Stewart Binns - Conquest

The scale of William’s brutality had not been seen since the lawlessness of the Dark Ages.

Hereward knew nothing of this. The remoteness of his idyllic bastide was a particular blessing in that it prevented him from hearing of England’s agonies.

That all changed on a wet and rainy day in November 1068.

The community was preparing for winter, which, with the chilling high ground of the Massif Central only a few miles to the east, could be particularly harsh. Their bastide was high on the limestone crags above the meandering Lot, with an almost impregnable defensive position; anyone approaching on the narrow track could be seen for at least half an hour.

Alphonso saw them first and called to the others. Three of the men wore the unmistakable tunics and armour of English housecarls, a fourth was dressed like an English courtier. Behind them rode an escort of four, two abreast, who were recognizable as men from the private retinue of the Count of Toulouse. By the time the group reached the walls of the bastide, everyone had gathered to greet them. It was a warm welcome, as all were desperate for news from England, if a little apprehensive as to what it might contain.

The young courtier had been sent by Harold’s Constable at Glastonbury. He had much to tell them, but Hereward insisted that his account should wait until all were seated for dinner. However, Edwin, the young envoy, who was no more than eighteen years of age and a second cousin of King Harold, announced that he had something private to share with Hereward.

Einar, sensing what Edwin’s news might convey, ushered the family away.

Edwin handed Hereward a delicate silk handkerchief which carried the unmistakable aroma of Edith Swan-Neck’s perfume. Hereward recognized it immediately and hesitated. He looked at the young man sternly.

The boy nodded meekly. ‘Please, open the handkerchief; I’m afraid it brings bad news.’

Hereward did as he was asked, but as soon as he saw what the handkerchief contained, immediately clenched his fist around it. It was Torfida’s gold ring – the one he had given her as they exchanged their vows in Kiev all those years earlier.

‘How was this found?’

‘Sir, it was found on a body in the forest near Hereford.’

‘My wife’s body?’

‘So it is presumed, sir. I am sorry to be the bearer of such news.’ He paused, looking more and more uncomfortable.

‘Go on, boy. You’ve travelled a long way to bring me this news.’

‘The body was badly decomposed, but the nuns at Hereford recognized it.’

‘When did this take place?’

‘In the spring of this year.’

‘But Torfida disappeared from our camp almost a year before that.’

‘Yes, sir. Sister Magdalena, the Mother Superior at the nunnery of Hereford, wanted you to know the facts as far as she could ascertain them.’

Hereward led Edwin to a bench close to the bastide’s well.

‘Torfida was at Hereford for only a very short time. She had been with the nuns as a girl and arrived very distressed, seeking refuge and a place for contemplation.’

‘But almost the first thing I did was send Martin to the nuns. I felt certain she would go there.’

‘I know… Sister Magdalena sends her deepest regrets, but Torfida insisted that the nuns turn Martin away and deny all knowledge of her arrival.’

Tears welled up in Hereward’s eyes, which he made no attempt to wipe away or hide from the young courtier.

‘Would you like me to go on, sir?’

Hereward nodded.

‘While she was there, her health deteriorated within days. The nuns were very concerned and wanted to send for you, but Torfida would not hear of it.’

Hereward’s chest heaved with a shudder of emotion that he found difficult to control. He let out a great cry of anguish. ‘Torfida! I can’t bear it. Why couldn’t I find you?’

‘She tried to treat herself, but she was very ill. Her body was plagued with swellings and she was in great pain. Mother Superior wanted you to know how brave she was, refusing all help from the nuns, asking only for their prayers. After a while, she said that she had regained some of her strength and left to return to your camp, saying that it was nearby. Mother Superior did not want her to leave, but bowed to the strength of her will.’

‘What happened on her journey from Hereford to prevent her reaching us?’

‘No one knows; she hadn’t gone far, only ten miles or so. She took her horse, which was a good mount, and must have gone through the forest to avoid being seen by the Normans. Perhaps she had a sudden relapse and was unable to summon help. She lay undiscovered all winter. Her body was eventually found in a very remote place by charcoal-burners. Being good men, they brought her to the nuns for a Christian burial. Her horse was never found.’

Hereward looked away in despair, horrified at the thought of Torfida’s lonely and painful death. He dreaded the thought that she must have known about her illness long before she disappeared, but had kept it from him for fear of hindering his own recovery. He walked away from the young emissary and began to sob, something he had not done in a very long time.

After a while, he fought back the tears and composed himself. ‘Where is she buried?’

‘In a quiet glade in the forest, known only to the holy sisters of Hereford, sir.’

‘Good, it is a fitting place; she was a child of the forest.’

‘Sir, there is something else.’ Edwin pulled a small piece of brushwood from his leather pouch. ‘The charcoal-burners knew that the lady was of high birth because of her ring and because she could write.’

Edwin handed the wood to Hereward, on which was etched, in barely legible scratchings, a message.

‘This is in Latin; I can’t read it.’ He handed it back to the boy.

‘I’m sorry, sir, I presumed…’

‘You presume too much, young man.’

Edwin read the inscription almost reverentially. ‘ Herewarde, amuletum non pro alio fers. Id iure recepisti. Gere id cum animo … Hereward, you do not carry the Talisman for another. You are the rightful recipient. Wear it with pride.’

Hereward looked at the crude scratchings on the wood. It was signed ‘T’ and she had drawn a heart next to her name. She must have chosen Latin knowing that only a select few would be able to read it. It would have taken her hours, maybe days. He had not thought about the Talisman since Edith Swan-Neck had placed it around his neck on that fateful day in the forest. He had been sorely tempted to throw it away, and only respect for Harold’s memory had persuaded him to carry on wearing it.

‘This conversation is never to be repeated to anyone else – ever!’

‘Of course not, sir.’

Hereward thought about the Old Man of the Wildwood, resting at peace in his forest haven. Now Torfida had her own place in the eternal cycle of England’s wild places. She would be content. As her ancestors before her believed, the Wodewose had taken her. Perhaps the legend was true after all and, in her final moments, the Green Man of the forest had brought her comfort.

Hereward put Torfida’s ring through the chain that held the Talisman, folded Edith’s handkerchief and gave it back to Edwin. ‘Please return this to Lady Edith with my compliments.’

‘I will, sir.’

‘Did she send you to find me?’

‘She has been scouring Europe to find you. Only by chance did word reach her that an English family had settled in the domain of the Count of Toulouse. She begs you to return to England. With Edgar on the throne and you as the leader of his army, every able-bodied man would follow you in a rebellion against the Normans. Sir, if my opinion is worth anything, may I say, I agree with her.’