Conquest (35 page)

He paused, while Hereward came to terms with a plea he could not ignore.

After telling the others about Torfida’s demise, Hereward spent the rest of the day comforting his two girls. The news had ended the awful, nagging mystery about their mother’s fate. Most importantly, it established that, although racked by pain and illness, she had been trying to return to them. The circumstances of her death were harrowing, but at least they could now be comforted by the knowledge that she had not abandoned them.

Hereward would reflect on Torfida’s message for the rest of his days. He hoped and prayed that it meant she had come to terms with what had happened on that fateful afternoon in the meadow. Perhaps she had forgiven him,
or realized she had misunderstood what had been happening. Gradually, he drew more and more consolation from Torfida’s inscription, especially the crudely scratched heart, an image he would cherish in his mind’s eye for ever.

That evening the entire family were seated for dinner, while Edwin described England’s ordeal at the hands of William. As Hereward listened, his mind raced, but kept coming back to the same point: Torfida’s dying message meant that the love he thought had been lost when she discovered him with Edith, had endured. It would stay with him for the rest of his days. For the first time since Senlac Ridge, he began to feel whole again.

He stopped Edwin in mid-sentence and rose with a horn of wine in his hand. ‘I haven’t spoken Torfida’s name in many months. I doubted her, for which I am ashamed. A freak circumstance drove her away, in which I played a leading part; for that, I am truly repentant. Now, with the message Edwin has brought, I feel her spirit has returned.’ He paused to look around at everyone. ‘To Torfida, my abiding love.’

They all raised their goblets and repeated her name. Everyone looked relieved and proud: relieved because they too had doubted her; proud because she was a remarkable woman to have known.

‘Alphonso, do you think this man in Spain, Rodrigo Diaz of Bivar, who you are constantly telling me about on our hunting trips, might need some men-at-arms?’

‘I’m sure he would consider modest soldiers like us.’

Edwin found sufficient pluck to speak up for his cause. ‘Sir, I had hoped you would be going in the other direction. It is England that needs you.’

‘Patience, young man. From the stories I hear, Rodrigo Diaz is a remarkable soldier. I want to find out more. More importantly, I was badly wounded with Harold at Senlac and I am fat and out of condition. If I am to return to England to the role suggested by Edith Swan-Neck, I must be ready for the challenge.’ He turned to Martin and Einar. ‘Dear friends, please stay here and protect our family and our people. We will return in the spring, when we can decide whether there is still a cause worth fighting for in England.’

They both nodded in agreement. Hereward smiled and asked Edwin to continue with his account of the trials and tribulations of England under the Norman yoke.

At the end, he turned to Edwin and thanked him. ‘Stay for a couple of days to refresh yourself, then return to England with all speed. Tell Lady Edith that, all being well, we will be in England in the spring of next year. Before doing so, we will need a detailed analysis of William’s forces and their deployment, and an accurate listing of all those who will rally to the English cause. In particular, we will need to know the intentions of the earls Edwin and Morcar and the morale of their Mercian and Northumbrian housecarls. Also, we must gauge the likelihood of support from the Welsh and the Scots. Finally, we must ascertain what, if anything, can be done to entice the Danes to support our cause.

‘You must return to St Circ Lapopie at the beginning of March, and bring someone who is experienced in military affairs and can effectively relay this information. Alphonso and I will be here by then or, God willing, shortly afterwards.’

The others looked on with smiles of profound relief.

They had not seen Hereward exert such authority for over two years; not since the heady few days following the resounding victory at Stamford Bridge.

Two days later, Hereward and Alphonso made their way down the long winding track to the river shortly before midday.

Hereward’s two girls, identical in every respect, including their beguiling beauty and stoical resolve, had kissed him goodbye. They always reminded him of Torfida, and he hoped they had inherited a little of her wisdom so that they would understand why his quest was important. He had tried to explain his actions, just as Torfida would have done.

Einar, Martin and Alphonso had stayed up late into the night with Hereward, discussing their future. Einar said that he would be happy to fight for England again, but Martin had had enough of battle and said that, as a Welshman, it was hard for him to continue to attach himself to the English cause now that Harold was dead. Alphonso was undecided, but was prepared to go wherever Hereward went. They all agreed that Martin’s preference meant that he should stay at St Cirq Lapopie and protect their estate for the future of their women and their children. This would allow the others one final adventure together in England.

