THE CAMP OF REFUGE.

Isle of Ely and Camp of Refuge.

THE EDITOR’S PREFACE.

A generation has passed away since “The Camp of Refuge” first issued from the press. Although published anonymously, it shows that its author had a very extensive knowledge of the history and topography of the Fen district.

The book, however, while it embodied much real history, was put forth with no higher pretension than that of a tale, whose characters were historic personages, and whose incidents occurred, in the main, during the Norman Conquest.

Knowing that this interesting book had become very scarce, and thinking that it would prove as acceptable to this, and perhaps to the next, generation as it did to the past—the present publishers determined to offer a new edition to the public; trusting at the same time that its contents will help to foster a loyalty and a love for our English nation.

But with a new edition some few comments appeared necessary; therefore Notes to the text, a vi short Appendix, and two Maps have been added, not with a view merely to embellish the original work, nor to convert it into a real history, but to assist, in some measure, the youthful reader, or mayhap those, too, who have but limited means of consulting the many sources of information upon which the ground-work of the tale rests.

June, 1880.

In preparing this edition, care has been taken to correct whatever defects, typographical or otherwise, may have been found in the former one; several fresh foot-notes have been introduced, the Appendix has been re-arranged and enlarged, and a Map (adapted from Dugdale’s Monasticon), representing the ground plan of the Spalding Monastery, or “Succursal Cell,” has also been added.

These emendations and additions, it is confidently hoped, will ensure for the book a more extended appreciation than it has hitherto enjoyed.

May, 1887.

THE CONTENTS.

Horace E. Miller, del.

MAP to “CAMP OF REFUGE.”

CHAPTER I. THE MESSENGER.

It was long ago; it was in the year of grace one thousand and seventy, or four years after the battle of Hastings, which decided the right of power between the English and Norman nations, and left the old Saxon race exposed to the goadings of the sharp Norman lance, that a novice went on his way from the grand abbey of Crowland to the dependent house or succursal cell of Spalding,[1] in the midst of the Lincolnshire fens. The young man carried a long staff or pole in his hand, with which he aided himself in leaping across the numerous ditches and rivulets that intersected his path, and in trying the boggy ground before he ventured to set his feet upon it. The upper end of his staff was fashioned like unto the staff of a pilgrim, but the lower end was armed with a heavy iron ferrule, from which projected sundry long steel nails or spikes. It was a fen-pole,[2] 2 such, I wist, as our fenners yet use in Holland, Lindsey, and Kesteven. In a strong and bold hand this staff might be a good war-weapon; and as the young man raised the skirts of his black garment

it might have been seen that he had a short broad hunting-knife fastened to his girdle. He was a fair-haired, blue-eyed, and full-lipped youth, with an open countenance and a ruddy complexion: the face seemed made to express none but joyous feelings, so that the grief and anxiety which now clouded it appeared to be quite out of place. Nor was that cloud always there, for whensoever the autumn sun shone out brightly, and some opening in the monotonous forest of willows and alders gave him a pleasant or a varied prospect, or when the bright king-fisher flitted across his path, or the wild duck rose from the fen and flew heaven-ward,[3] or the heron raised itself on its long legs to look at him from the sludge, or the timid cygnet went sailing away in quest of the parent swan, his countenance lighted up like that of a happy thoughtless boy. Ever and anon too some inward emotion made him chuckle or laugh outright. Thus between sadness and gladness the novice went on his way—a rough and miry way proper to give a permanent fit of ill-humour 3 to a less buoyant spirit, for he had quitted

the road or causeway which traversed the fens and was pursuing a devious path, which was for the greater part miry in summer, but a complete morass at the present season of the year. Notwithstanding all his well-practised agility, and in spite of the good aid of his long staff, he more than once was soused head over ears in a broad water-course. With a good road within view, it may be thought that he had some strong motive for choosing this very bad one; and every time that his path approached to the road, or that the screen of alders and willows failed him, he crouched low under the tall reeds and bulrushes of the fen, and stole along very cautiously, peeping occasionally through the rushes towards the road, and turning his ear every time that the breeze produced a loud or unusual sound. As thus he went on, the day declined fast, and the slanting sun shone on the walls of a tall stone mansion, battlemented and moated—a dwelling-house, but a house proper to stand a siege:[4] and in these years of trouble none could dwell at peace in any house if unprovided with

the means of holding out against a blockade, and of repelling siege and assault. All round this manor-house, to a wide space, the trees had been cut down and the country drained; part of the water being carried off to a neighbouring mere, and part being collected and gathered, by means of various cuts, to fill the deep moat round the house.

