Conquest (33 page)

‘Would you like to rest for a while?’

‘You are very kind, my Prince. If I may, I will go to my shelter and spend a few hours alone.’

‘Of course; take as much time as you need. Perhaps Prince Azoukh and I will walk in the mountains for a while when the sun comes up.’

After sleeping for a few hours, the two princes, accompanied by a platoon of bodyguards, stretched their legs in a leisurely circuit around Godwin’s mountain-top retreat.

Both deep in thought, John Azoukh broke the mood of reflection.‘It is certainly a tale of mighty warriors, my friend. I’m glad that the likes of Harold and William lived far to the north and never threatened the gates of Constantinople.’

‘My father has told me about Hardrada. People at court still talk about him with reverence, as they do Godwin of Ely. I wonder if England has benefited from the presence of men of such stature, all living at the same time? Or has it been a curse? Just imagine: the giant Hardrada, William the fearsome redheaded ogre and the two golden-haired English heroes. What times they were! The Greek poets couldn’t have invented a finer cast of characters.’

‘Yes, and there seems to be much more to hear.’

‘I hope so’

John Azoukh looked at his friend with a hint of concern on his face. ‘My friend, when you hear of the trials and tribulations of kings and rulers, does it inspire you? Or does it fill you with dread about your own succession?’

‘I suppose the answer is both, in equal measure. My father has spent his life campaigning against the many enemies on our borders. When he was not doing that, he was wrestling with our enemies within. He’s weary and now his reward is a slow and painful death. It seems a cruel end. On the other hand, he has had the power to protect our empire and change the lives of his people. He has won their respect and trust, and will be long remembered for it. Like Harold of England, he has done his duty.’ John Comnenus paused and put his arm around his friend.‘That’s my only ambition. With all the excitement and anguish it will bring, I intend to do my duty.’

The two princes smiled at one another and made their way back to Godwin’s eyrie.

The old warrior was waiting for them when they returned. He was already sitting in his chosen spot with Leo of Methone helping him to get comfortable. He seemed refreshed and eager to resume his story.

‘Come, my two lords of Byzantium, I thought you’d lost your way on my mountain. My tale is barely half told.’

18. A Presence in the Mist

For the survivors of Senlac Ridge, the return to Glastonbury was an occasion for tears of joy and sadness. Word had already reached Harold’s stronghold of the approach of Hereward and his companions, so a welcome party was waiting. As the wives and children rushed down the hill shrieking with delight, a few sturdy veterans of Harold’s hearthtroop stood vanguard. News of Hereward’s valour had reached all corners of the land and the men snapped to attention and looked on in awe as he passed. Rumours about his exploits had spread, rapidly escalating into ever more fantastic tales. It was said that it was impossible to kill him and that his immortality was a beacon that would summon men to his side to save England. In truth, his life was still hanging by the slender thread that the care of his followers had spun for him.

Torfida rushed to his side, but he barely recognized her. She could see the poison in his bloodshot eyes and immediately started to plan his recovery. Gunnhild and Estrith were hysterical and had to be comforted by Ingigerd and Maria.

Early the next day, heavily armed and fully provisioned, Einar led the group out of Glastonbury and into the Mendip Hills to find a hiding place deep in the wildwood. Torfida knew Hereward would not survive a winter on the run. She also knew that William’s ample purse would entice
countless spies to divulge the whereabouts of any survivors of the English nobility or of Harold’s army, especially one as distinguished as Hereward.

Within forty-eight hours, a suitable camp had been established in the depths of the forest. A harsh winter would soon be upon them. Hereward’s prospects were not auspicious. Injured as he was, movement was difficult, exercise impossible. It would be hard for him to fight the infection, even harder for him to keep his lungs clear of pneumonia.

Under Torfida’s earnest directions, an elaborate programme began. All the adults took it in turns to lift, pull, stretch and bend him to keep his muscles supple, exercise his lungs and improve his circulation. His dressings were changed every day and his wounds cleaned. He had his own latrine next to his bed and a special diet rich in Torfida’s herbal remedies. Hereward began to improve but, as he did so, Torfida began to suffer. She worked endlessly, never seemed to sleep and began to lose weight. No amount of cajoling or berating from the others would make her rest.

