‘Go on, boy. You’ve travelled a long way to bring me this news.’
‘The body was badly decomposed, but the nuns at Hereford recognized it.’
‘When did this take place?’
‘In the spring of this year.’
‘But Torfida disappeared from our camp almost a year before that.’
‘Yes, sir. Sister Magdalena, the Mother Superior at the nunnery of Hereford, wanted you to know the facts as far as she could ascertain them.’
Hereward led Edwin to a bench close to the bastide’s well.
‘Torfida was at Hereford for only a very short time. She had been with the nuns as a girl and arrived very distressed, seeking refuge and a place for contemplation.’
‘But almost the first thing I did was send Martin to the nuns. I felt certain she would go there.’
‘I know… Sister Magdalena sends her deepest regrets, but Torfida insisted that the nuns turn Martin away and deny all knowledge of her arrival.’
Tears welled up in Hereward’s eyes, which he made no attempt to wipe away or hide from the young courtier.
‘Would you like me to go on, sir?’
Hereward nodded.
‘While she was there, her health deteriorated within days. The nuns were very concerned and wanted to send for you, but Torfida would not hear of it.’
Hereward’s chest heaved with a shudder of emotion that he found difficult to control. He let out a great cry of anguish. ‘Torfida! I can’t bear it. Why couldn’t I find you?’
‘She tried to treat herself, but she was very ill. Her body was plagued with swellings and she was in great pain. Mother Superior wanted you to know how brave she was, refusing all help from the nuns, asking only for their prayers. After a while, she said that she had regained some of her strength and left to return to your camp, saying that it was nearby. Mother Superior did not want her to leave, but bowed to the strength of her will.’
‘What happened on her journey from Hereford to prevent her reaching us?’
‘No one knows; she hadn’t gone far, only ten miles or so. She took her horse, which was a good mount, and must have gone through the forest to avoid being seen by the Normans. Perhaps she had a sudden relapse and was unable to summon help. She lay undiscovered all winter. Her body was eventually found in a very remote place by charcoal-burners. Being good men, they brought her to the nuns for a Christian burial. Her horse was never found.’
Hereward looked away in despair, horrified at the thought of Torfida’s lonely and painful death. He dreaded the thought that she must have known about her illness long before she disappeared, but had kept it from him for fear of hindering his own recovery. He walked away from the young emissary and began to sob, something he had not done in a very long time.
After a while, he fought back the tears and composed himself. ‘Where is she buried?’
‘In a quiet glade in the forest, known only to the holy sisters of Hereford, sir.’
‘Good, it is a fitting place; she was a child of the forest.’
‘Sir, there is something else.’ Edwin pulled a small piece of brushwood from his leather pouch. ‘The charcoal-burners knew that the lady was of high birth because of her ring and because she could write.’
Edwin handed the wood to Hereward, on which was etched, in barely legible scratchings, a message.
‘This is in Latin; I can’t read it.’ He handed it back to the boy.
‘I’m sorry, sir, I presumed…’
‘You presume too much, young man.’
Edwin read the inscription almost reverentially. ‘Herewarde, amuletum non pro alio fers. Id iure recepisti. Gere id cum animo… Hereward, you do not carry the Talisman for another. You are the rightful recipient. Wear it with pride.’
Hereward looked at the crude scratchings on the wood. It was signed ‘T’ and she had drawn a heart next to her name. She must have chosen Latin knowing that only a select few would be able to read it. It would have taken her hours, maybe days. He had not thought about the Talisman since Edith Swan-Neck had placed it around his neck on that fateful day in the forest. He had been sorely tempted to throw it away, and only respect for Harold’s memory had persuaded him to carry on wearing it.
‘This conversation is never to be repeated to anyone else – ever!’
‘Of course not, sir.’
Hereward thought about the Old Man of the Wildwood, resting at peace in his forest haven. Now Torfida had her own place in the eternal cycle of England’s wild places. She would be content. As her ancestors before her believed, the Wodewose had taken her. Perhaps the legend was true after all and, in her final moments, the Green Man of the forest had brought her comfort.
