children? Had she taken her own life? Surely, it was not possible that Torfida could have committed such a desperate act. After months of anguish, Hereward’s grief turned to resentment that she had left him without a word of explanation.
Torfida had come into his life cloaked in mystery, the result of a prophecy; she left it in an unfathomable riddle.
It was only when the long days of summer began to shorten in the late autumn of 1067 that Hereward’s loyal companions began to tire of his increasingly futile searches for Torfida.
A summit was called by Einar at which they challenged Hereward and, although he protested, stood their ground. Their strongest argument was the future of the children. Given that Earls Edwin and Morcar had submitted to William, Hereward was once again an outlaw and the Duke would hunt him down without mercy. They insisted that Hereward follow the advice he had so earnestly given to Torfida in the event of his death on Senlac Ridge: ‘Go south, to Aquitaine, to Castile or Leon.’
It was a part of the world Alphonso knew well, and he gave a vivid description of the lands he loved: they were prosperous, rich of harvest, warm, both in climate and in the demeanour of their peoples, and a long way from England’s trauma. Hereward offered only token resistance to the plan. In his heart, he knew Torfida had gone. He had always been able to sense her presence, even when they were apart; now there was only a void.
England was also in despair. William’s grip on the country was tightening and his henchmen were building their mottes and baileys all over the land. Whenever a hint of resistance appeared, it was extinguished with a ferocity that struck fear into the hearts of Englishmen of all ranks.
After the decision to leave England had been taken, the family chose Aquitaine as their destination. There had been recent squabbles between the princes in Spain’s Castile and Leon, so the peaceful domain of the Count of Toulouse was their considered choice. Einar took charge of the journey and Ingigerd and Maria became surrogate mothers to Gunnhild and Estrith.
Passage south was secured on a trading vessel, plying its wares between Exeter and St Brieuc in Brittany. After several more days on a Basque merchantman, the warmth of the south began enveloping them as they arrived in Bordeaux at the mouth of the Garonne, the great trading river of Aquitaine. From there, they travelled east by river barge along the ancient arteries of the Garonne and the Lot, famous for the exchange of wine, walnuts, truffles and prunes. Their route took them deep into a hinterland of forest and limestone plateaux, until they reached the city of Cahors.
Roger Guiscard had often talked about Cahors when Hereward served with him in Sicily. He had lands there and said that it was an ideal place to start a new life. An old Roman settlement on the river Lot, it was home to merchants, bankers and artisans and a city far richer than most in Europe. It sat unobtrusively amid vast areas of farmland, vineyards and forest, far removed from the anxieties of the rest of Europe.
Torfida would have approved: there were fine churches and towering bridges, wealthy residences and flourishing markets, and the climate was warm and dry. The family spent the winter in the city, in a large house rented from a banker from Lombardy, allowing them time to plan their future and decide whether Aquitaine was to their liking. By the time they agreed that it was a place where they could settle, it was early spring 1068.
England and all its turmoil and sadness were suddenly a long way away.
19. A Message from the Grave
By any standards, Hereward and his family were rich. King Harold had made generous provision for them — a legacy which might well have included an earldom, had the outcome of 14 October 1066 been different. Hereward insisted that his windfall be shared equally between the entire family, and they decided to buy a large estate several miles east of Cahors at the promontory of St Circ Lapopie. The remote settlement had many acres of vines, which produced the renowned ‘black’ wine of Cahors, known throughout Europe since Roman times. It had endless orchards of plums, grown for prunes, a local speciality, plantations of walnut trees, which produced much sought after nuts and oil, and truffles in abundance in its vast forests of scrub oaks. It was an idyllic setting.
News of the presence of Hereward soon reached the court of the Count of Toulouse, who was Lord of Quercy, the domain in which Cahors was located. The Count sent his Chancellor to welcome the English settlers and inform them of their feudal responsibilities, which included the payment of annual tithes. The Chancellor also brought an open invitation to attend the Count’s court in Toulouse. Hereward’s reply was gracious but, content just to pay their dues and avoid the trappings and intrigues of court, he never took up the invitation.
Hereward’s melancholy did not improve, despite the charms of their new home, but Martin and Einar took to farming and their lordly duties with great enthusiasm. Their families were healthy and growing to maturity, well away from the dangers they had previously faced in their lives. The serenity of St Circ Lapopie was beginning to have an effect and life for the migrants soon settled into a harmonious rhythm of contentment.
Only Alphonso, ever the loner, seemed restless. He and Hereward spent more and more time talking, usually about their campaigns and battles, and often went on extended hunting trips deep into the vast wilderness of the Causse de Limogne that surrounded their lands.
William had returned to England from Normandy in the summer of 1067, refreshed and ready for the enormous task of subduing the hinterland of his newly conquered realm. Although William was the anointed King and more and more Norman opportunists were arriving every day, there were still only 25,000 foreigners trying to rule an Anglo-Saxon population of close to a million. Even accounting for the slaughter on Senlac Ridge, every burgh and village was home to a body of men with extensive military training — and they did not take kindly to being oppressed by foreign rulers. Harold’s sons, led by his firstborn, Godwin Haroldson, had begun to raid the West Country from their base in Ireland. However, what the English lacked was organization and leadership, and they needed both quickly.
Conversely, the Normans had strong leadership and organizational skills in abundance. William had begun to campaign further and further from London, building imposing fortifications at every strategic vantage point, and he now restructured the taxation system so that wealth flowed into Norman coffers in vast quantities. His catechism of rule had only two lines of doctrine: total obedience and the severest punishments for any misdemeanour. The greater part of the English population was terrified, and William did not forego any opportunity to intensify their fear.
He campaigned throughout the autumn and winter and was still on the march in the summer of 1068. Thousands were slaughtered — women and children included — whole towns and villages were made examples of, and the scale of the atrocities cowed the people and shocked the rest of Europe.
The scale of William’s brutality had not been seen since the lawlessness of the Dark Ages.
Hereward knew nothing of this. The remoteness of his idyllic bastide was a particular blessing in that it prevented him from hearing of England’s agonies.
That all changed on a wet and rainy day in November 1068.
The community was preparing for winter, which, with the chilling high ground of the Massif Central only a few miles to the east, could be particularly harsh. Their bastide was high on the limestone crags above the meandering Lot, with an almost impregnable defensive position; anyone approaching on the narrow track could be seen for at least half an hour.
Alphonso saw them first and called to the others. Three of the men wore the unmistakable tunics and armour of English housecarls, a fourth was dressed like an English courtier. Behind them rode an escort of four, two abreast, who were recognizable as men from the private retinue of the Count of Toulouse. By the time the group reached the walls of the bastide, everyone had gathered to greet them. It was a warm welcome, as all were desperate for news from England, if a little apprehensive as to what it might contain.
The young courtier had been sent by Harold’s Constable at Glastonbury. He had much to tell them, but Hereward insisted that his account should wait until all were seated for dinner. However, Edwin, the young envoy, who was no more than eighteen years of age and a second cousin of King Harold, announced that he had something private to share with Hereward.
Einar, sensing what Edwin’s news might convey, ushered the family away.
Edwin handed Hereward a delicate silk handkerchief which carried the unmistakable aroma of Edith Swan- Neck’s perfume. Hereward recognized it immediately and hesitated. He looked at the young man sternly.
