Hero-Myths & Legends of the British Race
hated monks and played many a rough trick upon them, but took his
punishment, when it came, with equable cheerfulness; he robbed
merchants with a high hand, but made reparation liberally, counting
himself well satisfied with the fun of a fight or the skill of a
clever trick; his band of youths met and fought other bands, but they
bore no malice when the strife was over. In one point only was
Hereward less than true to his own nobility of character--he was
jealous of admitting that any man was his superior in strength or
comeliness, and his vanity was well supported by his extraordinary
might and beauty.
Hereward at Court
The deeds which brought Earl Leofric's wrath upon his son in a
terrible fashion were not matters of wanton wickedness, but of lawless
personal violence. Called to attend his father to the Confessor's
court, the youth, who had little respect for one so unwarlike as "the
miracle-monger," uttered his contempt for saintly king, Norman
prelate, and studious monks too loudly, and thereby shocked the weakly
devout Edward, who thought piety the whole duty of man. But his
wildness touched the king more nearly still; for in his sturdy
patriotism he hated the Norman favourites and courtiers who surrounded
the Confessor, and again and again his marvellous strength was shown
in the personal injuries he inflicted on the Normans in mere boyish
brawls, until at last his father could endure the disgrace no longer.
Hereward's Exile
Begging an audience of the king, Leofric formally asked for a writ of
outlawry against his own son. The Confessor, surprised, but not
displeased, felt some compunction as he saw the father's affection
overborne by the judge's severity. Earl Godwin, Leofric's greatest
rival, was present in the council, and his pleading for the noble lad,
whose faults were only those of youth, was sufficient to make Leofric
more urgent in his petition. The curse of family feud, which
afterwards laid England prostrate at the foot of the Conqueror, was
already felt, and felt so strongly that Hereward resented Godwin's
intercession more than his father's sternness.
Hereward's Farewell
"What!" he cried, "shall a son of Leofric, the noblest man in England,
accept intercession from Godwin or any of his family? No. I may be
unworthy of my wise father and my saintly mother, but I am not yet
sunk so low as to ask a favour from a Godwin. Father, I thank you. For
years I have fretted against the peace of the land, and thus have
incurred your displeasure; but in exile I may range abroad and win my
fortune at the sword's point." "Win thy fortune, foolish boy!" said
his father. "And whither wilt thou fare?" "Wherever fate and my
fortune lead me," he replied recklessly. "Perhaps to join Harald
Hardrada at Constantinople and become one of the Emperor's Varangian
Guard; perhaps to follow old Beowa out into the West, at the end of
some day of glorious battle; perhaps to fight giants and dragons and
all kinds of monsters. All these things I may do, but never shall
Mercia see me again till England calls me home. Farewell, father;
farewell, Earl Godwin; farewell, reverend king. I go. And pray ye that
ye may never need my arm, for it may hap that ye will call me and I
will not come." Then Hereward rode away, followed into exile by one
man only, Martin Lightfoot, who left the father's service for that of
his outlawed son. It was when attending the king's court on this
occasion that Hereward first saw and felt the charm of a lovely little
Saxon maiden named Alftruda, a ward of the pious king.
Hereward in Northumbria
Though the king's writ of outlawry might run in Mercia, it did not
carry more than nominal weight in Northumbria, where Earl Siward ruled
almost as an independent lord. Thither Hereward determined to go, for
there dwelt his own godfather, Gilbert of Ghent, and his castle was
known as a good training school for young aspirants for knighthood.
Sailing from Dover, Hereward landed at Whitby, and made his way to
Gilbert's castle, where he was well received, since the cunning
Fleming knew that an outlawry could be reversed at any time, and
Leofric's son might yet come to rule England. Accordingly Hereward was
enrolled in the number of young men, mainly Normans or Flemings, who
were seeking to perfect themselves in chivalry before taking
knighthood. He soon showed himself a brave warrior, an unequalled
wrestler, and a wary fighter, and soon no one cared to meddle with the
young Mercian, who outdid them all in manly sports. The envy of the
young Normans was held in check by Gilbert, and by a wholesome dread
of Hereward's strong arm; until, in Gilbert's absence, an incident
occurred which placed the young exile on a pinnacle so far above them
that only by his death could they hope to rid themselves of their
feeling of inferiority.
The Fairy Bear
Gilbert kept in his castle court an immense white Polar bear, dreaded
by all for its enormous strength, and called the Fairy Bear. It was
even believed that the huge beast had some kinship to old Earl Siward,
who bore a bear upon his crest, and was reputed to have had something
of bear-like ferocity in his youth. This white bear was so much
dreaded that he was kept chained up in a strong cage. One morning as
Hereward was returning with Martin from his morning ride he heard
shouts and shrieks from the castle yard, and, reaching the great gate,
entered lightly and closed it behind him rapidly, for there outside
the shattered cage, with broken chain dangling, stood the Fairy Bear,
glaring savagely round the courtyard. But one human figure was in
sight, that of a girl of about twelve years of age.