Hereward put Torfida’s ring through the chain that held the Talisman, folded Edith’s handkerchief and gave it back to Edwin. ‘Please return this to Lady Edith with my compliments.’
‘I will, sir.’
‘Did she send you to find me?’
‘She has been scouring Europe to find you. Only by chance did word reach her that an English family had settled in the domain of the Count of Toulouse. She begs you to return to England. With Edgar on the throne and you as the leader of his army, every able-bodied man would follow you in a rebellion against the Normans. Sir, if my opinion is worth anything, may I say, I agree with her.’
He paused, while Hereward came to terms with a plea he could not ignore.
After telling the others about Torfida’s demise, Hereward spent the rest of the day comforting his two girls. The news had ended the awful, nagging mystery about their mother’s fate. Most importantly, it established that, although racked by pain and illness, she had been trying to return to them. The circumstances of her death were harrowing, but at least they could now be comforted by the knowledge that she had not abandoned them.
Hereward would reflect on Torfida’s message for the rest of his days. He hoped and prayed that it meant she had come to terms with what had happened on that fateful afternoon in the meadow. Perhaps she had forgiven him, or realized she had misunderstood what had been happening. Gradually, he drew more and more consolation from Torfida’s inscription, especially the crudely scratched heart, an image he would cherish in his mind’s eye for ever.
That evening the entire family were seated for dinner, while Edwin described England’s ordeal at the hands of William. As Hereward listened, his mind raced, but kept coming back to the same point: Torfida’s dying message meant that the love he thought had been lost when she discovered him with Edith, had endured. It would stay with him for the rest of his days. For the first time since Senlac Ridge, he began to feel whole again.
He stopped Edwin in mid-sentence and rose with a horn of wine in his hand. ‘I haven’t spoken Torfida’s name in many months. I doubted her, for which I am ashamed. A freak circumstance drove her away, in which I played a leading part; for that, I am truly repentant. Now, with the message Edwin has brought, I feel her spirit has returned.’ He paused to look around at everyone. ‘To Torfida, my abiding love.’
They all raised their goblets and repeated her name. Everyone looked relieved and proud: relieved because they too had doubted her; proud because she was a remarkable woman to have known.
‘Alphonso, do you think this man in Spain, Rodrigo Diaz of Bivar, who you are constantly telling me about on our hunting trips, might need some men-at-arms?’
‘I’m sure he would consider modest soldiers like us.’
Edwin found sufficient pluck to speak up for his cause. ‘Sir, I had hoped you would be going in the other direction. It is England that needs you.’
‘Patience, young man. From the stories I hear, Rodrigo Diaz is a remarkable soldier. I want to find out more. More importantly, I was badly wounded with Harold at Senlac and I am fat and out of condition. If I am to return to England to the role suggested by Edith Swan-Neck, I must be ready for the challenge.’ He turned to Martin and Einar. ‘Dear friends, please stay here and protect our family and our people. We will retu
rn in the spring, when we can decide whether there is still a cause worth fighting for in England.’
They both nodded in agreement. Hereward smiled and asked Edwin to continue with his account of the trials and tribulations of England under the Norman yoke.
At the end, he turned to Edwin and thanked him. ‘Stay for a couple of days to refresh yourself, then return to England with all speed. Tell Lady Edith that, all being well, we will be in England in the spring of next year. Before doing so, we will need a detailed analysis of William’s forces and their deployment, and an accurate listing of all those who will rally to the English cause. In particular, we will need to know the intentions of the earls Edwin and Morcar and the morale of their Mercian and Northumbrian housecarls. Also, we must gauge the likelihood of support from the Welsh and the Scots. Finally, we must ascertain what, if anything, can be done to entice the Danes to support our cause.
‘You must return to St Circ Lapopie at the beginning of March, and bring someone who is experienced in military affairs and can effectively relay this information. Alphonso and I will be here by then or, God willing, shortly afterwards.’
The others looked on with smiles of profound relief.
They had not seen Hereward exert such authority for over two years; not since the heady few days following the resounding victory at Stamford Bridge.
