Commotion during the crowning of William.
CORONATION OF THE CONQUEROR.
After Edgar Atheling and the Saxon chiefs and prelates had made their submission to the conqueror of Hastings, and given hostages for their fidelity, William—having previously sent forward a strong body of soldiers to construct a fortress in the heart of London—left Berkhampstead, and marched towards the wealthy city on the Thames, ere long to become the capital of England.
It seemed as if the progress of the Normans would now be easy. Most men of rank and worldly discretion, especially the bishops—whose influence was strong—believed that the national cause could not be maintained, and were inclined to support Duke William as a matter of duty.
"It is needful," men said to each other, "to fall in with the times, and not to oppose the will of God, by whom the powers of the world are raised up."
But all Saxons did not take this view; and while the Normans were on their way from Berkhampstead to London, an incident occurred which gave William an idea of the hostile spirit by which many of the natives were animated. On approaching the ancient abbey of St. Alban's he found, with surprise, that numbers of huge trees had been cut down, and so disposed as to intercept the march of his army. William immediately sent for the abbot, whose name was Frithrik, and demanded the reason of this attempt to intercept his passage.
"Why," asked the Conqueror, "hast thou thus cut down thy woods?"
"I have done my duty," answered the abbot, boldly; "and had all of my order done the same, as they ought to have done, thou wouldst not have advanced so far into our country."
After having advanced near London, William, pondering the propriety of assuming the crown, held a council of war, ostensibly to discuss the means of promptly completing the conquest, but in reality to get nearer the object on which his heart had so long been set.
"It appears," said some of William's friends, addressing their chief, "that, in order to mitigate resistance, it is politic that thou shouldst assume the title of King of the English."
"No," said William, feigning an indifference which he was far from feeling; "I demand, at least, some delay. I have not come to England for my own interest alone, but for that of the whole Norman nation. And besides, if it be the will of God that I should become king, the time has not yet arrived. Too many countries and too many men have yet to be subjected."
"Yes; it is not yet time to create a king," said the Norman nobles, interpreting William's scruples literally.
"This is too modest of Duke William," said Aimery de Thouars, a captain of auxiliaries, rising and speaking with much energy. "It is too modest of him to appeal to soldiers, whether or no they will have their lord a king. Soldiers have nothing to do with questions of this nature; and our discussions only serve to retard that which, as a matter of feeling, we all so ardently desire."
After the speech of Aimery de Thouars, the Norman nobles felt bound to support the opinion he had expressed; and it was unanimously resolved that William should be crowned before proceeding farther with the work of the conquest. Accordingly, he entered London, took up his residence at the Tower, and ordered the necessary preparations to be made for the ceremony.
Christmas was the day fixed for placing the Confessor's crown on the Conqueror's head, and the church of Westminster was decorated for the occasion. The Archbishop of Canterbury was invited to perform the office; but Stigand declined. The Archbishop of York was then invited; and Aldred consented. The Norman cavalry, posted around Westminster, carefully watched over the safety of those who took part in the ceremony; and William, walking between two ranks of soldiers, entered the abbey, accompanied by two hundred and sixty of his counts and captains.
When everything was ready for the ceremony of coronation, Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutance, and Aldred, Archbishop of York, ascended a platform; and Geoffrey asked the Normans, and Aldred asked the English, whether they would have William for their king. Those present answered by acclamations so loud as to produce awkward results. The Norman cavalry posted in the vicinity, mistaking the meaning of the cries, and hastily concluding that a riot had taken place, drew their swords, spurred towards the church, and, in their confusion, set fire to some houses. The noise and tumult reaching the interior, caused Normans and Saxons hastily to disperse, and William was left alone with Aldred and the Saxon and Norman priests. The ceremony was, however, completed; and William somewhat hastily took the oaths to treat the Saxon people as well as the best king ever elected by them.
Having planted the lion banner of Normandy on the Tower of London, and portioned out the south and east of England among his followers, William embarked at Pevensey to visit his continental dominions, taking with him as hostages, Edgar Atheling and several Saxon chiefs, and more gold and silver than could have been found in all Gaul.
In Normandy he was received with boundless enthusiasm. Crowds flocked from Rouen to the seashore to welcome his return. The Normans and the French vied with each other in doing him honour. William's vanity was gratified, and he displayed his munificence by presenting his guests with the chased gold and silver plate, and the massive drinking-cups, of which the Saxons had been despoiled.
