Conquest

Then to his horror, over Edith’s shoulder, Hereward saw Torfida step into the glade. She had returned to the camp with her basket full of roots and herbs. Hearing from Martin that Edith had arrived with the Talisman, she had left in search of Hereward.

There was a prolonged, piercing scream of anguish when Torfida saw Edith’s naked form astride her husband. She could see Edith throwing her head back and forth in delight as she caressed her husband. Hysterical, her heart full of hurt and fury, she turned and ran.

Hereward pushed Edith away and struggled to his feet. ‘Torfida, wait! It is not what you think.’ He repeated his plea several times, but to no avail. He was in no condition to chase after her and began stumbling back to the camp.

Edith stood up, uninhibited by her nakedness. Without speaking, she pulled the Talisman from her neck, placed it over Hereward’s head and kissed him gently.

Hereward looked at her impassively. ‘Please, go.’

Edith Swan-Neck, the legendary siren of England, smiled and walked away into the haze, her gait as seductive as when she had entered the glade.

Torfida ran back to the camp, her anguish turning to a steely resolve. She explained to Gunnhild and Estrith that she had to leave for a few days on urgent business for the late King, then gathered a few personal belongings and asked Ingigerd and Maria to look after the girls.

She was gone within minutes of her abrupt arrival.

Her intention was to take time to compose herself before deciding how to respond to what she had witnessed. She knew that the hurt she felt would prevent her from thinking clearly. Her dream had been shattered; her destiny with Hereward had been stolen. It would be many days before she could think clearly. She resolved not to take the girls, unwilling to burden them with the trauma of what Hereward and Edith had done to her.

She fully expected to be back with her beloved daughters after a few days of prayer and reflection. However, fate was about to deal her a cruel hand.

Hereward hobbled into the camp only minutes after Torfida’s abrupt departure. Sparing no details from his friends, he explained what had transpired. He was a broken man and it took long, agonizing minutes for him to relate the scene with Edith. The men immediately went in search of Torfida, but she had taken a horse and had already outpaced them.

They searched and searched; days passed, then weeks. No sign of her was to be found. She had disappeared from their lives.

Hereward’s despair at the loss of his beloved Torfida only worsened as time passed. His girls were bewildered and hurt and desperately needed their father’s love. He tortured himself with constant questions. Had Torfida returned to the life her father had lived — as a hermit of the forest — consumed by anger for what had happened? If so, why could they not find her? Had her journey been an aimless meander, without a destination? Even so, she must have left a trace somewhere, or been seen by someone. Was she still in search of herself and her destiny? But why had she abandoned everything she cared for and left everyone she loved, especially her children? Had she taken her own life? Surely, it was not possible that Torfida could have committed such a desperate act. After months of anguish, Hereward’s grief turned to resentment that she had left him without a word of explanation.

Torfida had come into his life cloaked in mystery, the result of a prophecy; she left it in an unfathomable riddle.

It was only when the long days of summer began to shorten in the late autumn of 1067 that Hereward’s loyal companions began to tire of his increasingly futile searches for Torfida.

A summit was called by Einar at which they challenged Hereward and, although he protested, stood their ground. Their strongest argument was the future of the children. Given that Earls Edwin and Morcar had submitted to William, Hereward was once again an outlaw and the Duke would hunt him down without mercy. They insisted that Hereward follow the advice he had so earnestly given to Torfida in the event of his death on Senlac Ridge: ‘Go south, to Aquitaine, to Castile or Leon.’

It was a part of the world Alphonso knew well, and he gave a vivid description of the lands he loved: they were prosperous, rich of harvest, warm, both in climate and in the demeanour of their peoples, and a long way from England’s trauma. Hereward offered only token resistance to the plan. In his heart, he knew Torfida had gone. He had always been able to sense her presence, even when they were apart; now there was only a void.

England was also in despair. William’s grip on the country was tightening and his henchmen were building their mottes and baileys all over the land. Whenever a hint of resistance appeared, it was extinguished with a ferocity that struck fear into the hearts of Englishmen of all ranks.