By March of 1067, much progress had been made. Hereward’s life was no longer in danger and he was able to walk, even if his movements were laboured and painful. Perversely, to everyone’s dismay, as Hereward regained his vitality, Torfida lost hers. It was as if she were transferring her own lifeblood to him. When the family expressed their concerns, she dismissed them, saying that now Hereward was healing, her own recovery would soon follow.

Martin had been back to Glastonbury several times and news had reached the camp of William’s coronation on Christmas Day 1066, and the subsequent severity of his
rule over south-east England. William’s army had marauded across the south, forcing all the burghs to submit. Canterbury, Guildford, Winchester, Wallingford, Bedford, Cambridge, Hertford and, finally, London had all stooped to the new monarch. He had spent the winter at the abbey in Barking, in Essex, but by the time of the first spring sailings in the Channel he felt confident enough to return to Normandy. There, in a celebratory tour of his Duchy with his English hostages in tow, he was fêted as the conquering hero.

Hereward had taken the news of Harold’s death with predictable anguish, especially as he had survived while his King had died, but there was no anger in his eyes, only sadness. He spent many hours staring into the distance, gazing at the tall trees of the forest. No one mentioned the Talisman; all assumed it was now a trinket in the horde of a fat Norman lord, or else lost amid the morass of human remains on Senlac Ridge. However, it soon reappeared in the lives of Hereward and Torfida.

But not as they would have wished.

It was the end of a very warm spring day. With the aid of a thick staff, Hereward had started to walk in the meadows on his own, where he would gently swing his sword through the burgeoning greenery of the forest floor. His arms were not yet sturdy enough for the Great Axe of Göteborg, but they were getting stronger by the day.

Torfida still looked worringly thin and tired, and her hair was turning grey. Hereward was concerned about his wife and was determined to find a new life for them that would allow her some rest and peace of mind.

At first, Hereward thought he was witnessing an apparition. He had sat down at the edge of a clearing to watch the approaching sunset when, in the middle distance, striding through the glade in the mist of the early evening was what seemed to be the glistening form of a woman. She was naked, her flowing hair framing her head and shoulders like a cowl; her soft beige skin gleamed with oil, her broad hips and large breasts the focal points of a woman of astounding physical symmetry. She moved slowly, her eyes sharply focused, her jaw set.

Hereward soon knew the figure was not an apparition. It was then that he saw the Talisman cradled between the woman’s breasts.

Edith Swan-Neck had pulled the Talisman from Harold’s severed neck on Senlac Ridge and had vowed to return it to Hereward. She knew it had been important to Harold and that Hereward and Torfida regarded it as something of great spiritual value. Her grief for Harold was deep and genuine and at first she had no intention of seducing Hereward. However, as time passed and news of his survival reached her, her mood changed. Not only was he handsome and strong, he had become England’s only chance. A new army could be built around him.

These thoughts worked on her imagination until the notion of a man formidable enough to save England in its hour of need became irresistible to her. She had found Martin on one of his visits to Glastonbury and persuaded him to take her to their camp. Her good fortune found Torfida out in the forest in search of herbs, and Hereward alone in the meadows.

Hereward swallowed hard. As Edith got closer, he could
smell the musk from the oil on her body. It invaded his senses with an aroma that pumped adrenalin through his veins and made him feel that his legendary strength had returned.

Edith did not hesitate. Parting her legs provocatively, she placed her feet either side of Hereward’s prone legs, and sat on his thighs. His eyes were drawn to her pubic hair, which her body oil had coiled into tight ringlets, then to her breasts, which were only inches from his face.

He loved Torfida, but how could a man face such an enticing prospect and reject it?

‘Hereward, you cannot know how much I’ve longed for this moment.’

Hereward did not respond. He was using all his resolve to resist the almost impossible temptation of England’s most beguiling woman.

