Conquest moe-1

by Stewart Binns

  By March of 1067, much progress had been made. Hereward’s life was no longer in danger and he was able to walk, even if his movements were laboured and painful. Perversely, to everyone’s dismay, as Hereward regained his vitality, Torfida lost hers. It was as if she were transferring her own lifeblood to him. When the family expressed their concerns, she dismissed them, saying that now Hereward was healing, her own recovery would soon follow.

  Martin had been back to Glastonbury several times and news had reached the camp of William’s coronation on Christmas Day 1066, and the subsequent severity of his rule over south-east England. William’s army had marauded across the south, forcing all the burghs to submit. Canterbury, Guildford, Winchester, Wallingford, Bedford, Cambridge, Hertford and, finally, London had all stooped to the new monarch. He had spent the winter at the abbey in Barking, in Essex, but by the time of the first spring sailings in the Channel he felt confident enough to return to Normandy. There, in a celebratory tour of his Duchy with his English hostages in tow, he was fêted as the conquering hero.

  Hereward had taken the news of Harold’s death with predictable anguish, especially as he had survived while his King had died, but there was no anger in his eyes, only sadness. He spent many hours staring into the distance, gazing at the tall trees of the forest. No one mentioned the Talisman; all assumed it was now a trinket in the horde of a fat Norman lord, or else lost amid the morass of human remains on Senlac Ridge. However, it soon reappeared in the lives of Hereward and Torfida.

  But not as they would have wished.

  It was the end of a very warm spring day. With the aid of a thick staff, Hereward had started to walk in the meadows on his own, where he would gently swing his sword through the burgeoning greenery of the forest floor. His arms were not yet sturdy enough for the Great Axe of Göteborg, but they were getting stronger by the day.

  Torfida still looked worringly thin and tired, and her hair was turning grey. Hereward was concerned about his wife and was determined to find a new life for them that would allow her some rest and peace of mind.

  At first, Hereward thought he was witnessing an apparition. He had sat down at the edge of a clearing to watch the approaching sunset when, in the middle distance, striding through the glade in the mist of the early evening was what seemed to be the glistening form of a woman. She was naked, her flowing hair framing her head and shoulders like a cowl; her soft beige skin gleamed with oil, her broad hips and large breasts the focal points of a woman of astounding physical symmetry. She moved slowly, her eyes sharply focused, her jaw set.

  Hereward soon knew the figure was not an apparition. It was then that he saw the Talisman cradled between the woman’s breasts.

  Edith Swan-Neck had pulled the Talisman from Harold’s severed neck on Senlac Ridge and had vowed to return it to Hereward. She knew it had been important to Harold and that Hereward and Torfida regarded it as something of great spiritual value. Her grief for Harold was deep and genuine and at first she had no intention of seducing Hereward. However, as time passed and news of his survival reached her, her mood changed. Not only was he handsome and strong, he had become England’s only chance. A new army could be built around him.

  These thoughts worked on her imagination until the notion of a man formidable enough to save England in its hour of need became irresistible to her. She had found Martin on one of his visits to Glastonbury and persuaded him to take her to their camp. Her good fortune found Torfida out in the forest in search of herbs, and Hereward alone in the meadows.

  Hereward swallowed hard. As Edith got closer, he could smell the musk from the oil on her body. It invaded his senses with an aroma that pumped adrenalin through his veins and made him feel that his legendary strength had returned.

  Edith did not hesitate. Parting her legs provocatively, she placed her feet either side of Hereward’s prone legs, and sat on his thighs. His eyes were drawn to her pubic hair, which her body oil had coiled into tight ringlets, then to her breasts, which were only inches from his face.

  He loved Torfida, but how could a man face such an enticing prospect and reject it?

  ‘Hereward, you cannot know how much I’ve longed for this moment.’

  Hereward did not respond. He was using all his resolve to resist the almost impossible temptation of England’s most beguiling woman.

