Hereward 02 - The Devil's Army (25 page)

The king raised his cup and said in a commanding tone, ‘
Wæs þu hæl
.’ Hereward echoed the toast. ‘Your folk have visited this camp every day since we put to shore, monks from the abbeys and men from the fields alike,’ Sweyn continued, ‘and every day I hear pleas to drive out the conqueror and rule this land as my kin did in days gone by. They take my men into their homes and to their feasts and give them what little meat and drink they have.’

Hereward sipped his beer. ‘William’s rule has been a long, cruel winter for many. They would feel the sun on their faces.’

‘The Bastard will not let his prize slip through his fingers easily.’ The king lounged back, but Hereward could feel Sweyn scrutinizing him, weighing his worth. And he too knew the truth of his host, a man who had ordered his huscarls to slaughter a church-f of guests when he had heard one of them had ridiculed him. ‘When we took Eoferwic, we thought his days were done,’ he continued. ‘But he fought back and left your north a desert. Never have I seen such blood, rivers of it, and I have fought battles where there have been bodies as far as the eye could see. Pestilence and starvation spread among the poor souls who yet live. Some say William would rather see this a land of the dead than lose his crown.’

Hereward’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his cup tighter. ‘The End of Days,’ he muttered, shaking his head. ‘No, it will not come to pass.’

The king smiled. ‘You would set your face against God’s judgement?’

‘William the Bastard is a man, and he does not speak for God. I will do all within my power to bring him to his knees.’

Sweyn nodded, seeming to like this show of defiance. ‘Your king has crushed all uprisings now, save one. The one you lead. He thinks his throne is safe, and that you are nothing more than a flea.’

‘Let him think that. More joy to see his face when he finds the
only fleas in the east are ones that ride the backs of wolves.’ He drained his cup. ‘This winter has been hard, but still we stand. And with more men, we could take the fight to the Normans, and drive them out.’

The king called for more beer, and once the girl had filled his cup, he said, ‘We make common cause, then. Is that what you are here to say?’

For a moment, Hereward hesitated. He recalled Alric’s words as he left Ely to follow Hengist to the camp of the Danes: ‘Take care lest you make a deal with a devil worse than the one you know.’ Yet here was the moment where the fate of the English could turn on his words. ‘We can offer you safe haven, a home protected by the strongest defences, where William’s men can never touch you.’

Sweyn kept his gaze fixed on his guest, urging him to continue.

‘This land is filled with traps and death,’ the Mercian added. ‘We know the secret paths that will keep your battle-wolves with the living. With the English beside you, you will be able to thrust a spear deep into the heart of William’s army.’

‘Even so, your numbers are small,’ the king mused. ‘What more can you offer?’

Hereward grinned, recalling the moment long months ago that he had sown the seed of his plan, needing only men to see it bear fruit. And now here it was. ‘Riches beyond your dreams,’ he said. ‘And the power of God himself.’

The king’s eyes brightened.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-F
OUR

5 April 1070

PINK APPLE BLOSSOM
fluttered in the orchard. The sweet fragrance drifted down to the column of weary warriors as they marched through the great gates of Wincestre. Their shields were dented, their cloaks stained with mud and blood, but they raised their heads to the chorus of cheering crowds greeting King William’s return from his victorious campaign to bring peace to the unruly north.

As he rode, Balthar searched the bright faces of the folk lining the streets to the royal palace. He had hoped he would glimpse Godrun there, so desperate was he to see her. Yet he knew she would find him changed, in many ways, and for the better, he hoped. Those gruelling experiences in Northumbria had stripped the fat from his body and carved lines into his face. More, they had worn the edges off his arrogance.

As the spring sun warmed his cheeks, he thought back to that bitter chill in the mountains when he had rejoined the army. He had feigned ignorance of Faramond’s fate, though it still haunted him in the dark of the night. But the hardships of that winter had brought more immediate concerns. William had
been forced to contain a rebellion among his own men, starving and exhausted and losing brothers to the cold. And then they had fought hard for Cestre where their enemies had not been prepared for the arrival of an army in the frozen season. The folk there had been cowed in no time and William had put them to work building a new castle. The feast had been great indeed, though he barely remembered a morsel that passed his lips. The uprising had been quashed and William’s possession of the crown had been sealed. Only the trouble in the fens remained, and that was like the grumblings of old men compared with what had already been crushed. Soon that too would be ended, at the hands of the Butcher. After so much hardship, the road south had seemed long indeed. But now he was home.

