It was then that I saw Adela had also taken an arrow. Hereward told me later that he felt the impact, but that Adela had not let out a sound; she just winced and gripped him even harder around his waist.
The Seljuk threat had receded, so we slowed our gallop and I rode over to ask Adela about her injury.
‘It hurts a little… But what of Edwin? Did I see him fall?’
‘He’s gone, Adela. He took an arrow through the back of the neck.’
She sank her head into Hereward’s broad back and closed her eyes in a grimace – not for her pain, but for Edwin. She must have been in great agony; the arrow had gone through the fleshy part of her buttock and impaled itself in the saddle of Hereward’s mount, pinning her to the leather in the process.
Every lurch of the horse’s gait must have sent a jolt of torture through her entire body.
The journey back to the Crusader column seemed interminable. Adela was losing a lot of blood, but we thought it better to keep moving; attempting to move her and extract the arrow without the help of the physicians would almost certainly have made her injury worse.
When we finally reached the column, joyous celebrations had already begun to greet the arrival of the Turkish provisions. We were hailed as heroes, as if we had returned with the keys to the gates of Jerusalem. Suddenly the English contingent, previously only an insignificant appendage to the great Norman-Frankish-Germanic host, had saved the day, even for their Norman masters.
Robert’s physicians were summoned to help Adela, but in her forthright way she made it clear what she wanted done.
‘Please lift me and the saddle off the horse as one and put me on a saddle stand. I would also like a shirt to cover me, please.’
She was placed on a tack stand, as requested, and one of the English knights gave her a shirt.
‘It’s a bit big.’
She tried to raise a smile, but she looked very pale and her voice started to quiver.
‘Let us help you.’
‘Thank you, Edgar, but there is only one way to do this.’
She and the saddle were soaked in blood, the colour matching Hereward’s cloak, which she now threw off, nonchalantly exposing herself, then put on the shirt. She asked Hereward to help her: ‘Would you break off the arrow?’
Hereward’s large hands made it look puny, and he snapped it with ease. It had entered Adela’s buttock, making a deep wound, but only appeared to be pinning soft tissue.
‘Edgar, would you now help Hereward lower me down. I need the saddle to be raised off the ground so that I can use my legs to lever myself off this cursed thing.’
She seemed very weak by now, and I was not certain her plan would work.
‘Are you sure? If the barb is still in your flesh, it may not be as easy as all that.’
‘Don’t fuss; I think the arrowhead is in the saddle. Besides, I can’t think of another way to do this – other than letting an army of physicians loose on me with my arse in the air and a saddle sticking out of it.’
Hereward nodded and so did the physicians; she was right, as usual. A pile of saddle blankets was used as a support about a foot off the ground and we carefully lowered Hereward’s saddle and Adela on to it. She then put her heels underneath herself in a squatting position and took a deep breath.
‘Gentlemen, I may curse a little in a moment!’
She placed one hand on the saddle’s pommel and the other on its cantle and gave a mighty heave, as if giving birth. She did not curse, but did let forth a deep, guttural rumble, which turned from a growl of agony to a cry of relief as she freed herself.
Blood started to flow more copiously, and she fell into Hereward’s arms. She was very pale and her voice thin.
‘Now it’s time for the physicians to stitch me. Would you and Edgar hold me? I need a piece of leather to bite on.’
The physicians moved towards her. Although barely conscious, she did issue one final command.
‘Only one of them – the old one. I don’t want some young tup thinking about what else he might stick in me as he brandishes his cordwainer’s needle.’
Just as she had in Sicily, Adela bore the pain stoically. The arrow’s entry and exit holes, each the size of an English shilling, were about two inches apart.
She would not be going anywhere near a saddle for some time.
The Latin Princes, relieved that the decline of their army – almost to the point of oblivion – had been averted, convened their Council of War. The discussion was brief and the conclusion unanimous: the army would avoid terrain like the inhospitable ground we had just crossed and instead turn north-east at Heraclea to find more fertile land. It would take us on a long, meandering detour via Caesarea, Coxon and Marash, costing us many weeks, but would ensure that many more of us were likely to reach our destination.
Three days later, with the army rested, fed and watered and provisioned sufficiently for some time, we moved off. Adela, now fêted as a heroine rather than shunned as an oddity, rode in a cart like a queen of Egypt, with people coming up to her to thank her and give her presents.
There had been no sign of Sweyn and Estrith, and we began to fear that they had not made a safe escape after all, or had been cornered subsequently. Hereward went out several times to try to track them, but found nothing.
It was ten days later when they finally appeared, early one morning, silhouetted against the far horizon – two blurred figures, with a third mount strung behind them – almost like a mirage in the rising heat of the desert.
They were moving painfully slowly, their horses stumbling beneath them. Riders were sent to bring them in. Huge cheers echoed up and down the column when the Crusaders realized that Sweyn, the young English knight who had acquitted himself so well against the Seljuks, and Estrith, who had become known as the English angel for her care of the sick and aged, had survived their ordeal.
When we saw them close up, they were a pitiful sight.
