these will reach you. I have seen it done. It all but doubles the
range."
The Abbot's fears were justified. The horsemen set down their burdens before the barrier, and were then seen to be carrying extra supplies of arrows also. Swiftly the bowmen formed themselves into kneeling companies close behind the barricade of trees and stakes, where they could not themselves be shot at. Not that they need have taken such precautions, for the Saxons, like the Scots and the Norsemen, had no tradition of using archery for anything but hunting. From this protected stance they proceeded to shoot up showers of arrows at such an angle that they curved over and fell on to the heads and shoulders of the Saxon host. It was indiscriminate work, but since the targets were inevitably close-packed, lethal. Screams and yells began to proclaim casualties. Although the Saxon lords had helmets, few of their men were so equipped. Most of them had shields, but these were of the small, round, leather targe variety, useful in close swordery but less than effective for holding above the head to deflect dropping arrows.
Back and back the Saxon ranks pressed, away from that barrier — and, as inevitably, closer and closer to the two ditches or stream-sides. And promptly here too the archers moved up, protected by their flanking cavalry screens—and from across these drains they were not so distant that they might not aim directly at individual targets. The casualties mounted.
It was, of course, grievously bad for morale. It did not take long for the Saxon leadership to recognise the fact and to propose distractions, sallies, counter-attacks. The trouble was that despite all the advantages in numbers, they were hemmed in here in this so-strong defensive site. They could break out, but it would be at the cost of heavy losses. And if they did, they would be exposed to the dreaded Norman cavalry.
Presently, waiting idly for arrows to rain down on them, and worse, to be aimed at from across the ditches, with no means of hitting back, the situation became intolerable. Many were already dead and dying, more were wounded, even some of the lords — whom the marksmen beyond the drains especially aimed at. There was little point in the Scots and Thurstan saying I-told-you-so. Something had to be done, most evidently.
Any break-out had to be on one or more of three sides. To demolish and push through the barricade itself would involve desperate losses. To cross the west ditch, using gangways, might produce the fewer casualties, but would lead to little betterment. The east side was the obvious one, to make for Pymore Fen nearly a mile away. Unfortunately that would be equally obvious to the enemy; and the strong Norman detachment was already positioned and waiting to intercept such a move.
Nevertheless, it was decided to make the attempt. At Cospatrick's suggestion, a feint display at pulling down the barricade should be enacted, to distract the Normans on that side, with the men crouching low to drag at the material, so that the archers could not reach them. Meanwhile, all the gangways to be assembled, hidden in the crowd, on the east side. Then, over with all possible speed, the best armoured first.
It was probably the best that could be devised, at this stage, but it became little short of a shambles nevertheless. Not all the gangways, thrown across, held firmly on the slimy mud banks, precipitating those crossing into the stream. The water was not deep but the bed was soft silt into which men sank; and the steep slippery bank made climbing out extremely difficult. Many in the front ranks who did cross safely, fell back, pierced by close-range archery, hampering those who followed. Some of the gangways collapsed under sheer weight of numbers. With five thousand men to get across, under the hail of arrows, in no more than a minute or two the entire stream-channel became filled, jammed, choked with dead and dying, wounded and merely fallen, as more and more were pushed on from behind, a dire sight. Nevertheless, this in the end enabled the greater numbers to stream over, trampling their fallen comrades, using them as filling material. Even the massed archers could not cope with the thousands before them. And the ranked spearmen to the south, formations broken, had the river to cross before they could take part. Sheer numbers did prevail after a fashion — but at a fearful price.
Cospatrick and Maldred, with Thurstan and a little group of Scots, burdened with what was left of their treasure — for horses now had to be left behind — waited until the exodus was half-over before moving, and had to trample on bodies like the rest. Indeed they were all but trampled on themselves, when a party of young Saxon lords, escorting Edgar and the Earl Waltheof, came plunging over on horseback, careless of all beneath, cursing and being cursed.
But beyond that ghastly ditch's horrors was the true killing-ground where, past the archers, who in the end were in fact swept away by the weight of the Saxon rush, the detachment of Norman cavalry awaited them. Thereafter it was sheer massacre, fairly firm ground on which the armoured knights could wheel and quarter at will, swords and maces slashing, themselves all but invulnerable, their mounts protected by heavy leather trappings. There was almost a mile of this to cover before the blessed soft ground and reeds of the first fen.
