Redwald realized he was rooted with dread and tried to jab with his spear, but his hand shook too much. Never had he expected such horror. Through the whirl of axes and streams of arrows, he glimpsed the faces of the Normans, and thought they all looked like death’s heads, hollow-eyed, pearly teeth grinning with insane delight. No men these! Things from the night, or devils from hell.
Tears flooded down his cheeks.
Beside him, Harold threw his head back and cried out, clutching his face. Sickened, Redwald saw a wooden shaft protruding from the king’s right eye. Yet still the monarch fought on as if he could feel no pain, the arrow flashing back and forth with every movement of Harold’s head.
The sky was darkening. Redwald glimpsed the ghost of the moon, and a thought skittered through his head that he had black wings, like a raven, and could fly away.
Madness.
Gripped by the horrific sight of that arrow in Harold’s eye, Redwald only sensed the Normans were attacking from two flanks until it was too late to shout a warning. Torn apart as if by a winter gale, the huscarls could offer little resistance. Six knights on horseback rammed through the crumbling defensive line and thundered towards the king.
Redwald saw his duty flash before his eyes: with spear in hand, he should defend the king to the last, even though his master’s death was inevitable. He hesitated. What good would it do to give up his own life? Harold looked from the attacking knights to Redwald, and in the moment their eyes locked the young man saw the king’s shocked dismay at the final betrayal. Redwald cared little. He threw himself backwards, away from the line of pounding hooves. Rolling down the hill, he caught flashes of swords slashing down on the man who had raised him up to such great heights. A blade stabbed through his master’s chest. The king’s head flew from his shoulders and bounced across the sticky grass. A knight swung his axe down, rending open Harold’s mail shirt and the flesh beneath. Guts tumbled out to glisten in the fading light. And still the Normans hacked and slashed.
Dazed, Redwald came to a halt. Run, he told himself. Do not look back. But a grim fascination dragged his gaze back to the hilltop. The Normans were cheering around his fallen master. One knight stooped down with his knife and sawed at the king’s corpse. Jumping to his feet, the man waved his trophy over his head and the others roared with laughter. Sickened, Redwald realized the knight had cut off Harold’s cock.
Hot tears came for the failure of all his dreams. Turning, he careered down the hillside into the growing night.
CHAPTER FORTY
Still and silent under sable skies, London held its breath. Moonbeams limned the glistening roofs of the cramped houses, casting long shadows across the rutted streets. A dog barked; a cow lowed. The insistent clatter of hoofbeats broke the quiet as Redwald rode hard from the direction of the river crossing towards the Palace of Westminster. Snorts of hot breath clouded in the chill air. Digging his heels into the flanks of his foaming horse, the young man urged the last vestige of strength from its weary limbs. Sweat dripped from his brow. Hot despite the cold, he had taken no chances, swaddling himself in a stolen cloak with the hood pulled low to hide his identity.
He could almost sense the apprehension leaking from the dark houses on either side. He pictured the men sitting by the hearths, unable to sleep, the women anxiously tossing and turning in their beds. If they only knew the horror that would soon be marching towards their doors. Stifling his own desperation, he guided his mount towards the barred gates in the high enclosure fence. Above the palisade, cold lamps of faces glowed in the moonlight, each one filled with trepidation. The guards called for news of the battle. They looked pitifully hopeful when he said he had an urgent message from the king and could not be delayed.
Leaping from his horse, he glanced once over his shoulder to ensure he was not being watched, and then raced for the abbey church. A full day and more had passed since he had seen Harold butchered, the most dismal day he could recall. A dark night of running and hiding from Norman troops scouring the countryside for escaping English soldiers to slaughter gave way to a red dawn, a near-bungled attempt to steal a horse, and the long flight home. Ahead stretched grey days of worry. All his plans had turned to ashes, all the long years of scheming wasted. He had less now than when Asketil had taken him in after his parents’ death. And if William the Bastard’s men recognized him, his life would be lost too, his head planted on a pole beside the Thames, food for the crows.
Consumed by despair, the young man crashed through the heavy oak door into the echoing vault of the church. Candles guttered along the far wall, left by the monks for sinners desperate to pray for their souls in the long dark of the night. The dancing flames sent jewels of light shimmering across the stained-glass windows. Above the altar, the Christ glared down at the young man. Redwald saw angels too, but no devils. They already walked the earth.
His leather shoes echoed on the stone flags. Redwald snatched one of the candles and hurried to the reliquary containing the shankbone of St John the Baptist. He thought back to that frozen night when he had retrieved the relic for the old queen, Edith, Harold Godwinson’s sister. How long ago it seemed. With that simple act, he had earned the first step of his advancement. Power had felt within his grasp.
Fighting back tears of frustration, he placed his hands upon the casket, almost afraid that it would burn him, and then flipped open the iron-banded lid. With the candle held in a trembling hand, he pushed aside the brown bone to find what he had hidden beneath.
‘It is you.’
Redwald almost cried out in shock. Clutching a hand to his mouth, he whirled in fear of his life only to see Hild standing in the doorway. Hild, his wife of four months, already with child, whom he had kissed goodbye barely a week ago. He hadn’t even remembered she was at the palace.
‘Leave me,’ he snapped, the thump of his heart returning to normal. ‘I have business.’
‘Here? Do you pray for divine help?’ She crossed the nave, the embroidered hem of her yellow dress swishing across the flagstones. Her hands fluttered in front of her, her voice rising. ‘Why have you returned alone? What of the battle? Where is the king?’
‘The king is dead.’ Turning his back on his wife, Redwald delved into the reliquary once more.
Only silence followed. He glanced back to see Hild’s face frozen, tears springing to the corners of her eyes.
Forcing himself to soften his tone, he continued, ‘England is done. You would do well to flee before the Normans come. Their soldiers will not treat women kindly.’ He stifled a bitter laugh at his understatement. The Normans’ reputation for rape, cruelty and brutality was unparalleled.
‘You wish me to travel alone? But you are my husband… you should protect me,’ his wife said, aghast.
Wearied by the exchange, Redwald shook his head and returned his attention to the casket. ‘Go.’
‘How can your heart be so cold? Do you not love me?’
‘I never loved you. You were… necessary.’
Hild gulped like a codfish.
‘You look foolish like that. Leave now.’ Redwald’s voice hardened.
‘No.’ Her cheeks flushed with indignation. ‘You will protect me, as you promised my father. The Witan will find a new king. We will stay here, safe within the palace. And if the Norman is to be king, so be it. We will throw ourselves upon his mercy. You served one monarch, you can serve another.’
Angry, Hild grabbed her husband’s arm to drag his attention from the reliquary. Redwald snapped round, eyes blazing. ‘There is nothing for me here. Nothing.’ He felt a spiralling rage at so many wasted years. Every moment in that place only added to the miserable total. Lowering his voice, he threatened, ‘You will not hold me back.’
‘And you will not abandon me.’ Hild’s eyes flashed. Redwald could see she would not be deterred. ‘You are a coward,’ she spat. ‘A weak child of a man. Come with me now, or I will tell all how you fled from the battle, abandoning the defence of England.’
‘Lies!’
Hild smirked. ‘Is it? You think yourself so clever, moving everyone like chess pieces to win your game. But in the night when you lie with me I see the true you.’ Redwald coloured at her mocking laughter. His fingers fumbled in the bottom of the reliquary. Lost to the rush of things she had kept unspoken for so long, Hild thrust her face into