No one dared now to allude to his illegitimacy, or to mention his grandsire, the tanner. William had, in fact, made himself the most independent of European sovereigns; and even the great Hildebrand, when exalted to the papal throne as Gregory the Seventh, in vain asked for the oath of fealty.
"I hold my kingdom of God and of my sword," was the stern answer of the Conqueror.
After having seated himself on the throne of Edward the Confessor, and attained the object of his ambition, William was not, perhaps, unwilling to pursue a policy of clemency and conciliation towards the Saxons. The Norman barons and knights might have been satisfied with the lands of the Saxons who had fallen at Hastings. But the numerous adventurers who had followed the Norman standard had yet to be gorged with plunder. While the Conqueror was on the Continent, these men were guilty of indiscreet severity; and the Saxons, unable to brook their insolence, formed leagues, and vowed to assert their liberty or die in its defence.
Messengers, hastily despatched, carried to Rouen intelligence of the state of affairs; and William in alarm hastened to Dieppe, and on a cold December night embarked for England. On reaching London he found that city in a ferment; and conscious that his military force was not as yet sufficient to keep down a whole nation, he resorted to artifice—called around him Saxon chiefs and prelates, promised all they asked—celebrated, in their company, the festival of Christmas—and having in this way gained over the leaders, addressed to the populace a proclamation, couched in the Saxon language, and engaging to maintain the laws of King Edward.
After making these and other promises, never intended to be kept, William left London, and proceeded westward, to pursue the work of conquest. At Exeter, where Githa, the widow of Godwin and mother of Harold, had resided since Hastings, the citizens, bent on resistance, fortified their walls, repaired their towers, and, summoning fighting men from the neighbouring country, indicated their determination to bid the Conqueror defiance.
Informed of the attitude assumed by the men of Exeter, William halted at a place four miles distant from the city, and sent, summoning the citizens to surrender and swear the oath of fidelity.
"No," answered the citizens of Exeter; "we shall swear no oath of fidelity to this pretended king, nor admit him within our walls. But if he thinks proper to receive, by way of tribute, the impost we pay to our kings, we will give it to him."
"I require subjects," was William's scornful reply, "and I will have them on no such conditions as are offered."
Without further parley, William ordered his banner to advance forthwith, and the Norman army speedily invested Exeter. Ere the assault began, however, some of the chief men, in pursuance of a secret negotiation, came to the king, demanded peace on terms of surrender, and delivered hostages. But on returning within the walls, the bulk of the citizens exclaimed against their treaty, kept the gates closed, and stood to their arms. William, who was not to be trifled with, caused one of the hostages to be brought in sight of the ramparts, and had his eyes put out. But the determination of the inhabitants was inflexible; and it was not till the siege had lasted nearly three weeks, and till forty-eight houses were destroyed, that their courage gave way, and they repaired to the Norman camp, in the attitude of suppliants, with their priests bearing missals and sacred vessels.
Having gained possession of Exeter, William ordered a strong fortress to be constructed out of the houses that had been destroyed during the siege, and proceeded with the subjugation of the west; adding Somerset and Gloucester to the conquered territory; dividing the land among his warriors; and on almost every eminence erecting strong and gloomy castles to keep the Saxons in awe. Recognising the importance of Gloucester as a barrier against the incursions of the Welsh, William fortified the north and south with embattled walls and gates, and selected its castle for his residence in winter, as he had already made the Tower of London his residence in summer, and the palace of Winchester his residence in spring.
Ere Exeter surrendered, Githa, the widow of Godwin, and a number of other women, escaped to one of the islands of the Severn; then to Bath; and from Bath gained the western coast, and embarked for Flanders. Fortunate, comparatively speaking, were those who thus betook themselves to exile. Cruel, indeed, if we are to believe historians, was the fate of those who remained. While thanes of high name and great descent were supplanted by men who had been weavers in Flanders and drovers in Normandy, their wives and sisters were degraded to the dust.
"Ignoble grooms, the scum of armies," says the chronicler, "did as they pleased with the noblest women, and left them nothing but to weep and wish for death."
Belfry at Bruges
MATILDA AND BRIHTRIK.
