I looked at Hereward, who was already dismounting; he nodded his approval, so I issued my own order.
‘Edwin, take the horses on. I’ll stay.’
Sweyn had assumed command.
‘We must make a stand here to save the supplies. Form up as a phalanx of archers; keep the reins of your horses secure. Adela, give us the range. We shoot on her signal.’
I looked at Hereward again; he nodded, this time with a smile.
‘Now!’ was Adela’s shrill signal as we launched our first volley at a range of 300 yards.
We got two more away before the Turks were on top of us. Now we had to suffer their incoming volleys as they surrounded us.
‘Mount! Fight your way out! Follow Hereward’s lead!’
Sweyn beckoned to Hereward to clear a path for us. For the first time in many years, we saw the Great Axe of Goteborg wielded to murderous effect, cutting a swathe through the Turkish cavalry and leading the English contingent away. Sweyn was almost the last to mount, courageously ensuring that everyone got to their horse. It was then that Estrith was struck, taking a Seljuk arrow to her upper back. She was wearing mail, but the arrow cut through it. She squealed in pain, lost control of her mount and fell to the ground.
Adela used her eastern close-quarters bow with venom, wounding two Seljuks with successive arrows and giving Sweyn time to leap from his horse, pull the stricken Estrith from the ground and lift her over his shoulder. She let out another shriek of pain. Adela then grabbed the reins of Sweyn’s horse and wheeled it round so that he could throw Estrith across its shoulders, remount and make his escape.
With his horse pirouetting in panic amidst the confusion of the moment and with the weight of two people on its back, Sweyn kicked his mount towards the north-east, the wrong direction, galloping back from whence we had come. Several Turks were between Adela and the route Sweyn had taken, leaving her isolated.
Thinking she was behind him, Sweyn continued his rapid exit.
Adela, realizing that several of the Seljuks were about to ride off in pursuit of Sweyn and Estrith, stood high in her stirrups, threw back her helmet to reveal feminine features and yelled at the Turks in Arabic, ‘It is I, Adela of Bourne, Knight of Islam!’, and charged at them, swinging her sword in wide arcs.
She was immediately surrounded by a circle of Seljuks. Some hesitated and blessed themselves, but the majority did not falter.
Hereward swung our horses round. We were over 500 yards away as a dozen or so Turks closed in on Adela, dragging her from her horse.
I looked to the horizon and could see Sweyn about to disappear into the safety of higher ground, oblivious to Adela’s predicament. More and more Seljuks were cresting the horizon all the time. Hereward looked at me and then turned to our comrades.
We all signalled our approval as Hereward hoisted the Great Axe above his head and issued the order.
‘Charge!’
The Turks saw us coming at about 100 yards and began to form a defensive wall of horsemen. They loosed a hail of arrows towards us but our momentum was prodigious, and Hereward’s awesome presence — his Great Axe glinting in the sun, his crimson cloak as a Captain of the Varangians flowing behind him — put them to flight.
Adela was safe, but had suffered a trauma all too reminiscent of the horror of her adolescence. Her armour had been pulled off her back, her shirt torn from her; she was rigid with terror, naked from the waist up. Hereward leant from his horse to offer her his arm. At that moment, he and Sweyn were the only men in the world for whom she would have moved. Without looking up, she stretched out her hand and Hereward swept her up behind him on to his horse’s flanks, covering her in his cloak.
Even then, she cared nothing for herself and kept repeating the same anguished questions: ‘Where’s Sweyn? Is Estrith safe?’
Our escape was a close call; only the speed of our horses saved us as we took flight through clusters of arrows launched high into the air, aimed to fall on to our path to safety.
As we neared the Crusader column, the Turks gave up the chase, but not before loosing one last cascade of arrows.
The projectile that killed Edwin was one of the last to land. It came out of the sky, almost at a right angle to the ground, and caught him close to his spine at the nape of the neck. He rode on for a while, not uttering a sound, with a fixed stare on his face, but pain and failing consciousness soon combined to loosen his grip on his reins. He fell to the ground with a sickening crash, tumbling randomly like someone already dead. After coming to a stop, he did not move again. I was certain his wound was fatal; regardless, we could not stop to help him, but I made a mental note of his position in the hope of being able to retrieve his body later.
It was then that I saw Adela had also taken an arrow. Hereward told me later that he felt the impact, but that Adela had not let out a sound; she just winced and gripped him even harder around his waist.
The Seljuk threat had receded, so we slowed our gallop and I rode over to ask Adela about her injury.
‘It hurts a little… But what of Edwin? Did I see him fall?’
‘He’s gone, Adela. He took an arrow through the back of the neck.’
She sank her head into Hereward’s broad back and closed her eyes in a grimace — not for her pain, but for Edwin. She must have been in great agony; the arrow had gone through the fleshy part of her buttock and impaled itself in the saddle of Hereward’s mount, pinning her to the leather in the process.
Every lurch of the horse’s gait must have sent a jolt of torture through her entire body.
The journey back to the Crusader column seemed interminable. Adela was losing a lot of blood, but we thought it better to keep moving; attempting to move her and extract the arrow without the help of the physicians would almost certainly have made her injury worse.
When we finally reached the column, joyous celebrations had already begun to greet the arrival of the Turkish provisions. We were hailed as heroes, as if we had returned with the keys to the gates of Jerusalem. Suddenly the English contingent, previously only an insignificant appendage to the great Norman-Frankish-Germanic host, had saved the day, even for their Norman masters.
Robert’s physicians were summoned to help Adela, but in her forthright way she made it clear what she wanted done.
‘Please lift me and the saddle off the horse as one and put me on a saddle stand. I would also like a shirt to cover me, please.’
She was placed on a tack stand, as requested, and one of the English knights gave her a shirt.
‘It’s a bit big.’
She tried to raise a smile, but she looked very pale and her voice started to quiver.
‘Let us help you.’
‘Thank you, Edgar, but there is only one way to do this.’
She and the saddle were soaked in blood, the colour matching Hereward’s cloak, which she now threw off, nonchalantly exposing herself, then put on the shirt. She asked Hereward to help her: ‘Would you break off the arrow?’
Hereward’s large hands made it look puny, and he snapped it with ease. It had entered Adela’s buttock, making a deep wound, but only appeared to be pinning soft tissue.
‘Edgar, would you now help Hereward lower me down. I need the saddle to be raised off the ground so that I can use my legs to lever myself off this cursed thing.’
She seemed very weak by now, and I was not certain her plan would work.
‘Are you sure? If the barb is still in your flesh, it may not be as easy as all that.’
‘Don’t fuss; I think the arrowhead is in the saddle. Besides, I can’t think of another way to do this — other than letting an army of physicians loose on me with my arse in the air and a saddle sticking out of it.’
Hereward nodded and so did the physicians; she was right, as usual. A pile of saddle blankets was used as a support about a foot off the ground and we carefully lowered Hereward’s saddle and Adela on to it. She then put her heels underneath herself in a squatting position and took a deep breath.
‘Gentlemen, I may curse a little in a moment!’
She placed one hand on the saddle’s pommel and the other on its cantle and gave a mighty heave, as if giving birth. She did not curse, but did let forth a deep, guttural rumble, which turned from a growl of agony to a cry of relief as she freed herself.
Blood started to flow more copiously, and she fell into Hereward’s arms. She was very pale and her voice
