words.
‘The Talisman tells me the truth about men. It shows me their hidden weaknesses, exposes their worst sins and reveals their greatest fears.’
Torfida’s chilling words broke the spell of the King’s manipulative game. She continued to stare at him intently, as if peering into his soul. He looked at the Talisman, saw the grotesque face of evil captured in its stone and pulled away, trying not to appear shocked.
He was silent for several seconds.
‘What do you see in me?’ His question was asked meekly, like a boy seeking reassurance from a mother.
‘You are a great warrior, a hero to your people. Your life is a constant war, a perpetual struggle for supremacy against your enemies. Gruffydd ap Llywelyn the man is Gruffydd ap Llywelyn the King; it is as it is.’
‘Am I condemned to Hell because a king has to do what he has to do?’
‘I do not know the answer to that; but never underestimate the power of the Anglo-Saxons. One day, they will come for you in overwhelming numbers, and then you will have to decide whether to stand and fight, or to submit. After that, your destiny is hidden from me. Only you can determine that, but you will be long remembered by your people.’
The tension had subsided. Torfida put out her hand and touched Gruffydd gently on his cheek, as if she were anointing him.
It was an astonishing gesture, both because Torfida had the presence to do it, but mainly because the King accepted it so meekly.
Gruffydd turned to Hereward. ‘Hereward, if you ever pass this way again, I would like to know what this beautiful creature makes of you. Take care of her.’
The four companions left camp the next morning and travelled west. Hereward was mindful of his good fortune: he had won his freedom, been given horses and supplies, a few pieces of Welsh silver and had found three companions. The Old Man of the Wildwood had described for him a daunting and challenging destiny, the first part of which had already come to pass.
No one spoke for over an hour; Torfida and Hereward were a few yards behind Martin and Einar when her words broke the silence.
‘I doubted my father yesterday. When the soldiers came, I thought my life was over. My father had said that my destiny was with one man — a great man — that I would bear his children and that we would face our destinies together. But I doubted my father, and I’m ashamed.’
‘But you don’t doubt him any more?’
‘No, because he sent you to me. He knew what your future would be.’
‘Why is the Talisman so important?’
Torfida kicked on to join the other two. ‘All in good time.’
As Hereward watched his three new companions move through the forest ahead of him, he knew his life was about to begin in earnest and that his previous escapades were no more than a prelude for what was to come. He knew that Martin and Einar would be his comrades for life and that Torfida would be his companion, his wife and his mentor.
They travelled west for many days, meeting almost no one on their route. They kept away from the high mountains to the north, but progress was still slow because of the many valleys they crossed. It was a desolated land, its tracks overgrown and its villages abandoned; Gruffydd’s wars had extracted a heavy price.
At times on their long journey, Hereward and Torfida would hang back or kick on until out of earshot of their companions. During these private moments, they told each other the contrasting stories of their lives.
Hers was a tale of a girl of the forest who knew no one other than her father, but who, nevertheless, had lived a childhood full of wonder and imagination under the wise tutelage of an inspirational man. His was a saga about a boy who had managed to spurn every opportunity available to him and take the wrong route at every crossroads in his life.
Eventually, from high on the side of a valley, they saw a busy thoroughfare below. Carts loaded with wood and wool and baggage trains of donkeys, oxen and horses confirmed that they had found a major trading route. They met fellow-travellers who told them that they were west of the settlement at Carmarthen and well on the way to the monastery at St David’s, from where safe passage to Ireland would be easy to arrange.
Hereward was elated: they could be in Dublin ahead of the cold December winds.
Two more days in the saddle got them to St David’s, where Hereward saw the Great Western Sea for the first time, which he knew would carry him far away to another land and a new life.
As they descended the hill towards the shore and the neat rectangular shapes of the houses of the monks of St David’s, Torfida’s manner changed.
‘You can make love to me tonight.’
Hereward was shocked. Because Torfida was barely sixteen, he had tried to put her beauty out of his mind. He had often felt aroused by her, but had suppressed the feeling, deliberately replacing it with a strong commitment to protect her.
‘Torfida, you are very beautiful, but you are so young. We should wait.’
‘Do you not desire me? I want to leave these shores as a woman, not as a girl. Although I am a virgin, I know what has to happen. My father told me that it is important for a woman to enjoy a man; he also explained that we make love face to face, unlike the beasts, because our pleasure should derive from love, not our animal instincts. I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. I know what the King was trying to do, and I enjoyed playing his game. It made me aroused.’
She looked at him with a knowing, suggestive smile. He found her provocation irresistible and remembered her standing naked in full view of Gruffydd and his warriors, proudly displaying her extraordinary beauty.
‘Why do I have the feeling that I am going to spend the rest of my life entranced by your spell?’ With that, he slapped her horse’s hindquarters, making it gallop away.
Hereward’s heart was pounding with the joy of youthful passion. His feelings were true and pure; it was an exhilarating sensation. Twenty yards ahead of him, Torfida laughed aloud, her raven hair streaming in the wind behind her.
As Hereward and Torfida raced along the shoreline, they became distant specks to Martin and Einar. Even at a distance, the intimate playfulness of their encounter was plain to see.
After a while, Einar, a man of few words, observed, ‘I suppose we should busy ourselves and organize our passage to Ireland. It looks like young Herry is thinking of other things.’
Hereward and Torfida found a quiet cove several miles along the coast and made camp. They started a large fire and, despite the chill of autumn, took off their clothes and bathed in the sea. They dried one another by the fire, and combed each other’s hair, before preparing a meal of fresh hare and root vegetables.
After their food, they made garlands from what they could find in the pastures around them and began an ancient ritual of marriage from the days of their pagan ancestors.
With a horn of mead in their left hand, they grasped each other’s right hand and slowly circled the fire, skipping every third stride and gulping a swig of potent mead after each circuit. Gradually they increased their pace and the height of their skip, until it became a leap.
The ritual’s gentle eroticism was well crafted. Each could see every detail of the other’s body, and the simple rhythms of the dance and the warming effect of the mead aroused them both intensely.
Their lovemaking was gentle and tender at first, but became more and more passionate as time passed. For Hereward, it was a gradual reawakening after a very long abstinence and the trauma created by his wild infatuation with Gythin. For Torfida, it was all she dreamed it would be, and she warmed to it with increasing relish.
They had only two needs: wood for the fire and sustenance for their bodies.
And wanted only one thing: each other.
6. Amulet of the Ancients
Einar had been right about the extended tryst between Hereward and Torfida. They returned to St David’s at dusk on the next evening, both glowing contentedly. Martin and Einar said nothing to them, other than to impart the