While William the Norman was occupied with the subjugation of the west, Matilda of Flanders arrived in England to share her husband's triumph. It was in the spring of 1068, after the siege of Exeter, that Matilda, with her children, set foot on English ground. Her reception was all that she could have desired. Her grace and majesty quite charmed the people; and when, with great state, she was crowned at Westminster, she was cheered enthusiastically.
The popularity of Matilda arose from a belief that her counsels often softened the heart of the Conqueror towards the Saxons, and disposed him to clemency. Such was probably the case. On one occasion, however, the royal lady manifested a most vindictive spirit, and exercised the influence she possessed with her husband to avenge, in a signal manner, a slight which she deemed had been put upon her in the days of a somewhat wayward youth.
It appears that when the daughter of Count Baldwin was a girl at Bruges, with nothing particular to occupy her attention, a young and noble Saxon, named Brihtrik, arrived at her father's court as ambassador from Edward the Confessor, and brought with him the reputation of being enormously rich. Matilda was then passing her time in exchanging sharp sayings with her sister, Judith, going to mass with her ladies of honour, working at the embroidery in which she had such skill, and applying her fine intelligence to the studies which rendered her one of the most accomplished of European princesses. Captivated with Brihtrik's handsome person, long hair, and fair face, and being at an age when ladies are supposed to fall in love without profoundly calculating the consequences, the Flemish princess soon found her heart full of a romantic kind of affection for the interesting stranger.
Brihtrik, however, does not appear to have evinced excessive joy at his good fortune. In vain the daughter of Count Baldwin indulged in dreams and in hints of uniting her fate with his. The Saxon lord, either from having another bride in view, or not relishing the idea of ladies taking the initiative in love, proved insensible to allurements, and left the court of Bruges, and the beautiful Matilda, without having given proof of anything like reciprocity of sentiment.
Matilda was by no means gratified with Brihtrik's coolness. Indeed, she would seem to have brooded over the memory of the Saxon for many long years. In any case, when time passed over, and she became the bride of William the Norman, Queen of England, and the mother of sons destined to wear crowns and coronals, she had not forgotten Brihtrik the Saxon.
It is just probable that Brihtrik might not always have spoken of the daughter of Count Baldwin with the discretion which he ought to have exercised. When the alarm of invasion was agitating England, and the name of Duke William was on every tongue, the Saxon, over his cups in his own hall, or even in the palace of Westminster, might have been tempted, under the influence of repeated potations, to speak too freely of his early acquaintance with Matilda the duchess; and his words might have been carried to the palace of Rouen. At all events, she still sighed for vengeance on the man who had trifled with her affections, or treated her advances with indifference.
Matilda had an early opportunity of proving to Brihtrik that he had not been forgiven. The possessions of Brihtrik, which included Tewkesbury and Thornbury, lay in the south-west of England; and after the taking of Exeter, the lands of the vanquished in that quarter were divided among the conquerors. One of the first names inscribed on the partition-roll was that of Matilda of Flanders; and her portion of the plunder was all the land of Brihtrik the Saxon. But Matilda's resentment was too deep to be satisfied with impoverishing Brihtrik; and the potent queen still further avenged her outraged vanity by imprisoning the object of her youthful love after she had plundered him.
Accordingly, Brihtrik, having been arrested at his manor-house, was incarcerated in the castle of Winchester. In a dungeon of that palatial stronghold, with misery for his mate, and precluded, probably, from looking on the face of day, save through the iron bars of a prison house, Brihtrik had the prospect of leisure to lament the coolness of which he had been guilty towards the daughter of Count Baldwin, and to curse the fate that had made the offended fair one the spouse of a king and conqueror of England.
But Brihtrik did not long survive the date of his incarceration. Whether he died a natural death, or fell a victim to Matilda's relentless vengeance, does not clearly appear. It is certain, however, that the Saxon lord drew his last breath in prison, and that he was buried with a degree of secrecy which suggested suspicions of foul play.
William's march on Hexham
THE NORMANS IN NORTHUMBERLAND.
It was the autumn of 1068, and the south, east, and west of England having yielded to the Conqueror, and been portioned out among his adventurous followers, the theatre of English independence became somewhat limited. William, however, had not yet reason to sigh for another country to conquer. North of the Humber was a vast province, where no Norman banner had yet waved, where no Norman horseshoe had left its print, but where tall Danes and wealthy Saxons, who were prepared to do battle fearlessly for their liberty, were leaving their houses to sleep in tents, or in the open air, swearing never again to repose beneath the shelter of a roof till they had freed their country.
