Conquest (12 page)

No one spoke for over an hour; Torfida and Hereward were a few yards behind Martin and Einar when her words broke the silence.

‘I doubted my father yesterday. When the soldiers came, I thought my life was over. My father had said that my destiny was with one man – a great man – that I would bear his children and that we would face our destinies together. But I doubted my father, and I’m ashamed.’

‘But you don’t doubt him any more?’

‘No, because he sent you to me. He knew what your future would be.’

‘Why is the Talisman so important?’

Torfida kicked on to join the other two. ‘All in good time.’

As Hereward watched his three new companions move through the forest ahead of him, he knew his life was about
to begin in earnest and that his previous escapades were no more than a prelude for what was to come. He knew that Martin and Einar would be his comrades for life and that Torfida would be his companion, his wife and his mentor.

They travelled west for many days, meeting almost no one on their route. They kept away from the high mountains to the north, but progress was still slow because of the many valleys they crossed. It was a desolated land, its tracks overgrown and its villages abandoned; Gruffydd’s wars had extracted a heavy price.

At times on their long journey, Hereward and Torfida would hang back or kick on until out of earshot of their companions. During these private moments, they told each other the contrasting stories of their lives.

Hers was a tale of a girl of the forest who knew no one other than her father, but who, nevertheless, had lived a childhood full of wonder and imagination under the wise tutelage of an inspirational man. His was a saga about a boy who had managed to spurn every opportunity available to him and take the wrong route at every crossroads in his life.

Eventually, from high on the side of a valley, they saw a busy thoroughfare below. Carts loaded with wood and wool and baggage trains of donkeys, oxen and horses confirmed that they had found a major trading route. They met fellow-travellers who told them that they were west of the settlement at Carmarthen and well on the way to the monastery at St David’s, from where safe passage to Ireland would be easy to arrange.

Hereward was elated: they could be in Dublin ahead of the cold December winds.

Two more days in the saddle got them to St David’s, where Hereward saw the Great Western Sea for the first time, which he knew would carry him far away to another land and a new life.

As they descended the hill towards the shore and the neat rectangular shapes of the houses of the monks of St David’s, Torfida’s manner changed.

‘You can make love to me tonight.’

Hereward was shocked. Because Torfida was barely sixteen, he had tried to put her beauty out of his mind. He had often felt aroused by her, but had suppressed the feeling, deliberately replacing it with a strong commitment to protect her.

‘Torfida, you are very beautiful, but you are so young. We should wait.’

‘Do you not desire me? I want to leave these shores as a woman, not as a girl. Although I am a virgin, I know what has to happen. My father told me that it is important for a woman to enjoy a man; he also explained that we make love face to face, unlike the beasts, because our pleasure should derive from love, not our animal instincts. I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. I know what the King was trying to do, and I enjoyed playing his game. It made me aroused.’

She looked at him with a knowing, suggestive smile. He found her provocation irresistible and remembered her standing naked in full view of Gruffydd and his warriors, proudly displaying her extraordinary beauty.

‘Why do I have the feeling that I am going to spend the rest of my life entranced by your spell?’ With that, he slapped her horse’s hindquarters, making it gallop away.

Hereward’s heart was pounding with the joy of youthful
passion. His feelings were true and pure; it was an exhilarating sensation. Twenty yards ahead of him, Torfida laughed aloud, her raven hair streaming in the wind behind her.

As Hereward and Torfida raced along the shoreline, they became distant specks to Martin and Einar. Even at a distance, the intimate playfulness of their encounter was plain to see.

After a while, Einar, a man of few words, observed, ‘I suppose we should busy ourselves and organize our passage to Ireland. It looks like young Herry is thinking of other things.’

Hereward and Torfida found a quiet cove several miles along the coast and made camp. They started a large fire and, despite the chill of autumn, took off their clothes and bathed in the sea. They dried one another by the fire, and combed each other’s hair, before preparing a meal of fresh hare and root vegetables.

After their food, they made garlands from what they could find in the pastures around them and began an ancient ritual of marriage from the days of their pagan ancestors.

