by James Wilde
Shouting and cursing, the prisoner struggled with his grim-faced captors. A fist cuffed him round the ear and he slipped into a daze. At the top of the mound, the warriors flung him down on to the grass.
Hereward climbed the slope in front of the younger man and folded his arms. ‘On your knees,’ he growled.
‘I have done no wrong,’ Madulf complained. With the back of his hand, he wiped the snot from his nose. He looked first to Sighard, and then to Edoma, holding her eyes for a long moment. In that gaze, Hereward saw a silent urging; to keep her lips sealed, perhaps. The Mercian nodded and Hengist slipped his blade against the captive’s chin. Madulf stiffened, his eyes widening in terror.
‘We will start with the ears,’ Hereward began, his voice carrying across the assembled warriors. ‘Then the nose, and then the eyes.’
‘No,’ Sighard cried out. He yanked free of the men who held his arms and clawed his way up the mound. ‘Please,’ he gasped, reaching out a pleading hand. ‘My brother has been true. Why do you threaten him?’
Hereward showed him a cold face. ‘My wife was pricked and stabbed and burned and taken to the edge of her life because of your brother.’
‘Never.’
The Mercian turned to Edoma. ‘Speak.’
‘Madulf came to me, at night, with a message … from you … from Hereward … he said,’ she stammered. The girl swallowed, looking to the man she had accused. Her brow creased in disbelief that he had betrayed her, and all of them. ‘He said you had ordered me to take Turfrida out of Ely, to a place where she could be made safe before the Normans attacked.’
Madulf’s mouth worked for a moment before the words croaked out. ‘No … I … I never did such a thing.’
‘He has a lying tongue,’ Kraki sneered. ‘You can see it in him. Cut him now and be done with it. I need my sleep.’
Hereward glowered at the kneeling man. ‘I would have vengeance for the agonies wreaked upon my wife. And I would let the world know that such a thing will never happen again.’ He stretched out his arm towards a newly erected wooden spike on the top of the mound. ‘Once we are done with you, your head will have a new home. All who pass will see the fate of those who risk my wrath.’
Madulf blanched. Sighard searched his brother’s face in disbelief and then fell to his knees, pressing his hands together. ‘He is weak and filled with anger and jealousy. Whatever he has done, he did it without thought. Show mercy.’
Hereward ignored the pleading man and looked around the rows of faces turned towards him. ‘The Normans are drawing their forces together, ready to attack us,’ he stated in a loud voice. ‘They think we are doomed and believe the time is right to end the days of the English. Yes, we are beaten down, but we are not broken. And we will fight to the last drop of our blood as we have fought these past seasons. Some say I should turn away from this course. Run. Hide. Save all our necks. I say to them now, my mind is made up. I would rather die on a Norman spear than live a life with a head bowed to the bastards who have stolen all we have.’
He saw the faces of the warriors were rapt. That was good. ‘Any man who will not follow me should leave Ely this night,’ he continued. ‘There will be no shame. An honourable death is not for all. I want only brothers at my back, battle-wolves I can trust, fighters who will laugh in the face of doom.’
A ripple of assent ran through the crowd. He glanced at Madulf, remembering the pain he had seen etched into Turfrida’s face. That memory felt even sharper now that she was no longer at his side.
‘Once before I took a head to show what would happen to those who were unfaithful to us. That warning went unheeded,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘One blow, clean and swift. I showed him a kindness. I was wrong.’ He grasped Madulf’s hair and drew the young man’s head up so he could look at his accusers. ‘All has changed. No more mercy ever again, no more kindness. We can only win if we are as hard as William the Bastard, I see that now. The snakes that crawl through Ely will be found out. And any man or woman who gives comfort to our enemy will suffer such agonies they will plead to die.’
The prisoner’s chest heaved with silent sobs. Hereward shook Madulf’s head by the hair. ‘Speak now,’ the Mercian said. ‘Confess. And go to God with your sins cleansed.’
Hengist drew the blade across the captive’s face, past his right eye, to his ear.