4 Here the young man, in fear of being discovered by those who occupied that warlike yet fair-looking dwelling, almost crawled on the ground. Nevertheless he quitted his track to get nearer to the house; and then, cowering among some reeds and bulrushes, he put his open hand above his eyebrows, and gazed sharply at the moat, the drawbridge, the low gateway with its round-headed arch, the battlements, and the black Norman flag that floated over them. The while he gazed, the blast of a trumpet sounded on the walls, and sounded again, and once again; and, after the third blast, a noise as of many horses treading the high road or causeway was heard among the fen reeds. The novice muttered, and almost swore blasphemously, (albeit by the rules of the order he was bound to use no stronger terms than crede mihi, or planè, or certè, or benedicamus Domina;)[5] but he continued to gaze under his palm until the sounds on the road came nearer and trumpet replied to trumpet. Then, muttering “This is not a tarrying place for the feet of a true Saxon!” he crawled back to the

scarcely perceptible track he had left, and kept on, in a stooping posture but at a rapid pace, until he came to a thick clump of alders, the commencement of a wood which stretched, with scarcely any interruption, to the banks of the river Welland. Here, screened from sight, he struck the warlike end of his 5 staff against the trunk of a tree, and said aloud, “Forty Norman men-at-arms! by Saint Etheldreda[6] and by the good eye-sight that Saint Lucia[7] hath vouchsafed unto me! Forty Norman cut-throats, and we in our succursal cell only five friars, two novices, two lay-brothers, and five hinds! and our poor upper buildings all made of wood, old and ready to burn like tow! and not ten bows in the place or five men knowing how to use them! By Saint Ovin[8] and his cross! were our walls but as strong as those of the monks of Ely, and our war-gear better, and none of us cowards, I would say, ‘Up drawbridge! defy this Norman woodcutter, who felled trees in the forest for his bread until brought by the bastard to cut Saxon throats and fatten upon the lands of our

thanes and our churches and monasteries! I would spit at the beard of this Ivo Taille-Bois, and call upon Thurstan my Lord Abbat of Ely, and upon the true Saxon hearts in the Camp of Refuge, for succour!’” And the passionate young man struck the trunk of the poor unoffending tree until the bark cracked, and the long thin leaves, loosened by autumn, fell all about him.

He then continued his journey through the low, thick, and monotonous wood, and after sundry more leaps, and not a few sousings in the water and slips in the mud, he reached the bank of the Welland at a point just opposite to the succursal cell of Spalding. 6 A ferry-boat was moored under the walls of the house. He drew forth a blast horn; but before putting it to his lips to summon the ferryman across, he bethought him that he could not be wetter than he was, that he had got his last fall in a muddy place, and that the readiest way to cleanse himself before coming into the presence of his superior would be to swim across the river instead of waiting to be ferried over. This also suited the impatient mood he was in, and he knew that the serf who managed the boat was always slow in his movements, and at times liable to sudden and unseasonable fits of deafness. So, throwing his heavy staff before him, like a javelin, and with so much vigour that it reached and stuck deep into the opposite bank, he leaped into the river and swam across after it. Before he came to the Welland the

sun had gone down; but it was a clear autumnal evening, and if he was not seen in the twilight by a lay-brother stationed on the top of the house to watch for his return and to keep a look-out along the river, it must have been because the said lay-brother was either drowsy and had gone to sleep, or was hungry and had gone down to see what was toward in the kitchen.

