Stewart Binns - Conquest

A conversation of polite conviviality ensued, during which Doña Jimena spoke more than most and brought warmth and dignity to the evening.

Rodrigo could not take his eyes off her.

The next morning, accompanied by Doña Jimena, Hereward’s Castilian host took him to see the pride of Oviedo, its cathedral. Built in wood above a stone crypt, it was a sight to behold. In an atmosphere heady with incense and the smoke of countless candles, choirboys sang in plainsong. Monks busied themselves, as hundreds of visitors shuffled on their knees towards the high altar.

Doña Jimena noted Hereward’s wonderment, and explained. ‘These people come from Navarre, the land of the Basques, and from all over Christian Spain. Many are from lands to the north, pilgrims on the way to Santiago de Compostela. It has a shrine to mark the grave of St James the Great, one of Our Lord’s apostles, who was buried there after he journeyed from the Holy Land. It is a long way to the west of us and many stay here to rest and worship our own holy relics.’ Jimena changed tack, fearing she might be boring Hereward. ‘Rodrigo tells me that you have been to many lands and fought even more battles than he has. He is very honoured to have you here in Oviedo, as we all are.’

‘You are too kind. It is my privilege to be here with your family and enjoy your hospitality.’

Rodrigo had been admiring his beloved Jimena as she spoke with Hereward. ‘Do you pray to relics and follow devotions, Hereward?’

‘No, Rodrigo, I do not have much faith. Torfida, my wife, was the daughter of a seer and inherited many of his gifts. She helped me understand many things and made me ask questions to which I still seek answers. But I do carry my own relic, something that has puzzled me for years. Torfida gave it to me and said I was destined to be its carrier.’

‘It is intriguing. We should talk more of this during our time together.’

‘Do you think my father would let me come with you, Rodrigo? I so want to hear Hereward’s stories and to learn more about Torfida.’

‘Your father wouldn’t dream of letting you come to our camp, neither would your mother. Besides, I will not consider it. There are some things that should be done among men alone; it is not fitting for you to be there.’

‘I can ride as well as most men, and I can bring my maid to protect to me… Besides, who will translate for you?’

Jimena’s last point made Rodrigo relent a little. ‘I will speak with your father.’

‘Very good. I will speak with my mother, which will get me the answer I want.’

Jimena curtsied and turned away, her cloak trailing behind, her perfume hanging in the air.

‘Rodrigo Diaz of Bivar, you are a fortunate man.’

‘I know, the luckiest man alive!’

With Alphonso sitting close by to translate, and men-at-arms from Rodrigo’s retinue standing to attention along the nave, the two warriors sat together in one of the pews for several minutes. Hereward found the innocent devotion of the pilgrims very moving.

‘You know, Rodrigo, I have been close to death more times than I care to count and I have just lost a wife who was very dear to me, but I still can’t come to terms with spiritual things. As I sit here, I am stirred by all I see and hear, but it doesn’t convince me that there is a life beyond our all-too-brief presence on this earth.’

‘You carry a great burden. It is much easier for soldiers to do what we do if we have the certainty of salvation. For me, I am grateful that I know my God and he knows me. He has given me all my gifts and now gives me Jimena; the least I can do is to pay him homage in return.’

‘I admire the clarity of your thought. I have been given a mixed blessing. My modest talents have been the making of me, but I also possess flaws. As for God, he remains a mystery to me. I think he was also for Torfida. Like her father, she became more and more interested in the power of nature and the importance of people living in harmony with one another and the land they shared.’

Rodrigo smiled at his English guest. ‘I must hear more of this, but not now. Let us enjoy the choir and admire the faithful pilgrims who have travelled many miles to genuflect before the holy relics of Oviedo.’

The two warriors sat side by side, contemplating the stunning interior of the cathedral.

As they breathed in the aroma of candles and incense, and listened to the soaring sounds of the choir, they could not help but be moved by the harmony of it all.

Once Doña Jimena had secured her mother’s support, she had few problems gaining her father’s permission to travel with Rodrigo to his winter training camp. Count Diego was powerless in the face of the strategic alliance formed by his doughty wife and beguiling daughter. Jimena was accompanied by Cristina, one of Doña Viraca’s ladies-in-waiting, a handsome young girl a few years older than her, with auburn hair, a fine figure and a ready wit.

Over the next few weeks, Rodrigo put his men through a gruelling regime, in which Hereward and Alphonso participated with enthusiasm. Rodrigo was a master of covert tactics. He could take fifty men through the forest and move them into position without making any sound, or giving a single spoken order. He did it with elaborate hand signals and a technique he passed on to Hereward called the ‘Tally’. Every manoeuvre had a calculated distance and timescale and his men were taught to move at a constant pace and keep two counts: one of time lapsed, the other of distance travelled. The ratio between the two could put a group of men within close proximity of their objective with remarkable accuracy. Rodrigo used anything to gain an advantage in battle – fire, noise, camouflage, disguise, smoke, water, decoys – but only in addition to a foundation of basic military technique and discipline.

One evening, after a good meal and some wine, with the campfire warming them, Hereward asked a crucial question. ‘In all your manoeuvres, I’ve noticed that you always seem to know how to give accurate directions and know where you are at all times. How do you know so accurately? I can navigate by the stars, but I’ve watched you move without hesitation on a cloudy day and in the middle of a black night, with neither the stars nor the moon for guidance.’

‘You are very observant, my friend. The answer is simple, but also remarkable.’

Rodrigo reached into his leather bag and removed a slim circular object, wrapped in a piece of red silk, and handed it to Hereward. He had never seen anything like it before. About the size of the span of a man’s outstretched hand, it was made of bronze and riveted in the middle so that its several ‘retes’ (plates) sat in a ‘mater’ (mother case) with an ‘alidade’ (pointer) that could be rotated around a central pivot. The whole thing was covered in Arabic numbers and inscriptions, highly polished and lightly oiled.

Hereward was fascinated. ‘It is amazing, Rodrigo. But what is it?’

‘It is a Moorish astrolabe, my friend – a gift to you. I will teach you how to use it and you can take it on your campaigns against Duke William.’

‘I cannot accept, Rodrigo; it is far too valuable.’

‘Yes, they are rare, especially in Christendom, but your mission is worthy of it. Let me show you the things it can do.’

By deftly moving its retes and alidade around its face, Rodrigo began a detailed illustration of the intricacies of the astrolabe. ‘It can plot the sun, the moon and the stars, give an accurate reading of time and the calendar, and measure height and distance – if you can read the Arabic symbols.’

Hereward was intrigued, but bemused. ‘I didn’t follow what you did and I can’t read the signs, but it looks impressive.’