When the moment came, Raymond of Toulouse took the right flank, Godfrey of Bouillon the left, with Robert of Flanders, Tancred of Hauteville, Robert and myself in the centre. The first rays of the sun caught the crimson of our flags and war banners before bathing us all in its early morning gleam. With the light radiating behind us in an iridescent glow, and the thunder of our horses booming ever louder, we must have presented a terrifying vision as we fell upon the enemy camp out of the night.
We were outnumbered by at least three to one, but our group of men was the elite residue of an army which itself was the best Europe had to offer when it set out three years earlier. It had survived battle, deprivation and disease and had been forged in incredibly challenging circumstances.
Many were also inspired by mystical relics unearthed by the Crusaders and brought to the battlefield. Raymond of Toulouse carried the Holy Lance, found in Antioch, which was said to be the spear that had been plunged into Christ’s side on the cross. Arnulf of Chocques, the new Patriarch of Jerusalem, held aloft the True Cross, believed to be a piece of Christ’s crucifix, discovered hidden in a silver case in a dingy corner of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem.
Most of the foot soldiers had walked from Jerusalem barefoot, like true pilgrims, and dozens of knights had worn sackcloth on the journey to purge themselves in preparation for the battle. Mixed in equal measures with a voracious greed and a lust for violence, religious zeal had driven these men throughout the Crusade; it was a frightening brew.
Only on the eve of battle did they wear their garments of war — which, to them, represented another form of reverential clothing, because killing infidels was another kind of devotion to God.
The Battle of Ascalon was hardly that; it was more like an ambush that led to a stampede of terrified men. The Fatimid cavalry had no time to find their horses, let alone mount them; thousands were cut down in their camp as we charged straight through their neat rows of tents. Of those who managed to retreat, some made for the shore in a vain attempt to reach their boats, while others rushed to get through the gates of Ascalon before they were barred against them.
Our losses were minimal, theirs so great that it was easier to count the survivors than the dead. Al-Afdal managed to get into the city and set sail for Cairo, leaving the remnants of his army to fend for themselves. The victory neutralized the Fatimid threat from the south, just as Dorylaeum had nullified the Seljuks in the north.
The new Christian realms in the Holy Land were secure for the foreseeable future.
Our obligations to the Crusade now met, we prepared to return to Jerusalem immediately.
Robert gave his men twenty-four hours to take their share of plunder from the Fatimids’ weapons and belongings, and our portion of the spoils of Ascalon’s treasury was shared out equally. But we refused to let our men enter the city, and we issued strict orders against rape or killing.
Within the week, we were on the road to Jaffa. Robert had lost almost three-quarters of his knights and an even higher proportion of his infantry and civilians. All his destriers had perished, the finest body of cavalry flesh in the world, and almost all the money he had raised from the sale of his dukedom had gone. He took very little from the spoils of Jerusalem — just enough to get us home.
My English contingent had suffered similar losses. At the roll-call at Jaffa we counted 63 able-bodied men, 11 crippled or dying, and only 7 civilians, all of them monks.
Estrith and Adela were the only female survivors, and young Harold of Hereford the only child.
32. The Parting
Our arrival in Constantinople brought a few weeks of comfort as we enjoyed the delights of the Blachernae, but it was also tinged with bitterness. Hereward insisted that he would return to his mountain home in the Peloponnese — no matter how hard Estrith, in particular, tried to persuade him to change his mind.
In September, he found a trader bound for Iberia and prepared to leave for Valencia to visit the Cid before the autumn gales became too severe. But he was forced to abort his trip when the captain brought him news, from a ship newly arrived, that his old friend had died peacefully in his bed in the middle of July. Dona Jimena, grief- stricken, had gone into mourning and refused to see anyone.
The Emperor summoned us for an audience.
Hereward had arrived before us; he had discarded his imperial garb and reverted to being the Old Man of the Mountain. He embraced all of us in turn.
‘Adela, let me kiss my grandson. Take care of him for me.’
Estrith burst into tears.
‘Please, Father, don’t go!’
Hereward had turned to leave, but he now stopped and thought for a while before addressing his daughter.
‘I once left you and Gunnhild to fight a battle. It was the most difficult thing I ever had to do. This time there are no more battles to fight; there is no reason why I should leave you again. But I can’t go to England.’
‘Then let me come with you.’
‘Estrith, I live in a lean-to at the top of a mountain in the middle of a wilderness, and winter approaches.’
‘It will do me good. Besides, it’s how my mother and grandfather lived in the wildwood. I can work on designs for my roof of hammer beams — ’ her eyes widened in anticipation ‘- I will stay until the spring and then go north to join the others in Rouen.’
‘What about Harold?’
She looked at Sweyn and Adela, who smiled and nodded their approval.
‘It will do him good too. He needs toughening up, if he is to follow in the footsteps of his father and grandfather.’
Hereward’s face softened.
‘I’m not the most engaging company.’
‘Neither am I, but I have a child to care for and a complicated roof design to perfect, I don’t need much company.’
He looked at Alexius.
‘Sire, she will need an escort in the spring to take her to Normandy.’
Alexius signalled his approval.
‘It will be at Messene on the third new moon of next year.’
Estrith rushed at Hereward and threw her arms around him.
Alexius called to his steward, ‘Some wine, I have a toast to make!’
The stewards handed round silver goblets and poured generous amounts of Byzantium’s finest black wine.
‘To Harold of Hereford, a noble knight in the making.’
The toast was repeated, and Alexius got up from his throne to thank each of us in turn. He then turned to Sweyn.
‘I have a son, John Comnenus, twelve years old; he is away with his companion, John Azoukh — a Seljuk Turkish slave given to me as a gift, who I have adopted. He is good for John Comnenus, because my son has everything and John Azoukh nothing. Don’t spoil your son; make him strong like you and your father. When he is older, bring him back to Constantinople, I would like to meet him and you can introduce him to my two sons.’
‘It would be an honour, Your Majesty.’
‘And now, let us talk about the Talisman of Truth; it is obviously still working its magic, because it brought us all together. In due course, I will give it to John Comnenus when it is time for him to wear the Purple, but I think John should be the recipient of the Talisman only for the beginning of his reign, when he will need it most. After that, its guardianship should become the responsibility of your Brethren, who may be able to put it to better use elsewhere. I will tell Prince John this, so that when the time is right you can come and collect it.’
‘Majesty, I will tell Harold this also. Thank you.’
‘I also have a gift for the boy. Keep it safe for when he is older.’
The Emperor handed Sweyn a small casket containing ten gold Byzantine bezants, a small fortune by