Two days later, Hereward and Alphonso made their way down the long winding track to the river shortly before midday.
Hereward’s two girls, identical in every respect, including their beguiling beauty and stoical resolve, had kissed him goodbye. They always reminded him of Torfida, and he hoped they had inherited a little of her wisdom so that they would understand why his quest was important. He had tried to explain his actions, just as Torfida would have done.
Einar, Martin and Alphonso had stayed up late into the night with Hereward, discussing their future. Einar said that he would be happy to fight for England again, but Martin had had enough of battle and said that, as a Welshman, it was hard for him to continue to attach himself to the English cause now that Harold was dead. Alphonso was undecided, but was prepared to go wherever Hereward went. They all agreed that Martin’s preference meant that he should stay at St Cirq Lapopie and protect their estate for the future of their women and their children. This would allow the others one final adventure together in England.
Hereward and Alphonso wanted to be in Spain quickly, so, even though winter was looming, they had decided to go over the Pyrenees. As they descended into the foothills of Aragon and into Urgel, Alphonso seemed to breathe more deeply with every mile. He had not seen his homeland in more years than he cared to remember, and he wanted to talk to all the people he met on the road. Although Spain had many languages and dialects, Alphonso could understand most of them – even a little of the strange tongues of the Basques and the Catalans. He could also speak Arabic, so the Moorish traders they met were a particularly valuable source of news regarding affairs in the lands of the Mediterranean.
After a few days, Alphonso asked Hereward a question that had been troubling him. ‘Why are we here, Hereward? I am delighted to be home again but, if England’s needs are so great, why waste all this time? I know you’re not at your strongest, but you could get that back in a few weeks.’
‘You make a good point, Alphonso. Every day, William gets stronger, I know that. But when we return to England, it will be a different kind of war. We will not be able to raise an army. We will have to work in small groups to pick away at the enemy like wolves stalking a bear – look for its weaknesses, prey on its nerves, weaken it, injure it and then strike. If we’re successful, we’ll attract more and more men. Our wolf pack will get larger and bolder and we can strike at bigger and bigger targets, until we confront the biggest bear of them all – the Duke.’
‘Yes, I understand. But you still haven’t explained this journey.’
‘You are a master of this kind of indirect warfare; I saw it in Sicily in our campaigns with the Normans. You told me it’s a tradition here because you had to live for hundreds of years with the Moors who conquered your lands. I have come here to learn and to listen and, if it’s true what they say about Rodrigo Diaz, we will have the perfect teacher.’ Hereward paused; he looked at Alphonso, a friend with whom he had shared many things. ‘Alphonso, as a comrade you will understand that I also need to renew myself. Much has happened since we met Harold in Rouen. Both he and Torfida are gone. England is defeated and, until Edwin brought me Torfida’s message, I was a spent force. Now I am being asked to be England’s saviour. I need this journey to find out whether I can rise to that challenge.’
Alphonso knew his friend well and understood the enormity of what was being asked of him. He did not need to say anything in reply; he merely nodded in acknowledgement, prodded his mount and moved on.
Hereward and Alphonso had sufficient status and finery to gain an audience with the Bishop of Urgel. A man of great charm, he invited them to stay with him for a couple of days to rest themselves and their horses. With Alphonso acting as translator, they told of their journeys and campaigns. The Bishop talked of Spain, the Moors and, most importantly, Rodrigo Diaz of Bivar.
His was an interesting tale, not without parallels to Hereward’s story. Ferdinand I, King of Castile, León and Galicia had died at Christmas 1065, almost exactly the same time as Edward had passed away in England. Unlike Edward, who had died without heirs, Ferdinand had three sons. Almost certainly well intentioned, if a little naïve, he had divided his kingdom into three parts: to his eldest son, Sancho, he gave Castile; to his favourite son, Alphonso, he gave León; and to his youngest son, Garcia, he gave Galicia.
