anybody’s standards.
Sweyn fell to his knees and kissed Alexius’s ring.
That evening, as Hereward made ready to leave, I sought him out so that we could reflect on the past and, more importantly, look to the future.
‘It must be very gratifying to know that Estrith and your grandson will go with you to your mountain home.’
‘It is something I’m looking forward to, although I’m a little concerned that Estrith will find it somewhat primitive.’
‘I’m sure she will adapt perfectly; it sounds like a paradise.’
‘It’s strange how life seems to exist in big arcs of destiny. Torfida, Estrith’s grandmother, was raised in England’s wildwood by her father, the Old Man of the Wildwood. Now young Harry will spend his early days with an old man of the mountain.’
‘Perhaps that’s the Talisman at work. You must be pleased that the Emperor has chosen Harry to be its guardian one day.’
‘I am, but it’s also a heavy burden to place on the boy’s shoulders.’
‘Well, he’s got a fine pedigree. I’m sure he’ll be worthy.’
‘My Prince, you must help him and Estrith as long as you can.’
‘I will, of course. But why do you address me as “Prince” all of a sudden?’
‘Out of respect; you were born a prince, but had that title taken from you. Now, in my eyes, you’ve regained that title and are a prince by deed, not by birthright.’
I was stunned by Hereward’s words and moved to embrace him, but he backed away, clasped the hilt of his sword and bowed deeply before turning away towards his chamber.
‘Look after my daughter and grandson, Edgar, Prince of Wessex and England.’
I knew this was the last time I would ever see the great man. Once again, he had changed my life and, as he disappeared from view, I felt the tears welling in the corners of my eyes.
Within the week, our flotilla of ships was bound for Brindisi with sails full and a strong wind astern. Hereward, Estrith and baby Harold had already sailed for Messene.
Our journey was uneventful until we reached southern Italy, where a strange and wonderful thing happened: Robert fell in love. While his father, King William, was alive, he would not let Robert marry, for fear of a royal marriage compromising the delicate balance of politics in northern Europe. Only once did a marriage of alliance make sense, when he was betrothed to Margaret of Maine, but her untimely death put an end to that scheme. After the King’s death Robert seemed content with a host of pretty concubines and conquests, all of little consequence.
That changed when we arrived in Conversano in Puglia, as guests of Count Geoffrey, its Norman lord and nephew of Robert Guiscard. He was a charming old man, but his daughter, Sybilla, equally charming, was far from old; she was a girl just turned sixteen, buxom and vivacious. Robert, all but fifty years old, was smitten.
It was a good match. He was Duke of Normandy — the land of Geoffrey’s birth, and one of the mightiest realms in Europe — and his exploits in the Holy Land meant that he was one of the few Latin Princes whose reputation had been enhanced by the Crusade. He was hailed everywhere as not only a hero but also a true soldier of Christ, a man to be revered. She, for her part, brought a significant dowry from one of the richest counties in Italy, sufficient to pay back the share of Normandy that Robert had mortgaged to King Rufus.
Sweyn and I took to her readily; she was very easy on the eye, made excellent conversation, had a sharp mind, ready humour and knew how to charm men. She also won over Adela, whose limp was becoming more and more noticeable as her injuries made her increasingly frail. Sybilla brought her a treat of some sort every day and helped her to walk in the hills around Conversano, to try to keep her mobile.
If the new fashion of Courtly Love was what I assumed it to be, then Robert became the embodiment of it. He was like a new man and confessed that, in the bedchamber, Sybilla was all that one would hope for in a delectable young woman: initial innocence, but with a growing appetite to learn. He often joked that his only complaint was ever increasing exhaustion, but of the most delightful kind.
In a grand ceremony, Robert and Sybilla were married in February 1100 by Eustachio, Bishop of Brindisi. While Robert enjoyed his honeymoon with his bride in her father’s seaside fortress at Monopoli, Hugh Percy and I led our contingents back to Normandy.
Our progress was remarkable. We were feted everywhere, our path was strewn with garlands and gifts, Masses were said in our honour, and bishops anointed us. The welcome in Rouen was even more remarkable. The Crusaders had brought great honour to Normandy and the news that Duke Robert would be returning with a new bride, who would produce not only an heir but also swell the ducal coffers, only added to the excitement.
Thousands lined the narrow streets approaching the great cathedral, the massive bronze bells of which rang and rang in a never-ending chime of rejoicing. People cheered and rushed forward to bury their faces in our crimson and white capes; some even kissed our feet. Our weapons gleamed, our clothes were freshly washed, and we had trimmed our hair and beards. Pennons and gonfalons fluttered in the breeze as our crimson and white banners flew proudly above our heads.
Some of the more excitable and, indeed, naive assumed that, as we had been to the Holy Land, we must have met Christ himself, and therefore were insistent that we bless them! We were the all-conquering soldiers of Christ and thoroughly enjoyed the adulation.
The crowds knew nothing of the horrors that had been committed in the name of Christendom. In the eyes of the good people of Rouen, the day was one of celebration, where they could salute those who had helped a Christian God return to the Holy City where he belonged. Little did they know that, in truth, he had never left it — and in the light of what had been done there, he had probably now disowned it.
Awaiting us on the steps of the cathedral was the formidable William Bonne-Ame, the Archbishop of Rouen and Normandy, flanked by the entire senior ecclesiastical hierarchy of Normandy. An open-air Mass was held — which went on far too long, leading some of the men to suggest that the two-hour service was a greater trial than all the privations they had suffered in Palestine.
Rufus had ruled Normandy in Robert’s absence, in accordance with their agreement. He was in England when we arrived, but it was reported to us that he was none too pleased at the news of our ecstatic welcome by the citizens of Rouen, having been certain that Robert, like so many other Crusaders, would never return.
Sweyn, Adela and I agreed that we should move on to England as soon as possible, not only to get our brave contingent back home, but also to see if we could gain an audience with King Rufus to report on Robert’s achievements in Palestine before anybody else could pour poison into his ear.
The day before we were due to leave, Sweyn summoned me to Adela’s chamber.
She had been a source of growing concern to us on the journey back from the Holy Land. Her discomfort seemed to be increasing by the day, not just from her shattered shoulder and damaged backside, but throughout her body. She was losing weight and looking drained and aged. She was prostrate when I arrived, and was clearly in great pain.
‘Edgar, I am done for.’
‘I have seen you in pain before; it will pass, like before.’
‘Not this time.’
‘We’ll call for Robert’s physicians; they looked after us well in the Holy Land.’
‘They’re butchers and idiots! But regardless of that, what ails me is deep inside; it’s in my bones, I can feel it.’
Sweyn leant down, pulled Adela to him and hugged her.
She started to cry. ‘I’m scared. I’ve only been really frightened once before, and you know when that was. I made a promise afterwards that I would never let myself be frightened again, but I am now.’
I joined Sweyn in holding her.
‘We’ll stay here with you until you are well.’
‘You will not! I don’t need a pair of nursemaids, and you have things to do in England.’
‘They can wait.’
‘No, you must leave, as we agreed. You will be feted when you arrive; even Rufus will have to welcome you. To those who matter, especially the young knights, you can tell the truth about what happened in Palestine and spread the gospel of the Mos Militum. Do that for me.’
