Free Hereward by James Wilde Page B

woman.
    Perhaps glimpsing his lingering stare, she paused, teasing with her lips but eyeing him from a position of strength. ‘I see fresh scars, like those on the arms of any of the huscarls. I hear boasting, like the easy, empty words that echo from the mouths of the boys who dream of being heroes, but know in their hearts they will never achieve that height. I see …’ she made a noise in the back of her throat, ‘nothing I have not seen before.’
    ‘And yet you waste your breath talking to me.’
    ‘When I hear of a new arrival, who has braved the lawless lands beyond the fence, on foot, in the middle of winter, I would see for myself if this is a fool, or one of the signs.’
    ‘Signs?’ Hereward circled the hearth, watching the woman through the smoke. He saw a flicker of apprehension cross her face.
    ‘Of the End-Times.’
    The warrior shook his head.
    ‘At the minster, I heard talk that Archbishop Ealdred has sent word out for all men to watch for signs that this is the End of Days. And across Eoferwic everyone whispers of some wise woman’s dream that Doomsday draws near.’ The slave searched Hereward’s face for anything that he might be hiding.
    He laughed. ‘These are winter stories, to frighten in the long nights. Every age believes it has been chosen to be the last. And if these are the End-Times, then so be it. There is little of value in this world.’
    Puzzled, the black-haired woman remained silent for a moment. ‘You are not afraid?’ But at that moment the hall echoed with the approaching clatter of metal and tramp of leather on wood, and the slave retreated into the shadows. From the gloom at the far end of the hall emerged Earl Tostig Godwinson and his wife Judith, accompanied by five of his huscarls in hauberks and furs. Eyes gleaming beneath their helmets, the bodyguard were tall and lean, fierce of expression and heavily scarred. They were wild-bearded Vikings in the main and carried their axes as if Hereward was to be cornered and killed. The Mercian recognized the jagged facial scar and implacable stare of the one at the head of the band. He had led the dispersal of the crowd gathered outside the metalworker’s hut earlier that evening.
    But Tostig held his arms wide and boomed a greeting. Dressed in a ruddy-dyed linen tunic under a thick woollen cloak, the earl stood a hand shorter than Hereward, his brown hair curling into ringlets and still sprinkled with the snow that must have started falling outside. He moved with a wolfish lope, his body strong and battle-hardened. But Hereward knew the man’s face hid secrets easily and it was difficult to know what he truly thought. In contrast, Judith’s face was open and smiling. A heavy-featured but not unattractive woman, she had gained some weight around her middle, but hid it beneath a beautiful linen dress dyed the colour of the sun. Tostig had married well, Hereward thought. As the daughter of Baldwin, Count of Flanders, the Bruges-born woman had powerful connections. Judith smiled at the new arrival. She had always been kind to him on the few occasions they had met at court, when every other noble had treated him with suspicion, contempt or fear.
    ‘I thought my servant was mistaken,’ the earl said, warming his hands in front of the fire. ‘Hereward of Mercia, here, so far from his home?’
    ‘You have not been to court in recent times?’
    Tostig grunted. ‘Between repelling the raids from the north and trying to instil order among the unruly herd here in Northumbria, all my attention has been needed in Eoferwic. Let me tell you, my young friend, every night I dream of my old home in the south. This is the most lawless place on earth, and even the so-called civilized men are quick to rise up in violent protest if they feel they are not getting their due.’ With a weary shake of his head, he drew up a stool beside Hereward. ‘But I expected no more from a people fired by the blood of Viking pirates,’ he added with a