Hereward 02 - The Devil's Army (6 page)

William de Warenne flinched as if he had been struck. The Butcher remained impassive, but he lowered his eyes. ‘Not failure, no,’ Taillebois began after a moment, ‘but this drags on and with a few more men we would be done with it by the time the snows come—’

‘The Fox! Where is the Fox?’ William called over the other man. ‘And more wine,’ he demanded, waving his cup.

Balthar jumped and moved swiftly towards the door, which lay out of the king’s line of sight. He sucked in three breaths in rapid succession and scrabbled his fingers through his hair to make it seem he had been hurrying. As William continued to call his name, he scurried towards the throne. ‘My lord?’ he enquired, breathless.

‘The Fox,’ the king boomed, throwing his arms wide and grinning. ‘How is your wife, Gertrude?’

‘Well, my lord.’

‘And your two boys?’

‘Both well, my lord.’

‘Balthar the Fox advises me in the ways of the English more wisely than any Norman ever could,’ William said to his two guests with a ghost of a smirk. ‘I named him well, for he is cunning, and slinks unseen through the shadows. Balthar is my eyes and ears among our new friends.’

‘You honour me, my lord,’ Balthar said with a bow.

‘I do, indeed.’ The king covered his smile. He waved his cup again and Godrun scampered forward from the shadows. Balthar saw her look towards him for no more than a fleeting moment, yet he felt a tingle of satisfaction at the recognition of a kindred spirit that he thought he glimpsed there.

‘So many times we have spoken here about the unruly nature of your kinsmen,’ William continued, showing the face of a concerned father with a lightly furrowed brow and downcast eyes.

Balthar nodded, hiding his bitterness. He felt stung by the resistance of the English. What gain was there in fighting a lost cause? Better to welcome the many benefits William’s new rule promised. Peace, stability, a chance to heal all wounds.

‘I thought when I had seen off that pretender to my crown, that Edgar Aetheling, there would be an end to these troubles,’ the king added, a crack in his voice despite his attempts at equanimity. ‘Now the north is demanding my attention again. And the west and …’ His left hand clenched on the arm of his throne, but he forced a tight smile. ‘And now I hear a flea in the east is continuing to bite, a flea that should have long since been crushed.’ He narrowed his eyes at his two guests. ‘Tell me, Fox, what should I do about this Hereward?’

Balthar pressed his palms together as if praying. ‘News has reached me of the Mercian, my lord,’ he began in measured tones. ‘There is no love lost between his kinsmen Edwin and Morcar and him. I doubt they would ever rally to his banner.’

‘You agree that the north remains the greater threat?’

‘I do, my lord. Northumbria has always been a nest of vipers. The poison will spread if those snakes are not put to the spear—’

‘The spear, you say,’ William cut in, raising his head thoughtfully.

Balthar felt his chest swell that the king – the king! – was hanging on his words. ‘Hereward is but one man, my lord, for all the lost souls who flock to his banner. Without his leadership, they would be nothing. One man, and by all accounts of his time at Edward’s court, a poor one at that. Scarcely more than a wild beast, baring his fangs at friend and foe alike, more red rage than wise head. In truth, my lord, he is naught but a hungry cur, not worthy of your time.’

‘Once again, Fox, our thoughts are in line,’ the king said. ‘Keep the English in their place. Surround yourself with men you trust. That is all I heard when I took this crown. But I knew there was much to gain by throwing the doors wide and calling wise heads such as yours to gather round the fire. A fox always watches for its next meal, does it not?’ He laughed. Balthar flushed with pride and bowed his head.

William turned to the two Normans and said, ‘No more men for you, nor gold. I will need all I have to …’ He hesitated, smiling, ‘… put the vipers in the north to the spear. You must deal with this Hereward with what you have, and that is more than enough for a wild dog.’

Balthar caught sight of Ivo the Butcher glowering at him and he shuddered.

‘How do you counsel, my lord?’ William de Warenne asked.

