Conquest moe-1

by Stewart Binns

  ‘Hereward of Bourne, take good care of your wife. You should be careful and constantly seek the guidance of God in what you do. I cannot bless the amulet because I am mindful of Cardinal Desiderius’ dire warnings, but I will bless you two and the new life that Torfida carries. Kneel, my children.’

  The Pope replaced the Talisman around Hereward’s neck, who quickly tucked it under his smock, as the Pontiff placed a hand on their heads and blessed them.

  ‘Go in peace.’

  9. Robert Guiscard

  A few days after the Pope and his entourage had left for Rome, Hereward and Torfida presented themselves and their companions to Robert Guiscard, the new lord of southern Italy. The Duke was keen to meet the people about whom he had heard so much over the last few days, especially ‘the woman’, as he put it, ‘who dares to speak to popes’.

  He exchanged courtesies, then turned to Hereward. ‘What brings such noble and important Northerners to our humble dukedom?’

  The sarcasm in the Duke’s voice prompted Hereward to speak up. After Torfida’s insistence that they should travel south to serve with Robert Guiscard, she had been helping Hereward improve the simple Norman French he had been taught as a child by Aidan, Priest of Bourne.

  ‘My Lord Duke, we are soldiers committed to fighting for the cause of the righteous. It is said that you are charged with uniting Italy by removing from its foothold here the Empire of Byzantium, a distant realm that no longer recognizes the Church of Rome. You also plan to rid Sicily of the Saracens, an alien people with a strange religion. We can think of no better cause than yours in the two duties you have been given by his Holiness. We offer our services as senior commanders in your garrison, particularly in the preparation and training of your men.’

  ‘That is an elegant introduction, Hereward of Bourne. So, not only do you presume to know the details of my arrangements with the Pontiff, you have the gall to suggest that you can teach us how to fight!’

  The Duke guffawed heartily and turned to his court, all of whom laughed with him. A solid, round-faced man with ruddy cheeks and a thin patchy beard, he could easily have been a butcher or a blacksmith, had not his and his family’s notorious cunning and strength of arm elevated him to the lofty perch of a dukedom.

  ‘I carry with me parchments testifying to our standing from Queen Gruoch of Scotland, widow of Macbeth, and Iziaslav I, Grand Prince of Kiev and King of the Rus. We would not presume to teach Norman warlords how to fight. Your reputation and that of your kin goes before you, but we wish to join you as highly skilled and experienced soldiers who can help your cause. I would like to serve at the level of knight, my companions, the mighty Einar and the brave Martin Lightfoot, as sergeants-at-arms.

  ‘Anything else: a pension, lands in Normandy, one of my daughters as a concubine?’ He chortled loudly again.

  As before, his court joined with him, enjoying the Duke’s sardonic repartee.

  ‘Just to serve, my Lord Duke.’ Hereward was solemn and calm, trying not to rise to the Duke’s baiting.

  Guiscard turned to his younger brother, Roger, who had recently arrived from Normandy for the celebrations and would soon begin campaigning in Sicily. He lowered his voice to a whisper. For what seemed an eternity the two spoke in hushed but animated tones, their conversation private.

  Hereward glanced at his companions, who looked around uneasily, assessing the odds in what could be a very difficult situation. Guiscard was clearly a brute of a man; an adventurer successful enough to enlist the blessing of popes but, nonetheless, an ogre. Einar counted a dozen heavily armed men in the room. Then, from another chamber, the Duchess Adela appeared, a stout and maternal figure, and approached Torfida.

  ‘I hear you are a philosopher and speaker of many tongues. I see you are also with child. The women in the town say you are a witch powerful enough to seduce popes, and that the child is the Devil’s progeny.’

  Torfida bowed to the Duchess. ‘Your Grace, the child is my husband’s, Hereward of Bourne, a great knight of England. I am his obedient wife and your Grace’s humble servant.’

  ‘But you speak privately to popes.’

  ‘I am just a woman on a journey with her husband. It led me to a pope; I did not seek it.’

  The Duchess seemed only to be teasing Torfida. Her questions were delivered gently and with a wry smile, suggesting she realized that the gossip she had heard from her ladies-in-waiting was nothing but idle talk. She turned to her husband and hissed into his ear like a scolding matron.

