It was late in the evening when he drew near the old house of Bourne. Some of the companions of his boyhood recognised him, and told him that William of Normandy had given his estate to a low-born foreigner, and that a party of Normans had just taken up their abode in the house. So Hereward hastened on towards Bourne, and sought out a house at the end of the long street which belonged to one Percy where he thought he could lodge for the night. Here he found a number of fighting men bewailing the misfortunes of England, and heard from them how the Frenchmen had robbed his mother of all her treasures, and how his youngest brother, a youth of sixteen, had been slain defending her, and his head had been fastened up over the door of the house. And one amongst the company of warriors said, that if Hereward, the outlawed son of Leofric had been at home, this trouble would never have come upon Bourne. Now Hereward, having formed a plan in his mind, did not make himself known yet: he only said that he had come from Flanders, but the men perceived by the flash of his eye and his proud bearing that his spirit was kindled at their wrongs, and their hearts leaned towards him because he looked so brave and strong. After a while, the warriors dropped off one by one to sleep as the night wore on. Hereward heard in the silence around, the sound of harps and joyful singing, and the clinking of goblets. He asked a boy what it was that he heard, and the boy said it was the merry-making of the guests in the lord's house above, where the youngest son had been killed only the day before. Then Hereward beckoned Martin and Percy to him, and by their means he covered his helmet and his shining coat of mail with some woman's robe of black stuff, and went out with Martin, who was disguised in like manner, to the house of Bourne. The first grievous sight that awaited him was the head of his young brother fixed up above the door. He could see through the windows the Normans sitting at their feast in noisy merriment: they boasted loudly of their deeds, and spoke slightingly of Hereward, whom they believed to be far away in Flanders, although one Flemish woman amongst the guests declared that if he had been there he could have overthrown them all. Then Hereward, the Wake, the Terrible, waited to hear no more; he rushed with Martin on those unprepared men; a fearful struggle began, and of all the foreigners, it is said that not one was left there alive when the day dawned. Such is the story told by the Monk of Ely, of the fierce and relentless manner in which Bourne was rescued from the Normans. The Lady Godiva was very thankful to know that she had yet a son to protect her. After this night of horror she removed to the Abbey of Croyland, where she lived praying and fasting, and tending the poor and sick until she died.