Madulf sucked in a deep breath to steady himself. ‘Do it, then,’ he said in a clear voice. A calm seemed to descend on him. ‘My soul is clean. I will not confess to a crime I did not do.’
Hereward squatted and peered into the young man’s eyes. After a moment, the Mercian smiled. He looked to Guthrinc at the front of the crowd, who grinned and nodded, his eyes sparkling. ‘You are a bastard, but you know how to draw the truth out of a man,’ Guthrinc said.
Madulf gaped, looking from one to the other.
‘Set him free,’ Hereward said, rising. ‘He speaks truly.’ As Sighard wrapped his arms around his brother, the Mercian saw the confusion in the faces of his men. One day they would understand. Fear was the greatest weapon they had: William the Bastard understood that more than most. Sometimes it cut shallow, and sometimes the wounds ran deep, but men always responded with the truth in their nature.
‘If young Madulf tells the truth,’ Kraki yelled, ‘then the girl must have lied.’ He spun around, but Edoma was nowhere to be seen.
‘Find her,’ Hereward ordered.
‘Edoma?’ Sighard gasped in disbelief.
‘The Normans are clever,’ the Mercian replied, peering into the dark for the missing woman. ‘They chose someone who could move through the camp without drawing eyes. And one who could play lovesick fools like you two to get the information she needed.’
‘Not just us,’ Madulf muttered. He cast a sheepish look at his brother. ‘She visited another’s house in the night, perhaps more than one.’
Not long after, Guthrinc strode up. ‘Edoma has fled Ely. The guards let her through the gate moments ago.’
‘Take some men. Find her if you can,’ the Mercian commanded. ‘I would see her pay for what she did.’
Hereward watched Guthrinc lead a knot of warriors into the night, knowing the chance was slim that they would find the woman in the dark. Soon she would be back among the Normans, but her days of revealing the English plans would be over. One small mercy. ‘Double the men upon the walls,’ he shouted to Kraki. ‘Now the king has lost his eyes and ears here in Ely, he may be driven to strike sooner. We must be ready to fight for our lives.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
THE WOODEN CUP shattered against the stone wall. A bear-like shadow loomed over the shards as the king stalked around his torchlit hall at the palace in Wincestre. His eyes burned and his face was contorted with rage. ‘Still the rising in the east has not been put down?’ he bellowed, clenching his fists. ‘Do I employ children, or simple-minded fools?’
Balthar the Fox stiffened as he peered around the edge of the screen near the door. William was as unpredictable as a cornered beast when in the grip of his temper. He could see the blood drain from the faces of the king’s regents, William fitz Osbern and Bishop Odo. Both of them knew well the outcome of his black moods from the long years of his brutal rule in Normandy.
‘Must I now leave Ely a wasteland like the north?’ the monarch roared. ‘Soon there will be no England left to rule.’ A pitcher of wine flew across the hall.
Tall and thin, Odo of Bayeux looked like a hawk with his sharp nose and low brow. He folded his hands behind him, trying to appear unmoved. ‘Our scouts say they do not have the men to mount any attack—’
‘Yet,’ the king snapped. ‘How soon before some wounded earl takes shelter beneath their banner?’ William came to a halt by the hearth and peered into the flames. ‘This must end now,’ he continued in a low voice. ‘This night. The bastards in the east are the last of the English standing against me. We shall not give them the chance to build their army, and then Ivo the Butcher may yet find the stre
ngth to crush them.’
‘What would you have us do?’ fitz Osbern enquired. He was a head shorter than Odo and broader, with a near-permanent scowl.
‘Move slowly. We want all here to believe that we and the English are one,’ William replied, one foot resting on the stones around the hearth. ‘But we have kept too many serpents here in Wincestre where we can watch over them. No more. Our plans creep out before our own men know them. Sometimes I wonder if any English here can be trusted.’
Balthar felt a chill. Could the king suspect him?
William turned to his two trusted counsellors, his fury simmering. ‘By dawn, those sly dogs Edwin and Morcar must be where they can do no harm. And seek out any others you believe are not loyal to this crown. I would be done with all this plotting.’