With a horn of mead in their left hand, they grasped each other’s right hand and slowly circled the fire, skipping every third stride and gulping a swig of potent mead after each circuit. Gradually they increased their pace and the height of their skip, until it became a leap.

The ritual’s gentle eroticism was well crafted. Each could see every detail of the other’s body, and the simple rhythms of the dance and the warming effect of the mead aroused them both intensely.

Their lovemaking was gentle and tender at first, but
became more and more passionate as time passed. For Hereward, it was a gradual reawakening after a very long abstinence and the trauma created by his wild infatuation with Gythin. For Torfida, it was all she dreamed it would be, and she warmed to it with increasing relish.

They had only two needs: wood for the fire and sustenance for their bodies.

And wanted only one thing: each other.

6. Amulet of the Ancients

Einar had been right about the extended tryst between Hereward and Torfida. They returned to St David’s at dusk on the next evening, both glowing contentedly. Martin and Einar said nothing to them, other than to impart the important news that the monks had agreed to buy their horses and that passage to Ireland had been arranged on the ship of a Breton trader. Its captain, Vulgrin of Brest, spoke little English, but had a reasonable grasp of Irish Danish, a tongue close enough to Einar’s Anglo-Norse to allow arrangements to be reasonably straightforward.

The Great Western Sea to Ireland could be treacherous, and the cold westerly winds of autumn made progress slow on the long crossing. Late into the second night on board, Hereward and Torfida found themselves alone at the prow of the ship. At the stern, with Captain Vulgrin at his side keeping a watchful eye on the skies, the helmsman held the huge tiller hard into the wind as he tacked against it. The waning moon was bright enough to throw silver flashes across the undulating water, while the few clouds that did appear dashed across the night sky. The lunar glow kept most stars at bay, but Venus shone through like a sentinel. Vulgrin was watching its position in the sky and knew where it had risen against the Pole Star, making navigation on such a night relatively easy for an experienced sailor. It was on nights when the elements closed in that seafaring became
a challenging, often frightening, experience, when the precious lodestone, which by some miracle always pointed north, became essential in averting disaster.

Vulgrin’s ship sat broad and deep in the water. Like the Viking ships of legend, its elegantly sweeping boarded sides came to powerful points fore and aft in the form of mythical beasts. Its large single sail could be tilted if the wind was against, but there were also rowlocks along the timber-heads where oarsmen could lend their strength and skill in difficult conditions. With its ruby-red sail fully set and the wind behind from the south-west, it was a fine sight, prompting Hereward to imagine the terror that must have been struck into Anglo-Saxon hearts as, generations ago, the ‘dragon ships’ of his Danish ancestors suddenly appeared off England’s coast.

Hereward felt that he and his companions were safe in the hands of their confident and experienced Breton captain. He was a small but sturdy man who reminded Hereward of the Welsh, a similarity that made him think about the mix of blood on board their craft. The captain and his helmsman were both Bretons, but the four oarsmen were taller and fairer men from Caen, in the heart of neighbouring Normandy, and were typical of its Viking ancestry. Despite her dark hair and complexion, which was more a Celtic characteristic, Torfida was an Anglo-Saxon of pure blood on both her father’s and mother’s side, while Martin was a small, dark native Celt from one of the North Wales tribes. Einar was Northumbrian Danish, a true Norseman, like a Viking of legend, whose large ruddy appearance matched perfectly the image of his ancestors who had sailed through the Skagerrak generations ago to maraud
the British coastline. Hereward was the only one on board who was of mixed blood; he was equally proud of both his Anglo-Saxon and Danish origins.

He remembered the stories Aidan the Priest had told him as a child of the many historic battles between the Saxons and the Danes. It struck him again how unsettled his native land had been, as its many different peoples vied for supremacy. That struggle continued. The great battle at Hereford had shown only too clearly that, under Gruffydd’s forceful leadership, the Welsh tribes were a formidable force. The Scandinavian kings in Norway and Denmark still had designs on the throne of England, which was also drifting ever closer to Normandy, a dukedom with which King Edward had strong ties.

