Conquest (11 page)

Gruffydd’s infantry held its shape. The lances and shields of its front ranks, reinforced by its collective discipline, formed a solid, surging wall that was far too strong for the Earl’s cavalry. The horses behind the first wave of the attack streamed down the sides of the solid phalanx of foot soldiers and made easy targets for the spirited infantrymen of Wales, wielding swords and battle-axes. Many riders turned and fled but a small group, perhaps no more than thirty, were more determined. From their distinctive shield designs and the human skulls tied to their saddles, Hereward guessed they were Welsh chieftains, defeated by Gruffydd, who had thrown in their lot with the Earl of Hereford. Despite the catastrophe of Ralph’s reckless attack, this small group fought on, moving ever closer to Gruffydd’s position.

Although they were small in number, the ferocity of their onslaught soon saw them engaging the King’s hearthtroop. Their leader, distinguished by a magnificent bronze helmet with a boar’s head crest, suddenly burst through the line of defending guards and made open ground within a few yards of the King. Several of his followers poured through the
gap and, in a blind fury of revenge, began cutting down Gruffydd’s housecarls in swathes. Hereward was only a few feet from the King and, supported by Einar and Martin, moved forward to protect the royal cordon. The three men put themselves between the King and his assailants and unleashed a fury of blows that cut down several of the attackers.

Hereward was at the forefront, tall in his saddle and using his axe to murderous effect. He moved purposefully towards the boars’ head chieftain and made eye contact with him. They clashed immediately, with Hereward ducking under a huge swing of the Welshman’s axe. It gave Hereward the split second he needed as he thrust his lance deep into his opponent’s ribcage, somersaulting him over the rear of his horse. He then turned to the back of the melee, grabbed Gruffydd’s reins and pulled his mount around.

As he did so, he shouted at the King’s housecarls: ‘Hold your ground, protect the King!’

He pulled the King’s steed away from the assault, and shouted again: ‘Make way for the King! Make way for the King.’

The wall of royal hearthtroops parted and Hereward escorted Gruffydd over to Earl Aelfgar’s cavalry, which had been holding firm in reserve.

‘I don’t normally flee in battle, especially from one I’m winning!’ spluttered the breathless King.

‘With you removed, my Lord, their fury will soon be spent. Your housecarls will easily cut them down.’

As Gruffydd thought about Hereward’s answer, Aelfgar spoke for both of them. ‘The young Saxon thinks as well as he fights.’

Hereward was soon proved right. Encircled by Gruffydd’s elite warriors, and with their quarry safe with Aelfgar’s cavalry, the Welsh chieftains were quickly overwhelmed and ruthlessly massacred.

Gruffydd’s thoughts quickly returned to the main battle. ‘Earl Aelfgar, you must commit the cavalry. Before the day is ours, we need to find the Earl’s infantry.’

After witnessing the bloody failure of the Earl’s cavalry, his infantry were retreating through the trees at full pelt. As Aelfgar’s cavalry bore down on them, Ralph and his surviving mounted thegns tried to persuade his infantry to hold, but the howling invaders put the fear of God into them. The rash move to commit his horses in a surprise attack had been a disastrous miscalculation by the Earl of Hereford. Many good men had already paid with their lives; many more would be caught in the open in a chaotic retreat, and a trail of death that would lead all the way to the walls of Hereford.

As his loyal troops died in their hundreds, Ralph abandoned his burgh to its fate and fled towards Winchester and the protection of King Edward.

The first of the victors poured into Hereford at dusk and the mayhem of war continued as the rape and murder of the innocent began.

Hereward and the leaders arrived in the burgh shortly after the advanced guard. Houses were being torched and male inhabitants were being put to the sword; booty was being loaded into carts; larders and grain stores were being emptied and the screams of women and children could be heard everywhere.

As Hereward, Martin Lightfoot, Einar and the Captain
of the King’s housecarls arrived at the nunnery of Hereford, the great wooden cathedral, adjacent to the nunnery, was already in flames. Warriors were stacking books, church plate, altar crosses and tapestries on to carts, while several clerics lay in pools of blood in the doorway. At the entrance to the nuns’ quarters, the sight of men surging forward, fighting one another to get in, abruptly reminded Hereward that the Old Man of the Wildwood had sent his daughter to the nuns at Hereford.