Rodrigo Diaz of Bivar was ‘Armiger’, or Champion, to Sancho, the strongest of the three brothers. As part of his father’s legacy to him, Sancho had inherited tributes to Castile from the Taifa fiefdom of Zaragoza. Sensing weakness after the death of Ferdinand, Zaragoza refused to pay, so Rodrigo was despatched to persuade them that their actions were less than prudent.
In a display of remarkable bravery, Rodrigo left his large force at the gates of the city, demanded entry and rode in alone. Then, in the central square of the city with all its knights, men-at-arms and citizens watching, he offered to release Zaragoza from its obligation to Castile if any man could unseat him from his horse. However, such was his reputation that no one dared accept his challenge and he left for Castile laden with all the city’s tributes packed into chests.
In the summer of 1067, Sancho of Castile had also exerted his influence over his neighbours to the east – Aragon and Navarre. In what became known as the ‘War of the Three Sanchos’, Sancho of Castile campaigned against his cousins, Sancho IV of Navarre and Sancho Ramirez of Aragon, and succeeded in expanding his territories. Rodrigo was the outstanding leader of Castile’s forces and, in a series of brilliant manoeuvres, he forced the Sanchos of Navarre and Aragon to recognize Sancho of Castile as their lord. This triumph, in addition to the mystique that already surrounded him following his many victories in jousts and hand-to-hand combats, made Rodrigo’s reputation as a legendary warrior complete. His prowess had earned him a title by which he was known throughout Spain, ‘El Cid’. It was an Arabic epithet, meaning ‘The Master’.
In November 1067, Ferdinand’s widow, the Dowager Queen Sancha, died. While she was alive, her three sons had maintained a grudging acceptance of their father’s tripartite endowment, but as soon as she died, hostility between the brothers began to grow. This culminated in a huge battle at Llantada, on the border between Castile and León, in July 1068, when Rodrigo once more led King Sancho II’s forces to victory. An uneasy truce had since held between the three of them, in which both Garcia of Galicia and Alphonso of León recognized that, with Rodrigo at his side, Sancho was the first among the triumvirate of equals.
Hereward and Alphonso’s kindly host told them that Rodrigo was to be found spending the winter in the north of León, at the court of his friend Count Diego of Oviedo. It w
ould be another long trek for the two friends, taking them even further from England.
But based on Pedro’s stirring account of Rodrigo’s prowess, both agreed it was a venture worth undertaking.
20. The Cid
By the time Hereward and Alphonso left Urgel, they were both impatient to meet Rodrigo Diaz. They talked about him constantly as they journeyed across ancient lands and saw places Hereward had heard of from Alphonso’s stories: San Juan de la Pena with its imposing monastery, Pamplona, home to the fiercely proud Basque peoples, and Burgos and León, capital cities of the noble lands of Castile and León. Hereward liked what he saw, but the land was demanding of its inhabitants – bitingly cold in winter and searingly hot in summer. Its peoples needed to be rugged and independent. He decided there were many similarities between Spain and his own land. Just as its many kingdoms had buried their differences to fight the Moors, perhaps the Celts, Danes and Saxons would unite to defeat William.
The Bishop of Urgel’s stories about The Cid had been a rude reminder of the passage of time: Hereward was now approaching his thirty-fourth birthday, whereas Bishop Pedro estimated that The Cid was only about twenty-five. Perhaps the younger man could offer Hereward some insight that would be the vital key to oust William from his palace at Westminster.
Oviedo was an impressive fortified town with an imposing cathedral. Count Diego, a rotund, jovial man with long grey whiskers, had been a staunch ally and good friend to Sancho’s father, Ferdinand, and had fought many battles with him. As a pragmatic ruler and a firm believer in order and discipline, he approved of Sancho enforcing his authority over his two brothers, believing it preferable that the Christians of the north be united against the threat from the Muslims of the south. He was also blunt about the Moors. Although he thought them keenly intelligent and in possession of a wealth of knowledge from antiquity, they were not Christians. Moreover, even though he had fought both with them and against them and knew they were brave and honourable, they nevertheless worshipped a different God. For him it was straightforward: they had brought their heresy to Spain many years ago and it was time for them to go back to where they belonged.
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