to try to rebuild their lives, was silent.
Robert sat on his destrier, his helmet set down, his face stern; he addressed the crowd in Latin.
‘I am Robert, Count of Normandy, son of William, King of England and Duke of Normandy. Let those who would slaughter a bishop of Christ and an earl of England, and over a hundred of his kin, understand that this will be their retribution.’
He then signalled to the execution party and Eadulf’s limp body was laid beside a mounting block, his head raised by its hair and his neck stretched to give the executioner a clear strike. One of the Normans’ most formidable sergeants-at-arms stepped forward, bowed to his lord and took Robert’s sword.
It took three blows to sever Eadulf’s head from his body, but it was done. There were a few gasps from the crowd and sobbing could be heard from some of the women, but in the main there was silence. The Northumbrian’s head was stuck on a spike above the gates of the castle and his body thrown into the River Wear. The crowd shuffled away dispassionately, hiding their true feelings from their Norman masters.
It was difficult to comprehend what they must have felt about the cruelty they had just witnessed. They had seen so much killing and knew only too well what the Normans were capable of.
Were they intimidated by what they had witnessed?
Probably not.
Were they angered and yet more emboldened to continue their resistance?
Unlikely.
Were they overwhelmed by the volume of suffering endured in over ten years of hardship, so as to be almost numb to any further pain?
Almost certainly.
I spent the evening with Edwin, Adela and Sweyn.
‘No one deserves to die like that.’
It was the first time I had heard Adela speak with a tremor of emotion in her voice.
‘Adela, it was a horrific punishment. But remember, he was a man who burned to death over 100 men.’
‘The execution fitted the crime, but to torture him like that is no better than the bestial act that he committed. Justice has to be greater than that.’
Sweyn concurred with Adela.
‘I agree. If a man has killed or raped, then he deserves to die. But his death should be just that — he forfeits his life, it is enough.’
Edwin looked at his young friends admiringly.
‘Those are wise words. How did you come to such a judgement?’
Sweyn looked at Edwin and me purposefully.
‘We remember what Hereward often said: “Let others make mayhem, we will make the peace.”’
I sensed that Adela and Sweyn had come to a new and profound view of the world and its traumas.
‘You two have become wise beyond your years.’
I was proud of them and honoured, like them, to be part of Hereward’s heritage. His principles were always unequivocal and yet he knew that it wasn’t always possible to make principled judgements in the real world; sometimes decisions had to be pragmatic and swayed by circumstances. Watching Robert mete out the punishment of the Normans was a case in point. Knowing him as I did, I felt sure he would have acknowledged that his justice was horrific. But did it match the bestial crime that had been committed?
When I pushed Adela on the point, she admitted that it was perhaps easier for her, as a bystander, to answer that question, rather than if she were the Duke of Normandy.
Sweyn also conceded that actions were often easier to judge when one did not have the responsibility of making them. He then paused, looking a little sheepish.
‘Sire, when you rusticated us from Normandy, we did return to Aquitaine, but only briefly. We didn’t want to fester in the Lot for three months; our short lives are too precious to waste a quarter of a year in limbo.’
‘It is strange, but I sensed that there was more to your time away from Normandy than you admitted to.’
Adela continued the admission.
‘We travelled much further south, to Spain and the Taifa of Zaragoza, to meet an old friend of Hereward: the Cid, Rodrigo Diaz of Bivar, Armiger to Ahmad ibn Sulayman al-Muqtadir, the Lord of Zaragoza. Hereward often talked about Rodrigo’s prowess as a soldier, and he described the beauty of his wife, Dona Jimena — ’
Sweyn interrupted.
‘Hereward went to Spain at a crucial point in his life, when Edith Swan-Neck asked him to lead the English resistance. Adela and I felt we were at the same crossroads in our lives.’
I had heard talk of Dona Jimena’s great beauty and was intrigued to know how true it was.
‘She is everything that is said about her and more. She is in her mid-twenties, with three young children — Maria, Cristina and the newly born Diego Rodriguez — but she still looks like a young girl, exactly as Hereward used to describe her, “as perfect as a black pearl”.’
Adela, irritated at the men dwelling on Dona Jimena’s loveliness, continued their account.
‘We were given a warm reception in Zaragoza. Hereward’s name was enough to get us an audience with the Cid — although I, as a woman dressed in the garb of a knight, did raise a few eyebrows!’
Adela was now in full flow.
‘Rodrigo has lost favour with the Christian King, Alfonso VI of Leon and Castile, and has offered his services to the Moors of southern Spain. There he finds much more justice and honour than among his kinsmen in Christian Spain. Rodrigo introduced us to the Muslim knights of Valencia and in particular to al-Muqtadir’s son, Yusuf al- Mu’taman. They are a remarkable family and it is obvious why the Cid would want to serve them.
‘They have just completed their gleaming new palace, the Aljaferia, and Prince Yusuf is visited constantly by scholars from all over Europe. His book Kitab al-Istikmal — The Book of Perfection — we were told is a wonder of mathematical calculation. If only Torfida were alive, I’m sure she would have understood it and been able to discuss it with him for hours.’
Sweyn was just as effusive.
‘Yusuf and Rodrigo told us about the Mos Militum, the Code of Knights, which is spreading in southern Europe. It is a code of honour based on the Futuwwa, the Way of the Spiritual Warrior, as written in the holy book of Islam, the Quran, and the Mos Maiorum, the code of honour of Ancient Rome. Young knights are adopting it throughout Spain, Italy and France. The code requires us to be honourable, truthful, courageous and humble, and to protect the weak — women, children and the old. Adela and I have both sworn to adopt the Mos Militum for the rest of our lives.’
It felt as if I were listening to visionaries or zealots who had found an eternal truth. Adela continued the sermon.
‘Hereward often talked about the Talisman of Truth, the ancient amulet they carried, and its messages of truth and courage. We also remember the Oath of the Brotherhood, the principles they fought for. The Mos Militum is an extension of that, but it’s not an amulet or an oath, it’s a way of life.’
I was fascinated, and I could see that Edwin was also intrigued.
‘It sounds like a worthy standard to follow; we must talk more about it. But first, you both need to be granted the title of knight and be given your own pennons. That is something only Count Robert can do, as I no longer have a domain to call my own. In your case, Adela, it is a highly unusual step for which I do not think there is a precedent.’
‘Then I will have to prove myself as better than the men.’
It was unusual for the trial of knighthood to be attempted at Sweyn’s age, but there was little doubt he was ready. Adela was old enough, but — as far as I knew — no woman had ever attempted it.
I looked at Edwin, who had been listening to the account of the trip to Zaragoza with mixed feelings. He was angry that, yet again, we had been disobeyed, but his admiration for our young companions’ conviction was all too evident. He just shrugged his shoulders.
‘So be it. Let’s talk to Count Robert and ask for them to be put to the test.’