Estrith had lost consciousness and was barely alive; Sweyn was only able to mutter a few incoherent words. They had clearly not eaten or drunk anything for days. The dust of the desert, baked to their skin and clothes, made them look like they were already desiccated by death. Even more abject was the baggage on the third horse – Edwin’s rapidly decomposing body, which we assumed they had discovered along their route, thus explaining why our recovery missions had been unable to find it.
After a few gulps of water, Sweyn managed to explain that they wanted to bring Edwin back to us so that we could all be present at his interment. And so, Robert picked out a small retinue and stayed behind with us as the Crusader column moved on.
We found a peaceful spot next to a small, bushy hillock, where we planned to put Edwin to rest. Then we made camp, waiting for Estrith and Sweyn to recover sufficiently so that we could conduct a ceremony together to mark his passing.
It took several days, but eventually we gathered at the side of Edwin’s grave and Estrith said a few words.
‘Here lies Edwin of Glastonbury, a noble knight of the royal blood of Wessex, Knight of Normandy, Knight of Islam and a Brother of the Blood of the Talisman. Always loyal, ever honest, never self-serving; he was a true knight. May he rest in peace. Amen.’
Then we each placed one of our belongings into an oak casket given by Robert.
Adela offered a bronze brooch which Edwin had always admired, Estrith a small silver crucifix which blazed in the early morning sun, Sweyn a Saxon seax with a finely tooled leather scabbard, and Hereward a lance with a pennon of crimson, gold and black, the colours under which they had fought in 1069.
My tribute was chosen easily. Edwin was a cousin to King Harold, of the Cerdician blood of Wessex, so I wrapped the casket in my war banner, the Wyvern of Wessex, and we dug it deep into the ground next to him.
That night, we celebrated his life with a feast of dried-mutton stew, while Estrith and Sweyn told us the story of their isolation in the desert.
‘Estrith’s wound was deep and t
he barbs of the arrow had torn a lot of flesh. I feared it may have shattered bone, so we decided to lay low in the hills for a while. It took me two days to find water. I had to dig deep; it only filled my water sack once a day, and most of that went to the horses.’
Estrith smiled at him and placed her hand affectionately on his. ‘He hardly took any for himself – what he didn’t give to the horses, he gave to me.’
Sweyn continued.
‘It was obvious that we had to try to catch the column, which we knew would be moving ever further away from us. We travelled only at night, but we had no food and very little water. We saw Edwin’s body only because his horse whickered as we passed. It had stood over him until it sunk to its knees, exhausted and dying of thirst. We managed to revive it with the last of our water and used it to carry his body. We had no idea he had been killed; we had assumed you had all got away from the skirmish…’
Sweyn’s evident sorrow threatened to overwhelm him. It was Estrith who took up the story, turning to Adela.
‘Adela, you saved our lives, we will always be in your debt. We are sorry those thugs molested you.’
‘Don’t mention it. You would have done the same for me.’
Our Brethren now numbered five again – and three of those were lucky to be alive.
Although I was still convinced that we were right to pursue our destiny in Palestine, it was proving to be a severe test for all of us – far worse than I could ever have imagined.
We had lost Edwin, a rock we all relied on, just at the point when we needed him most. I feared our trials and tribulations were going to get worse before they got better.
29. Siege of Antioch
We caught up with the column to discover that, in the absence of Robert’s calming influence, discord had broken out among the Princes. Tancred of Hauteville had decided that the circuitous north-easterly route was too slow and had turned south again to go through the dangerous Cilician Gates and take the direct route to Antioch via Tarsus and the Belen Pass.
At least Tancred still expressed his intention to keep his oath to the Emperor and liberate Jerusalem. Baldwin of Boulogne, on the other hand, had revealed his true ambitions. He had heard of rich pickings to be had in the ancient cities of the Valley of the Euphrates and, without warning or discussion, had disappeared in the dead of night with a force of 200 knights to go in search of plunder and the creation of his own fiefdom in the fabled lands of Babylon.
We first saw the walls of Antioch towering in the distance in late September 1097. It was one of the mightiest cities of the Muslim world and the gateway to Jerusalem. Ruled by Seljuk Turks, its inhabitants were among the most diverse in the world. Jews, Christians and Muslims lived together in a population of dozens of nationalities and languages. Founded in the time of Alexander the Great and named after one of his generals, it had huge walls and tall towers with no fewer than six massive gates. So large was the perimeter of the walls it was impossible for the Crusaders to fully encircle them, thus giving the defenders access and egress to break any siege.
Antioch was not going to be taken easily.
We started to make semi-permanent camps in a ring around the city. It seemed certain that a long and frustrating winter beckoned.
Sweyn was full of vim and vigour, and Estrith was now fully recovered from the arrow to her shoulder. Adela was not so lucky. Her wound had soon become infected and, although every known technique, from voracious maggots to a hot iron, had been used to clean the wound, it had not fully healed. She was still unable to ride and was in much pain. More worryingly, the inactivity was weakening her and making it hard for her to fight the infection.
Hereward was concerned too, and we decided to talk to Adela. Hereward came directly to the point.
‘You’re not getting better. We need to get you up and about and build your strength.’
