could happen to me, now or in the future, would come close to the horrors and indignities of that.’
Sweyn put his arm around her.
‘Nothing like that will ever happen to you again. I will make sure of it.’
‘We both will,’ she said resolutely.
Edwin was smiling broadly at the pair of them.
‘Does this remind you of anything?’
‘Of course,’ said Sweyn in an almost blase way, ‘the beginnings of Hereward’s family.’
I often think back to the moment Edwin and I began our band of followers — brothers-in-arms, as he liked to call us. I was in my twenty-ninth year, Edwin was thirty-one, Adela twenty-six and Sweyn about sixteen — or so he claimed. Our pedigrees were so different: Edwin was a second cousin of King Harold of Wessex and England and carried the same Cerdician royal blood as I did, while Adela and Sweyn were the children of peasants. But I had little doubt, even then, that circumstances had made them of sterner stuff than Edwin or myself.
We were hardly an intimidating group, but we had something in common that would lend us great strength: the legacy of Hereward of Bourne. As I steeled myself for my difficult conversation with Robert, I wondered, as I did almost every day, where England’s great hero might lie and what he would think of us now, trying to cast ourselves in his image.
Robert was, as usual, generous when I explained my dilemma. I asked him if he would like me to withdraw from the expedition.
‘I will not hear of it. In the affairs of kings and princes, loyalty often changes like the wind. One day, I am confronting my father on the battlefield, the next day I am reconciled with him and leading his army into battle. But our friendship is one between men and goes deeper than treaties and alliances. Let us keep it that way.’
I then suggested to Robert the role I could play in Scotland.
‘King Malcolm is an opportunist, like all leaders of men. When we cross Scotland’s border, I will go on ahead to Malcolm’s court and talk to him, tell him of our friendship and see if we can reason with him without bloodshed.’
Robert happily agreed to my plan.
‘You have never deceived me and, like the man you are, have chosen not to hide your relationship with Malcolm. Let’s turn it to our advantage and make our journey to Scotland a successful one.’
With a substantial force drawn from Normandy, we set sail for England in late summer 1080. More men would be gathered in England from William’s Norman landlords and his permanent garrisons. Robert was hugely excited about the journey; not only was he to lead his father’s army in a major campaign, but it was his first visit to England, a realm he had heard so much about. He was like a child with a new toy from the moment we made landfall at Dover, gawping at every landmark and building we passed and greeting everyone we met enthusiastically. The Normans were effusive towards him and even the English — or, at least, most of them — were polite and friendly.
We spent more time than was scheduled in London, a place that particularly fascinated Robert. Its buildings were not as grand as those in Normandy’s cities, but it was changing rapidly and the amount of building work being done was astonishing. He was particularly taken by old King Edward’s beautiful cathedral at Westminster, completed just before his death. It was modelled on the great cathedrals of Normandy and France and reminded him of home.
But it was what was being built on the eastern side of London that made us all gaze in wonder. Close to the edge of the Thames and bound on two sides by the old Roman city walls, William was building a huge tower, the scale of which I had never seen before.
Robert had heard his father talk about it and showed it to us with a sense of self-satisfaction which said, ‘See what miracles we Normans can work!’
It was almost complete; its walls, dazzling white limestone, were forty paces long and it was almost as tall. It could be seen from every part of the burgh and for miles around, a reminder — visible at every turn and each minute of the day — of who ruled this land, and a statement, etched permanently into the skyline, which said that they intended to do so for a very long time. If I had not realized it before, the sight of this mighty fortress was confirmation that abandoning any hope of regaining my kingdom was a wise judgement.
Inside the great tower was an elegant chapel which had been completed and consecrated to St John the Evangelist only a few weeks earlier. We stayed for a while and prayed for our safe return from Scotland.
With the great oak door closed and the din of the masons’ mallets and chisels all but stifled, it was a place of immense charm and serenity. The chapel’s sturdy columns, plain Roman arches and solid, unadorned stonework spoke volumes about its builders: powerful, determined and austere, this was indeed a Norman place of worship. Our footsteps echoed and we hushed our voices to a whisper, making the place resonate with its symbolic power.
I watched Edwin, Adela and Sweyn, English kinsmen and now brothers-in-arms, to see if they too admired the handiwork of their Norman lords. If they did, they did not show it. Edwin was too chivalrous to disclose any disdain, Adela, as always, was impassive, while Sweyn looked stern, as a young knight should.
There we were, four progeny of England, in the company of Normandy’s military elite, admiring their icon of the oppression of our homeland. It was a perplexing experience.
Sweyn spoke to me as we left the great tower.
‘Sire, they do things on a massive scale. No army, no matter how big, could breach these walls.’
‘Never underestimate them, Sweyn. You don’t have to like them, but you must respect them and learn from them.’
‘Should we not also fear them, my Lord Prince?’
‘Yes, we should fear them; they are capable of inflicting terrible retribution on those who cross them.’
‘I can’t see how we can ever loosen their grip on England.’
‘Neither can I. They are here to stay, and we have to come to terms with that.’
Adela had been listening and reacted angrily. ‘I will never accept that.’
I tried to mollify her forceful stance. ‘One day you will. Eventually, the whole of these islands will belong to them. There is no one to stop them.’
‘That’s not true. I, for one, will never give up!’
‘Adela, it’s now more than ten years since Senlac Ridge; there are tens of thousands of Normans here. Look at this fortress, this beautiful chapel. We can’t make the sand in an hourglass fall upwards.’
‘But what will become of us, if we don’t fight?’
‘England will evolve. It is already changing, and what was fought for at Ely is vital. Everyone deserves to be treated according to the law and with respect; that is something I hope the four of us can strive for.’
‘But the rule of law, and respect for all people, must be just as difficult to achieve as freeing England from the Normans.’
‘Perhaps… but, like those who died at Ely, we can each find our own destiny in fighting for a cause — even if the cause seems impossible to achieve. Because nothing is truly impossible.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
‘Yes, I do. Hereward taught me that when I watched him lead a few hundred men against William and the entire Norman army.’
8. Atrocity at Gateshead
As we travelled north our welcome was less enthusiastic, but still courteous. Beyond Peterborough, the population was far more Anglo-Dane than Saxon and their loyalty to England had always been meagre, so it was hardly surprising that they should be lukewarm in their greeting to the Normans.
In the north and west, the Norman marcher barons ruled largely hostile territory from the safety of their redoubtable donjons, many of which were having their original timber structures replaced by massive stone keeps, deep ditches and high curtain walls. There was still unease in those parts of the country; the people looked cowed, their Norman lords apprehensive.
Almost no one recognized me, which was a relief. I had been a clean-shaven boy when I left England, now I