  His brother added words of caution, this time for all to hear. ‘Robert, look at the battle-axe on the Englishman’s shoulder; I have never seen a weapon like it. Look at him, his scars, the scale of him. This is a formidable man; let me take him to Sicily to fight the Saracens.’

  Guiscard turned to his visitors. He looked Torfida in the eye, clearly intent on intimidating her, but it was as if he were looking into a mirror: the more intensely he stared, the more resolute Torfida appeared.

  Seconds later, the Duke threw back his chair and charged towards the doors of the Great Hall. ‘I am made Duke, but I’m no longer master in my own house! Where’s my damned steward? We go hunting! Bring that new butt of Cypriot wine… and that new servant girl from Bari. She will string my bow of an evening and fill my quiver for the chase!’

  This parting boast, a cruel insult for his wife, made no impression on the Duchess Adela, who was busy talking to Torfida about the work to be done in Melfi.

  Roger Guiscard walked over to Hereward and offered his hand.

  As Hereward left the great hall, Torfida at his side, he spoke to her about Duke Robert.

  ‘I hope the Pope is right in trusting this enterprise to such a man. He is without virtue of any kind.’

  ‘Except as a warrior.’

  ‘But surely the Pope expects more from someone he makes a duke.’

  ‘Sometimes popes and kings make choices born of necessity rather than moral virtue.’

  ‘Then who takes care of virtue?’

  ‘Hereward of Bourne, that is a very good question. You are becoming quite a philosopher!’

  Hereward looked out across the busy square of Melfi and the scores of people resuming their lives after the previous week’s excitement.

  ‘In times like these, with virtuous people hard to find, who protects these innocent souls?’

  ‘Perhaps we do, Hereward.’

  Hereward looked at his wife, soon to be the mother of his child, with a sudden seriousness. He knew her statement was not an idle boast.

  ‘Torfida, is what we do worthy, or do we fool ourselves that our purpose is just?’

  ‘You do what you must because you are a warrior. Einar and Martin follow you because they admire you. Men look to you for leadership; they always will. I am with you because I love you and because I know that something of great importance lies at the end of your quest.’

  ‘Will there ever be a time when we can rest, when there is peace in the world?’

  ‘I have read that many centuries ago, under the rule of Ancient Rome and, protected by the legions of the Caesars, the world lived in peace. Many kings and warlords have striven for that ever since – a peace by force of arms – but I often wonder if there could be another kind of peace: a peace born of the common agreement of men; observed by all, enjoyed by all, enforced by justice, not by war.’

  ‘What would men like me do in such a world?’

  ‘You would lock your weapons in a chest and find other ways to become heroes.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You would test yourself: swim rivers, climb mountains, discover new lands, compete in trials of strength and speed like the Ancient Greeks, or even play chess – something you could do in your old age.’

  ‘What is chess?’

  ‘A game of war played on a board with figures for kings and queens and armies. One day, I will teach you how to play.’

  ‘You are such a dreamer, Torfida. I can’t imagine a world where men would re
solve their disputes with trials of strength and games of strategy.’

  ‘I know it’s a dream, but it’s a good dream. What a world that would be for our child.’

  They kissed and embraced, inspired by Torfida’s speculations, before Hereward brought the conversation back to reality.

  ‘Do you think Roger, the Duke’s brother, is a good man?’

  Torfida thought about the question for a moment. ‘I think so. He looks fierce, but he has gentle eyes.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  Torfida gave birth at the end of 1059. Duchess Adela insisted that the delivery be at the new hospital in Melfi, an institution she was determined would become the finest south of Rome. It was run by an order of nuns from Ghent, in Flanders, devoted to the care of the sick. One of the sisters, Adeliza, a large woman with big red hands and fat hairy forearms, specialized in childbirth and was assigned to Torfida as her midwife. When the time came and Torfida took off her dress to squat at the birthing stool, Adeliza had a surprise for her.