As he passed through the gates into the palace enclosure, he trembled with relief. He was not alone in that. Looking around, he saw the grins on the faces of the commanders as they slapped each other’s back. For the first time in many a month he heard laughter.

The king leapt from his horse with surprising grace for a man so large. Balthar felt William’s eyes upon him as he dismounted in turn. The monarch must have seen the eagerness in his face for he called, ‘Run away, Fox, and not to your wife, I would wager.’ Balthar’s ears burned as the king’s laughter followed him into the still hall, but he cared little. Through echoing chambers he ran, searching every place Godrun might be about her chores. He found her in the store, filling a pitcher with wine for the returning monarch. His appearance must have shocked her, for her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Are you well?’ she ventured at whatever she saw in his face.

Unable to contain himself any longer, he pulled her into his arms and forced his mouth upon hers. The pitcher crashed to the floor, the good wine draining into the grooves among the flagstones. Her surprise held her rigid for a moment, but then she gave in to his kisses. When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he felt stunned by his response: not lust or love, but desperation. He knew he could not afford to let her go again.

‘Come with me,’ he requested, grabbing her hand, ‘to your bed. I cannot wait another moment.’

‘The king will call for me to serve him,’ she protested.

‘The king will understand.’

‘He knows?’ She wrenched free of his grasp.

‘More than knows. He has given us his approval.’ She stared at him in disbelief. ‘I will ask him to make you mine alone, so you will no longer have to endure the vile advances of those other men.’ He smiled. ‘I told you I would protect you.’

When he had finally convinced her, he led her along a meandering route from the palace to her home so they would not be seen. Inside the hut, he pulled off her dress with feverish hands and pushed her down upon the bed. She gasped, seemingly surprised by the intensity of his desire, but she offered her thighs to him without protest. Beguiled, he was, and he would not have it any other way.

His seed spilled across her belly too quickly, and with that release, he felt as if every dread, every doubt, every piece of guilt, every harrowing experience rushed out of him as one. Tears rolled down his cheeks and then he began to cry, huge sobs that racked his entire body. Even his shame at such a display could not contain them.

Godrun wrapped her arms around him, shocked by the outpouring. Yet she said nothing and seemed not to judge him, and for that he felt thankful. When he had recovered, he bowed his head and murmured his apologies. He did not want her to see him that way, and he tried to make light talk, demanding to know the latest palace gossip. But she would have none of it.

‘Tell me,’ she insisted, fixing a stern eye upon him. ‘If we are to be close, we must have no secrets between us. You have helped me too much since I came here, and now I would aid you, if I can.’

‘There is nothing you can do,’ he sighed, but she pressed and after a few moments he was telling her the grim tale of what he had seen in the north and of the king’s cruelty and the misery
the monarch had left in his wake. The grimmest facts he chose to omit, out of kindness. Nor could he bring himself to tell her of his own role in guiding the king’s hand to such atrocities. Afterwards, he sagged against her, saying, ‘Once I believed I knew everything, and now I see I know nothing. I feel lost, Godrun, and alone.’

‘You are not alone. I am here.’ She stroked his head and whispered, ‘You are a powerful man. The king listens to all that you say.’

‘And laughs at me.’

‘No. He raised you on high because he needs you. You are his way to understand the English, and to bring them to him, in obedience. You cannot be lost, for you still are that same man who guides the hand of a king.’

Balthar felt his stomach churn at those words. ‘I … I do not think I want that work any more.’

‘Then what path do you think God would want you to tread?’ Her lips brushed his ear and he shivered with delight.

‘The path of righteousness. I believed we would see peace and wealth under William’s rule. All the suffering of the invasion could be forgotten, if only we accepted the Normans. Now …’ He creased his brow, the thoughts forming even as he spoke. ‘Now I wonder if I was mistaken.’

‘In my home, I heard many say the same,’ she said, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘William is cruel. William steals and slays and the misery will not end until the English are all driven into the mud. I know nothing of these things.’ She shrugged, then turned to him and smiled. ‘But you are a wise man. If you believe the king is a threat to us all, then surely he must be.’