At length, however, the Conqueror marched northward, and, advancing upon York, slaughtered all who attempted resistance, and, sword in hand, entered the capital of the north. Feeling that the struggle was hopeless, many of the chief Northumbrians descended the Humber in boats, and sought refuge on Scottish soil, there to watch events; and William, after erecting a strong castle, and appointing William Malet as Governor of York, returned southward. But the aspect of affairs speedily became so alarming, that the king prepared for a second expedition, and reached York at the very time when the citizens and the inhabitants of the country had formed a league, and were besieging the Norman fortress. Attacking them with his wonted energy, William succeeded in killing or dispersing the insurgents, and, determined on extending his sovereignty at least as far as Durham, he entrusted the task of doing so to Robert Comine, whom he by anticipation created earl of the county that was to be subdued.
With an army of nine thousand men, twelve hundred of whom were horsemen, Robert Comine ventured on his perilous enterprise. At first all seemed to go prosperously; and he became quite confident when he found himself approaching Durham without having seen the face of a foe. At that point, however, he was met by Eghelwin, Bishop of Durham, who hinted that there was danger in the way.
"I advise you," said the bishop, "to be prudent and beware of a surprise."
"Who would attack me?" asked Comine, with contempt. "None of you, I imagine, would dare to do so." And with these words the Norman warrior rode into the city and took up his quarters in the bishop's palace, while his troops encamped in the square.
Everything, so far, seemed secure; but after nightfall a wonderful change occurred. On every hill a signal-fire was lighted, and armed men, gathering from the banks of the Tyne, assembled in great numbers, and hastened towards Durham. By daybreak they were before the walls, and, forcing the gates, they entered with a mighty rush, and fell ferociously upon the Normans. Dismayed, but not yet despairing, Comine attempted to rally his soldiers in the bishop's palace, erected barricades, and showered arrows from the roofs; but every effort proved vain. The Northumbrians, resolutely pressing on, set fire to the episcopal mansion, and Comine and every man within the walls perished in the flames.
After this successful attempt at revolt, the Northumbrians summoned allies to their side. They implored aid from the King of Denmark, and they recalled the Saxons who had exiled themselves to the Scottish frontier. Both responded with alacrity. A Danish fleet, sent by the King of Denmark, under the command of his brother, entered the Humber; and Edward Atheling, Siward Beorn, and Merlesweyn, and Waltheof, son of the great Siward, who had all taken refuge in Scotland, hastened to Durham.
It was the autumn of 1069, when the Saxons and Danes, after uniting their forces, marched upon York, the Saxons forming the van, the Danes the main army. Messengers went before, announcing deliverance from the invaders; and, ere long, the Normans were surprised to find the city invested on all sides. For several days the garrison offered a brave resistance, but on the eighth day—it was Saturday, the 19th of September—the besiegers had made such progress that the Normans, seeing that they must depend on their citadel, and fearing that the neighbouring houses might be used as materials for filling up the moats, set them on fire. The flames, leaping from house to house, made rapid progress; and the Northumbrians and their Danish allies, guided by the light, penetrated within the walls.
The Normans now took to the citadel, and still hoped to save themselves. The assault of the besiegers, however, proved irresistible. The citadel was taken. A conflict of the most desperate character took place: the Northumbrians and the Danes sought to excel each other in deeds of valour; and thousands of Normans fell in the sanguinary encounter. The victors granted quarter to William Malet and his wife and children, who were conveyed on board the Danish fleet, and then imprudently proceeded to destroy the fortifications erected by the Normans, in order to efface all vestiges of the invasion. This done, they raised the shout of triumph, and expressed their impatience for the arrival of spring to march southward, and drive the conquerors from the land. Meanwhile, as King of England, Edgar Atheling concluded a treaty of alliance with the citizens of York, and had the gratification of being recognised from the Humber to the Tweed.
William was hunting in the Forest of Dean when he received intelligence that the Northumbrians had killed Robert Comine at Durham, and taken possession of York. The wrath of the Norman king burned fiercely.