The succursal cell of Spalding was but a narrow and humble place compared with its great mother-house at Crowland: it seemed to stand upon piles[9] driven deep into the marshy ground; the lower part 7 of the building was of stone, brick, and rubble, and very strong; but all the upper part was of wood, even as the wayfaring novice had lamented. A few small round-headed arches, with short thick mullions, showed where was the chapel, and where the hall, which last served as refectory, chapter, and for many other uses. Detached from the chapel was a low thick campanile or bell-tower, constructed like the main building, partly of stone, brick, and rubble, and partly of timber, the upper part having open arches, through which might be seen the squat old bell and the ponderous mallet, which served instead of a clapper. The Welland almost washed the back of the house,[10] and a deep trench, filled by the water of the river, went round the other sides. Without being hailed or seen by anyone, the young man walked round from the river bank to the front of the house,

where the walls were pierced by a low arched gateway, and one small grated window a little above the arch. “The brothers are all asleep, and before supper time!” said the novice, “but I must rouse old Hubert.” He then blew his horn as loud as he could blow it. After a brief pause a loud but cracked voice cried from within the gates, “Who comes hither, after evening song?”

“It is I, Elfric[11] the novice.”

“The voice is verily that of child Elfric; but I must see with my eyes as well as hear with mine 8 ears, for the Norman be prowling all about, and these be times when the wolf counterfeiteth the voice of the lamb.”

“Open, Hubert, open,” cried the novice, “open, in the name of Saint Chad![12] for I am wet, tired, and a-hungred, and the evening wind is beginning to blow coldly from the meres. Open thy gate, Hubert, and let fall the bridge; I am so hungry that I could eat the planks! Prithee, is supper ready?”

To this earnest address no answer was returned; but after a minute or two the twilight showed a cowled head behind the grates of the window—a head that seemed nearly all eyes, so intensely did the door-porter look forth across the moat—and then the voice which before had been heard below, was heard above, saying, “The garb and figure be verily those of Elfric, and the water streams from him to the earth. Ho! Elfric the novice—an thou be he—throw back thy hood, and give the sign!”

“Abbat Thurstan[13] and Saint Etheldreda for the East Englanders!” shouted the young man.

Here, another voice was heard from within the building calling out “Hubert, whom challengest? Is it Elfric returning from Crowland?”

“Yea,” quoth the portarius, “it is Elfric the novice safe back from Crowland, but dripping like a water-rat, 9 and shivering in the wind. Come, help me lower the bridge, and let him in.”

The gate was soon opened, and the narrow drawbridge lowered. The youth entered, and then helped to draw up the bridge and make fast the iron-studded door. Within the archway every member of the little community, except those who were preparing the evening repast or spreading the tables in the refectory, and the superior who was prevented by his gout and his dignity from descending to the door-way to meet a novice (be his errand what it might), was standing on tip-toe, and open-mouthed for news; but Elfric was a practised messenger, and knowing that the bringer of bad news is apt to meet with a cold welcome, and that the important tidings he brought ought to be communicated first to the head of the house, he hurried through the throng, and crossing a cloistered court, and ascending a flight of stairs, he went straight to the cell of Father Adhelm,[14] the sub-prior of Crowland Abbey, who ruled the succursal cell of Spalding. The monks followed him into the room; but the novices and lay-brothers stopped short at the threshold, taking care to keep the door ajar

so that they might hear whatsoever was said within. “I give thee my benison, oh, my child! and may the saints bless thee, for thou art back sooner than I weened. But speak, oh Elfric! quick! tell me what glad tidings thou bringest from my Lord Abbat and our faithful brethren at Crowland, and what news of 10 that son of the everlasting fire, our evil neighbour Ivo Taille-Bois?”

After he had reverentially kissed the hand of his superior, Elfric the novice spake and said:—

“Father, I bring no glad tidings; my news be all bad news! Ivo Taille-Bois is coming against us to complete his iniquities, by finishing our destruction; and the Abbat[15] and our faithful brethren at Crowland are harassed and oppressed themselves, and cannot help us!”

The faces of the monks grew very long; but they all said in one voice, “Elfric, thou dreamest. Elfric, thou speakest of things that cannot be; for hath not my Lord Abbat obtained the king’s peace, and security for the lives of all his flock and the peaceful possession of all our houses, succursal cells, churches and chapels, farms and lands whatsoever, together with our mills, fisheries,[16] stews, warrens, and all things appertaining to our great house and order?”[17]

One of the primary duties imposed upon novices was to be silent when the elders spake. Elfric stood with his hands crossed upon his breast and with his eyes bent upon the floor, until his superior said “Peace, brothers! let there be silence until the youth hath reported what he hath heard and seen.” And then turning to Elfric, Father Adhelm added, “Bring you no missive from our good Abbat?”

