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Updated: May 1, 2025
"Or I," said Ivo Taillebois, "till I see Hereward's head on Bourne gable, where he stuck up those Norman's heads seven years ago. But what the Lord Abbot means by saying that we have done with English saints I do not see, for the villains of Crowland have just made a new one for themselves." "A new one?"
Ivo, the wood-cutter's son. I ask your pardon for that, Sir Hereward. Had you been my man then, as you are now, it might have been different." "If a king ask my pardon, I can only ask his in return." "You must be friends with Taillebois. He is a brave knight, and a wise warrior." "None ever doubted that."
"I am Hereward, without whose leave no man has ridden the Bruneswald for many a day." "And I am Letwold the Englishman, who rides whither he will in merry England, without care for any Frenchman upon earth." "Frenchman? Why callest thou me Frenchman, man? I am Hereward." "Then thou art, if tales be true, as French as Ivo Taillebois.
When Turold arrived at Peterborough he brought with him a force of 160 well-armed Normans. Joining the forces of Ivo Taillebois he attacked the Camp of Refuge near Ely. The attacking party was repulsed by Hereward, and Turold taken prisoner, and only liberated upon paying a heavy ransom.
Collecting others of his scattered followers, Hereward kept up his warfare from his own house at Bourn, continually harassing the Normans, until at length he took prisoner his old enemy, Ivo Taillebois, and, as the price of his liberty, required him to make his peace with the Conqueror.
And have her I will, unless the Mamzer, in his present merciful and politic mood, makes a Countess of her, and marries her up to some Norman coxcomb with a long pedigree, invented the year before last. If he does throw away his daughter on that Earl Edwin, in his fancy for petting and patting these savages into good humor, he is not likely to throw away Edwin's sister on a Taillebois.
The two young Siwards, as knowing the country and the folk, pushed forward, and with them Martin Lightfoot, to bring back news. Martin ran back all the way from Holbeach, the very first day, with right good news. There was not a Frenchman in the town. Neither was there, they said, in Spalding. Ivo Taillebois was still away at the wars, and long might he stay.
"Fool that you are! Fool that I was!" cried the great king, as he rolled off his horse at his tent door, cursing with rage and pain. Ivo Taillebois sneaked off, sent over to Mildenhall for the second witch, and hanged her, as some small comfort to his soul.
Ivo Taillebois came with him, hungry after those Spalding lands, the rents whereof Hereward had been taking for his men for now twelve months. William de Warrenne was there, vowed to revenge the death of Sir Frederic, his brother. Ralph Guader was there, flushed with his success at Norwich.
Alftruda's warning was both timely and true, for anon came Ivo Taillebois, who had taken to wife Hereward's niece Lucia, and Abbot Thorold, of Peterborough, who had an old score to wipe off in connection with Hereward's last visit to his abbey, and Sir Ascelin, his nephew, and many another.
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