Hereward 02 - The Devil's Army (39 page)

‘Godrun. You are well?’ he said, ignoring her black expression. He made to embrace her, but she took a step back.

‘Well?’ she repeated, her eyes cold. ‘Yes, I am well. Those four dogs did not harm me, if that is what you mean.’

Hereward nodded, relieved. How long he had waited and hoped for this moment. Unable to contain himself, he asked, ‘Tell me your news.’

‘I have done my work well,’ Godrun began in a flat voice. She snagged her fingers through her hair, pulling out a dry leaf. ‘No one could have done it better.’

‘I had no doubts. That is why I chose you to go to Wincestre. All men are children, and fools too. They will let women lead them by the nose, as their mothers did when they were young.’

‘What did you see in me, Hereward? Why did you choose
me
?’ she demanded, her eyes blazing.

‘Tell me,’ he repeated. He pushed aside his guilt. The task he had set her was always going to be hard, he had known that from the moment he asked. But too much had been at stake and he knew that she, if any, could get him the result he needed.

She choked off her reply and glared for a moment. When she spoke her voice was strained. ‘The earls Edwin and Morcar have left Wincestre. They ride back to Mercia to meet with their armies. They will oppose the king.’

‘And they will join our fight?’ he pressed, almost grabbing her shoulders.

‘They are ripe for the plucking,’ she replied flatly.

‘How long has this plan been birthing?’ Redwald asked incredulously.

‘I told you, brother, I sow my seeds and wait to see what sprouts,’ Hereward replied without turning round. He held Godrun’s eyes, seeing the hurt in them.

‘I hate you,’ she spat, finally losing her control. Tears of anger flecked her eyes and her cheeks burned. ‘The things you made me do—’ The words died in her throat and she looked away, her hand flying to her mouth.

‘We are all in your debt,’ he began gently.

She held up a hand to silence him. ‘Do not give me easy words of comfort,’ she said with contempt. ‘I am broken now. I cannot go back to my father and the life I once had. I have no good summers ahead of me.’ She swallowed, choking back tears. ‘I would end my days if I could.’

Nothing he could say would ease her pain, he knew that. Her scars ran too deep. ‘Then I will speak plainly,’ he said, holding out one hand. ‘This war demands terrible things of all of us. We look into the dark and see no light. We look into our hearts and do not recognize the things we find there. It makes us hard. But we carry this burden so others do not have to. Your father. Your brothers. All in Ely.’ He paused, watching her eyes brim. He remembered all the women he had seen suffer, and wished
he could have spared her this. But he could not. ‘Your sacrifice may well have saved them all.’

With gleaming eyes, she held his gaze for a long moment. Though he knew she understood his meaning, he could see she had not forgiven him. He felt stung by that look. But that was his burden. When she walked off ahead, he turned to Alric and whispered, ‘Go with her. Offer her what comfort you can. But ask her not what she endured in Wincestre.’

Once the monk and Godrun had disappeared among the willows, Hereward turned to his warriors. ‘Godrun has bought us hope,’ he said, his voice hardening with defiance, ‘and perhaps more than that … an army that can cut right through the bastard Normans. Our days to come are in our hands once more.’

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IFTY
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IX

ANGRY VOICES JOLTED
the still of the greenwood. Black wings thundered up from the dense canopy as roosting crows shrieked their warnings at the two arguing men. In slanting shafts of late-afternoon sunlight, a throng of warriors watched their leaders confront each other. These were huscarls, mail-clad and fierce, and seasoned spearmen who had fought the brutal campaigns in the north. On their arms, gouged and splintered shields told the story of bloody battles won and lost. Behind them, their snorting horses rested after the long ride from the plain to the west of Wincestre.

Hengist crawled on his belly along the broad branch to get a better view. He flexed his legs to ease the aches from his own hard ride from the north-east, here to the edge of the fenlands. His throat was dry and his sweat had soaked through his tunic, but not for a moment could he have slowed his pace. Resting on the creaking branch, he looked down on the earls Edwin and Morcar, once rulers of great power, now mere men. How that loss must sting them, he thought. They paced around each other like bad-tempered dogs, snapping. Their drawn faces spoke of worry and doubt.

