Conquest

The bastide of St Cirq Lapopie was entrusted to the care of an estate manager, and a feast was prepared to mark the departure to England. It was a gathering tinged with doubts on both sides. The local Quercynoise feared their landlords would never return, leaving the estate to face an uncertain future, while Hereward and his family knew they were leaving behind a tranquil and happy existence to face a perilous destiny.

As they loaded their weapons and belongings on to the barge of a Lot trader to begin their journey to England, Hereward checked his astrolabe and made his calculations.

It was 8 March 1069.

Blowing from the cool heartland of Europe, a freshening gale from the Massif Central hastened them on their way. Everyone huddled together and turned their backs to the piercing gusts. High above them, flurries of snow swirled around the crags of St Cirq Lapopie as birds of prey rode the currents in search of food. Their occasional screech and the incessant chop of the water against the boat were the only sounds to be heard above the howling elements.

Hereward knew that the next birds of prey they saw would be high above the fells of northern England.

23. The Rising Begins

Hereward and his devoted followers were once more on the move and yet again journeying by sea, but this was a particularly extended excursion. They needed to avoid Normandy, so decided not to make landfall between Bordeaux and Plymouth.

After anchoring off Plymouth Sound to take on water and provisions, they were soon at sea again, on course for Dublin. There, if all went well, they would be able to plan a strategy with Harold’s sons and their supporters. As they sailed towards Ireland, Hereward thought back to the first time he had crossed the Western Sea. He and Torfida had just become lovers and, as they stood together on deck, she had given him the Talisman.

It had been the beginning of their odyssey.

Soon he would be in England once more — this time without Torfida. The pain of her absence had barely diminished over time. On occasions like this, the sharp stab of her tragic loss cut into him. He had but one comfort — his children and extended family. And just one distraction — plotting to topple William from the throne of England.

The first part of the plan did not go well. Diarmaid, Lord of Dublin, was sheltering Harold’s sons. Edith Swan-Neck had sent word that Hereward was returning to lead a rebellion. However, to Hereward’s fury, only Godwin Haroldson was there to greet him; the other two, Magnus and Edmund, had gone hunting. To make matters worse, Godwin was less than enthusiastic about Hereward’s plans. He did not agree that Edgar the Atheling should be King, arguing that the boy had relinquished his right to the throne when Harold became monarch.

Godwin regarded himself as the rightful heir to the throne of England.

The young pretender exclaimed that his priority was Wessex, that he had many loyal supporters in Devon, Cornwall and the South West, and that Exeter would be his bridgehead into his father’s earldom. He expressed little affection for the North and suggested that it should lie in the bed it had made for itself.

Hereward, scarcely able to contain his anger, begged to be allowed to speak directly to Godwin’s housecarls, but he steadfastly refused. Finally, when Hereward asked if they could at least coordinate the timings of Godwin’s raids in the West Country so that William could be put under pressure on two fronts, he replied, haughtily, that he would consider it at the time. Hereward’s blood boiled and he stormed out, bellowing at Godwin’s callousness and stupidity.

They were at sea again on the next tide and, with only a brief stop on the Island of the Manx, were soon sailing up the Ribble to their rendezvous at Preston.

None of them had thought they would ever see England again — especially Hereward — and they were greeted by a bright, fresh spring day. Cristina smiled at Alphonso; her first sight of England was a very pleasant surprise compared with the dreary prospect that her beloved had described.

In the distance they could see the dark mounds of the Pennines, brooding and hostile. Few people ever went there, and only tiny isolated communities were to be found along the narrow routes that snaked into the deep valleys. Above the treeline were desolate moors where no one ventured. It was a bleak world without landmarks where, in moments, a dank mist could envelop the unwary and make them disappear without trace.

As their vessel rose on to the north bank of the Ribble at Preston’s old Roman bridge and the party disembarked, Edwin and Edmund were there waiting for them. Hereward’s mood improved dramatically when he saw the contingent of men they had with them. The housecarls were assembled in squadrons of twenty and stood smartly to attention with their mounts tethered in orderly lines.

They were still the finest body of fighting men Hereward had ever seen.