  ‘You’re going to have twins, my Lady. You’re not as big as some, but, mark my words, you’re going to have two little creatures!’ She proceeded to run her stubby fingers across Torfida’s belly. ‘Here’s one… and there’s the other. You can always tell, the shape of the belly is different. The important thing is to get the second little mite out; the first is easy, but the second often hides.’

  In the end, Adeliza’s skills were barely required and both babies popped out like peas from a pod; they were twin girls – Gunnhild and Estrith. These were happy times. Ingigerd and Martin also produced a child, called Gwyneth. Einar and Maria had a little girl they named Wulfhild, and thus the family of six became a tribe of ten.

  Torfida was indeed right about Roger Guiscard.

  For the next three years, Hereward, Einar and Martin campaigned with him in Sicily and throughout the heel and toe of Italy. Torfida stayed in Melfi and the surrounding area, working with the Duchess Adela in establishing hospitals and almshouses, and supporting the monasteries in their work with the poor. Hereward and Torfida saw one another at the end of each of Roger’s campaigns. During these furloughs, Torfida fulfilled her promise to teach Hereward the nuances of chess. He took to the game well, enjoying its affinity with the tactics of the battlefield.

  When the men came home from their campaigns, they returned largely unscathed. Hereward put the Great Axe of Göteborg to fearsome use, and there were only minor setbacks in a year of successes, the greatest of which took place near Taranto in the summer of 1061.

  Guiscard’s Normans had come across a large Byzantine column and forced it to retreat. It was the major part of a Greek theme of good quality, but was slowed by the cumbersome baggage train of the local Byzantine governor and several Greek merchants and their families. As the Normans closed in, the Greeks’ reluctance to abandon their bulky possessions put them in great peril. Either noble duty or foolish miscalculation led the Byzantine general to leave it too late before insisting that the baggage be left behind. Even then, there were acrimonious arguments and widespread confusion, and many of the merchants were still digging makeshift hiding places for their possessions when the Norman force crested the hill behind them.

  Within minutes, Hereward and his companions were in the vanguard of a cavalry charge that swept into the valley below with fearsome momentum. The men of the Greek theme hastily formed a reasonable redoubt, but the Normans had too much impetus to be repulsed. The battle lasted less than an hour. The first wave of Norman cavalry easily breached the Greek lines, and it was only a matter of time before the infantrymen, exposed in isolated pockets, sought surrender.

  Hereward cut an impressive figure in battle. Sitting tall in his saddle, with his golden hair flowing below the rim of his helmet, the great sweeps of his war axe cleared wide arcs of ground around him. The Normans suffered few casualties, but many in the Greek ranks were cut down, as the Norman horsemen ploughed through them.

  It was Hereward himself who reached the Byzantine General first. He and a few of his bodyguards had become detached from the bulk of his theme. On seeing this, Hereward pulled up his mount and signalled his companions to halt. Faced with the choice between a valiant but futile fight, and a less than glorious surrender, the General chose the noble death of a warrior.

  He summoned his guards to his side, perhaps fifteen men, and with the cry, ‘For the Emperor!’ kicked his horse into a gallop towards the Normans. Hereward immediately ordered a charge in response. As the General closed, he saw him nod to his men on either side to acknowledge their comradeship and bravery. They had attacked an overwhelming force without hesitation, just as they had been ordered to do.

  Hereward felt enormous admiration for his foes. Beneath the face-guard of the General’s ornate plumed helmet, a full grey beard was plain to see. He was a soldier of many years’ experience. He would have fought many battles and killed many men; now it was his turn to die. The brutal truth was that these would be his final moments on earth. He made straight for Hereward, his eyes fixed on the Englishman.

  He was dead before he hit the ground. Hereward caught him full in the chest with his great axe, catapulting him out of his saddle and over the back of his horse, leaving him spreadeagled on the ground. The weapon protruded from where it had been plunged: clean through the General’s armour and deep in the breast of a noble soldier of Byzantium.

  Only four men survived the courageous charge, and they were soon rounded up. Hereward learned from the Byzantine prisoners that his foe was General Michael Andronicus from Rhodes, a man with nearly thirty years’ service, who had risen from the junior ranks of an army he had joined as a boy of fifteen. He was given an interment worthy of his rank and distinguished service, in a ceremony that Hereward supervised personally and with all the respect due to a fellow warrior.