“Yea,” said the novice, “I am the bearer of an epistle from my Lord Abbat to your reverence; and 11 lo! it is here.” And he drew forth from under his inner garment a round case made of tin, and presented it most respectuously to the superior.

“I am enduring the pains of the body as well as the agony of the spirit,” said the superior, “and my swollen right hand refuses its office; brother Cedric, undo the case.”

Cedric took the case, opened it, took out a scroll of parchment, kissed it as if it had been a relic, unrolled it, and handed it to the superior.

“Verily this is a long missive,” said the superior, running his eyes over it, “and alack, and woe the while, it commenceth with words of ill omen! Brethren my eyes are dim and cannot read by twilight:[18] the body moreover is faint, I having fasted from everything but prayer and meditation since the mid-day refection; and then, as ye can bear witness, I ate no meat, but only picked a stewed pike[19] of the smallest. Therefore, brethren, I opine that we had better read my Lord Abbat’s epistle[20] after supper (when will they strike upon that refectory bell?), and only hear beforehand what Elfric hath to say.”

The cloister-monks gladly assented, for they were as hungry as their chief, and, not being very quick at reading, were glad that the superior had not called for lights in the cell, and called upon them to read the letter.

“Now speak, Elfric, and to the point; tell the tale shortly, and after the evening meal the lamp shall be trimmed and we will draw our stools round the hearth 12 in the hall, and read the abbat’s epistle and deliberate thereupon.”

Upon this injunction of Father Adhelm, the youth began to relate with very commendable brevity, that the abbey of Crowland was surrounded and in good part occupied by Norman knights and men-at-arms, who were eating the brotherhood out of house and home, and committing every kind of riot and excess; that the abbat had in vain pleaded the king’s peace, and shown the letters of protection granted him by Lanfranc,[21] the new foreign primate of the kingdom; that the Normans had seized upon all the horses and mules and boats of the community; and that the abbat (having received disastrous intelligence from the north[22] and from other parts of England where the Saxon patriots had endeavoured to resist the conqueror), had fallen sick, and had scarcely strength to dictate and sign the letter he brought.

“These are evil tidings indeed,” said the superior, “but the storm is yet distant, and may blow over without reaching us. It is many a rood from Crowland to Spalding, and there is many a bog between us. Those accursed knights and men-at-arms 13 will not readily risk their horses and their own lives in our fens; and now that Ivo Taille-Bois hath so often emptied our granaries, and hath crippled or carried off all our cattle, we have the protecting shield of poverty. There is little to be got here but bare walls, and Ivo, having the grant of the neighbouring lands from the man they call King William, is not willing that any robber but himself should come hitherward. His mansion guards the causeway, and none can pass thereon without his bene placet. But, oh Elfric! what of the demon-possessed Ivo? Rests he not satisfied with the last spoils he made on our poor house? Abides he not true to his compact that he would come no more, but leave us to enjoy his king’s peace and the peace of the Lord? Heeds he not the admonition addressed to him by Lanfranc?

Speak, Elfric, and be quick, for methinks I hear the step of the cellarer by the refectory door.”

“The strong keep no compact with the weak,” responded the novice, “and these lawless marauders care little for William their king, less for their archbishop, and nothing for the Lord! While I was hid in Crowland Abbey waiting for my Lord Abbat’s letter, I heard from one of the friars who can interpret their speech, that some of these Normans were saying that Ivo Taille-Bois wanted the snug nest at Spalding to put cleaner birds into it: that Ivo had made his preparations to dispossess us. And lo! as I came homeward through the fens, and passed as near as I might to the manor-house which Taille-Bois made his own by forcibly marrying the good Saxon[23] owner of it, I heard the flourish of trumpets, and anon 14 I saw, tramping along the causeway towards the well-garrisoned manor-house, forty Norman men-at-arms!”

“Not so, surely not so, Elfric,” said the superior in a quake, “danger cannot be so near us as that!”

“His eyes must have deceived him,” cried all the brothers.