Crusade

I sat and watched Estrith holding court, her audience rapt. I had heard that Torfida could enthral people in the same way and that Estrith looked just like her. She was certainly a handsome woman. She had unblemished skin, the colour of rich cream, dark eyes and black hair, now greying a little at the temples, and her face had a serenity that was disarming. She possessed a slim figure, but her feminine curves were still apparent despite her heavy nun’s soutane.

Most charming of all was her intellect and aura of mystique. A woman of mature years, she had been raised by a mother with remarkable gifts, who had passed on to her as many of them as possible, and an equally extraordinary father. They must have been an amazing inspiration through astonishing and traumatic times.

Since childhood, she had continued to learn. She had devoted her life to acquiring knowledge and ideas, enjoying nothing more than sharing her wisdom with others.

I watched her with growing wonder — a vision of beauty and someone I hoped would become a permanent fixture in our lives.

22. The Twenty-third Psalm

After much discussion and soul-searching, Estrith decided to relinquish her opportunity to help bring to life William of Calais’s dream for Durham Cathedral and instead travel to London with us. From there, assuming that King Rufus did not have an unpleasant surprise in store for us, we would go to Normandy to resume our service with Duke Robert.

Our somewhat unusual quartet of brothers-in-arms had become a yet more peculiar quintet that now included two women, one of whom was a churchwright disguised as a nun. Nevertheless, I was delighted that Estrith had joined us. She was an intimate link to Hereward and Torfida, the only blood relative still alive. She carried their wisdom — and, indeed, their mystique.

For our meeting with King Rufus, I persuaded Estrith to change her allegiance from sister of Whalley Abbey to a Scottish foundation, where there were unlikely to be any Norman links. She decided that St Andrews in Fife had a reputation worthy of her, and thus she became a holy sister of St Andrews, Scotland.

When we arrived in Westminster, the head of our escort went to the King’s palace to announce our arrival, only to be told that he was too busy with affairs of state to see us and that we were free to return to Normandy at our leisure. Relieved not to be cross-examined by an irate King, we continued on to Normandy as quickly as we could.

Once in Normandy, we agreed we would make a plan for the future. We were getting older. I was over forty, Edwin three years older; neither of us had wives or children, and the shallow pleasures of casual sex had become less and less appealing. Adela was in her fortieth year and still searching for some kind of fulfilment. Only Sweyn was in his prime, but since the death of Mahnoor he lacked the energy he had shown before and hardly ever glanced at a woman.

When we reached Rouen, we realized why Rufus had been too busy to see us. Yet again, he was fomenting trouble with Duke Robert, but this time without any real success. Robert’s patient tolerance of his brother’s aggression had won him many admirers, while his astute governance and restrained rule of the dukedom had brought it growing prosperity. Once again, he let his brother’s bravado wash over him and calmly carried on being Duke. A very frustrated King Rufus eventually returned his attention to England, where he continued to fester and plot new acts of devilment.

When we introduced Estrith to Duke Robert, he was intrigued by her and fascinated to hear the detailed account of his father’s famous encounter with Hereward at Ely. The siege was still a popular subject with the storytellers, both Norman and English, even though almost fifteen years had passed.

There was an ever-growing number of different versions of what had happened in the denouement of the siege, some highly fanciful. The Norman accounts tended to take the view that William had meted out due justice to a troublesome outlaw by killing Hereward with his own hand, while the English liked to think that somehow or other the great English hero had escaped and was still living an idyllic existence with his family deep in England’s Bruneswald.

Duke Robert was ignorant of the true events that had unfolded.

‘I had heard that my father had collapsed at Ely, but he would never talk about it, or mention what happened to your father.’