Crusade

by Stewart Binns

  In trying to settle a dispute between his Norman retinue and the local Northumbrian knights, Walchere had agreed to travel to Gateshead with a large force of his household knights to meet the local aristocratic families. Old enmities arose at the meeting and boiled over into violence. Walchere and his men were overpowered and locked in the church, which was then torched. Many died in the flames and any who escaped were butchered as they left. Over a hundred men were killed, almost all of them Normans.

  When Robert heard the details of the slaughter, he acted with the ruthless efficiency that was the hallmark of Norman rule. Like the Roman disciplines of the past, the tenet was simple: work hard, pay your tithes, stay on the right side of the law and you will prosper; become idle, avoid your taxes or break the law and you will be punished with a ferocity that you will never forget.

  Like his father’s Harrying of the North ten years earlier, Robert ordered his conroi to travel far and wide to find the perpetrators of the atrocity at Gateshead. For understandable reasons, my conroi was spared this odious task, but within two weeks the patrols had returned.

  Their reports made my blood run cold. In total, 251 men had been killed in the chase or executed. Each arrested man had been tortured to extract the names of all who were involved in the massacre until the Normans were satisfied that all the culprits had been dealt with.

  Where a man had been hiding in a village or farm, all the buildings were torched, livestock killed and the people cast out. The execution of the leading figure in the outrage, Eadulf Rus, a local nobleman related to the powerful Earls of Bamburgh, was saved until last and carried out in full view of the entire population of Durham, who had been ordered to attend.

  With Normandy’s finest standing sentinel on their huge destriers, Eadulf Rus was dragged from the cage in which he had been incarcerated since his capture. He was in a bad way; he had been blinded, his tongue ripped out and his legs and arms broken by repeated blows from Norman maces.

  He was still conscious as his body was hauled across the grassy bailey beneath the newly reinforced wooden keep being built above it. The crowd, mainly Anglo-Danes and kinsmen of Eadulf who had returned to their homes to try to rebuild their lives, was silent.

  Robert sat on his destrier, his helmet set down, his face stern; he addressed the crowd in Latin.

  ‘I am Robert, Count of Normandy, son of William, King of England and Duke of Normandy. Let those who would slaughter a bishop of Christ and an earl of England, and over a hundred of his kin, understand that this will be their retribution.’

  He then signalled to the execution party and Eadulf’s limp body was laid beside a mounting block, his head raised by its hair and his neck stretched to give the executioner a clear strike. One of the Normans’ most formidable sergeants-at-arms stepped forward, bowed to his lord and took Robert’s sword.

  It took three blows to sever Eadulf’s head from his body, but it was done. There were a few gasps from the crowd and sobbing could be heard from some of the women, but in the main there was silence. The Northumbrian’s head was stuck on a spike above the gates of the castle and his body thrown into the River Wear. The crowd shuffled away dispassionately, hiding their true feelings from their Norman masters.

  It was difficult to comprehend what they must have felt about the cruelty they had just witnessed. They had seen so much killing and knew only too well what the Normans were capable of.

  Were they intimidated by what they had witnessed?

  Probably not.

  Were they angered and yet more emboldened to continue their resistance?

  Unlikely.

  Were they overwhelmed by the volume of suffering endured in over ten years of hardship, so as to be almost numb to any further pain?

  Almost certainly.

  I spent the evening with Edwin, Adela and Sweyn.

  ‘No one deserves to die like that.’

  It was the first time I had heard Adela speak with a tremor of emotion in her voice.

  ‘Adela, it was a horrific punishment. But remember, he was a man who burned to death over 100 men.’

  ‘The execution fitted the crime, but to torture him like that is no better than the bestial act that he committed. Justice has to be greater than that.’

  Sweyn concurred with Adela.

  ‘I agree. If a man has killed or raped, then he deserves to die. But his death should be just that – he forfeits his life, it is enough.’

  Edwin looked at his young friends admiringly.

  ‘Those are wise words. How did you come to such a judgement?’