The king shook his head slowly, his face hardening. ‘I would counsel more wit and less whining,’ he snapped. ‘Look to the Fox here. Learn from his cunning. If this Hereward uses trees and water as his weapons, would you stand on the ramparts shaking your sword at the tides, or the wind? His home is an island. Turn his castle into a prison. Creep through shadows, watch and whisper, and only when the time is right, strike. Find the cracks in his defences and prise them apart.’ He tapped his index finger on his temple, then jabbed it at the visiting Normans, demanding thought. With barely concealed contempt, he glared at the two men. ‘What do you say, Fox?’ he asked.

‘Wise words, as always, my lord.’

‘The Fox has spoken,’ the monarch growled. ‘Now leave my sight and do not return until you have words I wish to hear.’ The Butcher nodded his head while the nobleman bowed and scraped. ‘It seems there will be no peace here until a tide of blood has washed the land clean,’ the king added. Before Balthar could consider what he meant, William tossed aside his cup and stalked from the hall.

As the two guests sloped away, Balthar slipped out of the small western door. He felt that odd mix of fear and pride that he always suffered once he had left the volatile monarch’s company. Leaning on the stone wall, he took a deep breath to steady himself.

‘The king smiles upon you.’

Balthar whirled to see Godrun standing near the door, pitcher in hand. He drew himself up so she would not notice his weaknesses and replied, ‘He finds wisdom in the guidance I offer him.’

The woman drew nearer, her eyes wide. ‘How fine that must be to be so favoured.’ She bit her lip. ‘He scares me.’

‘His bark is loud, but I have never seen him raise a hand to a woman.’

‘All these Normans scare me,’ she said, wrapping her arms around the pitcher. ‘They treat their own women with high regard and kindness, but they look upon English womenfolk as if we are … we are nothing more than vessels for their desires.’

Balthar felt his heart go out to the quiet girl, but there was nothing he could say for he had seen the evidence of her accusation with his own eyes.

‘Have they harmed you?’ he asked gently.

She shook her head, raising her chin with defiance. ‘I have resisted,’ she said. Yet when he saw the tears fleck her eyes, he knew, as she knew, that it would only be a matter of time before she would be forced to succumb to the demands of the Norman men, if not those of the king himself.

‘They bow their heads before the altar and pray to God more
than any Englishman, and yet they allow the Devil to take them too often,’ he murmured. ‘There are ways to deal with them. A sweet smile followed by a swift retreat works better than a sharp tongue.’

‘I fear I am not strong enough, nor clever enough.’ She bowed her head. He noticed her hand trembling and understood how hard she fought to keep a brave face in that den of wolves.

Balthar hesitated and then placed a finger under the girl’s chin to raise her head so he could look into her blue eyes. She made him think of the days of his youth, and yearn for them. Memories of simpler times and vitality and passionate feelings flooded his mind. ‘I will be your protector,’ he said, his voice strong. He felt warmed by the relief he saw lighting her face.

But her features darkened just as quickly and she began, ‘Your wife—’

‘My wife cares only that she has gold brooches and fine food to make her fat. Her tongue is sharper than any Norman sword, but I am still the master of her.’ He studied her smooth skin and her shining hair, as bright as the gold that adorned the king’s hall, and he saw the vitality that sparkled in her eyes. How different it was from his wife’s face, who now reminded him only of winter on the Wessex plains.

He withdrew his fingers, realizing he had begun to caress her. His breath catching, he turned away and raised his head, aloof once more, but he could still feel her eyes upon him.

‘Think of this palace as the woods in winter. Wolves wait everywhere,’ he began. ‘But with a guide who knows the lie of the land, a safe path can be found through it. Stay close to me and you will survive.’

In the depths of the building, William loudly demanded more wine. There was a clatter. Something had been overturned. The visit of his two guests had disturbed him more than he had shown. Balthar immediately began to wonder how he could turn this to his advantage. Godrun hurried back to the door to answer the monarch’s call. She paused at the threshold, her smile tentative yet hopeful. He felt excited by the possibilities it
held, but it was not the time to examine them. In the hall, the king raged, all semblance of calm now gone. Balthar could not help but think that for all the terrible events they had endured in recent times, the worst still lay ahead.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

THE WHITE DRAGON
banner of the English rebels fluttered against a cerulean sky. As one, the long column of warriors raised their faces to the sun cresting the distant streak of woodland in the east. Their full-throated voices rang out in song of battles won and hearths awaiting. Above the windswept marshes, oystercatchers swooped, their cries joining the jubilant chorus.

