Hereward 03 - End of Days (15 page)

‘In days to come, we will remember this moment,’ he said, looking from one man to the other as he took a cup of mead for himself. ‘Today we begin to reclaim this land for the English. Drink your drinks and then come to the minster. We have plans to make. Before the cold weather comes, we will bring together our army and we will march out from Ely, into the west. The crown will be ours. And the bastard king’s head will become a feast for the ravens.’

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

SWEATING AND RED-FACED
from the cookhouse, the boys carried in the glistening roasted ox on its long iron skewer. All around Abbot Thurstan’s grand hall, folk cheered as the sweet aroma of the meat swept over them. The harpists plucked at their instruments, their voices soaring up to the rafters in celebration as the boys placed the carcass on the stand near the hearth. The long tables groaned under the weight of goose legs and salt pork, bread and cheese and smoked eel, strong ale and Frankish wine. Long weeks had passed since any in Ely had seen such a feast, though they were all under strict orders not to reveal such a thing.

Hereward held up his cup and roared, ‘To the glory of the English.’

The full-throated response rang back.

‘Good cheer is everywhere in Ely,’ the Mercian said, leaning in to the knight, Deda, who sat beside him. The din of the feast filled the hall.

The two men watched as thick slabs of steaming beef were sliced off and handed out along the tables. Hereward crashed his cup against the other man’s and announced, ‘Fill your belly, Norman. We look after our guests well here.’

Deda furrowed his brow. ‘You would kill me with kindness?’

‘You are not hungry?’

‘I am … curious. You treat all your enemies this way?’

‘Is it not the Norman way?’ Hereward gave a knowing grin.

‘We have no enemies,’ the knight replied with a wry smile. ‘Only folk who have yet to discover they are friends.’

The Mercian eyed the other man, still unsure what to make of him. He thought he had the measure of all Normans, but this one seemed no different from the English knights who had smuggled him food from the king’s table at Edward’s court.

As a slice of gleaming beef appeared before Deda, his hand hovered for a moment before he took it with a muttered thanks. ‘I keep waiting for this all to be snatched away and the laughter to begin.’

‘There is no gain in tormenting you.’

‘No? Not revenge for the slaughter inflicted on the north? For the land taken from the English and passed into loyal Norman hands? For the churches stripped bare …’

Hereward nodded, feigning reflection. ‘Speak on. You may change my mind.’

Deda laughed. ‘You are an odd man, Hereward of the English. I heard you were little more than a wild beast, bathing in the blood of any who crossed your path, friend or enemy alike.’

‘We are all many things.’ Hereward gnawed on his piece of beef. His stomach growled as the juices trickled down his throat. How long had it been since he had eaten well, he wondered.

The knight nodded. ‘This is true. And there are few truths around at the moment. The English think us monsters. We think you all drunken fools, thieves and murderers.’

‘We have those too.’

A juggler and a tumbler ran into the hall and began to throw themselves around, to much laughter. The women clapped. The men, already drunk, threw chunks of bread.

Deda sipped his wine and looked around the hall. ‘We are
told you are starving here in Ely. The king has closed your trade routes and there is not enough food upon this small isle to feed the multitude that has flocked to your standard.’

Hereward held both hands out to the vast array of meats and fish.

The knight made a thoughtful noise in his throat. ‘And, we are told, the men of Ely are so hungry they have no fight left in them. Soon they will throw the gates wide and creep out with outstretched hands to beg for whatever morsels we toss them. And the war will be ended without a drop of blood being spilled.’

‘And this is the tale you tell your children at night to send them into sweet dreams?’ Hereward laughed. ‘Let your own eyes decide the truth.’

‘Yet you must know it is only a matter of time before Ely falls. The king will never give up his crown. He would see all England burn first.’

Hereward put down his cup and beckoned to the other man. ‘Come, let me show you the lie at the heart of the king’s words.’ Deda rose and followed him out of the hall into the chill wind. The cacophony of the feast faded as the door swung shut. Grey skies lowered overhead. Leaves whirled around the minster enclosure. They walked through the gate into Ely and round the hillside towards the Camp of Refuge. Deda slowed his step as the sound of many voices was caught on the breeze. And then, as they crossed on to the lee side of the isle, they looked over a vast army of men. Thousands. The smoke of scores of bonfires blackened the sky. The men warmed themselves against the flames, or formed shield walls under the scrutiny of seasoned warriors, or practised with their bows or javelins. Some were well armed with hauberks and helms, spears and axes. Some wore only woollen cloaks over their tunics and carried cudgels.