"By the Divine splendour!" he exclaimed, "I will never again lay aside my lance till I have slain all the Northumbrians;" and he prepared forthwith to execute his threat. But, resolved to facilitate operations by buying off the Danes, he sent messengers to the Danish king's brother, with offers of a large sum of money; and the Dane, yielding to temptation, agreed to take the bribe, and withdrew without striking another blow.
Having thus deprived the Northumbrians of their allies, William assembled an army composed of picked soldiers, and, by forced marches, suddenly appeared at York. The Northumbrians, taken by surprise, and dispirited by the departure of the Danes, nevertheless girded themselves up for the combat, resisted with the courage of despair, and fell by thousands while attempting to oppose the Conqueror's passage through the breaches of the walls. But long as was the struggle, and dearly-purchased as was William's success, his victory was complete. Edgar Atheling left as a fugitive the land of his ancestors, and all who could, made their escape northward.
Finding himself once more master of York, William determined to extend his conquest to the Tweed. Cruelly and savagely the work was begun. Precipitating themselves on Northumberland, the Normans wreaked their fury on all that the land contained. Flocks and herds were massacred as well as men; corn-fields were burned with the towns and hamlets they surrounded; and the devastation seems to have been pursued on such a scale as to render the country uninhabitable. Wasting, burning, slaughtering as they went, the Normans at length reached Durham, which in the previous year had witnessed the death of Robert Comine.
When, one winter's day, news of the Conqueror's approach reached Durham, the bishop and his clergy were well-nigh in despair. It was the very depth of the season. Nevertheless, they resolved to be gone.
"Let us fly," they cried, "to some place where neither Norman, nor Burgundian, nor brigand, nor vagabond can reach us."
Accordingly they set out for Holy Island, carrying with them the bones of St. Cuthbert and all their moveables of value. They left, however, a crucifix, richly adorned with gold and silver gems, which had, in other days, been presented to the church by Tostig, the son of Godwin, and his haughty countess, Judith of Flanders. This crucifix appears to have been too heavy for the monks to carry. But they consoled themselves with the idea that, instead of tempting sacrilege, it would act as a protection to the church, and to the sick and infirm persons who had crawled to seek refuge within the sacred precincts, and who, overcome with pain, and misery, and fatigue, lay in crowds on the bare stones.
While the bishop and clergy were flying, William entered Durham, and the Normans took possession of the city, without being disturbed in their slumbers as Robert Comine had been. Indeed, resistance was now scarcely thought of, even by the most desperate; and the conquering army traversed Northumberland in all directions, killing the unresisting. The sufferings of the inhabitants were fearful. Between the Humber and the Tweed, more than a hundred thousand human beings perished by famine and the sword; and many, bidding farewell for ever to the fields and homesteads of their fathers, hurried northward, and sought safety in the Merse and Lothian.
But the expedition proved infinitely more fatiguing than any previously undertaken by the conquerors. Their march was through terrible roads, across rivers, and over hills covered with snow. On reaching Hexham, William's army had suffered severely. Horses sank never to rise again, and the riders complained of the hardships as intolerable. One dark night William was horrified to learn that his guides had missed their way, and that he was separated from his army. The Conqueror found himself in the awkward predicament of being in a strange and hostile country, with not more than six attendants. The circumstance caused him some pensive reflection; and when, with the aid of the morning light, he regained his army, it appeared that the danger he had passed had produced considerable effect on his mind.
On reaching Hexham, William halted; and ordering his captains to overrun the country to the north and west, he returned to York, and caused himself to be crowned in the northern capital. At the same time he endeavoured to confirm his conquests by planting Norman warriors of high rank throughout the territory that had been subjugated. William de Warren, William de Percy, and others were gifted with manors and villages in Yorkshire; William de Lacy obtained the great domain of Pontefract; Robert de Brus was settled in Durham; Ralph Meschines took possession of the mountainous district of Cumberland; Robert de Umfraville had a grant of Prudhoe and Redesdale; William de Merley obtained the lands of Morpeth, on which he and his heirs built the castle of Morpeth and the abbey of Newminster; and Ivo de Vesci became lord of Alnwick, and husband of the heiress of a Saxon chief who had fallen at Hastings. All these Norman warriors erected strong castles, manned the walls with foreign soldiers, and applied their energies to keep down the Northumbrians.