He turned to the Captain of his housecarls. ‘Captain, there may be a woman in there I need to find.’

‘Stand aside!’

At the Captain’s bellowed order, the men grudgingly parted, allowing access to the refectory.

The Mother Superior and the older nuns had attempted to form a circle of sanctuary at the high table, protecting the younger women. One of Aelfgar’s Northumbrians reached into the cowering group, dragged out a struggling girl, no more than sixteen years old, and threw her at the Captain. As he did so, he yanked her crude woollen habit, ripping it apart, to render her naked at his feet.

She immediately crawled into a ball to hide herself.

‘This one is yours, Captain! Do you want her?’

The Captain nodded at his sergeant-at-arms, who immediately cut the man down with his sword.

‘Take him out and throw him in the midden! The rest of you, out, now! Mother Superior, my men will escort you as close to Gloucester as is safe for them. Take whatever you need, but you must leave immediately.’

She and the other nuns suppressed their sobs as Hereward called out, ‘Is there a woman here named Torfida?’

‘I am Torfida.’

The voice came from the naked figure still coiled on the floor. Hereward offered her his cloak and, as she wrapped it around herself, he could not fail to notice how beautiful she was. He also saw a large amulet around her neck and assumed it was the object her father had told him about.

Hereward spoke gently to her. ‘Your father told me that I would meet you. He sends you his love.’

Although the young woman was still heaving with the fear and anxiety of what had just happened, she composed herself quickly. ‘He was a great man.’

‘What do you mean by “was”? Have you heard of his death?’

‘No, but I’m sure he’s dead. The forest has taken him; I can feel it.’

She spoke with such conviction, Hereward saw little point in challenging her. ‘He said that I must ask you for a talisman.’

She paused for a few moments and stared at him with a rare intensity. ‘So you are the one.’

With that, Torfida walked towards her Mother Superior and whispered to her for several seconds. Then they kissed and parted and the matriarch ushered her flock away.

‘I must come with you now.’

Hereward was shocked at the firmness of Torfida’s words. ‘You don’t know where I’m going.’

‘Wherever it is, I must come with you.’

Despite her tender years, she had regained her composure remarkably quickly. ‘And what of the amulet?’

‘That comes with us. We will talk about it when I think it is time. Until then, we will not speak of it again.’

They arrived at the King’s camp, some distance from the ravaged burgh, where Gruffydd was celebrating in earnest. He had a drinking horn in his hand and it was obvious that he had been using it liberally.

‘Hereward, I see you have found yourself a beautiful young girl. Bring her to me.’

‘Sire, she is a virgin and a Sister of the Church.’

‘I realize that, boy! I just want to look at her.’

Torfida did not wait for a response from Hereward; she removed the cloak he had given her and let it fall to the ground, not attempting to cover herself. Hereward moved towards her but, with a slight movement of her hand, she gestured to him to stay away. Then, with a jutting of her jaw and a deep intake of breath, she stood proudly in front of Gruffydd and several hundred of his warriors.

Her boldness shocked them into silence.

Torfida was striking: her jet-black hair, dark eyes and olive skin made her resemble a Mediterranean princess more than a fair maid of England. Although not much older than a child, her breasts were full, with nipples firm and dark; her hips were broad and there was a muscular tone to her limbs, a product of a healthy life in the forest. Her sexuality, emanating from her self-confidence and bearing, was arresting and way beyond her years.

The silence lasted for several seconds.

Torfida stared defiantly at the King. He stared back at her, equally resolute. Eventually, the King relented with a shake of his head, as if breaking a spell.

‘Madam, you are beautiful.’ The King spoke for every man there. ‘Hereward of Bourne, cover her. Take her to
the women, have them dress her; I place her under your protection.’

Hereward hesitated for a second, feeling the strength of her will, before her smile signalled that he could proceed. As he draped his cloak over her shoulders a second time, for a fleeting moment he enjoyed the excitement of touching her warm skin.