  Sweyn looked at Edwin and me purposefully.

  ‘We remember what Hereward often said: “Let others make mayhem, we will make the peace.”’

  I sensed that Adela and Sweyn had come to a new and profound view of the world and its traumas.

  ‘You two have become wise beyond your years.’

  I was proud of them and honoured, like them, to be part of Hereward’s heritage. His principles were always unequivocal and yet he knew that it wasn’t always possible to make principled judgements in the real world; sometimes decisions had to be pragmatic and swayed by circumstances. Watching Robert mete out the punishment of the Normans was a case in point. Knowing him as I did, I felt sure he would have acknowledged that his justice was horrific. But did it match the bestial crime that had been committed?

  When I pushed Adela on the point, she admitted that it was perhaps easier for her, as a bystander, to answer that question, rather than if she were the Duke of Normandy.

  Sweyn also conceded that actions were often easier to judge when one did not have the responsibility of making them. He then paused, looking a little sheepish.

  ‘Sire, when you rusticated us from Normandy, we did return to Aquitaine, but only briefly. We didn’t want to fester in the Lot for three months; our short lives are too precious to waste a quarter of a year in limbo.’

  ‘It is strange, but I sensed that there was more to your time away from Normandy than you admitted to.’

  Adela continued the admission.

  ‘We travelled much further south, to Spain and the Taifa of Zaragoza, to meet an old friend of Hereward: the Cid, Rodrigo Diaz of Bivar, Armiger to Ahmad ibn Sulayman al-Muqtadir, the Lord of Zaragoza. Hereward often talked about Rodrigo’s prowess as a soldier, and he described the beauty of his wife, Doña Jimena –’

  Sweyn interrupted.

  ‘Hereward went to Spain at a crucial point in his life, when Edith Swan-Neck asked him to lead the English resistance. Adela and I felt we were at the same crossroads in our lives.’

  I had heard talk of Doña Jimena’s great beauty and was intrigued to know how true it was.

  ‘She is everything that is said about her and more. She is in her mid-twenties, with three young children – Maria, Cristina and the newly born Diego Rodriguez – but she still looks like a young girl, exactly as Hereward used to describe her, “as perfect as a black pearl”.’

  Adela, irritated at the men dwelling on Doña Jimena’s loveliness, continued their account.

  ‘We were given a warm reception in Zaragoza. Hereward’s name was enough to get us an audience with the Cid – although I, as a woman dressed in the garb of a knight, did raise a few eyebrows!’

  Adela was now in full flow.

  ‘Rodrigo has lost favour with the Christian King, Alfonso VI of León and Castile, and has offered his services to the Moors of southern Spain. There he finds much more justice and honour than among his kinsmen in Christian Spain. Rodrigo introduced us to the Muslim knights of Valencia and in particular to al-Muqtadir’s son, Yusuf al-Mu’taman. They are a remarkable family and it is obvious why the Cid would want to serve them.

  ‘They have just completed their gleaming new palace, the Aljaferia, and Prince Yusuf is visited constantly by scholars from all over Europe. His book Kitab al-Istikmal – The Book of Perfection – we were told is a wonder of mathematical calculation. If only Torfida were alive, I’m sure she would have under
stood it and been able to discuss it with him for hours.’

  Sweyn was just as effusive.

  ‘Yusuf and Rodrigo told us about the Mos Militum, the Code of Knights, which is spreading in southern Europe. It is a code of honour based on the Futuwwa, the Way of the Spiritual Warrior, as written in the holy book of Islam, the Quran, and the Mos Maiorum, the code of honour of Ancient Rome. Young knights are adopting it throughout Spain, Italy and France. The code requires us to be honourable, truthful, courageous and humble, and to protect the weak – women, children and the old. Adela and I have both sworn to adopt the Mos Militum for the rest of our lives.’

  It felt as if I were listening to visionaries or zealots who had found an eternal truth. Adela continued the sermon.

