eternal cycle of life and death and the need to live with nature, not to fight it. These Normans, with their homage to the sophistry of the Church of Rome, dismiss our ways as pagan and destroy them. We must never let that happen.’
‘But Wodewose is a mythical creature to frighten children.’
‘Not so, my young friend. He is deep in our memories.The Celts call him Myrddin Wyllt – the sire of Mother Earth. Don’t ever forget him.’
Their conversations about the ancient ways of England continued over many days.
The Old Man of the Wildwood told Hereward many stories that he had never heard before. He talked about the old ways of the Saxons; the Norse sagas of gods and heroes; the ancient beliefs of the Romans and the cults of pagan Rome; and the rituals of the Druids, who believed in the power of the sun, the moon and the earth itself.
After a while, Hereward came to realize that it mattered little whether these stories were true or simply myths. What was more important was that England’s heritage should survive the trauma it was soon to endure.
Then, one evening without warning, the old man brought their time together to a sudden close. ‘You should leave in the morning and go to Gloucester. It is only three days’ walk. You will find a new path there. Follow it to your destiny, which lies far from here.’
‘Is that the seer speaking?’
‘Yes it is. You should listen.’
‘What will you do?’
‘If you are asking whether I will miss you, the answer is, yes, I will miss you. I have come to like you, Hereward of Bourne. But I am not sad, for I now know what my legacy will be.’
‘Will you share it with me?’
‘It is you.’
‘Me? I don’t understand; I have no future.’
‘You are mistaken.’
The Old Man of the Wildwood looked towards the eastand the encroaching darkness. ‘You will help shape the destiny of many. Hopefully, through you, much we have spoken about will be remembered and will survive. You will see many things, visit many places and live a long life. But I must warn you, you will face great turmoil and despair, with little respite, except in great old age, when you will find solace in a small measure of wisdom, as I do.’
Hereward was shocked. ‘How will all this come to pass, I am an outlaw?’
‘I sense it in you. You must do two things. First, you must find my daughter –’
Hereward interrupted him. ‘You have a daughter!’
‘Yes, her mother died in childbirth; the child is my illegitimate daughter. Her mother was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Emma at Winchester, the mother of King Edward. I was chaplain to Queen Emma and she took pity on me, despite my failings, and helped me get away with my daughter.’
‘You raised her in these woods?’
‘Until she was fourteen. Then she went to the nuns at Hereford, where I knew she would be safe and could continue her education. I raised her as well as I could. I taught her Greek and Latin, English and French, how to make medicine from the herbs of the forest, and as much of the sciences and philosophies of the ancients as I could remember. She took my books and manuscripts with her; they were her safe passage for the future.’
‘And the second thing I must do?’
‘Ask her to give you the Talisman.’
‘What is the Talisman?’
‘She will tell you.’
‘What is her name?’
‘She is called Torfida.’
‘How will I find her?’
‘You will find her.’
The old man started to chant the plainsong of the great cathedrals, something Hereward had first heard while waiting to be judged by the King at Winchester. Now it signalled his departure from a remarkable man and took on a haunting quality, making him think of the legend of Wodewose and the many other stories he had heard.
The old seer said only one more thing before continuing his mantra long into the night. ‘Go well, young Hereward; give my love to Torfida. You will help her to fulfil her destiny, and she will be your guide in finding yours.’
4.