21. The Astrolabe
Once Dona Jimena had secured her mother’s support, she had few problems gaining her father’s permission to travel with Rodrigo to his winter training camp. Count Diego was powerless in the face of the strategic alliance formed by his doughty wife and beguiling daughter. Jimena was accompanied by Cristina, one of Dona Viraca’s ladies-in-waiting, a handsome young girl a few years older than her, with auburn hair, a fine figure and a ready wit.
Over the next few weeks, Rodrigo put his men through a gruelling regime, in which Hereward and Alphonso participated with enthusiasm. Rodrigo was a master of covert tactics. He could take fifty men through the forest and move them into position without making any sound, or giving a single spoken order. He did it with elaborate hand signals and a technique he passed on to Hereward called the ‘Tally’. Every manoeuvre had a calculated distance and timescale and his men were taught to move at a constant pace and keep two counts: one of time lapsed, the other of distance travelled. The ratio between the two could put a group of men within close proximity of their objective with remarkable accuracy. Rodrigo used anything to gain an advantage in battle — fire, noise, camouflage, disguise, smoke, water, decoys — but only in addition to a foundation of basic military technique and discipline.
One evening, after a good meal and some wine, with the campfire warming them, Hereward asked a crucial question. ‘In all your manoeuvres, I’ve noticed that you always seem to know how to give accurate directions and know where you are at all times. How do you know so accurately? I can navigate by the stars, but I’ve watched you move without hesitation on a cloudy day and in the middle of a black night, with neither the stars nor the moon for guidance.’
‘You are very observant, my friend. The answer is simple, but also remarkable.’
Rodrigo reached into his leather bag and removed a slim circular object, wrapped in a piece of red silk, and handed it to Hereward. He had never seen anything like it before. About the size of the span of a man’s outstretched hand, it was made of bronze and riveted in the middle so that its several ‘retes’ (plates) sat in a ‘mater’ (mother case) with an ‘alidade’ (pointer) that could be rotated around a central pivot. The whole thing was covered in Arabic numbers and inscriptions, highly polished and lightly oiled.
Hereward was fascinated. ‘It is amazing, Rodrigo. But what is it?’
‘It is a Moorish astrolabe, my friend — a gift to you. I will teach you how to use it and you can take it on your campaigns against Duke William.’
‘I cannot accept, Rodrigo; it is far too valuable.’
‘Yes, they are rare, especially in Christendom, but your mission is worthy of it. Let me show you the things it can do.’
By deftly moving its retes and alidade around its face, Rodrigo began a detailed illustration of the intricacies of the astrolabe. ‘It can plot the sun, the moon and the stars, give an accurate reading of time and the calendar, and measure height and distance — if you can read the Arabic symbols.’
Hereward was intrigued, but bemused. ‘I didn’t follow what you did and I can’t read the signs, but it looks impressive.’
‘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,