  ‘Hereward often talked about the Talisman of Truth, the ancient amulet they carried, and its messages of truth and courage. We also remember the Oath of the Brotherhood, the principles they fought for. The Mos Militum is an extension of that, but it’s not an amulet or an oath, it’s a way of life.’

  I was fascinated, and I could see that Edwin was also intrigued.

  ‘It sounds like a worthy standard to follow; we must talk more about it. But first, you both need to be granted the title of knight and be given your own pennons. That is something only Count Robert can do, as I no longer have a domain to call my own. In your case, Adela, it is a highly unusual step for which I do not think there is a precedent.’

  ‘Then I will have to prove myself as better than the men.’

  It was unusual for the trial of knighthood to be attempted at Sweyn’s age, but there was little doubt he was ready. Adela was old enough, but – as far as I knew – no woman had ever attempted it.

  I looked at Edwin, who had been listening to the account of the trip to Zaragoza with mixed feelings. He was angry that, yet again, we had been disobeyed, but his admiration for our young companions’ conviction was all too evident. He just shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘So be it. Let’s talk to Count Robert and ask for them to be put to the test.’

  9. Knighthood

  While final preparations for the army’s attack on Scotland were made, Robert agreed that Sweyn could undergo the trial of knighthood as practised in Normandy for generations. However, he was adamant that Adela could not be admitted to the Order of Knights. His argument, although a massive disappointment for her, was compelling – even though I told him that she was formally a brother-in-arms to Edwin, Sweyn and myself.

  ‘That is your choice and has nothing to do with me, but no one has ever heard of a woman being admitted to the knighthood. If I were to be the first to sanction it, I would be ridiculed far and wide. And besides, it’s just wrong – she’s a woman, and women shouldn’t fight on the battlefield, let alone be knights.’

  ‘Many women have fought in battle and many have died.’

  ‘I know, and they have died well, but it has usually been in extremis to defend their homes and children. It still doesn’t make it right in my eyes, or in the eyes of God. Let that be my final word on the matter.’

  Few men would disagree with Robert and there was little point in pressing him further, so I had to give Adela the bad news. I had one crumb of comfort for her, which was that Robert had agreed that she could undertake the test on the strict understanding that, no matter how well she performed, it would not qualify her to join the Order of Knights.

  Edwin helped me break the news to her.

  ‘I will speak to the Count myself,’ she vowed.

  ‘You will not, Adela. That would be countermanding my authority and I will not allow it.’

  ‘I am the equal of all of them – and better than most. It is not just.’

  Edwin intervened.

  ‘Remember who you are speaking to.’

  ‘My Lord, I’m sorry, but I want to be treated according to my talents, not constrained by traditions that men created to keep women as slaves.’

  ‘You have my sympathy, but you can’t fight the way the world is.’

  ‘On the contrary, sire, I can and I will.’

  ‘I understand but, on this occasion, I can’t help you.’

  ‘My Lord, I realize how much you have supported Sweyn and myself, and we will always be grateful. So, if I accept this, what will become of me? Will I be able to accompany you on campaigns?’

  ‘I don’t see why you can’t carry on as page in my retinue – and, indeed, bear arms. Let me talk to the Count after the trial.’

  The trial was undertaken with the help of several of Robert’s senior knights, in a series of tests supervised by Hugh Percy. A large crowd gathered when word spread around the camp that Adela had been allowed to take the challenge.

  There were many emotions and opinions about Adela within Robert’s army, both among the fighting men and the men and women who made up the baggage train. All assumed she would have preferred to be a man and that her sexual desires favoured women rather than men. That was understandable, given her appearance and demeanour, and most men – and many of the women – were adamant that a long night with a well-endowed, vigorous young man would solve all her problems. A few were more sympathetic, admiring her fortitude as well as her martial skills and courage.

  The tests were arduous: target practice with longbow, crossbow and javelin; tilts at dummy targets and personal jousts with some of Robert’s finest horsemen; duels on foot and on horseback with sword, mace and seax; various tests of horsemanship, including a long-distance gallop through the forest and heath; and the final challenge, a foot-race around the camp where, at several points, they had to run a gauntlet of abuse, blows, traps and obstacles.