That Maldred's group — or most of them — eventually made it, across that blood-soaked plain, when most did not, was largely thanks to Cospatrick — and possibly to Abbot Thurstan's prayers. The Earl demonstrated a drastic but effective method of dealing with individual horsemen, demanding a strong nerve, a quick eye and much control of muscle. The intended victim took off and held his tunic or jerkin in one hand, his dirk in the other. When the cavalryman bore down, the attacked actually ran towards the horse. Just a yard or two in front of it he flapped his tunic up under the brute's nose, at the same moment leaping aside, to whichever side was opposite the rider's sword-hand. Nine times out of ten the horse reared high on its hind legs — when the dirkman darted in with his dagger and ripped up the exposed and unprotected belly of the animal whilst the rider was seeking to adjust his seat and sword-wielding. Sometimes the horse only sidled away, when the target had to react differently but as swiftly, ducking down double and leaping off at a tangent to avoid the down-sweeping blade. Usually it worked, if messily; and if it did not, the horseman got a fright and tended to seek alternative victims.
At any rate, breathless and blood-spattered, Maldred grazed by a mace on one shoulder, Cospatrick limping from a hoof-kick, they eventually reached the haven of the wetlands and could pause and look back — with personal thankfulness but no least satisfaction. Whatever happened hereafter, it was all a major disaster by any standards. However many might survive, the Saxon army was destroyed as a fighting force, without any real battle having been fought. Men were fleeing in all directions, not all into the safety of the fens, the main force of the Norman cavalry and knights now reorganised and hunting them down efficiently. Edgar Atheling and the Earls Morkar and Waltheof were there, the first wounded, the latter, his horse killed under him, much shaken. Of Edwin of Mercia there was no sign, nor of most of his thanes and leaders.
It was while they were pantingly assessing the grim situation that a fenman, so plastered in mud as to seem barely human, found his way to Thurstan's side. He had come from Hereward, he said, and had been trying to reach them for long, but could not in the circumstances. He brought sore news. Hereward had moved northwards, as the Abbot had requested. He had reached the south end of this Pymore Fen, waiting for the Saxons to move. Then he had received the word. There was a second Norman army. Come up from the south, from the Cambridge area. Under the hated banner of Bishop Odo of Bayeux, William's fierce and notorious half-brother. It was clearly aiming at Ely itself, evidently to capture the fenmen's base.
"Odo!" Thurstan cried. "The greatest savage of them all! Bishop or none, an affront to Christ's Church. . . !"
"How many?" Cospatrick demanded.
"I do not know, lord. But the Lord Hereward thinks as many as has Abbot Turold. And all horsed."
"Come from Essex," Thurstan amplified. "William has given Odo Kent for earldom and Essex to govern. What now, then?"
"Hereward has gone back to Ely. Says you, my lords, should find your way there. To him. Through the fens. You my lord Abbot will know ways. As do I."
They eyed e
ach other bleakly. Join Hereward in Ely? What else was there to do? If they could. Save as many as they might. For the moment. . .
Hereward at least knew how to fight.
* * *
Somehow the reeling, exhausted remnants of the Saxon host found their way to Ely, by devious, secret and wearisome paths and no paths, covering round-about miles to gain a furlong — and once there found little to their comfort. Bishop Odo had the place all but surrounded — that is, his forces had occupied all the half-moon of firmish land bordering on the belt of open water on west and south, for Ely was in fact completely islanded. And to add to the menace, a fleet of shallow-draught boats, laden with armed men, had come from the north-east, the Wash area, using one or more of the Ouse channels from salt water, some twenty miles. Indeed the refugees from Pymore Fen were only just in time; the motley collection of small craft which Hereward sent to ferry them over the final half-mile of water would have been intercepted an hour later.
Hereward could offer the newcomers little cheer. Odo was actually building a causeway out across the water, of thorn and willow branches, scrub, turfs, anything which came to hand. The water was shallow, even though muddy beneath, and the belt only about five hundred yards wide where he had chosen to build. He had plenty of men for his task. If they continued to work by night — it was sundown now — the chances were that it would be completed by next forenoon. A simultaneous attack, then, along the causeway and by boat at a number of points around the perimeter, and nothing could prevent a landing. He, Hereward, had not sufficient men to beat back any concentrated assault, especially when Odo's army was reinforced by Turold's force. He foresaw Ely being occupied before very many hours had elapsed.
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