Conquest (19 page)

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, ships’ 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.

Early in 1063, news reached Melfi that William had invaded the neighbouring state of Maine, following the
death of its ruler. Hereward’s focus was now increasingly fixed on the northern horizon. It was becoming apparent that the great territorial prize to be had in northern Europe was England. Great warriors watched it like hawks: not only Duke William in Normandy, but also the equally ferocious Harald Hardrada, King of Norway, and Svein Estrithson, King of the Danes.

As Hereward speculated about the future of his homeland, Torfida’s love for him deepened. He had become the pride of the Norman army of Apulia but, more importantly, had found a measure of humility to diminish his conceit. He now used judgement to control his instincts and had developed a thoughtfulness to counterbalance his volatility.

Torfida knew that the north beckoned, and it was not lost on her that their journey was beginning to scribe the arc of a great circle, leading Hereward back towards England.

10. The Omen

Everyone was saddened to leave Melfi. Roger granted Hereward his heavy Norman horse, complete with armour, and from the Duke there was a parchment describing his valour in the service of Apulia and Christendom. Lord Roger had asked Hereward to take the title ‘Sir Hereward Great Axe’, as this was how the men of the army referred to him, but he declined, saying that he had been christened Hereward of Bourne and that he would prefer to keep his unadorned family title.

They had all earned considerable sums in the service of Apulia, especially Hereward in his capacity as a knight. For their journey north, they were able to hire six retainers. They were all Normans who had welcomed the opportunity to return home: a sturdy sergeant and two crossbowmen, a groom, and two servant girls. Hereward and Torfida had risen in the world and now had the distinctive bearing of the sophisticated nobility of Europe.

They stayed a week in Rome. However, the Papal See was rife with intrigue and plots and not a place in which to linger. However, the rest of the Italian peninsular became an ever-increasing source of wonder for them as they took the opportunity to visit Pisa, Siena, Florence, Bologna and Padua, before completing their sojourn in the magical city of Venice. The great church of St Mark, in the final stages of being rebuilt, was a haven not only for worship, but also
for learning and philosophy. Everything on the Italian peninsular seemed to be built on such a vast scale; the churches, roads, palaces, monasteries and castles dwarfed anything they had seen in their homelands.

Torfida was like a human sponge in collecting knowledge and like a magpie in collecting artefacts. She bought a richly illustrated parchment map of the known world. When she showed the map to the others, they looked on in awe as she tracked their journey around its fringes.

The map also offered a stark reminder of the next phase of their travels: the Alps. They were grateful that it was high summer; it was not a journey they would have wanted to make in winter. Their passage took them past huge walls of white peaks stretching as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of feet beneath them, like a world in miniature, lay a wide valley of forests, lakes and pastures. At one point, Torfida jumped off her horse and walked into the distance on a tapestry of wild flowers to admire a sight more beautiful than anything she had ever seen.

After several minutes had passed, Hereward walked over to join her. She was motionless; her eyes were open wide, tears running down her cheeks.

She looked at him and began to sob. ‘How can anything be so beautiful? I have seen many wonders in many places, but how can this be? This is how Heaven should be.’

‘Perhaps it is Heaven.’

‘Oh, Hereward, let’s go down into the valley and stay awhile. The children can swim in the lakes; we can catch fish for dinner and collect wild berries. It is so magical.’

‘Of course we can stay – as long as you like.’

He held her tightly, rocking her like a baby. As she buried
her head in his chest, he looked out across the vast expanse before them.

Torfida was right: how could anything be so astonishing?

They made camp in a wide meadow by a lake, sheltered by a huge wall of rock towering above. Fish were plentiful; there were numerous varieties of berries, as well as mushrooms of all kinds, and the forests teemed with game.

Gunnhild and Estrith were identical twins and resembled their mother. Although their hair and eyes were not as dark as Torfida’s, they were unmistakably her daughters. They had also inherited her curiosity, picking up anything that moved, and poking, prodding, pulling and plucking anything that did not.

