Magnus was probably the third son of Harold Godwineson by his first wife, Eadgyth ‘Swan-neck’. Following their father’s death at Hastings, he and his two elder brothers, Godwine and Eadmund, appear to have fled to Dublin, from where they staged two raids on the south-west of England. The first of these took place in 1068, but achieved little. Entering the River Avon, the three brothers proceeded to Bristol, possibly expecting a warm welcome as the heirs of the former king and Earl of Wessex. If so, they were disappointed. They were resisted by the townspeople and met in battle by a prominent local landowner named Eadnoth the Staller, whom they killed before venturing back to Ireland with their plunder. In the summer of 1069, the brothers returned with either sixty-four or sixty-six ships, hinting at a significant force numbering perhaps as many as 3,000 men. Again, however, their efforts came to nothing. They were repelled, this time by a certain Count Brien, who was able to surprise them, inflict heavy casualties in the ensuing skirmish, and drive them off. After their defeat, they withdrew once more to Ireland, and, with that, Harold’s sons disappear into obscurity. About their further activities or their ultimate fates, the sources offer no information, and we can only speculate.
Orderic tells us that Harold’s sons were given support by King Diarmait and other Irish princes, which has been interpreted as meaning ships and men, although how many is unknown. It seems likely that their raiding-force would also have included other exiles from England, as well as Hiberno-Norse freebooters looking for the opportunity to win plunder. There was no individual by the name of Haakon Thorolfsson in real life, although there would probably have been many warlords like him who plied their trade by selling their swords to the highest bidder. At this precise point in history, it isn’t clear what ruler, if any, held sway over the Hebrides, and it may be that there existed a vacuum of power along this vital sea route from the Continent to Iceland and Orkney: a vacuum that would have allowed pirates and petty kings alike to flourish. Readers familiar with the geography of the region might have been able to spot from the descriptions offered that Jarnborg, Haakon’s fictional ‘iron fortress’, is sited on the island of Lismore in Loch Linnhe, across the water from modern Oban.
The verse recited by Eudo on the eve of the battle for the Isle is excerpted, of course, from The Song of Roland, the heroic poem concerning the last stand of its eponymous hero in a remote mountain pass in the Pyrenees. The oldest surviving manuscript of this text dates from sometime between 1130 and 1170, but there is good reason to suppose that the Song itself was composed earlier than this, perhaps as early as 1060, although the generally accepted date is around the time of the First Crusade (1095–99). Two twelfth-century authorities, William of Malmesbury and the Norman poet Wace – no relation to my character of the same name – state that a certain Taillefer sang of the deeds of Roland as an exhortation to the Normans immediately before the Battle of Hastings. It might well be the case that certain elements of the Roland legend had already been committed to verse by the time of the Conquest, even if the full Song as we know it today didn’t yet exist in its final form. The text I have quoted is derived from John O’Hagan’s verse translation of 1880, published by C. Kegan Paul & Co., although I have adapted it slightly.
The poetry spoken by Magnus in Chapter Twenty, meanwhile, is excerpted from an Old English elegy known to modern scholars as ‘The Wanderer’. The poem is narrated from the perspective of an exiled warrior whose lord and companions have been killed. Plagued by sorrow and by memories of former glories, he finds himself wandering the cold seas, bemoaning the situation to which wyrd (‘fate’ or ‘destiny’) has condemned him. I have referred to this text once before, in Sworn Sword, but it seemed especially appropriate that Magnus should quote from it here as well.
With hindsight, it might be argued that the suppression of the Ely rebellion marked the culmination of King William’s bitter wars of conquest, which had lasted five years and resulted in the deaths of thousands of Normans, Bretons, Flemings, English, Welsh and Danes. But we should not suppose that, even by the end of 1071, he felt entirely secure. No one could know, after all, what plots were afoot beyond the boundaries of his realm: in Wales and Scotland, France and Denmark. Peace rarely lasted long, and as will become apparent, there was no shortage of troubles in the years to come.
Whether Tancred decides in the end to return to England, or whether he ventures forth to seek his fortune elsewhere, time will tell. One thing is for certain, however, which is that he will ride again soon.
Acknowledgements
AS ALWAYS, I’D like to take the opportunity to thank several individuals without whom this novel would not have been possible.
Knights of the Hawk sees Tancred venturing further from home than ever before: into distant lands filled with people whose languages are unfamiliar to his ear. Once again I’m indebted to Richard Dance of St Catherine’s College, Cambridge, for being my guide through the linguistic patchwork that was eleventh-century Britain, and for taking the time to translate several passages of modern English dialogue into Old Norse and Old English.
Many thanks also to my editor, Georgina Hawtrey-Woore, to Katherine Murphy, Amelia Harvell and everyone else at Random House for all their hard work in bringing these books from manuscript to bookshelf, as well as to my copy-editor, Richenda Todd, whose close attention to detail has helped to make this the best work it can possibly be.
For their generous feedback, I am once again grateful to Jonathan Carr, Liz Pile, Beverly Stark, Tricia Wastvedt, Joanne Sefton, Jules Stanbridge and Gordon Egginton, who all took the time to read extracts from the novel at various stages during its development, and whose insights and advice have proven enormously helpful.
Final thanks, as ever, go to my family and to Laura for all their unfailing support and encouragement through the course of writing the novel.