Crusade

It was ten days later when they finally appeared, early one morning, silhouetted against the far horizon — two blurred figures, with a third mount strung behind them — almost like a mirage in the rising heat of the desert.

They were moving painfully slowly, their horses stumbling beneath them. Riders were sent to bring them in. Huge cheers echoed up and down the column when the Crusaders realized that Sweyn, the young English knight who had acquitted himself so well against the Seljuks, and Estrith, who had become known as the English angel for her care of the sick and aged, had survived their ordeal.

When we saw them close up, they were a pitiful sight.

Estrith had lost consciousness and was barely alive; Sweyn was only able to mutter a few incoherent words. They had clearly not eaten or drunk anything for days. The dust of the desert, baked to their skin and clothes, made them look like they were already desiccated by death. Even more abject was the baggage on the third horse — Edwin’s rapidly decomposing body, which we assumed they had discovered along their route, thus explaining why our recovery missions had been unable to find it.

After a few gulps of water, Sweyn managed to explain that they wanted to bring Edwin back to us so that we could all be present at his interment. And so, Robert picked out a small retinue and stayed behind with us as the Crusader column moved on.

We found a peaceful spot next to a small, bushy hillock, where we planned to put Edwin to rest. Then we made camp, waiting for Estrith and Sweyn to recover sufficiently so that we could conduct a ceremony together to mark his passing.

It took several days, but eventually we gathered at the side of Edwin’s grave and Estrith said a few words.

‘Here lies Edwin of Glastonbury, a noble knight of the royal blood of Wessex, Knight of Normandy, Knight of Islam and a Brother of the Blood of the Talisman. Always loyal, ever honest, never self-serving; he was a true knight. May he rest in peace. Amen.’

Then we each placed one of our belongings into an oak casket given by Robert.

Adela offered a bronze brooch which Edwin had always admired, Estrith a small silver crucifix which blazed in the early morning sun, Sweyn a Saxon seax with a finely tooled leather scabbard, and Hereward a lance with a pennon of crimson, gold and black, the colours under which they had fought in 1069.

My tribute was chosen easily. Edwin was a cousin to King Harold, of the Cerdician blood of Wessex, so I wrapped the casket in my war banner, the Wyvern of Wessex, and we dug it deep into the ground next to him.

That night, we celebrated his life with a feast of dried-mutton stew, while Estrith and Sweyn told us the story of their isolation in the desert.

‘Estrith’s wound was deep and the barbs of the arrow had torn a lot of flesh. I feared it may have shattered bone, so we decided to lay low in the hills for a while. It took me two days to find water. I had to dig deep; it only filled my water sack once a day, and most of that went to the horses.’

Estrith smiled at him and placed her hand affectionately on his. ‘He hardly took any for himself — what he didn’t give to the horses, he gave to me.’

Sweyn continued.

‘It was obvious that we had to try to catch the column, which we knew would be moving ever further away from us. We travelled only at night, but we had no food and very little water. We saw Edwin’s body only because his horse whickered as we passed. It had stood over him until it sunk to its knees, exhausted and dying of thirst. We managed to revive it with the last of our water and used it to carry his body. We had no idea he had been killed; we had assumed you had all got away from the skirmish…’

Sweyn’s evident sorrow threatened to overwhelm him. It was Estrith who took up the story, turning to Adela.

‘Adela, you saved our lives, we will always be in your debt. We are sorry those thugs molested you.’

‘Don’t mention it. You would have done the same for me.’

Our Brethren now numbered five again — and three of those were lucky to be alive.

Although I was still convinced that we were right to pursue our destiny in Palestine, it was proving to be a severe test for all of us — far worse than I could ever have imagined.

We had lost Edwin, a rock we all relied on, just at the point when we needed him most. I feared our trials and tribulations were going to get worse before they got better.

29. Siege of Antioch

We caught up with the column to discover that, in the absence of Robert’s calming influence, discord had broken out among the Princes. Tancred of Hauteville had decided that the circuitous north-easterly route was too slow and had turned south again to go through the dangerous Cilician Gates and take the direct route to Antioch via Tarsus and the Belen Pass.