Hengist nodded as he scrutinized the two earls. Godrun had
said they were ripe to become allies of the Devil’s Army and he could see that was true. They had a hunted, friendless look about them. Yet he could not forget Hereward’s warning. They were hard men, these Mercians, and quick to use their swords at the slightest suspicion. Approach them with care, his leader had cautioned. As the discordant voices reached his ears, he knew this was not the time. Once they had calmed, he would step out, arms outstretched to show he carried no weapons. And then he would deliver Hereward’s message. He looked across their force waiting among the trees and saw the forest of spears. He grinned. With these men swelling their army, the Norman bastards would truly have a fight on their hands.

He took a deep breath, still feeling the strain of the last two days. He had begun to fear he would never find this wandering army in the wild countryside, even with the information Godrun had given him. But he was here now, and he would not let his battle-brothers down. No one would call him mad again.

‘Our best hope lies in the fens,’ he heard Morcar insist. ‘Only among the bogs and waters and trees will we be able to hide from the king’s wrath.’

Edwin waved a dismissive hand towards his brother. In that one gesture, Hengist saw where the power lay between them. ‘You are a fool if you think William the Bastard will ever let us alone,’ Edwin said. ‘He will not rest until all those who might stand against him have been crushed. He knows how to keep the peace in an unruly land and he knows how to keep the crown. With this.’ He hammered one leather-gauntleted fist into his palm.

‘What say you then? Run, like dogs?’

‘And keep our heads upon our shoulders. We have gold enough to live like kings.’

Morcar ran one hand through his thinning hair, his face creasing with the strain. ‘And go where? We have few friends across the whale road.’

Edwin softened his voice to try to win over his brother. ‘We have friends in the north. Malcolm, King of the Scots.’

The smaller man turned away with a furious shake of his head. ‘And travel across a land now under the grip of the Normans? The risk is too great.’ From his hiding place, Hengist saw him snatch a suspicious look at the waiting men before he leaned in to whisper to his brother. Trust was thin on the ground even there, and rightly so. If William the Bastard suspected Edwin and Morcar could become a threat, he would have ensured at least some of their men were in his pay.

Edwin seemed to ignore his brother’s words. He grimaced and fluttered his hand again. Walking back towards the warriors, he said, ‘Enough. I have the gold and I will ride north. Join me or take your men and follow your own path. And on your own head be it.’

Hengist saw Morcar’s cheeks flush. The man who had once ruled Northumbria had lost face in front of his fighting men and he was not taking it well. ‘Go, then,’ he snarled. ‘This parting of the ways has been a long time coming. You will regret your choice, brother.’ He raised his arm and flicked it towards the east. As he turned towards his horse, near-half of the army found their own mounts. Within moments, Morcar’s horde was riding away without a backward glance.

Hengist looked from one war-band to the other with dismay. Hereward had not prepared him for this possibility. He could not carry his master’s message to both camps; which one should he choose?

Afraid that success was slipping through his fingers, he scrambled backwards along the branch. Swinging himself down, he dropped on to the forest floor like a cat. The rumble of hoofbeats filled the air and the ground shook as Edwin’s men departed. Hengist raced along the hidden track to the south, regretting how far away he had tethered his horse.

By the time he reached the beast, his mind was made up. He climbed on to his ride’s bare back and urged his mount towards the north. Morcar might lose himself in the wilderness, but at least the former earl would remain close to home. If there were
a chance to bring Edwin and his army to Ely, it had to be seized now.

Branches tore at his hair and lashed his face. Lying low across his horse’s neck, he rode as fast as he could along the narrow track. The sun was slipping towards the horizon, the shadows lengthening among the trees and the air growing sharper. Night was coming too fast. He pushed his steed on.

As he weighed the best way to approach Edwin without risking the edge of the earl’s blade, he heard shouts and cries and the clash of iron upon iron from ahead. He pulled up his horse and cocked his head, listening. Could Morcar have turned his men around and now be fighting his brother for his honour?

He jumped off his horse and tied it to a tree. It would not be good to be caught up in the battle. As he crept forward to get a better look, he heard the thunder of hooves rushing towards him from the battle ahead. With his back pressed against a broad oak, he hid as the riders raced by. ‘To Morcar,’ one of them called.