Balthar jerked at her words. From her lips, in so bald a manner, they sounded shocking. Yet was this not the only honest conclusion of the doubts that had afflicted him? He rubbed his brow in confusion. It felt as if his old life had been washed away in a flood in recent times, that world of slow advance to power, and dull family life, of numb hearts and grey thoughts. The king had raised him up, and he had committed himself to
William and all that he offered. But there, beside Godrun, it felt of little import any more. He shook his head, smiling. ‘These doubts seem new to me, but I wonder if they first rose unbidden when I laid eyes upon you.’

‘Me?’ she said with a shy smile.

‘You reminded me of who I once was, and of a world I had forgotten, or tried to forget.’

‘You are a good man,’ she murmured, kissing his cheek, ‘and I know that whatever path you choose will be for the good of us all.’

In her eyes he saw such adoration that all his fears melted away. He wanted only to please her, and if it bought him peace, all the better. ‘Good, yes, I will do good.’ His mind was racing. ‘The suffering William has brought to the English is a crime that must be fought,’ he blurted. Only when the words had left his lips did he realize he had no idea what he could do about such a thing. Nor did he want to lose his head with a futile gesture.

Godrun frowned.

‘What is it?’ he asked gently.

‘You say the king has not crushed all those who stand against him?’

‘In the east a few remain, but they are no threat.’

‘Perhaps you could aid them?’

He laughed. ‘What could I do? Carry a spear and a shield while the Norman army bears down upon me? There would be no more kisses after that.’

‘But you see and hear everything here in the palace. You know the king’s mind,’ she said, growing excited. She held out her arms. ‘Why, could you not guide his ship on to the rocks? Or find some way to send aid to those poor souls in the east? No one is cleverer than the Fox,’ she added, eyeing him from beneath heavy lids.

He felt a stirring in his groin at that seductive look. ‘You have bewitched me, Godrun, with your youth and your joy and your innocence. I am yours for ever more,’ he said with a laugh.
‘You are right. I
am
the Fox, and more cunning than the king realizes. I will show you what power I command.’

This seemed to excite her, which drove him to even greater passion. She pulled him back on to the bed, nipping at his ear with her teeth. ‘And I will show you much love in turn,’ she breathed, ‘more, perhaps, than you have ever had in your life.’

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
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IVE

29 May 1070

SHARDS OF MOONLIGHT
glittered off the rippling black waters. An oar sliced through the silvery illumination, and then another, as the fleet of large, flat-bottomed boats headed westwards along the Wellstream, the miles-wide channel that carved its way across the northern fenlands. Warriors squatted on the timber seats, their helms and mail shirts gleaming under the eye of the full moon. No one spoke. Across the wild fens, the wind had dropped and the warm night was still.

Hereward stood in the prow of the lead boat, one foot braced against the rim. Fire burned in his breast. After all the worry and the wait, the battle against the Normans had begun. When this night was done, the king could no longer pretend his crown was secure. The Mercian glanced back across the trail of vessels. Near eighty warriors followed his lead, English, Danes and axes-for-hire, lured by his promise of riches beyond measure.
Now we honour the fallen
, he thought.
Now we take back what is ours
.

Redwald loomed at his shoulder. ‘Outwell is behind us,’ he
murmured, knowing that any voice would travel far in that quiet land.

‘Soon, now,’ Hereward whispered in reply. ‘Soon.’

The Mercian grinned to himself. During the long, cold winter, he had allowed his fears to devour him, he knew that now. His army breaking apart by the day, good men hacked down by the Normans as they scouted the snowbound wetlands. It had seemed that all their hopes were turning to dust. The arrival of the Danes had changed all that. He had gambled everything on Sweyn Estrithson allying his army with the English rebels and now they would all reap the rewards. His thoughts flew back six weeks to that mild spring day when the Northmen had tramped through Ely’s gates. The cheers of the English must have been heard all the way to Wincestre. All there knew that now they had a force to be reckoned with, and the days of struggle and thin hope had passed. The Danes had brought with them carts laden with meat and grain that had been given to them by grateful folk on their journey from the coast, and good venison and boar that had been hunted on the way. There was to be no want in Ely on their arrival, Hereward had insisted on that. And though these fierce men had strange customs and sullen ways, the English had welcomed them into their hearts, as was the English way.