Crusade

Adela’s death, coinciding with the King’s Coronation Charter, seemed to bring to a close many of the paths we had each pursued. Estrith had turned forty, Sweyn was nearer forty than thirty and I would soon be in my fiftieth year. Yet, there were new challenges: Estrith and Sweyn had a two-year-old son to worry about and I, on a foundation of falsehoods, exaggerations and subterfuge, had built a concordat between the two most powerful men in northern Europe that one of them was totally unaware of.

We had much to think about.

Estrith had hardly spoken about her time with Hereward and Harold on his mountain. I wanted to know more.

‘What was it like?’

‘Just as he said it was: a lean-to at the top of a craggy mountain, bitterly cold in winter, hot as a blacksmith’s forge in summer. But it was a very profound experience for me. My father has become a perfect reflection of my grandfather, the Old Man of the Wildwood. He is totally at ease with the world around him, able to listen and dispense his wisdom. He seems not to need a woman, or any companionship. Of course, I couldn’t help living out the fantasy of being my mother, learning about the world at the feet of my grandfather.’

She turned away, paused for a moment, before continuing.

‘I don’t think he believes in God. I’m sure he thinks Christ was a great prophet, but I don’t think he accepts that He is divine. He may not believe in any kind of God, as we understand it. He talked a lot about the old religion and the truths of the ancients, like the Wodewose of the Forest, the Green Man, the guiding spirit of Nature. He also mentioned the Talisman and how its messages had guided him and Torfida to their destinies. It gave us a lot to talk about.

‘Amazingly, at no stage did he ever tell me what he thought, and he certainly never suggested what I should think. He just kept posing questions. He kept saying that life is a search for more questions, not a search for answers.’

‘What will you do now?’

‘I don’t know… Sweyn and I have a decision to make about Harold. He thrived on his grandfather’s mountain. He never got sick, ate like a horse and slept like a baby.’

‘He is a baby!’

‘Yes, that’s what I meant. When he’s older, I will be able to tell him in the smallest of detail and hour by hour about his time with his famous grandfather in his mountain eyrie. I’m so glad we had that time together.’

‘It must have been difficult to leave?’

‘Not really — we were both content, and my father had spent time with Harold. He took us to Messene and we said our farewells. There were tears, of course, but he is happy reflecting on his past and searching for more questions to pose from his mountain top. He is fit and strong; I think he will live for many years yet. As for me, seeing him again and spending that time with him was the fulfilment of an impossible dream. I am very fortunate; I feel blessed to have had my time with him and privileged to have known him as a father.’

By the time we reached Westminster, Sweyn and Estrith had had their conversation and a decision had been reached about young Harold.

While in Bourne, the monks from Ely had told Estrith about a new church, only four years into construction, in the Burgh of Norwich. She reminded us that, when we first met, she had been about to start work on Durham Cathedral. Norwich, she said, was a good place to resume her career as a churchwright, make her hammer-beam roof a reality, and a safe place to raise young Harold. Sweyn would visit whenever he could, but the facade of the child being Adela’s would remain in that Sweyn would formally entrust the care of the child to Estrith.

We took steps to secure the boy’s future. Sweyn’s status at court meant that Harold would inherit his rank as a knight of the realm, subject to him passing the tests of knighthood at the appropriate age, and I bequeathed a few of my English holdings to him in a document that Estrith would hold until he reached adulthood.

She also took a casket, to be handed to him when he reached his majority. It contained a large purse of silver, ten gold Byzantine bezants, a vellum scroll with the Oath of the Brethren of the Blood written on it and the names of its founding members, and St Etheldreda’s rosary that Estrith had carried with her since the fall of Ely.

So, after our own fond farewells in Westminster, Estrith headed back the way we had come to Norwich, while Sweyn and I sailed for Normandy with all the panoply of the progress of a royal prince, but also with the onerous task of telling Robert the detail of the pact I had agreed with Henry on his behalf.

When we reached Rouen, Robert and his entourage had just arrived. They had received news of Rufus’s death while in the Rhone Valley but had not hurried back, Robert preferring to show his bride the sites and introduce her to the lords and princes along the way. As I suspected and hoped, he had no real desire to claim the English throne.