Stewart Binns - Conquest

‘You will soon learn. Originally, they were made for astronomers and learned men, but now soldiers are using them on campaigns and they are spreading throughout Europe. I am told that a monk in Barcelona has made one with inscriptions in Latin.’

‘Alphonso can read Arabic; he can help me. You are too kind. How can I thank you?’

‘We have become good friends, Hereward. My life has been rewarding and successful because I am stronger than other men in battle. War is the only way someone like me can rise from being the son of a small landowner to sit at the right hand of a king. Now I have met you, whose life has been lived in parallel; such a man is worthy of sharing everything I have.’

The two men grasped each other in a warrior’s embrace.

Hereward had found the inspiration he was looking for to answer the call to return to England.

The year had turned while they were in the hills above Oviedo, and their rendezvous with Edwin at St Cirq Lapopie in March was looming. Despite the chill of winter and the arduous training, they had lived well and become fit and strong. Hereward knew that it would soon be time to return to England to confront the menace of William and his Norman henchmen.

Hereward had given several displays with his Great Axe and Rodrigo was not far off mastering it himself, even one-handed. Each had shared the other’s experiences, tactics and strategies and it was time for Rodrigo to return his men to King Sancho. Enthused by Rodrigo, Hereward had regained his fitness and skills – and, most importantly, his self-belief.

The day before Rodrigo’s elite troops were due to return to Oviedo, a menacing group of men arrived at his camp. They were unmistakably warriors; their sinister arsenal of weapons gave testament to that. They carried an astonishing array of war clubs, daggers, lances and Moorish scimitars and looked more like brigands who prey on pilgrims crossing the wastes of the Levant than professional soldiers.

Their leader was Hamilcar, a man with a complexion even darker than Alphonso’s dusky countenance. He was also a much bigger man, standing well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and the barrel chest of a stevedore. He was lacerated from his hairline to his chin with a gash as wide as a man’s finger, an injury suffered in a knife fight with a Corsican pirate. The wounding had also taken out his left eye, the remnant of which was a crater of scar tissue that looked like it had been seared with a branding iron. Although Hamilcar’s legacy from the encounter appeared severe, it was as nothing compared to the harm he had inflicted on his opponent. Other fracas had also left their marks on the man. Most of his right ear was missing, as were the two smaller fingers on his left hand and the top of the middle finger of his right. Strikingly, he possessed almost a full set of gold teeth and, hanging from those parts of him that were still intact, a king’s treasure of gold chains, rings and bracelets.

Rodrigo spoke to him directly. ‘Hamilcar of Tunis, my old friend. What brings you to my camp?’

‘Well, my Cid. I have come to see the Englishman. I hear he is the greatest warrior in Europe and that he has joined your service as a mercenary. I have come to make him a better offer!’ The big man laughed heartily, allowing the sun to illuminate his magnificent incisors in all their glory.

‘Hereward of Bourne is my guest here. I will tell him that you would like to meet him; perhaps it can be arranged when we return to Oviedo.’

‘Don’t be inhospitable, my Cid. Where is he?’

Hereward did not need a second invitation and stepped forward. ‘I am Hereward of Bourne. How may I be of service?’

‘I am honoured, sir. It is said you are nearly seven feet tall – a small exaggeration, perhaps. Nevertheless, you cast a long shadow.’

‘You speak excellent English, Hamilcar of Tunis.’

‘Thank you. My family is descended from the Carthaginians and my faith is Islam, but my father hired Christian tutors for me and I learned many things from them, including some of their languages.’

Rodrigo intervened, beginning to lose patience at the arrival of his uninvited guest. ‘You have come a long way, Hamilcar. Let us take some wine and you can tell us why we have been granted the rare honour of your presence today.’

Rodrigo’s sardonic tone alerted Hereward to the need for caution with the visitor, as did the fact that Jimena had immediately withdrawn to her tent when Hamilcar’s band appeared in camp.

Hamilcar was effusive in his praise for Rodrigo’s wine, but gulped it more like a man needing to slake a desperate thirst than a connoisseur of a fine vintage. ‘Hereward of Bourne, I am a professional soldier. I am unsurpassed – not just in Spain, but anywhere in the Mediterranean. It is no idle boast.’ He accompanied his bragging with a leering smile, behind the veneer of which was a malice that left little doubt about his claim.

Hereward, conscious of the chivalrous traditions of the Moors and Christians of Spain, remained courteous. ‘Sir, I see from your signet ring that you are a man of noble birth from the Caliphate of Tunis.’

‘You are very observant, my English friend.’ The Moor’s voice deepened and became threatening. ‘My uncle is the Grand Caliph. I assume you know our seal through your service with that whelp of a Norman dog, Guiscard!’

‘If you mean, my Lord, Roger Guiscard, yes, I fought with him against the Moors in Sicily.’

Hamilcar rose to his full height, drained his goblet of wine and threw the empty vessel at Hereward’s feet.

Hereward remained impassive.

Rodrigo jumped to his feet and glowered at his visitor. ‘You insult a guest in my camp!’

‘Yes, I do! I seek revenge. This Englishman killed my brother in an ambush in the mountains above Catania. The survivors said that the leader of the attack was a golden-haired Northerner with a mighty double-headed axe.’ Hamilcar bellowed at Hereward. ‘You are that man!’

‘Yes. I remember the encounter. Your brother was a brave man; he fought well.’

Hereward was still sitting calmly as Hamilcar leaned towards him menacingly.

‘Let’s see how well you fight and how brave you are when death offers you its eternal comforts. You need to find peace with your Christ; it is your last day on this earth,’

Rodrigo stepped between the two men. ‘Hamilcar, this is my camp; Hereward of Bourne is my guest. I will have no contests here.’

‘My Cid, don’t jest with me, you know I have the right. This is a matter between the Englishman and me. He should never have crossed the Pyrenees. Allah himself has delivered this gift to me. He has ordained this encounter, may the Holy One be praised!’

Hereward got to his feet. ‘Rodrigo, with your permission, I will accept Hamilcar’s challenge. It is his right.’

Rodrigo turned to the formidable Moor. ‘Very well. Hereward will need time to prepare. My men will make ready the ground; the contest will begin in one hour. Gentlemen, your chosen weapons?’

Hereward spoke first. ‘Whatever Hamilcar chooses.’

‘A knightly joust. If that doesn’t end it, a duel – all weapons permitted.’

Hereward nodded and Hamilcar turned on his heels and left.

Rodrigo looked at Hereward with a worried expression. ‘I’m not sure there is a jousting tradition in your homeland. Where did you acquire the art?’

‘I haven’t, my friend. I suppose now is a good time to learn!’

‘Be careful. Hamilcar has never been unseated in a joust; he is very strong. Make sure to aim your lance at his midriff, just above his saddle. It is hard to deflect it from there. Follow the point of his lance with your shield; he may not aim it until the last moment, so watch carefully. Whatever happens, don’t let it come down to a knife fight; he has killed many men in hand-to-hand contests.’