inevitable burgeoning of Norman ambitions in the North, would eventually lead to another crisis.
We caught up with Robert’s army encamped next to the ruins of a Roman fort on the north bank of the River Tyne where, because it was significantly further north than his bastion at Durham, he had decided to delay in order to build a new fortress as a strategic stronghold. As the ruins marked the eastern limit of Hadrian’s great wall, the new castle would act as a very tangible reminder to Malcolm of William’s insistence that the old Roman wall was to become the new boundary between the two kingdoms.
For now, his men were building the huge walls from timber felled from the forests in the west, but it would only be a temporary structure to keep the new garrison safe. Eventually, a great stone keep would rise to intimidate all-comers.
Our small band decided to use Robert’s building project as an opportunity to discuss our future plans. Edwin picked out half a dozen men as an escort and we travelled along the bank of the Tyne for a few miles until we found a secure place to make camp in the ruins of another large Roman fort.
After a supper of boar and beer, and much debate about the Normans’ ability to impose their will on the Scots, it was Sweyn who was the first to make his preference clear.
‘I would prefer to go to Italy. Hereward and the family often talked about it. They once lived happily in Melfi, serving the Guiscards, the Norman rulers of the south. He spoke very highly of Roger Guiscard, Count of Sicily, who, Hereward often said, was a great soldier and a noble knight. We were told in Zaragoza that he is still fighting for control of the western part of the island from Muslim and Byzantine warlords.’
Adela spoke next.
‘I too would like to journey to the south, but first I would like to see if we can find some trace of what became of Hereward, Gunnhild and Estrith.’
Edwin agreed with her.
I suggested that, given the likelihood of Robert spending a lot more time in England consolidating the success of his Scottish campaign, we should continue in the service of Robert until we felt the time was right to travel to Italy. I liked the sound of Roger of Sicily — and the warm Mediterranean seemed very appealing as we huddled around the fire on a chilly autumn night by the Tyne.
And so, we returned to London with Robert’s army before the worst of winter began to bite, leaving his garrison on the Tyne to continue their work. I did not envy them their task.
We spent the long winter of 1080 amidst the intense activity of a burgeoning Norman capital. Only in January, when it became so cold that the Thames froze for three days, did the work stop.
Our time there was full of mixed emotions for me. It was a thriving, boisterous place, full of old money and new. The Norman aristocracy passed through on their way to and from their estates in England and Normandy. The merchants, innkeepers and craftsmen benefited hugely as a result and some of these were rapidly becoming the new English elite. They adopted Norman ways, spoke their language and were starting to accumulate wealth.
The areas around Westminster, Southwark and along the ancient route between the old Roman city and Westminster were all being transformed by new homes, churches and warehouses. The Thames, busy enough when I was boy, was now so crowded you could have forded the river just by stepping from one boat to the next. The vessels came from all over Europe and the Mediterranean. The sights and smells were intoxicating: leather, spices and wine were among the more appealing, with human and animal waste the most pungent of the less edifying aromas.
With the rich citizens in their finery came those who fed on them — serving them and doing their bidding — and also the poor, hoping to acquire a morsel just to survive on, who were regularly abused by them. The Normans had healthy appetites for all of life’s pleasures and were more relaxed about moral turpitude than their Saxon predecessors. On both sides, and almost for its entire length, Ludgate Hill was the haunt of harlots and beggars, as were most of the taverns serving the wharfmen and stevedores along the river.
As in all places where there are large gatherings of humanity, London exhibited much that was to be admired in my fellow man, and much that illustrated his frailties only too well. As for me, I was just like the rest of them — frail, most of the time — occasionally redeeming myself with moments of kindness or contrition.
I resolved to improve.
Sweyn and Adela made several journeys throughout southern England during this time in search of clues to the fate of Hereward and his daughters.
They discovered nothing about Hereward, but did learn that after Ely the two girls had been placed under the protection of the Norman lord, Robert Mortain, Earl of Cornwall, at his keep in Launceston.
Assuming that my status would be required to gain an audience with the Earl, Edwin and I were persuaded by Adela and Sweyn to ride with them to Cornwall as soon as the worst of the winter had lifted. We set out in late February 1081.
It was another melancholy journey. Wessex was flourishing; its estates were prospering, its farms thriving, its burghs burgeoning. But it was a new Wessex. The quiet slumber that had been Saxon England was now a brash bustle of toil and energy. Many of the people were being handsomely rewarded, but most were not.
The old Saxon lords and thegns had gone, their modest halls and longhouses replaced by huge fortified towers, earthworks, keeps and mottes. Norman soldiers were everywhere, jittery, belligerent, glowering. The realm was at peace and prospering, but this had come at a heavy price, paid in the rivers of blood that had been spilled in the past and the ever-present odour of oppression and brooding resentment.
Adela and Sweyn took everything in, trying to come to terms with their own part in England’s traumas. They practised their weapons routines twice a day, every day — two hours in the morning, two hours in the evening — sword and seax, lance and bow, mounted and on foot. They ran and swam, climbed, crawled and clambered through woods, across heaths and along beaches.
Their routines were like those of the devout monks, performed with the regularity of an hourglass, the dedication of a pilgrim and the intensity of a zealot. It was exhausting to watch.
Edwin and I joined them in many of their exercises and routines, but never with the same ferocity of purpose. Edwin was as fit and strong as any warrior and I maintained good health and followed strict military disciplines, but Sweyn and Adela were relentless. Typically, if I felt sore or feverish, I would take a break, or if I had overindulged in one of the many pleasures of the flesh available to a nobleman, I would let lethargy get the better of me. Not so, Sweyn and Adela. Pain or discomfort seemed to drive them on — and if they were diverted by worldly desires, they kept them well disguised.
As I observed them day after day, my admiration for them grew. They were so agile and strong and their close-quarters skills with a seax or dagger were a sight to behold. They often described how they had watched Alphonso of Granada in training at their home in St Cirq Lapopie. He was Hereward’s friend — the man he had admired more than anybody in single combat — and so they copied all his moves and routines.
Passing in the shadow of the wilderness of Dartmoor, it reminded me of the North. It was a forbidding place, much of it still covered in snow. Its practically impenetrable forests stretched high up, almost to the crests of the moors, where the trees gave way to the bogs and mires that could swallow a horse and rider in minutes.
The further west we went the more Celts we saw, still with their own language and ways, until we found only the occasional Saxon settlement close to the rivers.
The Earl of Cornwall’s Launceston was like the rest of this Norman land. There was a huge wooden keep atop a towering motte, with the stone walls of a new fortress being built around it.
The Earl’s greeting and hospitality were generous. A man in his mid-forties, he was typical of his warrior breed: forthright, strong and disciplined. He appeared to carry more Frankish blood than that of his Viking ancestors, for he was short and dark with a girth that reflected his age.
‘I am sorry to tell you that Gunnhild died two years ago. She developed appalling swellings and became very ill. Estrith nursed her for several weeks but she just wasted away. My physician said she was consumed by black bile, which produced terrible tumours that eventually killed her. Her pain was great, but she bore it with fortitude. When she died, Estrith took her to a secret place where Torfida, her mother, is buried. She then decided to leave Launceston. I had to seek permission from the King, which he granted. She left here about a year ago.’
Adela got the question out just before me.
‘My Lord, may we know where she has gone?’
‘You may not, young lady. First of all, the King forbade the girls any more than passing contact with anybody outside my immediate jurisdiction until they married. And secondly, Estrith left specific instructions that no one was to know her whereabouts.’