Hereward and Alphonso wanted to be in Spain quickly, so, even though winter was looming, they had decided to go over the Pyrenees. As they descended into the foothills of Aragon and into Urgel, Alphonso seemed to breathe more deeply with every mile. He had not seen his homeland in more years than he cared to remember, and he wanted to
talk to all the people he met on the road. Although Spain had many languages and dialects, Alphonso could understand most of them – even a little of the strange tongues of the Basques and the Catalans. He could also speak Arabic, so the Moorish traders they met were a particularly valuable source of news regarding affairs in the lands of the Mediterranean.

After a few days, Alphonso asked Hereward a question that had been troubling him. ‘Why are we here, Hereward? I am delighted to be home again but, if England’s needs are so great, why waste all this time? I know you’re not at your strongest, but you could get that back in a few weeks.’

‘You make a good point, Alphonso. Every day, William gets stronger, I know that. But when we return to England, it will be a different kind of war. We will not be able to raise an army. We will have to work in small groups to pick away at the enemy like wolves stalking a bear – look for its weaknesses, prey on its nerves, weaken it, injure it and then strike. If we’re successful, we’ll attract more and more men. Our wolf pack will get larger and bolder and we can strike at bigger and bigger targets, until we confront the biggest bear of them all – the Duke.’

‘Yes, I understand. But you still haven’t explained this journey.’

‘You are a master of this kind of indirect warfare; I saw it in Sicily in our campaigns with the Normans. You told me it’s a tradition here because you had to live for hundreds of years with the Moors who conquered your lands. I have come here to learn and to listen and, if it’s true what they say about Rodrigo Diaz, we will have the perfect teacher.’
Hereward paused; he looked at Alphonso, a friend with whom he had shared many things. ‘Alphonso, as a comrade you will understand that I also need to renew myself. Much has happened since we met Harold in Rouen. Both he and Torfida are gone. England is defeated and, until Edwin brought me Torfida’s message, I was a spent force. Now I am being asked to be England’s saviour. I need this journey to find out whether I can rise to that challenge.’

Alphonso knew his friend well and understood the enormity of what was being asked of him. He did not need to say anything in reply; he merely nodded in acknowledgement, prodded his mount and moved on.

Hereward and Alphonso had sufficient status and finery to gain an audience with the Bishop of Urgel. A man of great charm, he invited them to stay with him for a couple of days to rest themselves and their horses. With Alphonso acting as translator, they told of their journeys and campaigns. The Bishop talked of Spain, the Moors and, most importantly, Rodrigo Diaz of Bivar.

His was an interesting tale, not without parallels to Hereward’s story. Ferdinand I, King of Castile, León and Galicia had died at Christmas 1065, almost exactly the same time as Edward had passed away in England. Unlike Edward, who had died without heirs, Ferdinand had three sons. Almost certainly well intentioned, if a little naïve, he had divided his kingdom into three parts: to his eldest son, Sancho, he gave Castile; to his favourite son, Alphonso, he gave León; and to his youngest son, Garcia, he gave Galicia.

Rodrigo Diaz of Bivar was ‘Armiger’, or Champion, to Sancho, the strongest of the three brothers. As part of his father’s legacy to him, Sancho had inherited tributes to
Castile from the Taifa fiefdom of Zaragoza. Sensing weakness after the death of Ferdinand, Zaragoza refused to pay, so Rodrigo was despatched to persuade them that their actions were less than prudent.

In a display of remarkable bravery, Rodrigo left his large force at the gates of the city, demanded entry and rode in alone. Then, in the central square of the city with all its knights, men-at-arms and citizens watching, he offered to release Zaragoza from its obligation to Castile if any man could unseat him from his horse. However, such was his reputation that no one dared accept his challenge and he left for Castile laden with all the city’s tributes packed into chests.

In the summer of 1067, Sancho of Castile had also exerted his influence over his neighbours to the east – Aragon and Navarre. In what became known as the ‘War of the Three Sanchos’, Sancho of Castile campaigned against his cousins, Sancho IV of Navarre and Sancho Ramirez of Aragon, and succeeded in expanding his territories. Rodrigo was the outstanding leader of Castile’s forces and, in a series of brilliant manoeuvres, he forced the Sanchos of Navarre and Aragon to recognize Sancho of Castile as their lord. This triumph, in addition to the mystique that already surrounded him following his many victories in jousts and hand-to-hand combats, made Rodrigo’s reputation as a legendary warrior complete. His prowess had earned him a title by which he was known throughout Spain, ‘El Cid’. It was an Arabic epithet, meaning ‘The Master’.