Without waiting to hear any more, Balthar slipped out. His heart was hammering and sweat slicked his brow. He raced through the deserted palace, his thoughts shifting as fast as his feet. He could not be sure the king’s men would come for him, or for Godrun, but he had to presume the worst. When his head perched on a spike at the town gates, it would be too late to act.
Down the dark back-ways he stumbled until he reached Godrun’s dwelling. She cried out in shock when he burst in. ‘What is wrong?’ she gasped.
‘The king is ready to move against his enemies this night, real or imagined. We must be away.’ He rushed around the hut, grabbing what few possessions she had.
She caught his arm. ‘He comes for us?’
‘We can take no chances. Edwin and Morcar are doomed, of that I am certain.’
‘Then this is your chance,’ she said, her voice hardening with defiance. ‘Go to them. Tell them to flee, with their men. Join the uprising—’
‘Are you mad?’ he snapped. ‘If we delay, we too could be doomed.’ He felt stung by the disappointment he saw in her eyes and he calmed himself. ‘You are right,’ he sighed. ‘My wits were addled for a moment. I will find the brothers now and tell them what must be done.’ She smiled and that pleased him. ‘Wait here until my return. We must be away from the palace before dawn.’
‘Your wife …’
He shook his head. ‘There is no time. She will be well.’ He pushed aside the pang he felt at abandoning his sons, but God willing he would see them again soon. ‘Here,’ he said, holding out the short-bladed knife his father had given him. ‘Keep this about you. If anyone comes for you, protect yourself.’
‘I do not know how,’ she said, unable to take her eyes off the blade.
‘One stab. Like this. In the belly.’ He thrust the air with the knife. ‘Then run. No one will answer their cries here. But if the Lord watches over us, you shall not need to use it. I will be back with you in no time, and then …’ He let the words hang for a moment and then ended the sentence with a hopeful smile. He felt surprised at how excited he felt. Despite the danger, here was the chance of a new life. He wondered where they would go. To Ely, or into the west? He kissed her once and then hurried out into the night.
His anger at the king burned harder with every step he ran, through the streets back to the palace. William’s words haunted him. Soon there will be no England left to rule. How could he ever have been so deluded?
At the hall the Mercian brothers shared, he pushed his way inside without announcing his presence. Edwin and Morcar jumped up from a bench, overturning mead-cups. On edge, they both went for their swords. Balthar held up his hands to calm them. ‘You must flee,’ he hissed. ‘The king is coming for you this night.’
They did not question him, as he knew would be the case. Too long had they lived with the certainty that one day the wind would change. ‘We owe you for this, Fox,’ Edwin said as he levered up three boards with his knife. From the dark space beneath, he pulled a chest, no doubt containing his valuables. Morcar disappeared into the shadows to collect his own possessions. ‘You may not be the king’s whore that we all thought you were.’
Balthar flushed. He deserved no less, he supposed. But was that really how he was seen? ‘Odo and fitz Osbern will be here before dawn with their men. If they find you gone, they will scour the town for you. I can show you a way out of Wincestre.’
Edwin grinned and called to his brother, ‘We have our own Fox now.’ He turned back to Balthar. ‘What do you want? Gold?’
‘I want only that you take your men to Ely and join the uprising. With your aid, the crown can be claimed for a king who does not see the English like rats in the grain.’
Edwin threw on his cloak, grunting, ‘We have had our fill of risking our necks. With gold aplenty and an army to keep us safe, we can seek a place to hide where William will never find us.’
Morcar staggered back into the light, a small chest gripped under his left arm and a heavily laden sack dragging behind him. ‘Let us not be hasty, brother. Ely may be the safest haven of all.’
‘I do not have the stomach for battle,’ Edwin said.
‘Not even if this new king were a Mercian?’ Morcar grinned. ‘A man who could bring all the English together as one.’
‘This is not the time for such talk, brother,’ Edwin said, clutching the chest to him.