  ‘England needs you… I need you. Together, we could raise an army strong enough to break the stranglehold the Normans have on this land. Their grip grows crueller by the day.’

  Edith’s quarry was still silent. He had closed his eyes, hoping to blind himself to her charms.

  Even so, Edith could feel that he was aroused, and she continued her slow and cunning seduction. ‘With me at your side, we can rule! The Witan would accept you as Regent, until the Atheling is ready. Then you would get an earldom. You could become the Earl of Wessex and Earl Marshal of England.’

  Hereward was about to speak, but Edith began now to kiss him fervently, using her tongue to probe deeply into his mouth. She grabbed his head and pulled it to her breasts. It was then that the Talisman, swinging wildly from Edith’s neck, struck him on the temple.

  He caught sight of its image of evil, giving him a sobering jolt and breaking the spell woven by the seductress above him. ‘Edith, we must not do this. I would risk almost anything to have you here and now, but I cannot. I love Torfida. Please, stop!’

  Edith ignored his plea and continued to caress him, her words calculated to break down his resistance. ‘Hereward, don’t think of Torfida, think of us and England! Torfida can have an estate in the country. She can pursue her destiny and, one day, her dream of designing cathedrals. I’ll even let you go and serve her from time to time.’

  Then to his horror, over Edith’s shoulder, Hereward saw Torfida step into the glade. She had returned to the camp with her basket full of roots and herbs. Hearing from Martin that Edith had arrived with the Talisman, she had left in search of Hereward.

  There was a prolonged, piercing scream of anguish when Torfida saw Edith’s naked form astride her husband. She could see Edith throwing her head back and forth in delight as she caressed her husband. Hysterical, her heart full of hurt and fury, she turned and ran.

  Hereward pushed Edith away and struggled to his feet. ‘Torfida, wait! It is not what you think.’ He repeated his plea several times, but to no avail. He was in no condition to chase after her and began stumbling back to the camp.

  Edith stood up, uninhibited by her nakedness. Without speaking, she pulled the Talisman from her neck, placed it over Hereward’s head and kissed him gently.

  Hereward looked at her impassively. ‘Please, go.’

  Edith Swan-Neck, the legendary siren of England, smiled and walked away into the haze, her gait as seductive as when she had entered the glade.

  Torfida ran back to the camp, her anguish turning to a steely resolve. She explained to Gunnhild and Estrith that she had to leave for a few days on urgent business for the late King, then gathered a few personal belongings and asked Ingigerd and Maria to look after the girls.

  She was gone within minutes of her abrupt arrival.

  Her intention was to take time to compose herself before deciding how to respond to what she had witnessed. She knew that the hurt she felt would prevent her from thinking clearly. Her dream had been shattered; her destiny with Hereward had been stolen. It would be many days before she could think clearly. She resolved not to take the girls, unwilling to burden them with the trauma of what Hereward and Edith had done to her.

  She fully expected to be back with her beloved daughters after a few days of prayer and reflection. However, fate was about to deal her a cruel hand.

  Hereward hobbled into the camp only minutes after Torfida’s abrupt departure. Sparing no details from his friends, he explained what had transpired. He was a broken man and it took long, agonizing minutes for him to relate the scene with Edith. The men immediately went in search of Torfida, but she had taken a horse and had alre
ady outpaced them.

  They searched and searched; days passed, then weeks. No sign of her was to be found. She had disappeared from their lives.

  Hereward’s despair at the loss of his beloved Torfida only worsened as time passed. His girls were bewildered and hurt and desperately needed their father’s love. He tortured himself with constant questions. Had Torfida returned to the life her father had lived – as a hermit of the forest – consumed by anger for what had happened? If so, why could they not find her? Had her journey been an aimless meander, without a destination? Even so, she must have left a trace somewhere, or been seen by someone. Was she still in search of herself and her destiny? But why had she abandoned everything she cared for and left everyone she loved, especially her children? Had she taken her own life? Surely, it was not possible that Torfida could have committed such a desperate act. After months of anguish, Hereward’s grief turned to resentment that she had left him without a word of explanation.