  The test was scored by Hugh Percy and both passed handsomely. Sweyn’s score was one of the highest anyone could remember, while Adela’s would have put her close to the elite bracket of candidates had she not suffered the misfortune of being taken clean out of her saddle in one of her three jousts, which lost her several points. However, accompanied by much cheering, her sheer determination, desperate scrambling and instinctive cunning meant she beat Sweyn by ten yards in the foot-race, even though he had the physique of a hunting dog.

  The camp was delighted at the outcome and had been thoroughly entertained for an afternoon.

  It was a very special moment for Sweyn when he stood before Count Robert to be dubbed a Knight of Normandy. He bowed to his lord and, with the only blow to which Sweyn was required not to retaliate, Robert struck him hard across the side of his face with the mailed side of his gauntlet, drawing blood from his cheek and nose. He then handed him his pennon, placed his sword in his hand and raised it to the assembled crowd. The army cheered enthusiastically and his fellow knights raised their swords in the time-honoured salute.

  Sweyn had got his wish. He was a member of the Order of Knights at the tender age of sixteen, an honour usually bestowed at a boy’s coming of age at twenty-one. Only members of the higher nobility or warriors of exceptional ability were given such an accolade so young.

  The most significant gesture, one that I will remember for the rest of my days, was embodied in the colours of Sweyn’s pennon. Robert had sought advice from me and, despite what the three colours represented, was magnanimous enough to grant Sweyn the crimson, gold and black of Hereward’s war banner, the colours chosen to represent the Talisman of Truth by the noble Einar in 1069.

  Sweyn tied the pennon to his lance and held it high in the air. It was yet another huge paradox for me to contemplate: it was less than ten years since Ely; we were in the wild and forsaken burgh of Durham, still not recovered from Norman brutality; and once more Hereward’s colours flew proudly over English soil, this time in front of William’s firstborn son and heir and the cream of Normandy’s army.

  Robert then addressed Adela directly.

  ‘Adela of Bourne, you have acquitted yourself with great distinction here today, you have performed as well as the best of my knights. I hope you understand why I cannot dub you as knight today – but rest assured, you have won
our respect.’

  Robert nodded and a steward brought forward a magnificent black destrier of the size, quality and colour reserved for the elite Matilda Conroi.

  ‘Please accept this mount. It reflects our regard for you and especially your outstanding skill as a horsewoman.’

  Adela, despite the disappointment of being denied knighthood, seemed overawed. She did not curtsy of course, but bowed deeply, smiled broadly and took the reins of the horse. The crowd responded warmly – most seemed won over by her impressive performance in the trial.

  ‘Count Robert, I am very grateful and appreciate all the support you have given Sweyn and myself. We are in your debt and will serve in whatever capacity you wish. The mount is a fine specimen and a more than generous gift. I will put him to good use, sufficient to be worthy of such largesse. As for convention, I hope to prove to you that although some traditions are worth keeping, many are not.’

  Adela’s combative spirit could not be quashed.

  I was much relieved that Robert appeared to take it in good part.

  Later that night, Robert asked to see me.

  ‘I have been thinking about Adela. Do you want her to stay with this campaign and any others we go on together?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘I think that’s a problem. There is much disquiet among the knights, and innuendo and banter among the men. Many of the women are suspicious or jealous of her. I had not given it a thought but, after the trial, Hugh, Yves and Aubrey came to me with the gossip. They are set against her staying – they say she will cause trouble, and that’s the last thing we want when we’re about to set out for Scotland.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I assume she likes women rather than men?’ Robert asked bluntly.

  ‘It is never discussed. She has never taken any interest in men – except to be very protective of Sweyn, whom she treats like a younger brother. I know of no evidence to suggest that she’s inclined to either men or women, which must be a consequence of her trauma as a girl.’

  I then told Robert what I knew of the events in her village. However, the information, although eliciting much sympathy, did not dispel his concerns.