The Fox hurried to the door and peered out. Once he was sure they would not be seen, he beckoned for the brothers to follow and they hastened out. Across the palace, the sound of running feet echoed. The guards were already being called to take the regents’ orders. Torches sizzled into life on the other side of the yard. His heart thundering, Balthar led the Mercians through the dark along the perimeter fence. While the earls collected two horses from the stables, he ran to the entrance to the palace grounds. When he had sent the guard to fitz Osbern, he pulled open the gate. There would be no going back now, he knew.
Once the Mercians had led their steeds through, he eased the gate shut and with silent tread picked a winding path through the dark back-ways. At the western wall, the Ridgate stood unguarded. Balthar nodded, pleased with himself. This gate was ancient and rarely used, only large enough to admit a single rider. The three men lifted the oak bar and swung it open. The gibbous moon lit the still countryside. ‘Find it in you to join the fighters in Ely,’ he urged as the two earls mounted their horses. ‘You have it within your hands to change the course of things.’
‘We will ride towards the fens once we have met with our men,’ Edwin said with a nod. ‘But then we will do what we do.’ And with that, the two brothers rode out of the gate and into the night.
He had done what he could. Balthar ran back through the quiet streets, his fear that he had taken too long mounting by the moment. At Godrun’s house, he wrenched open the door and dashed inside. His heart leapt when he saw she was still there and well.
‘Is it done?’ she asked hopefully.
He nodded, leaning back against the closed door as he sucked in deep breaths to calm his thundering heart. ‘Edwin and Morcar have gone in search of their men. They ride towards the fens, but as yet they have not decided their true course.’
Godrun closed her eyes and clasped her hands together as if in prayer. ‘Then this torment is finally over.’
‘Not until we are beyond Wincestre’s walls,’ he cautioned. ‘Let us hurry.’ In the corners of her eyes, tears glistened in the firelight and he saw her hands trembling. He felt guilt at how he had neglected her. Even he was afraid. How scared must this young girl be. ‘Come,’ he said gently. ‘All will be well. A new life awaits us, together.’ He held his arms wide and she rushed into his embrace.
Pain seared through his stomach. With an agonized cry, he staggered back. Shaking, Godrun gripped his knife in her little hand. Blood dripped from the blade. As he looked down, she lunged again and again, her face contorted with hate.
‘Why?’ he stammered, falling back against the wall. He slid down to the floor in a heap, convulsing in shock. His life-blood pumped through his fingers and puddled around him.
Godrun loomed over him, blinking away tears, not of fear but fury. ‘Every time you pawed my skin i
t was all I could do not to empty my stomach,’ she snarled.
Balthar gaped stupidly. Her words made no sense to him. He reached out one sticky hand and breathed, ‘Our love—’
She spat at him. ‘While good English men and women suffered, you grew fat eating at the king’s table. You traded their lives for comfort.’ She shook with revulsion and that wounded him more deeply than the knife she wielded. ‘All you have you built upon the bones of your own. You deserve to die.’
Hot tears streamed down his cheeks. ‘I learned my lesson. I tried to help—’
‘Too late.’
As she turned her back on him to collect the small bag filled with her meagre possessions, he reeled as the truth finally broke through his resistance. ‘You never loved me,’ he croaked, still barely able to believe it. ‘All these long months, you led me along to learn what you could … to help the English fighters … All the kisses, all the words of love …’
‘The Fox,’ she sneered as reached the door. ‘So cunning he could never see what was under his own nose.’
He blinked away his tears, and when his eyes cleared she was gone. Even then, his heart still ached for her. Pain racked him as he sensed his life’s blood draining through his fingers, but his thoughts were of all he had lost through his own failings, and all that had been stolen from him. How foolish he had been, how weak. Bowing his head, he began to pray, his last hope for redemption.
The hut began to darken.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
1 October 1070
THE SOUND OF many voices raised in song shattered the still of the fenland dawn. At the gates of Ely, the guards stood on the high walkway and peered into the pearly mist swathing the meres and marshes. The rising sun cast a rosy hue over the drifting clouds.