  Torfida had come into his life cloaked in mystery, the result of a prophecy; she left it in an unfathomable riddle.

  It was only when the long days of summer began to shorten in the late autumn of 1067 that Hereward’s loyal companions began to tire of his increasingly futile searches for Torfida.

  A summit was called by Einar at which they challenged Hereward and, although he protested, stood their ground. Their strongest argument was the future of the children. Given that Earls Edwin and Morcar had submitted to William, Hereward was once again an outlaw and the Duke would hunt him down without mercy. They insisted that Hereward follow the advice he had so earnestly given to Torfida in the event of his death on Senlac Ridge: ‘Go south, to Aquitaine, to Castile or León.’

  It was a part of the world Alphonso knew well, and he gave a vivid description of the lands he loved: they were prosperous, rich of harvest, warm, both in climate and in the demeanour of their peoples, and a long way from England’s trauma. Hereward offered only token resistance to the plan. In his heart, he knew Torfida had gone. He had always been able to sense her presence, even when they were apart; now there was only a void.

  England was also in despair. William’s grip on the country was tightening and his henchmen were building their mottes and baileys all over the land. Whenever a hint of resistance appeared, it was extinguished with a ferocity that struck fear into the hearts of Englishmen of all ranks.

  After the decision to leave England had been taken, the family chose Aquitaine as their destination. There had been recent squabbles between the princes in Spain’s Castile and León, so the peaceful domain of the Count of Toulouse was their considered choice. Einar took charge of the journey and Ingigerd and Maria became surrogate mothers to Gunnhild and Estrith.

  Passage south was secured on a trading vessel, plying its wares between Exeter and St Brieuc in Brittany. After several more days on a Basque merchantman, the warmth of the south began enveloping them as they arrived in Bordeaux at the mouth of the Garonne, the great trading river of Aquitaine. From there, they travelled east by river barge along the ancient arteries of the Garonne and the Lot, famous for the exchange of wine, walnuts, truffles and prunes. Their route took them deep into a hinterland of forest and limestone plateaux, until they reached the city of Cahors.

  Roger Guiscard had often talked about Cahors when Hereward served with him in Sicily. He had lands there and said that it was an ideal place to start a new life. An old Roman settlement on the river Lot, it was home to merchants, bankers and artisans and a city far richer than most in Europe. It sat unobtrusively amid vast areas of farmland, vineyards and forest, far removed from the anxieties of the rest of Europe.

  Torfida would have approved: there were fine churches and towering bridges, wealthy residences and flourishing markets, and the climate was warm and dry. The family spent the winter in the city, in a large house rented from a banker from Lombardy, allowing them time to plan their future and decide whether Aquitaine was to their liking. By the time they agreed that it was a place where they could settle, it was early spring 1068.

  England and all its turmoil and sadness were suddenly a long way away.

  19. A Message from the Grave

  By any standards, Hereward and his family were rich. King Harold had made generous provision for them – a legacy which might well have included an earldom, had the outcome of 14 October 1066 been different. Hereward insisted that his windfall be shared equally between the entire family, and they decided to buy a large estate several miles east of Cahors at the promontory of St Circ Lapopie. The remote settlement had many acres of vines, which produced the renowned ‘black’ wine of Cahors, known throughout Europe since Roman times. It had endless orchards of plums, grown for prunes, a local speciality, plantations of walnut trees, which produced much sought after nuts and oil, and truffles in abundance in its vast forests of scrub oaks. It was an idyllic setting.

  News of the presence of Hereward soon reached the court of the Count of Toulouse, who was Lord of Quercy, the domain in which Cahors was located. The Count sent his Chancellor to welcome the English settlers and inform them of their feudal responsibilities, which included the payment of annual tithes. The Chancellor also brought an open invitation to attend the Count’s court in Toulouse. Hereward’s reply was gracious but, content just to pay their dues and avoid the trappings and intrigues of court, he never took up the invitation.

