talked about a looming holy war between Christians and Muslims. It was a worrying prospect for all of us and particularly unedifying for Sweyn, who had fallen in love with a Muslim girl only for her to be slaughtered by a fanatical father. The fact that we were about to depart for St Cirq Lapopie, the site of her grave, only added to his dismay.
That night, over dinner, he made his feelings clear.
‘I would like to visit the Holy Land, but I don’t want to fight the Muslims; some of them are brother knights and began our code of chivalry, the Mos Militum.’
Adela was also troubled.
‘As far as I know, the Muslim lords of the Holy Land allow pilgrims to visit the sacred sites freely and permit freedom of worship for Christians and Jews. Why would we want to fight them?’
Edwin, as always, was happy to do what Sweyn and Adela wanted to do, and his view was measured and wise.
‘I have no quarrel with the Muslims. We were well treated by Ibn Hamed and his knights, and I have great respect for their culture and learning. To provoke a holy war, just because the lords of the Holy Places are Muslims, is dangerous talk. Isn’t the Holy Land sacred to Muslims too?’
I was also concerned, but tried to allay their fears.
‘Let’s make the journey to St Cirq Lapopie — and, if Duke Robert wants to go and see the Count of Toulouse, then we’ll hear from the horse’s mouth what his campaign is trying to achieve.’
The journey south was as enjoyable as ever. It was the height of spring and nature was at her most fecund. We travelled well; Duke Robert was not only good company, he brought a small retinue of soldiers and a vast corps of cooks, stewards and butlers with enough provisions to feed a glut of dukes. We progressed like the grand entourage of a Byzantine emperor with all the trappings of a papal convoy.
The huntsmen went out every day to kill fresh meat, and the stewards bought local vegetables along the way. The butts of wine never seemed to empty, no matter how hard we tried to drain them, and the minstrels sang us to sleep every night.
It was on one such typically blissful evening that we discovered that Estrith had the most stunning singing voice. Duke Robert was spellbound.
‘Where did you learn to sing?’
‘My father’s oldest companion was Martin Lightfoot, a man from the land of the Welsh princes. He had a fine voice and would sing to us all the time. He taught me the songs of his homeland and how to sing lullabies. During my novitiate, I learned plainchant and the music of the mass.’
‘You have a beautiful voice.’
‘Thank you, my Lord.’
Every night thereafter, at Robert’s insistence, Estrith became the highlight of the post-prandial entertainment; she always sang unaccompanied and brought a heavenly calm to the entire camp. Even the cooks and stewards stopped what they were doing and sat on the ground to listen. Her songs about the delights of young love and the chivalrous deeds of heroes brought moments of dewy-eyed reflection to even the most redoubtable of Robert’s soldiers. Only the sentries on watch kept their backs to her, but they smiled to themselves as they stood sentinel.
My thoughts during those precious moments were always of Hereward and Torfida. Their lives were the perfect inspiration for a songwriter, and I felt sure that in the villages of England, far away from Norman ears, songs were being sung that very night about the noble deeds of Hereward of Bourne and his beguiling bride, Torfida of the Wildwood.
Robert’s fascination for Estrith was all too obvious to everyone — but, like most besotted men, he was sure his feelings had gone unnoticed. At the end of one of her most charming performances, he confided in me.
‘Edgar, I want to tell you something in confidence.’
‘Of course, I shall be the soul of discretion.’
‘I am very fond of Estrith.’
‘We all are; she is wonderful.’
‘No, I mean, I’m very fond of her! I have been ever since you introduced her to me in Rouen.’
I decided to stop teasing him.
‘Yes, I know.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Well, the clues are well hidden, of course, but there are some small hints: hanging on her every word; staring at her like a lovesick boy; beaming at her with your head tilted to one side like an imbecile whenever she appears; and generally following her around like an unweaned pup would follow its mother… And these are just some of the less noticeable ones!’
‘Oh… is it that bad?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid it is.’
‘I make no excuses; I can’t get her out of my mind.’
‘Robert, she’s a nun.’
‘I know, but will you speak to her for me?’
‘No, I will not, she’s a nun and that’s all there is to it.’
‘But she only became a nun so that she could be accepted by the masons.’
‘I’m sure there’s more to it than that.’
‘Please speak to her for me. If she’s a committed bride of Christ, then so be it, but I have a feeling she isn’t… I can hear it in her voice.’
‘The answer is still no.’
‘I can’t sleep at night!’
‘Robert, you’re the Duke of Normandy and she’s a nun. You could be excommunicated!’
Robert was in no mood to listen to my objections, and continued to press his cause.
‘Just ask her about her feelings for me! That’s what friends are for.’
I tried to think of a way to distract him from his feelings for Estrith,
‘Look, when we get to Cahors, we’ll spend a few days whoring. They’ve got dusky beauties from the south there, and big, blonde, Germans — you can fill several beds with a selection of them.’
‘I don’t want an assortment of whores, I want Estrith.’
As one of the most powerful men in Europe, Robert was used to getting what he wanted. Despite his easy- going manner, it was obvious that he would not be denied.
I decided to capitulate.
‘Very well, I’ll speak to her.’
‘Tonight?’
‘No, it’s late, and she’s asleep.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Good, it’s agreed. Tomorrow it is.’
Robert, Duke of Normandy and lord of all he surveyed, walked off with a spring in his step like a love-struck adolescent.
I smiled as he went. I also felt like a boy again, charged to be a go-between for a pair of novice lovers.
The next day, during one of our stops to rest the horses, I took Estrith to one side.
‘I have to broach a somewhat delicate subject with you.’
‘That means it’s about sex.’
‘That’s an unusually frank response for a nun.’
‘Do I shock you?’
‘No… well, yes.’
Estrith’s candour was a revelation. She had never given the slightest hint of being anything other than a pious nun. I pressed on, searching for the right words.
‘Actually, the “delicate subject” does not concern me.’
‘What a disappointment, I’ve never bedded a prince…’
Estrith sensed that her bold statement had discomfited me. She paused before continuing.