‘England needs you … I need you. Together, we could raise an army strong enough to break the stranglehold the Normans have on this land. Their grip grows crueller by the day.’

Edith’s quarry was still silent. He had closed his eyes, hoping to blind himself to her charms.

Even so, Edith could feel that he was aroused, and she continued her slow and cunning seduction. ‘With me at your side, we can rule! The Witan would accept you as Regent, until the Atheling is ready. Then you would get an earldom. You could become the Earl of Wessex and Earl Marshal of England.’

Hereward was about to speak, but Edith began now to kiss him fervently, using her tongue to probe deeply into his mouth. She grabbed his head and pulled it to her breasts.
It was then that the Talisman, swinging wildly from Edith’s neck, struck him on the temple.

He caught sight of its image of evil, giving him a sobering jolt and breaking the spell woven by the seductress above him. ‘Edith, we must not do this. I would risk almost anything to have you here and now, but I cannot. I love Torfida. Please, stop!’

Edith ignored his plea and continued to caress him, her words calculated to break down his resistance. ‘Hereward, don’t think of Torfida, think of us and England! Torfida can have an estate in the country. She can pursue her destiny and, one day, her dream of designing cathedrals. I’ll even let you go and serve her from time to time.’

Then to his horror, over Edith’s shoulder, Hereward saw Torfida step into the glade. She had returned to the camp with her basket full of roots and herbs. Hearing from Martin that Edith had arrived with the Talisman, she had left in search of Hereward.

There was a prolonged, piercing scream of anguish when Torfida saw Edith’s naked form astride her husband. She could see Edith throwing her head back and forth in delight as she caressed her husband. Hysterical, her heart full of hurt and fury, she turned and ran.

Hereward pushed Edith away and struggled to his feet. ‘Torfida, wait! It is not what you think.’ He repeated his plea several times, but to no avail. He was in no condition to chase after her and began stumbling back to the camp.

Edith stood up, uninhibited by her nakedness. Without speaking, she pulled the Talisman from her neck, placed it over Hereward’s head and kissed him gently.

Hereward looked at her impassively. ‘Please, go.’

Edith Swan-Neck, the legendary siren of England, smiled and walked away into the haze, her gait as seductive as when she had entered the glade.

Torfida ran back to the camp, her anguish turning to a steely resolve. She explained to Gunnhild and Estrith that she had to leave for a few days on urgent business for the late King, then gathered a few personal belongings and asked Ingigerd and Maria to look after the girls.

She was gone within minutes of her abrupt arrival.

Her intention was to take time to compose herself before deciding how to respond to what she had witnessed. She knew that the hurt she felt would prevent her from thinking clearly. Her dream had been shattered; her destiny with Hereward had been stolen. It would be many days before she could think clearly. She resolved not to take the girls, unwilling to burden them with the trauma of what Hereward and Edith had done to her.

She fully expected to be back with her beloved daughters after a few days of prayer and reflection. However, fate was about to deal her a cruel hand.

Hereward hobbled into the camp only minutes after Torfida’s abrupt departure. Sparing no details from his friends, he explained what had transpired. He was a broken man and it took long, agonizing minutes for him to relate the scene with Edith. The men immediately went in search of Torfida, but she had taken a horse and had already outpaced them.

They searched and searched; days passed, then weeks. No sign of her was to be found. She had disappeared from their lives.

Hereward’s despair at the loss of his beloved Torfida
only worsened as time passed. His girls were bewildered and hurt and desperately needed their father’s love. He tortured himself with constant questions. Had Torfida returned to the life her father had lived – as a hermit of the forest – consumed by anger for what had happened? If so, why could they not find her? Had her journey been an aimless meander, without a destination? Even so, she must have left a trace somewhere, or been seen by someone. Was she still in search of herself and her destiny? But why had she abandoned everything she cared for and left everyone she loved, especially her children? Had she taken her own life? Surely, it was not possible that Torfida could have committed such a desperate act. After months of anguish, Hereward’s grief turned to resentment that she had left him without a word of explanation.