  Calabria was cleared of the Byzantine army by the end of the year; Roger Guiscard returned to Melfi a hero, and southern Italy became a Norman stronghold. Duchess Adela was determined that Norman rule would be at least palatable to the local Italian population, if not embraced by them. She worked tirelessly to ameliorate the usual Norman brutalities, and life in Apulia became peaceful and prosperous.

  Hereward and his loyal group, flourishing in the warm Mediterranean climate, became assimilated into the Norman community, speaking their language and enjoying their zest for life. There was much for Torfida to do and, while Ingigerd and Maria looked after the farmhouse that the three couples shared, she became, in essence, the steward of Adela’s domain. She learned much from the locals about Greek and Arab healing and had already acquired a good grounding in the Arabic language.

  Hereward’s military knowledge was expanding at a pace, as was his understanding of the strengths and frailties of men in battle. Being at war suited him; he needed to fight, to satisfy his martial instincts. But he needed a reason to fight – not just wantonly and savagely, as most men did, but for a purpose that he felt was just.

  Even though Robert Guiscard was a tyrant whose family ethic was founded on aggression and conquest, the Normans had brought much to their previously troubled domain. Hereward had a love of tolerance and justice that was shared by Roger Guiscard and the Duchess Adela, and thus found moral justification for fighting on behalf of his hosts.

  The campaigns in Calabria and Sicily were a new kind of warfare for Hereward. This involved much more mobile battles than were usual in northern Europe. The rapid deployment of cavalry was vital, as was the need to move supplies at great speed. Naval warfare was also on a larger scale than in northern Europe. Hereward encountered ‘Greek fire’, spewed forth from the telltale dragon’s mouth mounted on the bow of Byzantine triremes. It was said that only the Emperor of Byzantium himself knew the secret ingredients of ‘the fire’. Once ignited in wooden cylinders lined with lead and catapulted into the opposing fleet, it would spew its deadly contents everywhere. Its main ingredient was pitch, which meant it adhered to anything it hit, including sails, shi
ps’ timbers and, of course, men. It would even continue to burn on and under water.

  The Normans recruited many mercenaries from North Africa, Spain and the Adriatic, men whose families had fought Saracens for generations. From them Hereward learned of warfare by stealth – techniques little known in the north – where men stood and faced one another in open conflict. He was fascinated by the tactics of infiltration, disruption and deception. He learned how, under cover of darkness or by the use of camouflage, a small group of men, or even a single man, could burn tents, poison wells, scatter horses, steal weapons, or assassinate leaders.

  During the Sicilian campaigns, Hereward would often lead incursions into Saracen camps to create havoc. One of his companions, Alphonso of Granada, a man with a good deal of Arab blood in him, became Hereward’s most trusted accomplice and a close friend. Eventually, the small but immensely agile and robust young man became accepted by Martin and Einar as the fourth member of their brotherhood-in-arms.

  Hereward became the most respected man in Roger’s army. He was a trusted knight and friend to his Norman employer, who was himself a noble warrior. There was even a reconciliation of sorts between Hereward and Duke Robert.

  After a particularly gruelling but successful campaign in Sicily, the Duke invested Hereward into the chivalrous Order of the Knights of the Cotentin, an honour normally given only to Normans.

  As 1062 turned into 1063, Hereward began to sense that Norman success in Sicily was only a matter of time; although a vast and mountainous island, the Saracens were being rooted out of its rugged terrain village by village, and their total expulsion was inevitable.

  As winter set in, Torfida noticed Hereward increasingly looking north. He could see the dark, brooding clouds over the high Apennines, imagery which reminded him of home. She knew that it was time for their journey to resume.

  Throughout the previous two years, they had heard many reports from the Norman heartland in northern France and, in particular, tales of the exploits of William the Bastard, Duke of that land. Almost six feet tall, and distinctive by his bright red hair, he was several years older than Hereward, with an impressive reputation. He had inherited his dukedom at the age of eight, and had held on to it, despite the attentions of many who plotted to wrest it from him. He had a wily grasp of European affairs and an eye for new territorial opportunities.