Redwald looked along the narrow flint causeway towards the island rising from the wetlands ahead. The marshes reeked of rot and the gnats already danced in clouds, but he cared little. Life was good. Two summers gone he would never have believed he would taste such sweet hope again. His thoughts flew back to his flight from London after the invasion. The Normans had hunted him like a dog across the fields for his close ties to the old king. He spat. Harold had failed them all. How strong he had seemed as he waited for King Edward to die so he could seize the throne, with all his talk of power and what strong men would do to gain the prize their hearts desired. How easily Redwald had been seduced by those words. He felt a pang of self-loathing for his own weakness. He had tethered his days-to-come to Harold in the belief that he would be well rewarded and it had almost cost him his life.

‘You saved Hereward, I hear tell.’

Redwald looked back and saw it was the monk. Alric showed a pleasant face, but Redwald could still see the suspicion in his eyes. It had been there from the moment they first met, he did not know why. ‘Any man here would have done the same.’

‘True.’

‘Have you ever saved his life? I hear tell he spent all his days saving yours.’

‘My work is saving souls and leading them to God.’

‘How hard it must be, then, to find yourself grubbing around in the bloody business of mere men.’ Redwald caught himself. He smiled, showing his teeth. ‘Forgive me, my words are too sharp. My legs ache and my belly rumbles and it has turned me sour as vinegar.’

The monk peered past him towards the Isle of Ely where the minster tower on the top of the mound rose proud against the sky. ‘Hereward speaks warmly of you, and I trust his judgement in most things.’

Redwald heard the lack of commitment in the monk’s words, but he kept his smile fixed and said nothing.

‘You owe his kin much, I am told,’ Alric continued.

‘His father, Asketil, took me in when I was lost and alone after my mother and father had died.’

‘How did they die?’

‘That is a tale of woe for another day.’ Redwald bowed his head. ‘Asketil’s act of kindness saved me, and from that day Hereward became my brother. I would give up my own life for him, as any brother would.’

‘That is the right thing to say. Asketil is a hard man?’

‘Like a church floor.’ Redwald smiled tightly. ‘He is quick to anger, and his hands become fists faster than most, but he always treated me with fairness.’

The monk nodded as if this simple comment spoke volumes. ‘And yet now he sides with the new king. What would make him abandon his own blood for our enemy?’

Redwald shrugged. ‘I do not claim to know Asketil’s mind.’
He swatted away a fly, eyeing the other man askance. ‘Hereward looks on
you
warmly, Alric, and if for that reason alone, I hope we can be friends.’

‘If God is willing. Hereward is a fearsome leader. His anger is great, his vengeance greater. Any man would tremble who faced him. And yet locked inside is a good man.’ The monk searched for words, his gaze growing faraway. ‘A man who trusts, perhaps, too much when he has decided someone is a friend. It would sound mad that such a fierce man would need to be shielded, were it not true.’

‘Then give thanks that he has such as us to watch over him.’ He looked away into the hazy distance. ‘I have not been a good man, Alric. I have turned my face away from God.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I sought power, though it cost others hard. I lied, and I stole. I have killed in anger. But the Lord punished me for my crimes and I saw in my darkest days how much I had failed everyone. I would make amends now. I would be a better man. Hereward says he has learned much from your guidance. Will you aid me too?’

The monk’s eyes narrowed as he peered deep into the other man’s face. ‘If a man is honest in his desire to come to God, then I would do all I could to help him.’

‘Then I need hear no more.’

Redwald looked towards Ely again, his heart leaping at the end of the long journey. Now he could see the smoke rising from the hearths and hear the cries of the gulls scavenging on the midden heaps. The sky had grown a misty yellow in the early morning light and the settlement appeared to be wreathed in a heavenly glow. The palisade stood firm around the jumble of dwellings clustered tight against the minster and its enclosure.

‘We have found a good home, have we not?’ This time it was Hengist who had spoken. He walked a pace behind the monk. Sweat had streaked the ash on his face and turned his straggly blond hair into rat’s tails. Redwald always felt unsettled by the warrior’s pale, staring eyes. He thought he saw a hint of madness there.

‘Aye, it is good.’