So he
went back all the way to camp, and took (says the chronicler) "forty most
famous knights, all big and tall of stature, and splendid,--if from
nothing else, from their looks and their harness alone."
So Hereward and those forty knights rode down from Peterborough, along the
Roman road. For the Roman roads were then, and for centuries after, the
only roads in this land; and our forefathers looked on them as the work of
gods and giants, and called them after the names of their old gods and
heroes,--Irmen Street, Watling Street, and so forth.
And then, like true Englishmen, our own forefathers showed their respect
for the said divine works, not by copying them, but by picking them to
pieces to pave every man his own court-yard. Be it so. The neglect of new
roads, the destruction of the old ones, was a natural evil consequence of
local self-government. A cheap price, perhaps, after all, to pay for that
power of local self-government which has kept England free unto this day.
Be that as it may, down the Roman road Hereward went; past Alconbury Hill,
of the old posting days; past Wimpole Park, then deep forest; past
Hatfield, then deep forest likewise; and so to St. Alban's. And there they
lodged in the minster; for the monks thereof were good English, and sang
masses daily for King Harold's soul.
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