It would seem that William's taste of Northumberland during his campaign made him pause and ponder. Perceiving the difficulty of retaining such a district in subjection against the inclination of the inhabitants, he recognised the policy of conciliation. Under such circumstances he bethought him of the claims of a Saxon of illustrious birth, whom the Northumbrians regarded with pride as the heir of their ancient earls.
At the time when Harold reigned at Westminster, when Tostig was tempting the King of Norway to invade England, and when William the Norman was preparing that mighty armament the accounts of which filled the minds of the Saxons with dismay and alarm, without rousing them to preparations for a patriotic resistance, there might have been seen, in the north of England, riding somewhat discontentedly to the Northumbrian earl's court at York, or stalking about the woods of Raby, with a spear in his right hand, a hawk on his left wrist, and greyhounds running at his heels, a young man with fair face and blue eyes, whose dress was the short garment, reaching to mid-knee, of the Normans, but whose moustache, long hair, and speech, strongly tinctured with the "burr" which the Danes introduced into Northumberland, indicated, in a manner not to be mistaken, his genuinely English birth. He was a Saxon thane of high consideration, and was known as Cospatrick. Frank and hasty was this personage, ever too ready to trust foes and to quarrel with friends; but with all his faults, he was destined to play in his own day a conspicuous part in the affairs of struggling England north of the Humber, and to figure in history as male ancestor of the two mighty mediæval families of Neville and Dunbar.
The father of Cospatrick was Malred, the son of Crinian; and his mother was Algitha, daughter of the great Uchtred, Earl of Northumberland. Moreover, the blood of the Saxon kings ran in Cospatrick's veins; for Uchtred had married Elfgiva, King Ethelred's daughter; and of that marriage Algitha was the issue. It was natural that, with such a pedigree, Cospatrick should be somewhat discontented; that he should look with discontent on the domination of the House of Godwin; that, as grandson of Uchtred, he should grow indignant at the sight of Tostig figuring as Earl of Northumberland; that, as great-grandson of Ethelred, he should boil with indignation at the sight of Harold on the throne of his young kinsman, the Atheling.
It is necessary, in order to comprehend the course taken by the great Anglo-Saxon Houses at the time of the Conquest, to remember that the members of Godwin's House appeared to them wholly different beings from the personages represented to our generation by the writers of romantic histories and historic romances. Almost every one of them stood charged with some fearful crime. Edric Streone was the worst of ingrates and traitors. Godwin had on his hands the blood of the young Alfred. Sweyn had debauched a nun and assassinated a kinsman. Harold had the weight of perjury and usurpation on his soul. Tostig's name was associated with bloodshed, savagery, and treason. Even Edith, the queen, was not free from reproach. Chroniclers tell how, on the fourth night of Christmas, 1065, while the Confessor was on his death-bed, starting restlessly from dreams of woe and terror, Edith, for love of her brother, Tostig, caused some Northumbrians, who were dependents of Cospatrick, to be murdered in the king's court.
Such being the idea entertained of the House of Godwin, Cospatrick was probably in no mood to pray for the usurpation of Harold being attended with success. More probably, indeed, the Saxon magnate, rich, potent, ambitious, and surrounded, in his halls at Raby, by a huge household of warriors, cœrles, serfs, and adherents of every description, who fed at his board, lived on his hospitality, and ministered to his pride, reflected with bitterness on being excluded from the government of that magnificent province, which from infancy he had been taught to regard as his birthright, and only awaited a favourable opportunity to enforce his hereditary claim to these fair domains.
Thus it came to pass, that when the enterprise of the Normans so prospered, that the Saxon prelates and chiefs carried Edgar Atheling to Berkhampstead, Cospatrick claimed the earldom of Northumberland, as heir of Uchtred. William the Conqueror, however, proved as unaccommodating as Harold the Usurper had been; and Cospatrick not only saw the government of Northumberland bestowed upon another, but found that he was no longer safe on the south of the Tweed.
However, when William perceived the necessity for cultivating the good-will of the Northumbrians, he entered into negotiations with Cospatrick, and indicated his readiness to come to terms. A bargain was soon struck between the Conqueror and the grandson of Uchtred. Cospatrick paid William a large sum of money, and William invested Cospatrick with the earldom of Northumberland.
