became more rustic. Only in Normandy and its neighbouring provinces did we see towering castles and cathedrals; further south, the churches were more modest, the fortresses less imposing.
The people of Angers and Poitiers spoke in tongues that were similar to one another but very unlike Norman, while around Saintes the local language changed yet again to something much gentler in tone, but unlike anything I had heard before.
During our journey, the Earl travelled with all the ease of a man half his age and spent much of the time talking about the stability of the huge Plantagenet Empire and the threats from its many enemies, especially the King of France. I listened carefully, realizing how little I knew about the complex issues King Henry had to deal with every day.
I also got to know the warriors the Earl had assigned to our task. Godric was their leader – a short, broad- shouldered man with hair the colour of hay. He was an intelligent but stern taskmaster and followed the rules of military discipline rigidly. His men were Penda, Leax and the brothers Modig and Rodor. Penda had been named after the old pagan King of Mercia. He was a big, softly spoken man, with the dark look of the Celt about him. Leax was an imp of a man – small, thin, with boundless energy – who never stopped talking and kept us all amused with his quick wit and sense of fun. Modig and Rodor could easily have been twins; they said very little and had the brooding presence of English warriors of old. Their long blond locks reached well below their shoulders, and their heavy beards almost completely obscured their features.
Keeping strict formation, the quintet rode behind us. Godric took the lead; behind him, in pairs, came Penda and Leax, followed by Modig and Rodor.
Father Alun was at pains to point out that Earl Harold had trained our men-at-arms to the exemplary standards of King Harold’s fabled housecarls of the past and that they were the finest of soldiers – men you would happily go into battle with. When he reminded me that they were my men to command, I realized that, sooner or later, I would have to prove myself to them.
They carried the traditional battleaxe and circular shield of the English housecarl. Their shields all had the same three-colour design: gules, sable and gold. I was curious to know what they represented. Father Alun was happy to oblige with at least part of the answer.
‘Earl Harold is very fond of those colours. They were Hereward’s colours during the English revolt of 1069 and have been carried by the family ever since.’
I sensed there was more, and asked what the colours signified.
‘That is a good question. It is an important part of our story, and one which Earl Harold entrusted to me at the start of our mission…’
He paused and seemed to consider whether to continue. I waited, content in the knowledge that my journey with my new companion was only just beginning, and trusting that he would tell me what I needed to know. Even so, I was not prepared for Father Alun’s next question.
‘Have you heard tell of an amulet known as the Talisman of Truth?’
I confessed I had not.
‘The talisman is a primeval piece of amber. It contains the image of the Devil and his familiars, but Satan is trapped by a slash of crimson, thought to be the blood of Christ. It is a symbol of five abiding truths that have brought insight to kings and emperors from the beginning of time: the need for discipline, to control the darkness within us; the importance of humility, to know that only God can work miracles; the value of courage, to overcome our fears and anxieties; the purpose of sacrifice, to forfeit ourselves for God and for one another; and the power of wisdom. To understand the talisman itself is to understand all other mysteries and how not to fear them.
‘The amulet’s provenance is obscure, but it was carried by Hereward and his wife, Torfida, throughout their lives. Hereward well understood the amulet’s significance, and he took its colours as his own. The gold is the amber of the stone, the sable is the black image of the Devil and his imprisoned familiars, and the gules is the blood of Christ.’
I felt like a boy listening to a magical story; I had to wipe the tears from my eyes. The amulet described by Father Alun was a tangible link with England’s history and one of its legendary heroes. I could not suppress a burning question.
‘But where is the talisman now?’
‘It has found a guardian who will look after it – one of many over countless generations – until its truths are needed again.’
‘Are you its next keeper?’
‘No, that man is yet to be found.’
I decided not to press Alun further. The puzzle was still a mystery to me, but more pieces were gradually falling into place, each more intriguing than the last.
As we moved further south, the air became milder. Clouds heavy with rain from the Western Sea rolled over us almost every day. Occasionally, the wind veered round and brought cold air from the east, much like an English winter. The dark days of November and December rendered our surroundings grey and flat, but it was easy to imagine how different it would be in the spring and summer, especially amidst the countless rows of vines and fruit trees. They were dismal and bare now but would be verdant and full of promise in just a few months’ time.
Saintes was brimming with pilgrims when we arrived. Every inch of the nave of the great Church of St Eutropius was covered by a sea of humanity. They had travelled from the distant corners of Europe to make their way, ponderously but faithfully, to the shrine of St James the Great, in Galicia, and they still had months of travel ahead of them. The nave was more like a marketplace than a church. Traders sold their wares, buskers performed, and even the harlots were allowed to flourish. The monks kept a watchful eye – especially over the privies, which were a source of much stench and not a few arguments as the queues grew from early morning.
Sadly for our mission, Duke Richard was nowhere to be found in Saintes, nor was he in its vicinity. A week earlier he had left for Bordeaux with his army. Having pacified large areas of the Limousin and Angouleme, it was now his intention to bring to heel Gascony and Navarre, the land of the Basques.
Duke Richard’s reputation preceded him. We heard reports that he was ruthless with any recalcitrant lord who refused to submit to him. It was said that if a siege was necessary, his strategy was an unrelenting attack by missiles and fire, supplemented by a scorched-earth policy to induce starvation and a final, brutal assault on the walls of the castle or city.
When victory or submission had been achieved, as was invariably the case, he was harsh with those who opposed him. But he was magnanimous with the garrison which had fought him and generous with local inhabitants, often insisting that their lord pay them a handsome sum as part of the peace settlement. There was little wonder that the sobriquet ‘Lionheart’ was so widely attached to his name.
When Father Alun told me that we would be travelling as far south as the towering Pyrenees, I was curious, especially after he offered me a quote from a new
The Gascons are gossipy, licentious and poorly dressed. They eat and drink too much, but not at a table, rather they squat around a fire and share the same cup. When they sleep they share the same rotting straw, master and mistress, servants and all. The Basques and Navarrese are much like the Gascons, only worse! They all eat out of one big pot like pigs at a trough and when they speak they sound like dogs barking. They warm themselves in front of the fire by lifting their kilts and are not afraid to display their genitals for all to see. They treat their women like mules and fornicate with animals. In fact, so jealous can they be of their favourite mares and mules, they have been known to fit them with chastity belts.
I was amused by this account; indeed, it reminded me of our English prejudices about the Scots.
When we finally caught up with Duke Richard’s army outside the walls of Bordeaux, it presented a disconcerting impression. Led by a motley group of lords and knights from many parts of King Henry’s empire, it was largely composed of Brabancon mercenaries from the Low Countries and the bordering German principalities.
