Free Time of the Wolf by James Wilde Page A

up the stone walls of the church, but the masons had packed up their tools and gone for the night.
    â€œIt is within your power to make amends for the stain placed on your kin by Hereward’s actions,” the earl continued. “You can set poor Asketil’s heart at rest. He deserves more than the blow his wayward son has dealt him.”
    â€œI want to serve England in any way I can.” Afraid of the answer he might receive, the young man nevertheless summoned up his courage. “Does this mean you will take me into your employ?”
    â€œYou have proved yourself.”
    Redwald’s heart leapt. Harold Godwinson’s patronage was all that he had dreamed of since Asketil had first introduced him to the earl. He felt he almost had his hands round the rope that would drag him out of the slough of his early days, and he would not let go, whatever happened.
    â€œYou have worked hard to gain my trust,” the earl continued. “I like that. I remember when I was your age, and the dreams I had then. I learned from my father that life is a struggle, but the prize is always worth it.”
    In the gloom, Redwald noticed Harold’s huscarls waiting around the enclosure, battle-hardened Wessex men who carried their spears as if they were a part of them; clearly, the earl would not have risked confronting Edwin and Morcar in such an isolated place without his own protection assured.
    â€œThere is much I can teach you, and much you can do for me.” Harold fixed his attention on the torchlit gate where the sound of hooves had come to a halt. The sentries were calling to someone outside the palace. “You saw just now the threat that Edwin and Morcar present. Once Edward has died, they want the throne for themselves. They whisper and plot. Power is all that concerns them, not England.”
    â€œI will keep watch upon them, as you asked. And whatever I hear, I will bring straight to your hall.”
    â€œGood. I fear the worst. If the prophecies and omens that fill Edward’s head are true, we all face dark times ahead.” Holding up his hand, Harold brought Redwald to a halt. The gate hung open, and five men in charcoal woolen cloaks were leading their horses into the enclosure. In the flickering light of the sentries’ torches, Redwald saw sallow, foreign features and darting, suspicious glances. But all the men walked with confidence, he noted, as if they felt that they stood on their own territory.
    â€œNormans.” Harold’s face darkened. Steadily, his huscarls gathered at his back. “They covet everything we have. Our land, our wealth, our laws, our art. We live and breathe fire here. We drink and feast and fight and sing. But the Normans are like cold stone. Taxes and ledgers and vast, grim churches: that is the Norman.”
    One of the men, the leader of the group, Redwald guessed, held Harold’s gaze for a long moment before following a sentry toward the King’s hall.
    â€œWhat do they want here?” he asked.
    â€œSometimes 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?

CHAPTER NINE
    H EREWARD 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 around, he saw that 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