They were learning to talk in the many languages of their extended family. Knowing only too well that ability with languages was one of the few ways in which a woman could gain a modicum of respect in a world dominated by war and trade, Torfida insisted that everyone in the group spoke to the girls in their native tongue. Not satisfied with that, Torfida was also determined to teach them Greek and Latin.

From their father, they had inherited boundless energy. They walked very early and were well coordinated and athletic but, unlike their father – whose restlessness and truculence had started as a toddler – Gunnhild and Estrith were well behaved. Indeed, Torfida would not have it any other way.

The idyllic setting of the Alps put Torfida into a contemplative mood. She did not want to leave, and spent hours weaving fantasies about how they could build a life for
themselves high in the mountains and raise their children in peace. Late one afternoon, Torfida was deep in such a reverie when she was suddenly and cruelly reminded of reality.

She was clambering among the crags, high above their camp, on one of her frequent expeditions to collect specimens of the myriad alpine flowers she used in her medicines. The air suddenly turned foul like the stench of a blacksmith’s furnace and her hair stuck out from her head at right angles. There was a faint but audible crackling in the atmosphere around her and she suddenly felt very cold. Then came an ear-piercing crash, as if the earth were rending itself open, and Torfida was thrown at least ten yards down the crags, landing on her back on a grassy slope. Her whole body ached as if every part of her had been kicked and punched, and she could smell the sickly odours of singed hair and scorched flesh.

She opened her eyes a few moments later, as a booming echo of thunder rumbled round the mountains. Torrential rain began to fall and, as it did, steam rose from the ground around her, the sky was as black as pitch and the wind began to howl.

She knew she had been struck by lightning and, by some miracle, had survived. She lay motionless, as if petrified, drenched by the storm’s downpour. Aware only of the continuous screeching in her ears, she was unable to hear Hereward’s desperate calls.

Martin reached her first, closely followed by Hereward, Alphonso and Einar; all feared she was dead. Martin had seen the lightning go to ground only a few feet from her. Knowing the mountains well, he had sensed the sudden change of atmosphere and the drop in temperature and,
realizing that Torfida was high up, had scanned the slopes to locate her.

Just as he saw her, the bolt struck.

They carried her down the mountain as her body began to convulse. The skin on her face, legs and hands looked as if it had been hung in a smokehouse; tiny vessels had burst in her eyes, there were trickles of blood from both nostrils and her hair looked as if it had been frizzled in an oven. They could feel how hot her body was, and they noticed that her clothes were smouldering.

It took Torfida several days to recover. Her bloodshot eyes cleared and oil of lanolin helped restore her hair, but her mood remained sombre. The weather had continued to assail the mountains, even though it was late August. For Torfida, a place that in one moment had been a paradise had, in an instant, presented a glimpse of Hell that would give her nightmares for the rest of her life.

She spoke to Hereward alone. ‘I had begun to forget our purpose. This is an omen, a warning not to forget again. We must leave tomorrow; time is moving on and God only knows what is happening in England.’

Torfida began to cry. She looked as bereft as Hereward had ever seen her.

‘The King is old now, perhaps he is dead already. War may have started.’

‘Torfida, calm yourself.’

‘I am frightened, Hereward. We think we have the ability to make things happen, to change things, but compared to God and the world of nature he created, we are insignificant. That knowledge shakes me to my very core.’

‘Torfida, don’t talk like that, I need you. Whatever it is
that we’re supposed to be doing with this cursed thing around my neck, I need you.’

She began to fight back the tears. ‘Hereward, get me out of these mountains. Let’s make haste for Normandy.’

‘Get some rest. We’ll break camp in the morning and sleep on lower ground tomorrow night.’

Hereward kissed her and held her tightly until she finally fell asleep. As he listened to the wind wail around the mountains, he too felt a quiver of anxiety. He had never believed in prophecies and omens, but now he felt a primordial shudder of instinctive fear and, desperate for the reassurance they would bring, he longed to wake the others.

He fought his demons and held Torfida even tighter. Whether it was an omen or not, Hereward knew that mountains were dangerous places and he feared that lightning could indeed strike twice. He resolved to get as far away as possible, as quickly as Torfida’s recovery would allow.