Crusade

When we reached St Cirq Lapopie, we were met by an appalling sight. The farmhouse and barns of the main house and all the small cottages of the surrounding community were no more than charred shells. There was no sign of life, human or animal, only the buzz of flies and the hum of crickets.

We all cried out for Maria and Ingigerd, and Adela and Sweyn jumped off their horses. They started to kick at the scorched timbers, hoping to find a clue as to what had happened.

I looked around and noticed that Edwin was nowhere to be seen, while Estrith was peering towards the edge of the fields to the south, next to the forest.

‘I think I can see graves over there, just below the big oak. I think there are lots of small crosses.’

She was right. I could see them too. I was about to point them out to Sweyn and Adela when Edwin appeared from the trees to the east. Behind him, limping slightly and looking very frail, was an old man. He looked like a hermit — his grey hair and beard were long and knotted and his clothes, no better than rags, were hanging loosely on his wizened body.

‘This is Old Simon. He lives in the woods, and has done so since before we came here thirty years ago. He was old then; I can’t imagine how old he is now.’

All he could say in English was, ‘Sorry, Master Edwin, sorry,’ which he kept repeating.

Estrith went to give him some water, but he backed away and would not come closer to us than a few yards.

Adela began to talk to him. He spoke a language from the Pyrenees Mountains to the south, which was very different from the language of Aquitaine, and only Adela understood it.

The fever had spread from Cahors, where hundreds died. When it came to St Cirq Lapopie, Ingigerd and Maria made sure that the people did not get too close to one another and families were told to eat in their own homes. But it made no difference. Within a month, the whole community had gone — more than eighty people. Maria died in the first week, but Ingigerd was almost the last to succumb, even though she was almost sixty years old and quite frail.

Lime pits were dug and used to bury the bodies, but the last few went unburied and Old Simon was too scared to go near the houses to lay them to rest.

‘That accounts for the human remains over there.’ Sweyn pointed to the main house. ‘That was Ingigerd’s chamber. What’s left of her is lying in the corner.’

It was about a week later that the human scavengers came. Wild men from the Central Massif, who had heard about the putrid fever, came and looted everything and then burned every building to the ground.

Old Simon had stayed in the forest and kept his distance. But just before she died, Ingigerd had sent the last fit person, a little boy no more than five years old, to him with a scroll, asking him to keep it until any of the family returned.

He now laid the scroll on the ground and walked away, repeating to himself, ‘Sorry, Mistress Adela, sorry.’

Sweyn went to retrieve the scroll and read it to us. It was written in Norse, Ingigerd’s native tongue, a language nobody in the Lot would understand, but one of several languages that Torfida had always insisted was spoken within their household.

I hope this message reaches one of you, one day. I told Old Simon to keep it under the stone where he hoards those boars’ tusks he likes to collect. I knew you would look there, if you found him dead.

A terrible plague has descended on us, here and all around us. Maria has already died and my time is not far off. This fever shows no mercy. We have heard that Emma and Edgiva and their families have been taken from us and, worst of all, our beautiful daughters, Gwyneth and Wulfhild, and all our grandchildren. What has happened to us is too much to bear. My only comfort is that with my death will come the end of my despair.

Sweyn had to stop. He sank to his knees in anguish, and Adela wailed and cursed God for taking her entire family away.

Edwin went to Sweyn and helped him to his feet while Estrith tried to comfort Adela. I quickly did some distressing arithmetic. Of Hereward and Torfida’s original extended family of eighteen, these four were now the only survivors — and each was childless. After all the years of peril they had lived through, six had died in a month, along with all their children. Who would now pass on the family’s heritage?

Sweyn regained his composure and finished Ingigerd’s message.

I pray that you all find what you so bravely search for and that there are many more adventures to add to the ones we shared together. The deeds to St Cirq Lapopie and our chest of silver are buried in the forest. Old Simon knows where, but in case he is also dead, its location is ten yards to the north, directly between the two oaks we planted in memory of Hereward and Torfida.

With all my love,

Inga