As a boy, Hereward had assumed that life in the England he knew would always be stable and settled. Now he realized that many forces were at work; his homeland had a precarious future. As the ship sailed on, he occasionally looked back towards his native soil.

Would he ever return?

Was it his destiny to play a part in the turmoil to come?

Torfida suddenly put an end to Hereward’s introspection by handing him the Talisman. ‘You should take this now.’

‘So this is what your father talked of – the thing that made Gruffydd tremble and contemplate his future.’

‘My father told me that it has made many men question not only their future, but also their past.’

‘Is it supposed to frighten me?’

‘Does it?’

‘No.’

‘Then you have your answer.’

‘Gruffydd said it had special powers.’

‘Its power lies in what men think of it.’

Hereward examined it, slowly turning it against the light of the moon. ‘It is the face of the Devil, in what looks like amber. But how can it have the Devil’s face in it, with those little creatures? And is that a splash of blood?’

‘I don’t know. My father said that the ancients believed it to be the blood of the Saviour, spilled by him on the cross, and that it holds the Devil at bay by trapping him in the stone.’

‘But why did your father think it important for us?’

‘He believed that the Talisman was like a key to wisdom, and that only great men could understand its message.’

‘That still doesn’t explain its importance for us.’

‘The Talisman has always had a messenger. You are now the envoy; you must carry the Talisman until you find the leader who should wear it.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘When I was young, my father told me that I was destined to meet the man who would be the messenger of the Talisman and that he would stand at the right hand of kings, be their chosen warrior and lead their armies in battle. The Talisman would become a symbol of trust between the messenger and his lord, a private bond of companionship. You are that man. I know this as my father did; that’s why he sent you to me. He told me that I would need to guide the messenger, that we would complement one another and that together we would succeed in fulfilling our destinies. I understand that now. You know my strengths and my weaknesses, and I know yours. My love for you grows every day. I will be at your side for ever – in spirit, if not in flesh.’

‘Your father has been right about everything so far. I would be foolish to doubt him, but all I want for us at the moment is a settled and peaceful life in Ireland.’

‘A peaceful life is not your destiny. You will become a great warrior; everyone can see it in you. A peaceful life is not my destiny either. I am the guide to a man whose strength and skill will allow us to carry the Talisman to a leader who is worthy of it.’

‘Did your father know where the Talisman came from and why he was entrusted with it?’

‘It was given to him by Queen Emma, the mother of King Edward. Even during his long years in the forest, the Queen found ways of getting messages to him. Early one morning, when I was eleven years old, we heard a mounted housecarl from her private retinue in the distance. He had been sent to summon my father to Queen Emma’s deathbed at the monastery of Glastonbury. That’s when she gave him the Talisman. She said that England would soon face a great turning point in its history, when men would fight for the kingdom. Although a Norman herself, she loved her adopted home and its mixed blood and hoped the future king, whoever he might be, would rule England with wisdom and kindness and be a worthy bearer of the ancient Talisman.

‘She said that it had been passed to her by her father, Richard I, Duke of Normandy, who had inherited it from her grandfather, William Longsword, and her great-grandfather, Rolf, the first Viking Duke of Normandy. Before that, its pedigree was illustrious. The story among the Norman aristocracy claims that it had been passed through the old Frankish kings and that it had even been worn by
the great Emperor Charlemagne. Legend says that Charlemagne had been given it when he married Theodora, the daughter of Desiderio, King of Lombardy, whose family claimed descent from the emperors of Rome.’

‘And now it’s in our lowly hands on a ship bound for the edge of the world!’

‘Let me finish, Hereward. Queen Emma married two kings of England and was mother to two more, but she either decided that her husbands and sons were not worthy of the Talisman, or perhaps they refused it, so she asked my father, the only man she could trust, to find a way for it to continue its journey to its rightful inheritor. She believed in its power and that it was important for the future of the realm. My father promised to try but said that he preferred the contemplative life of the forest to a search for wisdom among future kings. “Then it must be Torfida’s task,” was her response. “If she is as beautiful as her mother was and as wise as her father, she will be worthy. Trust in the Talisman; it will find a way.” They were her final words to him.’