Hereward Slays the Bear
There were sounds of men's voices and women's shrieks from within the
castle, but the doors were fast barred, while the maid, in her terror,
beat on the portal with her palms, and begged them, for the love of
God, to let her in. The cowards, refused, and in the meantime the
great bear, irritated by the dangling chain, made a rush towards the
child. Hereward dashed forward, shouting to distract the bear, and
just managed to stop his charge at the girl. The savage animal turned
on the new-comer, who needed all his agility to escape the monster's
terrible onset. Seizing his battle-axe, the youth swung it around
his head and split the skull of the furious beast, which fell dead. It
was a blow so mighty that even Hereward himself was surprised at its
deadly effect, and approached cautiously to examine his victim. In the
meantime the little girl, who proved to be no other than the king's
ward, Alftruda, had watched with fascinated eyes first the approach of
the monster, and then, as she crouched in terror, its sudden
slaughter; and now she summoned up courage to run to Hereward, who had
always been kind to the pretty child, and to fling herself into his
arms. "Kind Hereward," she whispered, "you have saved me and killed
the bear. I love you for it, and I must give you a kiss, for my dame
says so do all ladies that choose good knights to be their champions.
Will you be mine?" As she spoke she kissed Hereward again and again.
Hereward's Trick on the Knights
"Where have they all gone, little one?" asked the young noble; and
Alftruda replied: "We were all out here in the courtyard watching the
young men at their exercises, when we heard a crash and a roar, and
the cage burst open, and we saw the dreadful Fairy Bear. They all ran,
the ladies and knights, but I was the last, and they were so
frightened that they shut themselves in and left me outside; and when
I beat at the door and prayed them to let me in they would not, and I
thought the bear would eat me, till you came."
"The cowards!" cried Hereward. "And they think themselves worthy of
knighthood when they will save their own lives and leave a child in
danger! They must be taught a lesson. Martin, come hither and aid me."
When Martin came, the two, with infinite trouble, raised the carcase
of the monstrous beast, and placed it just where the bower door,
opening, would show it at once. Then Hereward bade Alftruda call to
the knights in the bower that all was safe and they could come out,
for the bear would not hurt them. He and Martin, listening, heard with
great glee the bitter debate within the bower as to who should risk
his life to open the door, the many excuses given for refusal, the
mischievous fun in Alftruda's voice as she begged some one to open to
her, and, best of all, the cry of horror with which the knight who had
ventured to draw the bolt shut the door again on seeing the Fairy Bear
waiting to enter. Hereward even carried his trick so far as to thrust
the bear heavily against the bower door, making all the people within
shriek and implore the protection of the saints. Finally, when he was
tired of the jest, he convinced the valiant knights that they might
emerge safely from their retirement, and showed how he, a stripling of
seventeen, had slain the monster at one blow. From that time Hereward
was the darling of the whole castle, petted, praised, beloved by all
its inmates, except his jealous rivals.
Hereward Leaves Northumbria
The foreign knights grew so jealous of the Saxon youth, and so restive
under his shafts of sarcastic ridicule, that they planned several
times to kill him, and once or twice nearly succeeded. This
insecurity, and a feeling that perhaps Earl Siward had some kinship
with the Fairy Bear, and would wish to avenge his death, made Hereward
decide to quit Gilbert's castle. The spirit of adventure was strong
upon him, the sea seemed to call him; now that he had been
acknowledged superior to the other noble youths in Gilbert's
household, the castle no longer afforded a field for his ambition.
Accordingly he took a sad leave of Alftruda, an affectionate one of
Sir Gilbert, who wished to knight him for his brave deed, and a
mocking one of his angry and unsuccessful foes.
Hereward in Cornwall
Entering into a merchant-ship, he sailed for Cornwall, and there was
taken to the court of King Alef, a petty British chief, who, on true
patriarchal lines, disposed of his children as he would, and had
betrothed his fair daughter to a terrible Pictish giant, breaking off,
in order to do it, her troth-plight with Prince Sigtryg of Waterford,
son of a Danish king in Ireland. Hereward was ever chivalrous, and
little Alftruda had made him feel pitiful to all maidens. Seeing
speedily how the princess loathed her new betrothed, a hideous,
misshapen wretch, nearly eight feet high, he determined to slay him.
With great deliberation he picked a quarrel with the giant, and killed
him the next day in fair fight; but King Alef was driven by the
threats of the vengeful Pictish tribe to throw Hereward and his man
Martin into prison, promising trial and punishment on the morrow.
Hereward Released from Prison
To the young Saxon's surprise, the released princess appeared to be as
grieved and as revengeful as any follower of the Pictish giant, and
she not only advocated prison and death the next day, but herself
superintended the tying of the thongs that bound the two strangers.
When they were left to their lonely confinement Hereward began to
blame the princess for hypocrisy, and to protest the impossibility of
a man's ever knowing what a woman wants. "Who would have thought," he
cried, "that that beautiful maiden loved a giant so hideous as this
Pict? Had I known, I would never have fought him, but her eyes said
to me, 'Kill him,' and I have done so; this is how she rewards me!"
"No," replied Martin, "this is how"; and he cut Hereward's bonds,
laughing silently to himself. "Master, you were so indignant with the
lady that you could not make allowances for her. I knew that she must