“What!” he cried, “shall a son of Leofric, the noblest man in England, accept pity 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[58] as to ask a favour from Godwin. Father, I thank you. For years I have been disturbing the peace of the land, and thus have caused your displeasure; but I shall now go in exile, and in exile I may go abroad and win my fortune at the sword’s point[59].”
“Win your fortune, foolish boy!” said his father. “And where will you go?”
“Wherever fate and my fortune lead me,” he replied recklessly. “I can do anything – serve the Emperor in Constantinople, kill dragons and other monsters, follow a quest to the north – but never shall Mercia see me again till England calls me home. Farewell, father; farewell, Earl Godwin; farewell, reverend king. I go. And pray that you may never need my arm, for it may happen that you will call me and I will not come.”
So Hereward rode away, followed into exile by one man only, Martin Lightfoot, who left his father’s service for that of his outlawed son. Also, that time at court Hereward first saw and liked of a lovely little Saxon maiden named Alftruda[60], a servant of the pious king.
Hereward was now legally outlawed in Mercia by the wish of the king himself, but the decision had only nominal weight[61] in Northumbria, where Earl Siward[62] ruled almost as an independent lord. Hereward went there, for there lived his own godfather, Gilbert of Ghent[63], and his castle was known as a good training school for young candidates for knighthood. Sailing from Dover, the young man landed at Whitby, and made his way to Gilbert’s castle, where he was well received. His godfather was smart; he knew that an outlawry could be reversed at any time, and Leofric’s son might yet come to rule England. Thus Hereward was added to the number of other young men, mainly Normans or Flemings, who were seeking to perfect themselves in chivalry before taking knighthood. He soon showed himself a brave warrior, a superb wrestler, and a dangerous fighter, and soon no one wanted to fight the young Mercian, who beat them all in manly sports. The envy of the young Normans was only controlled by two things: Gilbert’s presence and fear of Hereward’s strength. But one day, in Gilbert’s absence, an incident occurred which placed the young exile so far above them that only by his death could they hope to stop being much inferior to him.
Gilbert kept in his castle court an immense white Polar bear, feared by all for its size and strength, and called the Fairy Bear. It was even believed that the huge beast had some family relation to old Earl Siward, who bore a bear upon his crest, and was said to have been as dangerous and strong as a bear in his youth. This white bear was so much scared of that he was kept on a chain and in a strong cage.
One morning, as Hereward was returning with Martin from his morning ride, he heard cries from the castle yard, and, reaching the great gate, entered and quickly closed it behind him, for there outside the broken cage, with broken chain dangling from his neck, stood the Fairy Bear, looking savagely round the courtyard. Not far from it stood a deadly frightened girl of about twelve years of age. She happened to stay outside when everybody rushed inside the castle. There were sounds of men’s voices and women’s cried from within, but the doors were closed, while the girl, in her terror, beat on the doors 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, ran towards the child. Hereward rushed forward, shouting to distract the bear, and just managed to stop him attaching the girl. The savage animal turned on the newcomer. Taking his battle-axe, the youth threw it masterly 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. Then the little girl, who turned out to be no other than the king’s servant, Alftruda, and who had been watching with fascinated eyes first the approach of the monster, and then its sudden death, now ran to Hereward, who had always been kind to the pretty child, and flung herself into his arms[64].
“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[65]. Will you be my champion?” As she spoke she kissed Hereward again and again.
“Where have they all gone, little one?” asked the young noble.
“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 opened, 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 closed the door in and left me outside; 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 here and help me.”
They put the body of the dead bear just where the castle door, opening, would show it at once. Then Hereward asked Alftruda to call to the knights inside saying 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 argument within as to who should risk his life to open the door, the many excuses given for refusal, and, best of all, the cry of horror with which the knight who had dared to open the door shut it again on seeing the Fairy Bear waiting to enter. Hereward even carried his trick so far as to thrust the bear heavily against the door, making all the people within cry for the protection of the saints. Finally, when he was tired of the joke, he convinced the knights that they might go out safely, and showed how he, a youth of seventeen, had killed the monster with one blow. From that time Hereward was the favourite of the whole castle, petted, praised, beloved by all its inhabitants, except his jealous rivals.
The foreign knights became so jealous of the Saxon youth, and disliked his sarcastic humour so much that they planned several times to kill him, and once or twice nearly succeeded. This insecurity, and a feeling that perhaps Earl Siward did have some relation to the Fairy Bear and would wish to avenge his death, made Hereward decide to leave Gilbert’s castle.
The spirit of adventure was strong upon him, the sea seemed to call him; now that he had become evidently superior to the other noble youths in Gilbert’s castle, his ambition called him on. 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 rivals.
Boarding a merchant ship, he sailed for Cornwall[66], and there was taken to the court of King Alef[67], a minor British chief, who, like a true patriarch of old times, was getting rid of his children as he could, and had betrothed his fair daughter to a terrible Pictish[68] giant, breaking off, in order to do it, her engagement with Prince Sigtryg[69] of Waterford, son of a Danish king in Ireland.
Hereward was chivalrous, and little Alftruda had made him feel pitiful to all maidens. Seeing at once how the princess hated and feared her new betrothed, a horrible, misshapen creature, nearly eight feet high, he decided to destroy him. He arranged a quarrel with the giant, and killed him the next day in fair fight. But the vengeful Pictish tribe made Kind Alef throw Hereward and his man Martin into prison, so he promised trial and punishment for them in the morning.
To the young Saxon’s surprise, the princess appeared to be as grieved and as revengeful as all the native Picts, and she not only rejoiced at the fact that the two men would be thrown in the prison and executed the next day, but herself helped