At the time when William the Conqueror was north of the Humber; when the Normans were ruthlessly ravaging Northumberland with fire and sword; when the bishop and clergy of Durham were carrying off the body of St. Cuthbert to Holy Island; and when the invaders were slaughtering man and beast without a thought of mercy, one spot of ground escaped, as if by miracle, from devastation, and remained cultivated and covered with buildings, when every other part of the country around was laid waste or given to the flames. The land thus miraculously saved from the spoiler's hand lay around, and belonged to, the church of St. John of Beverley.
It appears that, in 1070, when the Normans were encamped about seven miles from Beverley, many Northumbrians, in utter despair of resisting the invaders with the slightest success, remembered, in the hour of darkness, that St. John of Beverley was a saint of Saxon race, and, in accordance with the ideas prevalent at the time, believed he was potent enough to afford them protection. Alarmed beyond measure at the approach of the Conqueror, and at the accounts of atrocities perpetrated by the victorious Normans, many women of rank whose husbands and brothers had fallen, and old men on the verge of the grave, taking with them their most valuable property, gathered to the church of Beverley, and prostrating themselves at the shrine of St. John, prayed to their canonized countryman, "that he, remembering in heaven he was born a Saxon, might protect them and their property from the fury of the foreigners." Having thus committed themselves to the care of St. John, the refugees awaited the issue, with fear and trembling indeed, but not without hope of salvation.
In the meantime, there reached the Norman camp tidings that many Northumbrians of great riches had sought shelter in the church of Beverley, and that most of the wealth of the neighbourhood had been lodged in safety within the walls. This report roused the avarice of the invaders; nor did any thought of the sacred character of the edifice, or of the saint to whom it was dedicated, restrain their aspirations after plunder. Whatever an Umfraville or a Merley might think of sacrilege, the crime was one which the majority of the conquerors lightly regarded. Every consideration, however holy, vanished in presence of the temptation presented by the prospect of booty; and the warriors of the Conquest had as little hesitation in robbing a church as in plundering a henhouse.
Among the military adventurers encamped near Beverley was a soldier named Toustain. This man, who seems to have had neither scruples nor fears, on hearing that spoil was to be easily come by, immediately resolved on a foray. Buckling on his mail, calling out his men, and mounting his horse, Toustain, at the head of his troops, rode from the camp, and dashed across the country to Beverley, eager to commence the work of pillage, and only uneasy at the possibility of any one being before him.
But Toustain was destined to disappointment. Entering Beverley with his band at his back, he rode on, and pursued his way towards the church without encountering resistance, and found that the people had taken refuge and crowded together in the cemetery. Giving his horse the spur, Toustain leaped the wall; and running his keen eye along the crowd, he was attracted by an old man, whose attire was of the richest description.
The individual on whose figure the eye of Toustain thus rested was an aged thane—so advanced in years, indeed, that he probably remembered the days of Earl Uchtred. With his long, loose robe, long white hair, and long white moustache, the aspect of the man was venerable and striking. But what attracted Toustain's attention was not the white beard, nor the long robes, but the bracelets with which, according to the custom of the country, the arms of the aged thane were loaded. In fact, the sight of the bracelets caused Toustain's eye to gleam with avarice; and drawing his sword, he spurred forward with the intention of making them his own.
But, according to the proverb, there is much between the cup and the lip; and the truth of this Toustain now found to his cost. Terrified at the Norman's drawn blade and menacing manner, the old thane tottered hastily to the church, to place himself under the protection of the patron saint of the place; and Toustain, who had no more respect for the Saxon saint than for those who invoked his aid, pursued sword in hand. Scarcely, however, had the Norman, with avarice at his heart and blasphemy on his lips, spurred through the doorway, when his horse, touching the pavement, slipped, lost its footing, and fell, bearing its rider to the ground with a crash which seemed sufficient to break every bone in his body.
On seeing their leader fall, and lie as if dead, the Norman soldiers were seized with superstitious terror. It seemed as if the Saxon saint had, in his wrath, struck Toustain down. Hurriedly turning their horses' heads, they left Beverley at a gallop, hastened in terror to their camp, and related to the companions of their enterprise the terrible example which St. John of Beverley had just given of his power. The accident produced a lasting effect on the invading army; and when the Normans again marched to slay and plunder, not one soldier in their ranks was daring enough to expose himself to supernatural vengeance by molesting any person under the protection of St. John of Beverley.