  Hereward’s melancholy did not improve, despite the charms of their new home, but Martin and Einar took to farming and their lordly duties with great enthusiasm. Their families were healthy and growing to maturity, well away from the dangers they had previously faced in their lives. The serenity of St Circ Lapopie was beginning to have an effect and life for the migrants soon settled into a harmonious rhythm of contentment.

  Only Alphonso, ever the loner, seemed restless. He and Hereward spent more and more time talking, usually about their campaigns and battles, and often went on extended hunting trips deep into the vast wilderness of the Causse de Limogne that surrounded their lands.

  William had returned to England from Normandy in the summer of 1067, refreshed and ready for the enormous task of subduing the hinterland of his newly conquered realm. Although William was the anointed King and more and more Norman opportunists were arriving every day, there were still only 25,000 foreigners trying to rule an Anglo-Saxon population of close to a million. Even accounting for the slaughter on Senlac Ridge, every burgh and village was home to a body of men with extensive military training – and they did not take kindly to being oppressed by foreign rulers. Harold’s sons, led by his firstborn, Godwin Haroldson, had begun to raid the West Country from their base in Ireland. However, what the English lacked was organization and leadership, and they needed both quickly.

  Conversely, the Normans had strong leadership and organizational skills in abundance. William had begun to campaign further and further from London, building imposing fortifications at every strategic vantage point, and he now restructured the taxation system so that wealth flowed into Norman coffers in vast quantities. His catechism of rule had only two lines of doctrine: total obedience and the severest punishments for any misdemeanour. The greater part of the English population was terrified, and William did not forego any opportunity to intensify their fear.

  He campaigned throughout the autumn and winter and was still on the march in the summer of 1068. Thousands were slaughtered – women and children included – whole towns and villages were made examples of, and the scale of the atrocities cowed the people and shocked the rest of Europe.

  The scale of William’s brutality had not been seen since the lawlessness of the Dark Ages.

  Hereward knew nothing of this. The remoteness of his idyllic bastide was a particular blessing in that it prevented him from hearing of England’s agonies.

  That all changed on a wet and rainy day in November 1068.

  The community was preparing for winter, which, with the chilling high ground of the Massif Central only a few miles t
o the east, could be particularly harsh. Their bastide was high on the limestone crags above the meandering Lot, with an almost impregnable defensive position; anyone approaching on the narrow track could be seen for at least half an hour.

  Alphonso saw them first and called to the others. Three of the men wore the unmistakable tunics and armour of English housecarls, a fourth was dressed like an English courtier. Behind them rode an escort of four, two abreast, who were recognizable as men from the private retinue of the Count of Toulouse. By the time the group reached the walls of the bastide, everyone had gathered to greet them. It was a warm welcome, as all were desperate for news from England, if a little apprehensive as to what it might contain.

  The young courtier had been sent by Harold’s Constable at Glastonbury. He had much to tell them, but Hereward insisted that his account should wait until all were seated for dinner. However, Edwin, the young envoy, who was no more than eighteen years of age and a second cousin of King Harold, announced that he had something private to share with Hereward.

  Einar, sensing what Edwin’s news might convey, ushered the family away.

  Edwin handed Hereward a delicate silk handkerchief which carried the unmistakable aroma of Edith Swan-Neck’s perfume. Hereward recognized it immediately and hesitated. He looked at the young man sternly.

  The boy nodded meekly. ‘Please, open the handkerchief; I’m afraid it brings bad news.’

  Hereward did as he was asked, but as soon as he saw what the handkerchief contained, immediately clenched his fist around it. It was Torfida’s gold ring – the one he had given her as they exchanged their vows in Kiev all those years earlier.

  ‘How was this found?’

  ‘Sir, it was found on a body in the forest near Hereford.’

  ‘My wife’s body?’

  ‘So it is presumed, sir. I am sorry to be the bearer of such news.’ He paused, looking more and more uncomfortable.