Free Hereward by James Wilde Page A

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 towards the king’s hall.
    ‘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?

C HAPTER N INE
    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