‘I sense it in you. You must do two things. First, you must find my daughter — ’
Hereward interrupted him. ‘You have a daughter!’
‘Yes, her mother died in childbirth; the child is my illegitimate daughter. Her mother was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Emma at Winchester, the mother of King Edward. I was chaplain to Queen Emma and she took pity on me, despite my failings, and helped me get away with my daughter.’
‘You raised her in these woods?’
‘Until she was fourteen. Then she went to the nuns at Hereford, where I knew she would be safe and could continue her education. I raised her as well as I could. I taught her Greek and Latin, English and French, how to make medicine from the herbs of the forest, and as much of the sciences and philosophies of the ancients as I could remember. She took my books and manuscripts with her; they were her safe passage for the future.’
‘And the second thing I must do?’
‘Ask her to give you the Talisman.’
‘What is the Talisman?’
‘She will tell you.’
‘What is her name?’
‘She is called Torfida.’
‘How will I find her?’
‘You will find her.’
The old man started to chant the plainsong of the great cathedrals, something Hereward had first heard while waiting to be judged by the King at Winchester. Now it signalled his departure from a remarkable man and took on a haunting quality, making him think of the legend of Wodewose and the many other stories he had heard.
The old seer said only one more thing before continuing his mantra long into the night. ‘Go well, young Hereward; give my love to Torfida. You will help her to fulfil her destiny, and she will be your guide in finding yours.’
4. Gruffydd ap Llywelyn
It did not take Hereward long to make a complete reconnaissance of Gloucester. He secreted himself close to its wooden walls and meticulously observed its daily routines until he could remember all the merchants and farmers who used its gates. He learned to recognize each of its men-at-arms, and studied the habits of the gatekeeper who barred the entrance every night.
Hereward soon devised his escape route. The river was wide and navigable, and there was a small harbour to handle the busy trade between the rich hinterland and the sea to the south-west. He knew that Normandy and Brittany lay to the south of England and that a renegade Englishman might find a warm welcome there. He had also heard that the influence of King Edward did not extend to the wild Celtic lands far to the west, nor to the Danish settlement in Ireland. Perhaps now that he had sullied his Anglo-Saxon blood, he could find a new home with his Norse mother’s kith and kin.
The execution of his plan did not take long. There were several small boats on the quayside that had not been used in all the time he had been paying his frequent visits. So he waited until the dark of the moon and the dead of an overcast October night, slipped a boat from its moorings, clambered into it and let it drift downstream. He used a broken branch from the forest as a paddle and, despite the river’s gentle flow, made good progress. It was the next part of the journey that concerned him, when the river became much wider to merge with the open sea.
He was no seafarer, had no cloak to hide his outlaw’s collar, possessed neither weapons nor tools and had the daunting appearance of a wild man of the forest. Soon, the modest waterway became an ever-broadening, faster-running river and its banks receded further into the distance. He decided to stay close to the right bank, the northern side. Although he did not know where the lands of the Celtic people of Wales began, he guessed it must be close to the northern edge of the river. The Welsh had been fighting the English for decades; perhaps they would give him passage to Ireland.
Hereward spent over eighteen hours in the boat, slowly working his way to what he hoped would be another kingdom and the possibility of freedom. It was dusk and high tide when he finally chose his landing ground, a gently sloping sandy bank, surrounded by thick woodland and lacking any sign of habitation. For many days he walked deeper and deeper into the forest. The ground rose before him as he ventured further from the coast, moving with caution, knowing that he was almost certainly treading on foreign soil.
The many Celtic tribes of western Britain had lived there since the beginning of time. Through centuries of bitter struggle, they had fought the Romans and prevented them from settling the west and the far north. Later, when the Saxon tribes came, they resisted them too, so that they were able to settle only in the former Roman provinces in the south and east. Many Celts were thought to retain their pagan beliefs or, if they professed to be Christian, still practised the secret ways of their old religion under the veneer of the Church of Rome. When the storytellers came to Bourne, they told gruesome tales of Celtic warriors painted in woad and of their princes, who decapitated their conquered victims and ate their children. From childhood Hereward had been taught to avoid the Celts at all costs.
As he moved further inland the ground became very different from the English territory with which he was familiar. This new ground was much more rugged and seemed greener and wetter than his homeland. The scattered human settlements were fewer in number and further apart, and the wildlife was far more abundant. He had heard that at the end of the earth there was a great wilderness; perhaps this was it, a place capable of consuming men without trace.
Eventually, Hereward’s progress was halted by the wide bend of a fast-flowing river. On the opposite bank, standing impressively on ancient fortifications, were the ramparts of a major burgh. He could see the bustle of hundreds of soldiers and row upon row of horses tethered on picket lines. Drifting on the wind, he could hear the din of hectic activity and the thud of drums; not the ominously measured throb of the drums of battle, but the light timpani of celebration. There were skirls from pipes of different timbres and shrieks of excited laughter, while countless flags and banners rippled in the wind, lending flashes of crimson, green and yellow to the monotony of a darkening sky. The lofty oak walls of the settlement were surrounded by the shelters of a temporary military encampment; it looked like a victory was being celebrated and, from the look of the flags, these men were not English. They were Celts — the wild men of Wales.
Then, inexorably, he became aware of the unmistakable stench of death and the harrowing cries of men in agony. Although he dreaded what he would find, he moved towards the tortured sounds and sickening smell.
Soon, he came to a clearing in the forest and beheld a sight he would never forget.
Lying before him was a mass of humanity: men twisted and tangled together, contorted between shields and axes, spears and swords, steam rising from their bodies, blood seeping from their wounds and the rattle of death rasping in their throats. He turned away, but a morbid fascination made him look again. Arms and legs were severed, sometimes a head; torsos were impaled, guts spilled from bellies. The air was still warm, the frenzied heat of men striving to kill one another still hanging in the air.
The human scavengers, who would soon come and desecrate the bodies of the dead and dying, had not yet arrived. Hereward was alone amid the stench.
What had all these men died for?
Surely nothing could justify carnage like this?
Suddenly a hand grasped his leg. It was the blood-soaked hand of a warrior slashed across the face by a sword and impaled by a spear. His scant beard was matted with dried blood, almost obscuring his features, but Hereward could see that he was a handsome young man, probably still a teenager, with dark eyes and a flowing mane of black hair. In between the streaks of blood, he could see the intricate arcs and swirls of tribal warpaint, the unmistakable blue of Celtic woad. The boy tried to speak but managed only a few gurgled sounds. His lungs were awash with blood; he was slowly drowning in his own life force. As Hereward bent down towards him, the youth’s taut grip relaxed and his heaving torso stilled, his anguish over.
Hereward turned away and moved quickly towards the river. He tried to suppress what he had seen and to
