James Wilde - Hereward

‘What do they want here?’ he asked.

‘Sometimes I think Edward is losing his wits. At other times I think he is more cunning than a fox,’ the Earl of Wessex mused. ‘Would he truly dare offer England’s throne to his mother’s people?’

Redwald watched the black-cloaked men disappear into the warm glow of Edward’s hall. Everything was changing, as the prophecies foretold. What did the future hold?

Hereward warmed his hands against the fire roaring in the hearth of the vast hall. Relieved to be out of the harsh Northumbrian night, he watched the flames making the gold plate shine like beacons in the half-light. Jewels of red, blue and green sparkled in the sumptuous tapestries covering the walls. Looking round, he saw the hall was the finest he had seen; the earl was clearly enjoying the riches to be had in the north. Newly built in the latest two-floored style, the timber of the frame still smelled fresh. The sunken floor comprised boards suspended over a straw-stuffed vault to keep the building warm in the winter months. Two feasting tables and benches ran the length of the hall, and at the far end, on a raised platform, was the earl’s seat, carved with dragons on the arm rests. When he listened, the warrior heard the cracked, dark wood of the throne speak to him of the old days, when men were great heroes filled with fire and vengeance, not weak, sickly things who used shadow-words to achieve their aims.

Yet for all the comfort, his thoughts swept out across the frozen flood-plain into the suffocating dark. He saw burnished helmets, and eyes glowing with fire, spear-points stabbing towards the stars with each relentless step, and he knew there would be no peace for him in this life. Soon his enemies would be at the gates of Eoferwic and he would be forced to take a stand. But here it would be on his terms, perhaps even with good men at his back. He felt relieved that there would be no more running, and that he could finally be true to himself. Survival was nothing without truth.

The messenger darted in from the cold, his ruddy cheeks and curly hair making him appear boyish. Hereward was reminded of Redwald and felt a pang of regret that he might never see his brother again. ‘Fear not,’ the messenger gasped. ‘No enemies will reach you this night. Earl Tostig will join you shortly, but he has ordered men to watch the gates and to refuse entry to any strangers approaching during the hours of darkness.’

When the young man had departed, the warrior basked in the warmth slowly returning to his frozen fingers and toes. He could smell the resin of the wood becoming sweeter as it sizzled in the flames, but then his nostrils flared as another scent reached him on the draught. Spices brought in from the great hot lands beyond the sea and mixed in a paste made from tallow and herbs, which the women used to make themselves more appealing.

‘Why do you hide?’ he called. ‘Am I so fearsome?’

A shape separated from the deep shadows at the rear of the hall. With hair as black as raven-wing and creamy skin, the woman was clearly not a Dane, nor English, Hereward would wager, though he could not place her homeland. She was, perhaps, a year or two younger than him, wearing a plain forest-green dress held by an oval brooch.

‘You are not fearsome.’ Holding her chin up brazenly, she strode to the hearth and flung a handful of dried leaves into the flames. A sweet scent filled the air. The earl was welcoming him, as he had hoped.

‘You have never met any man like me,’ he said in a wry voice. He watched her dress fold around the body beneath and realized how long it had been since he had been with a woman.

Perhaps glimpsing his lingering stare, she paused, teasing with her lips but eyeing him from a position of strength. ‘I see fresh scars, like those on the arms of any of the huscarls. I hear boasting, like the easy, empty words that echo from the mouths of the boys who dream of being heroes, but know in their hearts they will never achieve that height. I see…’ she made a noise in the back of her throat, ‘nothing I have not seen before.’

‘And yet you waste your breath talking to me.’

‘When I hear of a new arrival, who has braved the lawless lands beyond the fence, on foot, in the middle of winter, I would see for myself if this is a fool, or one of the signs.’

‘Signs?’ Hereward circled the hearth, watching the woman through the smoke. He saw a flicker of apprehension cross her face.

‘Of the End-Times.’

The warrior shook his head.

‘At the minster, I heard talk that Archbishop Ealdred has sent word out for all men to watch for signs that this is the End of Days. And across Eoferwic everyone whispers of some wise woman’s dream that Doomsday draws near.’ The slave searched Hereward’s face for anything that he might be hiding.

He laughed. ‘These are winter stories, to frighten in the long nights. Every age believes it has been chosen to be the last. And if these are the End-Times, then so be it. There is little of value in this world.’

Puzzled, the black-haired woman remained silent for a moment. ‘You are not afraid?’ But at that moment the hall echoed with the approaching clatter of metal and tramp of leather on wood, and the slave retreated into the shadows. From the gloom at the far end of the hall emerged Earl Tostig Godwinson and his wife Judith, accompanied by five of his huscarls in hauberks and furs. Eyes gleaming beneath their helmets, the bodyguard were tall and lean, fierce of expression and heavily scarred. They were wild-bearded Vikings in the main and carried their axes as if Hereward was to be cornered and killed. The Mercian recognized the jagged facial scar and implacable stare of the one at the head of the band. He had led the dispersal of the crowd gathered outside the metalworker’s hut earlier that evening.

But Tostig held his arms wide and boomed a greeting. Dressed in a ruddy-dyed linen tunic under a thick woollen cloak, the earl stood a hand shorter than Hereward, his brown hair curling into ringlets and still sprinkled with the snow that must have started falling outside. He moved with a wolfish lope, his body strong and battle-hardened. But Hereward knew the man’s face hid secrets easily and it was difficult to know what he truly thought. In contrast, Judith’s face was open and smiling. A heavy-featured but not unattractive woman, she had gained some weight around her middle, but hid it beneath a beautiful linen dress dyed the colour of the sun. Tostig had married well, Hereward thought. As the daughter of Baldwin, Count of Flanders, the Bruges-born woman had powerful connections. Judith smiled at the new arrival. She had always been kind to him on the few occasions they had met at court, when every other noble had treated him with suspicion, contempt or fear.

‘I thought my servant was mistaken,’ the earl said, warming his hands in front of the fire. ‘Hereward of Mercia, here, so far from his home?’

‘You have not been to court in recent times?’

Tostig grunted. ‘Between repelling the raids from the north and trying to instil order among the unruly herd here in Northumbria, all my attention has been needed in Eoferwic. Let me tell you, my young friend, every night I dream of my old home in the south. This is the most lawless place on earth, and even the so-called civilized men are quick to rise up in violent protest if they feel they are not getting their due.’ With a weary shake of his head, he drew up a stool beside Hereward. ‘But I expected no more from a people fired by the blood of Viking pirates,’ he added with a note of bitterness.

Hereward saw the toll the heavy burden of office was taking upon the earl. His shoulders were hunched, his brow continually knitted. There were many in London who said Tostig was not up to the task of bringing order to Northumbria. He had lived all his life in the shadow of his brother Harold Godwinson, a strong and clever man, who had earned his power at court. But when Earl Siward had died, Harold had fought hard to have Tostig sent north, to ensure the Godwins controlled most of England. Only Hereward’s own home, Mercia, remained free of their influence, and there the newly appointed earl, Edwin, was inexperienced and no threat. Or perhaps no obvious threat, he thought.