Free Conquest by Stewart Binns

texts and languages. But he eventually lost his way and his faith. His drinking increased and an affair with a lady-in-waiting at court led him to be defrocked, banished from Winchester and, like Hereward, cast out into the forest.
    ‘Life is so short. I worry about how many more seasons I’m destined to see. The priests tell us we will go on to a better life in the blessed company of God, but I have my doubts. I fear my likely eternity is right here, in the earth of my own wood, rotting in the mulch like the leaves of my trees. But where will my deepest thoughts and fanciful dreams go?’
    ‘Isn’t that why we should all leave a legacy?’
    The old man smiled.
    ‘Spoken like a sage, young Hereward! But you are right; if our legacy is wholesome and true, we can face death with equanimity.’
    There was a long silence as both men contemplated the forbidding prospect of death without the comfort of God and his Heaven.
    The old man broke the silence. ‘It takes a brave man to consider a world without God to relieve its burdens, and an even braver one to contemplate eternity without Him.’
    ‘I don’t know that it’s brave; I think it’s got more to do with the way a man feels about his own frailties and those of his fellow men.’ Hereward paused and looked at the old man for some time before continuing. ‘Why do you choose to be a hermit when you could have found a woman and raised a family, or joined a band of forest people?’
    ‘I don’t have much time for other people; they were the source of my problems. I found the frivolities of women too superficial and the friendship of men too unreliable.’
    Over the coming days, the two men talked for many hours. As time passed, Hereward realized that the old man’s cynicism disguised a highly intelligent mind that had discovered profound contentment through an ascetic existence.
    Late one night, as their fire subsided and the first chill wind of autumn rushed through their clearing, the Old Man of the Wildwood seemed reluctant to sleep and sat staring into the distance for some time before speaking. ‘I fear for this land, it is very precious to me.’
    ‘But Edward is a good king and people prosper. Harold of Wessex leads his armies and there is peace.’
    ‘Yes, I know. It is the future I worry about. Edward has no heir and England is the greatest prize in northern Europe; it is rich, its people industrious, its land bountiful. There are many envious eyes: the Scandinavians, of course, but it is the Normans who concern me most. Edward is fond of them, but I know them only too well. They are ruthless and will bring the avarice and deceit of Europe with them.’
    ‘Surely the English thegns and their housecarls would never let that happen?’
    ‘Perhaps not, but there would be great bloodshed in the reckoning of it. England could be overrun, our way of life destroyed. I see it in my dreams: burning, rape, death. An everlasting hell where England and the English are cleansed from their homeland like lice from a dog.’
    ‘Those are the visions of a seer. Is that what you are, old man?’
    ‘Perhaps that’s what I’ve become, Hereward. It is of no importance; what matters is the future, and our destiny as a people. In my many years here, deep in the forest, I have come to understand the importance of our way of life and our traditions. We have to preserve them. They are what makes us who we are. Our ancestors have lived in the forests and heathlands of England for generations. They have crossed its downs and hills and built their temples and shrines there.’
    ‘But there are many peoples on this island. There are many tribes of Celts, and the Danish clans – including my own ancestors through my mother.’
    ‘Yes, but they share the traditions. We all know the legend of Wodewose; he sees only men, not their language nor their race. He lives here, in these woods; he lives throughout our ancient land. He is the Green Man of our childhood and reminds us of the