Hereward watched a shadow cross the knight’s face as he looked out over the English army. ‘You march on the king this day?’

The Mercian shook his head. ‘We are ready if William the Bastard dares attack Ely. But we will choose our moment and rout your army when you least expect it.’ He reached out an arm, raising his voice above the beat of spears upon shields. ‘This is the least of it. We are receiving word by the day from all parts of the land. When we rise up, all England will rise with us, and you will be driven into the sea before us.’

A man strode up from the ranks, a fine blue cloak swirling around him. His horse-face was formed into a permanent scowl and his blond hair was thinning. ‘Earl Morcar,’ Hereward told his guest. ‘Many of the fiercest warriors here are his men. His huscarls are feared more than those of any other earl.’

‘I know of his grudge against the king. His blood had claim to the crown, once.’

Morcar eyed Deda with suspicion as he neared. He beckoned the Mercian to one side and whispered, ‘What news of your brother?’

‘He rides south to join the king.’

‘Good. When we attack, he is mine, do you hear? He will pay for killing my own brother.’ The earl blinked away a hot tear. His brother Edwin had always been the stronger of the two, Hereward knew. Morcar was weak and poor in judgement, but his men were invaluable.

‘Redwald has left no small number of men wanting his blood.’ He looked out at the army. ‘A good show of strength. Any man would quake to see it. We are ready?’

Morcar nodded. ‘We are ready.’

As Hereward led the knight back towards the minster, he said, ‘Our army is not all that you should fear. God is on our side.’

Deda jerked his head round, his eyes narrowing at this suspected blasphemy.

‘Aye, I wagered William the Bastard had not made it common knowledge. We have the arm of St Oswald.’

The knight bowed his head. ‘I have heard many tales of this
wonder. It heals the sick, and makes the lame walk and the blind see, so they say.’

‘Aye, and God protects all who carry it. God is with us, Norman. We cannot lose.’

After a moment, Deda said in a voice filled with reverence, ‘I would see it, if I may, and offer a small prayer over it.’

‘You are a God-fearing man. That is good. We will not deny you.’

Deda seemed grateful for this opportunity, but he kept his head bowed in reflection as they walked. News of the relic weighed heavily on him, the Mercian saw.

When they stepped back into the abbot’s hall, the tumult had grown louder still. Shouts and jeers smothered the harpists’ music. Kraki and Guthrinc stood on opposite tables, facing each other, heads thrown back as they drank. Ale streamed down their chests. Warriors shook their fists as they championed one or the other while Abbot Thurstan and a small knot of monks looked on wearily. A figure stood in the shadows behind the churchmen. It was Alric. He caught Hereward’s eye and gave a surreptitious nod.

As Kraki crashed back off the table into the arms of four Northmen, Deda grinned, his mood lifted by the horseplay. Hereward led him back to his seat and beckoned to one of the hall women to bring more beef and wine for their guest.

‘Do you not yearn for your home instead of this rain-lashed land?’ the Mercian shouted over the clamour.

‘Normandy is rainswept enough,’ Deda said, chewing on a goose leg. But his eyes shone with a faraway look. ‘Ah, but this time of year it fair glows with gold and ruby and amber across the woods. And the feasts when the harvests are brought in! You English think us a cold-hearted folk, but if you saw the maidens dance around the corn-dolls, and the children in their horse masks, and if you heard the songs of the sea and the summer gone, you would not fail to be moved.’

‘Your wife waits for you there?’

‘My wife is dead. Taken by the sickness.’ The knight gave a
polite nod, signalling that he would talk of this no more. Hereward glimpsed a shadow of sadness tainting his faint smile. He felt some warmth for the other man, and hated himself for it. Looking away, he forced himself to remember the ravaged face of the burned man who had escaped the rape of the north.

