Stewart Binns - Anarchy

‘How many more twists and turns are there?’

‘A few, my friend.’

I smiled at my good and loyal companion.

He smiled back, but followed it with a typical rejoinder.

‘I’m sure there are. And I’m sure they will get us into all kinds of trouble!’

I knew we had to reach Ashgyll Force quickly – I gambled that the King would assume I did not have the audacity to travel to see Prince Edgar, having told him of my original destination. I soon realized the King had been right: Ashgyll Force was at the edge of the world, in one of the most godforsaken places I had ever seen. High in the Pennines, we followed the River Wear west from Durham, via the small hamlet of Wolsingham, and left any semblance of civilization at Frosterley, where a few intrepid miners still dug for the local marble. After their meagre cottages disappeared behind us, there was nothing but thick forest, eventually giving way to bleak windswept moorland. It was mid-summer, but the rain came down in swirling clouds – even a warm sunny day became swallowed in a dank gloom of mist within minutes.

In order to protect Prince Edgar, I left Eadmer with the horses about a mile away and approached Ashgyll Force in the middle of the night. It was important not to be seen – or to leave any evidence of our visit.

The Prince was asleep when I clambered into his chamber. I was careful not to alarm him. When he eventually woke with a jolt, I spoke softly to him.

‘Prince Edgar, don’t be concerned, I am Harold of Hereford.’

‘You mean young Harry? Son of Estrith of Melfi and Sweyn of Bourne?’

‘Indeed, sire.’

‘Show yourself!’

‘I cannot, my anonymity is important to me and to you. I need to tell you some things as a fellow member of the Brethren of the Blood and obtain your blessing for what I have done and am about to do. My mother made me a full member of our Brethren when I came of age; she said you would be in agreement.’

‘The monks of Durham brought me the news two days ago that your mother has died–’

‘Scarlet fever; it devastated Norwich while I was away. She was a wonderful mentor to me and told me all about the Brethren and your lives together. She was content with her lot, and her work was everything to her. She took great pride in helping the great cathedral grow.’

‘Did she give you the casket?’

‘She did. That’s why I’m here – to thank you for the endowment and the gift of land, and also to seek your permission. Duke Robert is still in Cardiff Castle and no one can see him. You and I are the only members of the Brethren at liberty, and I need your sanction…’

I was aware that I didn’t have much time; I had vexed the King, who would surely be searching every shire in the land to hunt me down.

‘I have decided to leave for Constantinople and the Peloponnese as soon as the winds are favourable. My mother told me where my grandfather’s mountain eyrie is. I am going to see it, to spend some time and reflect there. I am sure he is long dead and buried, but I want to be sure he is properly in the ground. I am also going to see the Emperor, John Comnenus, to thank him for his father’s very generous legacy. My mother told me he will give me the fabled Talisman of Truth and ask me to be its guardian.’

‘You don’t need my agreement for any of that.’

‘I know, but my purpose in coming here is to tell you of a new Brotherhood…’

I recounted the oath I had sworn as a founder member of the Knights Templar, and told Prince Edgar of the men whose valour and virtue had attracted me to the Order.

‘We wear the cross of Christ and are sworn to poverty, chastity, piety and obedience in the service of God and our fellow men. We are strong supporters of the Mos Militum, the code of chivalry that all knights should follow.’

‘It sounds very worthy, but a little strict! I wish you every success.’

‘Thank you. I confess, I have some doubts about my vocation to follow the code, but I hope to resolve them soon.’

I had one last question for the Prince: he had been there when my father died, and I needed to know that he had died bravely – a noble knight, just like my grandfather.

‘He did; he took a lance intended for Duke Robert. Your father was a very brave man; it was my honour to know him.’

For about an hour, the Prince offered me his precious memories of my family, and as much wisdom from his life as he could. At the end, he gave me his blessing and one very important piece of advice.

‘Wherever your destiny takes you and whatever it leads you to do, always remember your past and the legacy you have inherited. It will not only be your guide, it will also bring meaning to your life and to the lives of those who follow you. Your grandfather once told me that that was the message he had learned from the Talisman of Truth. When the Emperor, John Comnenus, passes it on to you, I’m sure he will help you understand the wisdom of that message. Go carefully, Harold of Hereford.’

I left Prince Edgar’s remote hall feeling rejuvenated. Although I had lost my mother and was a fugitive in my homeland, I felt that I had been handed my family’s mantle of responsibility.

Eadmer was waiting patiently for me where I had left him.

‘I don’t like this place. It puts the fear of God into me.’

‘I agree, it’s not the most welcoming of places.’

‘I feel I’ve had eyes on me since we arrived. Let’s make haste to Durham.’

The sun was just cresting the hilltops as we rode downstream eastwards. Then Eadmer saw a figure silhouetted by the sun.

‘Look, there!’

Standing alone, no more than fifteen yards away, was a motionless figure. He wore a simple grey robe of wool, tied at the waist. His long grey hair and beard almost obscured a heavy silver chain and amulet around his neck, while in his right hand he held a long oak staff topped by a ram’s skull crowned by enormous horns. He stared at us, unmoving.

‘He’s a Celt; he looks like a Druid. Let’s keep moving!’

I wished him a good morning in Celtic.

‘ Bore da, syr .’

After a moment, he offered us a slight nod of his head. We rode on, but when I looked back over my shoulder, he was gone.

Eadmer was relieved.

‘I really don’t like this place. They say the Celts will cut off your head and stick it on a pole.’

‘I share your unease; I’ll feel better when we’ve reached Wolsingham.’

Constantinople had to be my next port of call – and I intended wasting no time getting there.

We followed the River Wear all the way to Monkswearmouth, from where we found a succession of trading boats and worked our way down the east coast until we reached Wivenhoe in Essex. A busy port with regular trade to the Low Countries, we paid for passage on a ship bound for Antwerp.

As we had previously travelled to the south through the lands of the Franks and across the Alps, this time we decided to take a more easterly route. We journeyed through the Germanic lands of the Holy Roman Empire, a vast domain stretching from the cool North Sea to the warm Mediterranean. It contained a myriad of tribes and languages: some of its people were pale of skin and spoke tongues not unlike the Norse of my ancestors, while others were swarthy and had languages akin to the Veneto I had learned in Venice.

Rather than buy horses in Antwerp, we sailed north to the mouth of the Rhine and used its trading barges to travel upstream through Lotharingia and Swabia, joining the Neckar at Mannheim before travelling overland to Ulm, where we were able to join the Danube. Our progress was leisurely: the great cities of Vienna and Budapest alternated with remote forests and towering crags. We stopped several times to admire the different cultures and customs of the countless fiefdoms we passed through. Sometimes we stayed just a day or two, but on other occasions – in fascinating locations such as Linz, Bratislava and Belgrade – we stayed far longer.