‘I know, but I feel so weak – in spirit as well as in body.’
‘That’s not like you.’
Tears began to fill her eyes as Hereward put his arms around her. ‘May I take a look?’
‘Of course. You’re the only man in the world I’d happily show my arse to!’
Hereward examined the wound and then spoke to Adela reassuringly, but disingenuously.
‘It’s looking better, but it might be wise to cauterize you again, just to be on the safe side.’
‘Don’t tell me lies, Hereward of Bourne. I know it’s getting worse. Tell them to strike deep this time to kill whatever is eating away at me.’
‘Get some rest; we’ll do it in the morning.’
Hereward looked anxious as we walked away.
‘It’s her last chance. Could you smell it?’
‘What?’
‘Gangrene – the rotting of the flesh.’
The cauterizing of the wound the next day was vicious, even by the standards of a procedure that is at the best of times brutal. But Adela survived and the physicians gave her a strong potion to make her sleep.
As she slept, Hereward again seemed troubled.
‘Have you noticed that Sweyn and Adela do not share the same tent any more?’
I had not, but thought it now wise to share with him the true nature of their marriage, and the story of Mahnoor of Palermo and her tragic death.
‘How sad for both of them. When Adela has rested, I’ll talk to her. I think there are some things I can help her with –’
Hereward’s words were interrupted by the arrival of Estrith, another of our Brethren who seemed anxious as she walked away to talk with her father in private.
They soon came back and sat on the ground outside my tent. Hereward’s face showed no emotion.
Estrith took my arm. ‘Please, sit with us; I have something to tell you. I have been very foolish.’
I feared another Bertrand of Toulouse transgression had occurred, but the revelation was of a different order.
‘I have sullied my vocation again.’
I looked at Hereward, but his expression had not changed.
‘With Sweyn.’
I was struck dumb.
‘It happened when we were alone in the desert. I was so scared and he was so kind to me and so courageous; he got us through an ordeal we should never have survived. He had to check my wound every few hours. I was always naked from the waist up when he did it… well, I’ll spare you the details.’
‘What are his feelings?’
‘He’s a young man, I’m an older woman, I think he’s proud of his conquest and keeps coming back for more, but it’s just an infatuation.’
‘And you?’
‘The same; it will pass.’
‘Then, let it do so.’
‘It’s not as easy as that.’
She paused and looked at her father, who put his arm around her.
‘I’m pregnant.’
‘You can’t be!’
‘I know, I know. I’m nearly thirty-nine years old; I never dreamed I could fall pregnant, but I have. God works in mysterious ways.’
‘He certainly does.’
I needed time to think. This was a dilemma which could affect us all, and Estrith faced the prospect of a pregnancy and birth in the most challenging of circumstances. But it did not take me long to realize that it was a problem for the Brethren as a whole and one we had to discuss together.
‘Our Brethren makes us equals; each is responsible for and to each other. You have told your father and me; now Sweyn needs to tell Adela, and then we must come together to discuss what needs to be done. It affects us all. You are the Abbess of Fécamp, a gift from Robert. Zealots like Raymond of Toulouse will take the moral high ground; this is supposed to be a Christian Crusade against an alien and immoral faith.’
‘Yes, but it’s a Crusade that slaughters Muslims like animals.’
‘I’m not condoning it, but people like Count Raymond think our enemies are animals.’
‘But only because of what we do, which makes them retaliate against us like animals. It is
madness!’
Hereward then offered some wise advice.
‘Let’s discuss the virtues of the Crusade another time. For now, it’s important that Sweyn speaks to Adela; then we must bring Robert into our confidence and decide as Brethren what we are going to do.’
Two days later, with a blood-red sun sinking below the horizon beyond the Orontes River, we sat in Robert’s tent within sight of the mighty Dog Gate of Antioch. The setting sun brought a rush of cooler air from Mounts Staurin and Silpius behind the city, a welcome breeze at the end of a warm autumn day.
Adela had been carried in like a babe in arms and sat impassively. Sweyn and Estrith looked uncomfortable. Robert took the lead in the discussion.
‘Adela, how are you?’
‘Sore, just as you would be if someone kept searing your arse with a hot iron.’
‘Sweyn has spoken to you?’
‘He has.’
‘And what are your thoughts?’
‘I am concerned for our Brethren. Estrith and Sweyn know their own minds and are free to make their own choices, but it might have been wiser had relationships within our Brethren remained platonic. And the child makes that even more difficult.’
Adela looked at me, and I looked at Estrith, remembering the time when I had made my own clumsy proposition to her, and thinking of how events might have unfolded if we had let our relationship become a sexual one.
Estrith stood and paced around nervously.
‘Sweyn and I were in extremis – the odds were we would not survive. What happened, happened. We shouldn’t have let it continue when we got back to the camp, but forbidden fruit can be very tempting. It was a mistake; we’re sorry.’
Sweyn then spoke.
‘I make no apologies for what happened. They might have been our last hours on earth; our moments together were tender and loving, and I have no regrets. When we came back to camp, I couldn’t just end it. I hope Estrith feels the same way.’
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