In November 1067, Ferdinand’s widow, the Dowager Queen Sancha, died. While she was alive, her three sons
had maintained a grudging acceptance of their father’s tripartite endowment, but as soon as she died, hostility between the brothers began to grow. This culminated in a huge battle at Llantada, on the border between Castile and León, in July 1068, when Rodrigo once more led King Sancho II’s forces to victory. An uneasy truce had since held between the three of them, in which both Garcia of Galicia and Alphonso of León recognized that, with Rodrigo at his side, Sancho was the first among the triumvirate of equals.

Hereward and Alphonso’s kindly host told them that Rodrigo was to be found spending the winter in the north of León, at the court of his friend Count Diego of Oviedo. It would be another long trek for the two friends, taking them even further from England.

But based on Pedro’s stirring account of Rodrigo’s prowess, both agreed it was a venture worth undertaking.

20. The Cid

By the time Hereward and Alphonso left Urgel, they were both impatient to meet Rodrigo Diaz. They talked about him constantly as they journeyed across ancient lands and saw places Hereward had heard of from Alphonso’s stories: San Juan de la Pena with its imposing monastery, Pamplona, home to the fiercely proud Basque peoples, and Burgos and León, capital cities of the noble lands of Castile and León. Hereward liked what he saw, but the land was demanding of its inhabitants – bitingly cold in winter and searingly hot in summer. Its peoples needed to be rugged and independent. He decided there were many similarities between Spain and his own land. Just as its many kingdoms had buried their differences to fight the Moors, perhaps the Celts, Danes and Saxons would unite to defeat William.

The Bishop of Urgel’s stories about The Cid had been a rude reminder of the passage of time: Hereward was now approaching his thirty-fourth birthday, whereas Bishop Pedro estimated that The Cid was only about twenty-five. Perhaps the younger man could offer Hereward some insight that would be the vital key to oust William from his palace at Westminster.

Oviedo was an impressive fortified town with an imposing cathedral. Count Diego, a rotund, jovial man with long grey whiskers, had been a staunch ally and good friend to Sancho’s father, Ferdinand, and had fought many battles
with him. As a pragmatic ruler and a firm believer in order and discipline, he approved of Sancho enforcing his authority over his two brothers, believing it preferable that the Christians of the north be united against the threat from the Muslims of the south. He was also blunt about the Moors. Although he thought them keenly intelligent and in possession of a wealth of knowledge from antiquity, they were not Christians. Moreover, even though he had fought both with them and against them and knew they were brave and honourable, they nevertheless worshipped a different God. For him it was straightforward: they had brought their heresy to Spain many years ago and it was time for them to go back to where they belonged.

Hereward and Alphonso arrived in the Great Hall of Count Diego in some style. They had cleaned their tunics, weapons and armour and Hereward’s unmistakable hallmark, the Great Axe of Göteborg, shone like a newly forged weapon.

With Alphonso acting as translator, the Count’s Chamberlain introduced the guests. ‘Lord Diego, I present Hereward of Bourne, formerly in the service of Harold I, King of England. With him is his sergeant-at-arms, Alphonso of Granada.’

‘Welcome to Oviedo, Hereward of Bourne.’ Count Diego was polite but perplexed.

This Englishman had made a grand entrance and had the bearing and weapons of a lord, but without the title. Fearing that he had been deceived into welcoming a mercenary, he cast a look of annoyance at his Chamberlain, but the man to the Count’s right, who Hereward immediately sensed must be The Cid, intervened.

‘I have heard of this man, my Lord Diego. Fear not, you are right to offer him a welcome worthy of a nobleman, for that, beyond any doubt, is what he is.’ The Cid looked directly at Hereward. ‘Forgive me for talking across you, Hereward of Bourne, but your admirable modesty has put my good friend Count Diego at a disadvantage. May I introduce myself? I am Rodrigo Diaz of Bivar, Armiger to Sancho of Castile.’