The King spoke again. ‘Hereward of Bourne, I grant you safe passage in your journey to the west. Take young Lightfoot with you and, with Earl Aelfgar’s permission, the big man too.’

Aelfgar nodded his approval.

‘As for the young woman … Before you go, madam, I will see the object you wear around your neck.’

‘My Lord King, it is only a trinket, a gift from my father.’

‘Don’t deny me. I would like to know what object of intrigue adorns such a desirable creature. Step forward.’

Hereward shuddered, fearing that the King’s mood might darken. As Torfida strode the five yards that separated her from Gruffydd, his instincts cried out to him to rush to her aid.

The King stood as she approached; that in itself was unusual, but his whispered question was bizarre. ‘Do you understand the old ways?’

‘Sire?’

The King leaned closer to her. ‘Do you know the ways of the Druids, practised under the moon, and the hidden truths from the time before the new faith came to us?’

He put his hand on her shoulder and gripped her flesh.

Torfida stood firm, but did not respond.

‘Do you understand the lore of the forest, the mythical
beasts and the rituals of our ancestors?’ He moved his hand to Torfida’s waist, then towards her buttocks.

She still did not respond.

‘I sense you understand these things.’

‘My father taught me many things, both old and new.’

The King gave her a long, suggestive stare as he slowly moved his hand over the mound of her backside. ‘Did you practise the black arts during the long dark nights alone in your cell?’

‘I practise many things. But when I’m alone, I think only of how to overcome evil and the wicked things that men do.’

‘You talk like a seer.’

‘My father was a seer.’

‘What did he tell you about the amulet you wear?’

‘He told me to respect it, to understand it and to learn from it.’

The King released his grip on Torfida and sat down. ‘My family have lived in the mountains of Gwynedd for centuries. As children we were told a story passed down to us from ancient times. It tells of a great journey, undertaken by a flaxen-haired hero. He was seduced by a dark temptress who held the secret of his destiny. She carried an amulet which was so old that no one could remember its origins, but it was a powerful talisman which entranced all who saw it.’ He paused, peering into Torfida’s eyes, trying to bend her to his will. ‘Show me your amulet.’

Torfida leaned forward so that the amulet swung freely.

Gruffydd could see it clearly, but he could also see her breasts, even her nipples, which she made no attempt to
hide. He wallowed in her sexuality and breathed deeply, preparing to devour her, there and then, in front of the entire army. The King’s blood rose as he thought how easy it would be to take her. No one could stop him.

Torfida spoke to Gruffydd in hushed tones, but her gaze was steely; only those close by could hear the words.

‘The Talisman tells me the truth about men. It shows me their hidden weaknesses, exposes their worst sins and reveals their greatest fears.’

Torfida’s chilling words broke the spell of the King’s manipulative game. She continued to stare at him intently, as if peering into his soul. He looked at the Talisman, saw the grotesque face of evil captured in its stone and pulled away, trying not to appear shocked.

He was silent for several seconds.

‘What do you see in me?’ His question was asked meekly, like a boy seeking reassurance from a mother.

‘You are a great warrior, a hero to your people. Your life is a constant war, a perpetual struggle for supremacy against your enemies. Gruffydd ap Llywelyn the man is Gruffydd ap Llywelyn the King; it is as it is.’

‘Am I condemned to Hell because a king has to do what he has to do?’

‘I do not know the answer to that; but never underestimate the power of the Anglo-Saxons. One day, they will come for you in overwhelming numbers, and then you will have to decide whether to stand and fight, or to submit. After that, your destiny is hidden from me. Only you can determine that, but you will be long remembered by your people.’

The tension had subsided. Torfida put out her hand and
touched Gruffydd gently on his cheek, as if she were anointing him.

It was an astonishing gesture, both because Torfida had the presence to do it, but mainly because the King accepted it so meekly.

Gruffydd turned to Hereward. ‘Hereward, if you ever pass this way again, I would like to know what this beautiful creature makes of you. Take care of her.’

The four companions left camp the next morning and travelled west. Hereward was mindful of his good fortune: he had won his freedom, been given horses and supplies, a few pieces of Welsh silver and had found three companions. The Old Man of the Wildwood had described for him a daunting and challenging destiny, the first part of which had already come to pass.