Conquest

‘What happened on her journey from Hereford to prevent her reaching us?’

‘No one knows; she hadn’t gone far, only ten miles or so. She took her horse, which was a good mount, and must have gone through the forest to avoid being seen by the Normans. Perhaps she had a sudden relapse and was unable to summon help. She lay undiscovered all winter. Her body was eventually found in a very remote place by charcoal-burners. Being good men, they brought her to the nuns for a Christian burial. Her horse was never found.’

Hereward looked away in despair, horrified at the thought of Torfida’s lonely and painful death. He dreaded the thought that she must have known about her illness long before she disappeared, but had kept it from him for fear of hindering his own recovery. He walked away from the young emissary and began to sob, something he had not done in a very long time.

After a while, he fought back the tears and composed himself. ‘Where is she buried?’

‘In a quiet glade in the forest, known only to the holy sisters of Hereford, sir.’

‘Good, it is a fitting place; she was a child of the forest.’

‘Sir, there is something else.’ Edwin pulled a small piece of brushwood from his leather pouch. ‘The charcoal-burners knew that the lady was of high birth because of her ring and because she could write.’

Edwin handed the wood to Hereward, on which was etched, in barely legible scratchings, a message.

‘This is in Latin; I can’t read it.’ He handed it back to the boy.

‘I’m sorry, sir, I presumed…’

‘You presume too much, young man.’

Edwin read the inscription almost reverentially. ‘ Herewarde, amuletum non pro alio fers. Id iure recepisti. Gere id cum animo… Hereward, you do not carry the Talisman for another. You are the rightful recipient. Wear it with pride.’

Hereward looked at the crude scratchings on the wood. It was signed ‘T’ and she had drawn a heart next to her name. She must have chosen Latin knowing that only a select few would be able to read it. It would have taken her hours, maybe days. He had not thought about the Talisman since Edith Swan-Neck had placed it around his neck on that fateful day in the forest. He had been sorely tempted to throw it away, and only respect for Harold’s memory had persuaded him to carry on wearing it.

‘This conversation is never to be repeated to anyone else — ever!’

‘Of course not, sir.’

Hereward thought about the Old Man of the Wildwood, resting at peace in his forest haven. Now Torfida had her own place in the eternal cycle of England’s wild places. She would be content. As her ancestors before her believed, the Wodewose had taken her. Perhaps the legend was true after all and, in her final moments, the Green Man of the forest had brought her comfort.

Hereward put Torfida’s ring through the chain that held the Talisman, folded Edith’s handkerchief and gave it back to Edwin. ‘Please return this to Lady Edith with my compliments.’

‘I will, sir.’

‘Did she send you to find me?’

‘She has been scouring Europe to find you. Only by chance did word reach her that an English family had settled in the domain of the Count of Toulouse. She begs you to return to England. With Edgar on the throne and you as the leader of his army, every able-bodied man would follow you in a rebellion against the Normans. Sir, if my opinion is worth anything, may I say, I agree with her.’

He paused, while Hereward came to terms with a plea he could not ignore.

After telling the others about Torfida’s demise, Hereward spent the rest of the day comforting his two girls. The news had ended the awful, nagging mystery about their mother’s fate. Most importantly, it established that, although racked by pain and illness, she had been trying to return to them. The circumstances of her death were harrowing, but at least they could now be comforted by the knowledge that she had not abandoned them.

Hereward would reflect on Torfida’s message for the rest of his days. He hoped and prayed that it meant she had come to terms with what had happened on that fateful afternoon in the meadow. Perhaps she had forgiven him, or realized she had misunderstood what had been happening. Gradually, he drew more and more consolation from Torfida’s inscription, especially the crudely scratched heart, an image he would cherish in his mind’s eye for ever.

That evening the entire family were seated for dinner, while Edwin described England’s ordeal at the hands of William. As Hereward listened, his mind raced, but kept coming back to the same point: Torfida’s dying message meant that the love he thought had been lost when she discovered him with Edith, had endured. It would stay with him for the rest of his days. For the first time since Senlac Ridge, he began to feel whole again.