While the conquerors of Northumberland passed the winter of 1070 at York, and rested from the fatigues they had undergone in their campaign north of the Humber, William occupied his mind with schemes for the reduction of the country around Chester—"the one great city of England that had not yet heard the tramp of the foreigners' horses." When winter passed, and spring began to bring back the grass to the fields and leaves to the trees, the Norman king intimated his intention of setting out on the important expedition.
But the effect produced by William's orders, that war-steeds should be saddled, and warriors should mount, to encounter new perils, was such as he could hardly have anticipated. Loud murmurs immediately arose in the army, especially among the auxiliaries from Anjou and Brittany. Exaggerated accounts of the ruggedness of the province of Chester and of the ferocity of the inhabitants circulated through the camp; and the terrible hardships suffered in Northumberland utterly disinclined the soldiers for a campaign on the banks of the Dee.
"This service," said they, "is more intolerable than slavery. We demand leave to return to our homes."
"Wait awhile," said William, coaxingly: "after victory I promise you repose; and with repose, great estates, as the reward of your exertions."
After some difficulty the murmurs of the Normans were silenced; and William, leading his army over the intervening mountains by paths till then deemed impracticable for cavalry, entered the city of Chester as a conqueror. Having erected a strong castle to keep the natives in awe, he gave the command of the province to a Fleming, named Gherbaud, with the title of Earl of Chester.
Elate, doubtless, with his good fortune, Gherbaud entered on his duties with vigour. His ardour, however, was speedily damped. It appeared that the accounts of the ferocity of the men of Chester that had reached York were not altogether without foundation. The English and Welsh, hitherto sworn foes, and continually at strife, seemed to vie with each other in their attacks on the invaders. Harassed on every hand, and exposed to continual anxiety and peril, Gherbaud grew tired of Chester, abandoned his earldom, and intensely disgusted with his taste of the conquered country, retired to Flanders.
It now appeared necessary to place the earldom of Chester in the hands of a man who, while gifted with the governing faculty, could laugh at danger, and fatigue, and ferocious foes. Accordingly, William, duly weighing the circumstances of the case, conferred the post of danger on that feudal personage who figures in the history of the period as Hugh d'Avranches, and who, from bearing a wolf's head painted on his shield, was familiarly known among his contemporaries as Hugh le Loup.
Hugh le Loup was son of Richard Gosse, and, on the mother's side, stood to William in the relationship of nephew. Full of courage and ambition, he shrunk neither from the perils nor the toils that had disgusted and dismayed Gherbaud. Passing the Dee with his two lieutenants, Robert de Malpas and Robert d'Avranches, Hugh conquered Flintshire, and built a castle at Rhuddlan, which was occupied by Robert d'Avranches; while Robert de Malpas having built a castle on a high hill, gave the place his name, which it still bears. Both of these warriors exhibited high courage, carried on a fierce war with the natives, and fought sanguinary battles, in which they dyed their spears in Welsh blood.
When Hugh le Loup found himself installed as Earl of Chester, but surrounded on all sides by implacable foes, he naturally felt desirous of having some of his countrymen at hand to share his fortunes. With this view he sent to Normandy for an old friend, named Nigel, who brought with him five brothers, to whom Hugh granted lands in the earldom of Chester. Besides appointing Nigel Constable and Hereditary Marshal of Chester, Hugh granted him the town of Halton, near the Mersey, and all four-legged beasts of more than one colour taken from the Welsh, besides other privileges; and the five brothers were all provided for. One was gifted with the office of Constable of Halton, and the lands of Weston and Ashton, with all the bulls taken from the Welsh, and the best ox for the man-at-arms who carried his banner; the second of the brothers received as much land as an ox could plough in two days; the third, who was a priest, was gifted with the church of Runcorn; and two others became lords of a domain in that village.
About the time that Hugh le Loup was consolidating his power in Chester, Gilbert de Lacy, to whom William had granted the magnificent domain of Pontefract, passed the mountains west of York, advancing boldly into the county of Lancaster, which then formed part of Chester. Gilbert took possession of this immense territory, extending south and east to the borders of Yorkshire, forcibly expelled the ancient proprietors, and constituted himself lord of the towns of Blackburn and Rochdale, and all the land which he overran.