Hengist frowned, puzzled. Who then fought Edwin? He loped through the trees until the storm of fighting seemed to rage all around him. Peering from behind a lightning-blasted ash tree, he saw bodies littering the forest floor. Everywhere was confusion. Riderless horses bolted. Warriors ran, for their lives, or to defend Edwin. Swords flashed in shafts of sunlight. Shields cracked and spears stabbed. And then he glimpsed the familiar hauberks and helms of the Normans. The king’s men were carving their way through the wandering army.

Edwin had been betrayed by his own men, that could be the only answer. Morcar had been right. The Normans would not have been able to find the army by chance. Hengist cursed under his breath. There was nothing he could do here now. He had to hope that he could find Morcar’s trail to the north-east.

But as he turned to creep back towards his horse, he heard the pounding of feet draw near. He crouched behind a dense tangle of bramble heavy with berry. Three men came running
by, casting desperate glances over their shoulders. One of them, he saw, was Edwin.

As the men scrambled over snaking roots, Hengist heard the whistle of an arrow. The shaft slammed into the fleeing Edwin’s chest and he fell to one side, dead.

In shock, Hengist threw himself back against the ash tree. The arrow had not come from the direction of the battle.

For a while, nothing moved. Then, after several taut breaths, a shape separated from the pooling shadows. He squinted, troubled by the silhouette he saw. As the figure slipped away through a patch of late sunlight, Hengist glimpsed a sight that left him sick to his stomach. The man who had killed Edwin and perhaps had ended the last hope of the English was Hereward’s own brother, Redwald.

C
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IFTY
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EVEN

THE CANDLE GUTTERED
on the shelf. Shadows swirled across the hut as the woman raised her head from her straw mattress and looked around. ‘Who is there?’ Turfrida asked, her eyelids heavy. She squinted, trying to pierce the dark around the door. Only a few hot coals glowed in the hearth, enough to take the autumnal chill out of the air. She had been dozing fitfully. Sleep came rarely since she had left Hereward behind for Crowland. Too many dreams plagued her, and her child seemed just as troubled, waking and crying far too often during the dark hours. Did it sense something amiss, she wondered, glancing towards the heap of swaddling clothes in the sleeping-basket? For children were wise. They still heard the whispers of the
vættir
and saw things no grown man or woman saw.

Turfrida pressed herself up on her elbows, her eyes clearing. She shuddered. A shape darker than the shadows around her was watching her from the door. ‘Night-walker or man, step forward and reveal yourself,’ she hissed, her hand flying to the talisman on the leather thong around her neck.

After a moment’s hesitation, Redwald stepped forward into the wavering light. Turfrida felt a chill. His face was impassive, but she saw a gulf between the apple-cheeked, innocent features
and the cold, dead stare that had always disturbed her. How Hereward never recognized what lay in those eyes had always amazed her. Or perhaps Redwald only revealed it to women.

He began, ‘Hereward sent me—’

‘Save your lies. I can see into your heart.’ He flinched at that.

‘More witchery?’ He crossed the room and warmed his hands at the hearth. ‘It is cold out tonight.’

Turfrida climbed from her bed and pulled on a cloak. Goose-flesh prickled the skin of her forearms, and not from the cold. ‘What do you want?’ she demanded.

‘You never liked me,’ he said, rubbing his hands together.

‘And you never liked it that I had Hereward’s ear,’ she snapped, tugging the cloak tighter around her.

‘How high he could have risen if only I had guided him. How low he now will fall.’

‘There must be some gain here for you,’ she said coldly, ignoring the unsettling tone she heard in his words.

‘Gain?’ he repeated, pursing his lips. ‘It is too late now for gain.’

‘How did you find me?’

‘Hereward told me, in the end. He trusts me.’

She screwed up her nose. ‘I have never known a man so sly, spinning half-lies and setting friend against friend with only a few words, all to your own end. You weave your web and wait to see what flies fall into it.’

He shrugged. ‘Yet you said nothing.’

‘You are Hereward’s brother. He loves you. It was not for me to hurt him with sharp words.’ She paused. ‘He will find out soon enough, I always knew that.’