When the food was eaten, and the warriors were slumped across the tables in pools of ale, Hereward rested one hand on Deda’s shoulder, leaned in and said, ‘It is time.’ The Mercian knew the knight would think the worst, but he did not dispel that thought. He could still be cruel to his enemies, if he wished.

Outside, the light was thin and the world was grey. Hereward held his face to the north. ‘The cold is coming.’

‘For me,’ Deda said, misunderstanding, though he still showed no fear.

‘For all of us. Before the Christmas bells ring, the ravens will feed hard. The wars that have gone before will seem like nothing next to what is to come.’ He guided Deda into the church to pray over the reliquary and then they set off down the slope past the homes and workshops of Ely. Fires glowed through the open doors. Women hunched over pots. Children chased each other, laughing, into the growing gloom. He felt his heart grow heavy. This might be the last Ely knew of peace.

When they passed the smithy, a woman strode out in front of them. Hereward saw that it was Rowena, wrapped in a brown cloak with the hood pulled up. Her face showed no emotion. She stepped up to Deda and spat in his face.

‘He is our guest,’ Hereward snapped and would have pushed her away, but the knight held up a hand to stop him. He wiped the saliva from his cheek and gave a bow.

‘I have had worse greetings, but not many,’ he said drolly. ‘Still, I am honoured to know you.’ For a moment, he grew serious. ‘And if I have wronged you in any way, I am truly sorry.’

Rowena glared at him, then spun round and walked away.
‘The king’s men took her husband, and all the men in her village,’ Hereward explained as they continued down the slope. ‘Her heart has hardened against all Normans.’

‘We are unloved?’ the knight said in a sardonic tone. ‘I can scarce believe it.’ But the Mercian saw him frown and glance back at the woman as she disappeared among the houses.

As they wandered towards the gates, Hereward said, ‘You have witnessed our might. You know that God stands with us. The season of the Normans is passing, you must see that.’

‘Many before you have said the same thing.’

‘If the king were wise, he would give up the crown and return to your home. See the maidens and the children, and hear the songs, not wade through blood and find peace only behind stone walls.’

A smile ghosted Deda’s lips. ‘You would have me take this message to him?’

Hereward smiled in turn. The knight was clever. ‘It is the last chance, perhaps, for the English and the Normans,’ he replied, his voice growing grave. ‘They say these are the End of Days, and well they may be, for all of us. If war comes, no one will back down. The land will burn, and the rivers will run red, and the prize may not be worth the winning.’

Deda sighed and looked out across the darkening wetlands. ‘I hear your words. I will speak them to the king.’

Hereward hesitated, then rested one hand on the other man’s shoulder. ‘And if he does not hear … You do not have to stand and fight beside him. You have a home across the whale road.’

The knight shook his head. ‘You know that cannot be. You are a man of honour, as I am. I have sworn my sword to the king. Whatever comes to pass, I will be there at the king’s side.’

Hereward understood. ‘This is the measure of a man,’ he said. ‘We can do no other.’ He waved at the guards and the gates trundled open. ‘Go well, Deda. A scout waits to bind your eyes and guide you across the causeway.’

Deda searched the Mercian’s face for a moment, and seemed
satisfied by what he saw there. ‘Go well, Hereward. We will meet soon enough, for the last time.’

He turned and marched through the gates and away into the night. Hereward climbed the creaking ladder on to the walk-way and peered over the walls into the shadowed land. Though he could no longer see Deda, he felt the knight in his thoughts.

‘You used him well.’ Alric had appeared at his side. ‘He has seen our army. The men have returned to their homes, though they grumble at being forced to put on such a show for just one man. And now he thinks we are not short of food, though we wasted meat that was to keep us from starvation through the cold season. And God …’ The monk’s voice grew low and hesitant. ‘He knows God is with us. Do you think the king will listen?’

‘Perhaps.’ He knew he could not have borne the weight on his soul if he had not at least tried. The waste of lives that would surely come, on one side or the other, or both, cast a shadow over him. ‘And now we make ready, and hope that Herrig will soon come with news that the king has left Belsar’s Hill and returned to Wincestre.’ Even as he spoke the words, he felt the thin hope drain away. Deda had been right; the king who raped the north, and slaughtered folk who were now his own, would never give up his power willingly. The end was coming.