Crusade

Shortly afterwards, the most special moment of the year occurred: a bodyguard of Alexius’s imperial troops, accompanied by a platoon of Varangians, appeared through the Bridge Gate of the city. They were leading an elaborate covered carriage from the Emperor’s personal caravan. It was strange to see a body of men dressed, armed and behaving like highly disciplined soldiers; it had been such a long time since we had had the same bearing.

As soon as it came to a halt, Estrith rushed to greet us, shortly followed by Adela, who moved more slowly thanks to a severe limp and the hindrance of the care she had to show the bundle in her arms, a child they had not yet formally named. The three-month-old baby was a boy, who went by the title ‘Herry’ for the time being.

He was dark like his father, bright-eyed and lively, and everyone wanted to assign his looks and character to various of his parents and grandparents. Sweyn was the first to pick up his son, soon followed by Hereward, proud to hold his grandson.

A feast was hastily organized and we sat and listened to one another’s stories. The birth had been straightforward; the Emperor Alexius had treated Estrith and Adela like his daughters; life in the Blachernae was a little like being a bird in a gilded cage, but splendid all the same.

Adela had eventually recovered, but only just. The Emperor’s physicians immediately stopped the use of the hot iron, saying that too much tissue had already been lost. They used instead the maggots of the blowfly, bred especially for the purpose and much more effective than the maggots used by the Crusader physicians. The treatment was uncomfortable at best and involved her lying on her stomach most of the time, but it worked. She had been left with a large hollow where her right buttock should have been, a mass of ugly scarring and a pronounced limp.

Adela, as ever, put it in her own inimitable way.

‘I’m still not a bad offering for a quick tryst, as long as I stay in the maiden’s position.’

The only sad story they brought was that the Emperor’s emissary had returned from Oviedo with the news that Cristina had died a few years earlier, but had lived out her days happily in the care of Dona Viraca, the Countess of Oviedo, who was Dona Jimena’s formidable mother.

The emissary also brought news from Spain that Dona Jimena was alive and well in Valencia with the Cid, who was still Lord of the Taifa, but that he was not faring so well. His age and many battle scars were catching up with him and his body groaned and moaned at him all the time.

We were all sad to hear about Cristina, and Hereward in particular was unhappy to know that the Cid was losing the great strength and vigour for which he was famous.

He made himself a promise. ‘When this campaign is over, I will travel to Valencia to see my good friend the Cid. We can reminisce together before time has its way with us both.’

Estrith suddenly looked heartbroken.

‘I thought you would come back to England with us?’

‘If only I could, my darling Estrith! I would love to see England’s forests, heaths and fens once more. But many years ago, I gave a king my word, a vow I will never break. I will be content to end my days on my mountain, watching the sun going down to the west, until the sun sets for me also.’

He did not need to elaborate, and quickly changed the subject to a happier theme.

‘So, what shall we call the boy? He can’t live his life with a name like “Herry”!’

Estrith put her disappointment to one side. ‘Adela and I thought you would all have some good ideas about names and that we would name him here.’

Sweyn then spoke up, as a boy’s father should, firmly and clearly.

‘It is obvious what his name should be — Harold. Harold of Hereford.’

Robert looked perplexed.

‘I think I understand the reason for Harold — your noble King before my father put his large Norman boot in it — but why Hereford?’

Hereward was delighted.

‘It is where Torfida and I met and this long saga began. A good choice, Sweyn; it gets my vote.’

Everyone concurred and toasts were made to the boy’s health and prosperity. Sweyn picked up the child and handed him to Hereward.

‘Hereward, I would be honoured if you would proclaim his name. I want him to be told about this moment when he is old enough, so that he can remember it all his life and pass the story on to his children.’

Hereward held the boy in the cup of his mighty palm and raised him high above us. The baby thought about crying for a moment, then realized that the occasion was too significant for such trivialities and instead gurgled to himself contentedly.

‘In the presence of the Brethren of the Blood of the Talisman — Hereward of Bourne; Estrith of Melfi, Abbess of Fecamp; Adela of Bourne, Knight of Islam; Sweyn of Bourne, Knight of Normandy; Edgar the Atheling, Prince of England; and Robert, Sovereign Duke of Normandy — I name this child Harold of Hereford.

‘May his life be a long and honourable one, lived by the traditions and oaths of our Brethren. We welcome him to our midst.’