As soon as the fight had gone out of the giant redhead, Hereward released him and stepped away, declining the custom to despatch his beaten opponent.
‘My Lord King, I have killed too many men in my life already; I have no desire to kill another.’
‘Agreed. You have made your point well. Tomorrow you ride with me.’
Martin began to lead Hereward away, but not before Einar offered him his hand. He had never been bested in a contest before and was full of admiration for the young Englishman.
The two men embraced as a murmur of appreciation rippled around the assembly of warriors; none had ever seen a stranger so quickly win over a crowd, or so readily gain the respect of a king.
5. Battle of Hereford
Hereward shivered with emotion as he watched four huge columns of heavily armed infantry, each led by a cohort of cavalry, weave their way through the forest. His pulse raced with excitement, but he was also troubled that this army of Celts, Danes and Norsemen, allied with treacherous Northumbrians, was about to attack his homeland.
Despite the fact that his own people had outlawed him, he felt guilty that he was experiencing the primordial thrill of impending battle.
He looked around at his companions, who were grim-faced and determined. It excited Hereward to be with seasoned warriors like Einar, men to stand with in a fight, men with whom it would be an honour to die.
He had spent several weeks with Gruffydd’s Welsh army, enduring their training regimes and helping them replenish their supplies of weapons, food and horses for a new wave of military campaigns. It was late October 1055 and over the long weeks of preparation he had decided that, if it came to a battle with King Edward’s army, he would fight. It had been a difficult decision, but he was now riding with Celts and Norsemen; he was wearing their armour and carrying their weapons.
He looked at Martin and Einar, riding at his side, and acknowledged them with a nod of respect. Hereward knew that in moments like these, lives change for ever.
The Welsh had prepared for months to attack Hereford, one of England’s most strategically important burghs. Ralph, Earl of Hereford, was the Norman nephew of King Edward, who had made him Warden of the Welsh Marches. He had brought many Norman knights, clerics and administrators to his earldom, much to the consternation of the locals.
As Gruffydd’s columns made open ground in a wide valley, some two miles west of Hereford, Ralph’s cavalry were skulking on the wooded hillsides. The Earl had determined that Gruffydd’s combined force of Welsh, Northumbrians and Irish-Norse was an ill-disciplined rabble, weakened by mercenaries of dubious loyalty. Also, because many of the Celts were on foot, he thought it would be vulnerable to a swift and decisive cavalry attack. His horsemen broke cover and bore down on the invaders. The Earl’s thegns carried the red and yellow banners of his lands in Worcestershire, Herefordshire and Gloucestershire, but most of his senior commanders were Normans, recognizable by their full-length mail coats and heavy continental horses.
At first their attack, with the advantage of surprise and higher ground, looked like it might be decisive as there was little more than 200 yards between the leading horses of the Earl’s cavalry and Gruffydd’s infantry. But Ralph’s strategy was naive. The Welsh army and its allies were elite warriors who had fought many battles during years of campaigning. Within moments of the surprise attack, Gruffydd’s hearthtroop began to circle to protect him, while the body of his force re-formed to charge the oncoming cavalry. Supported by the Northumbrians on their right and the Irish on their left, they surged forwards in a V-shaped formation towards the heart of Ralph’s phalanx of horses.
The Earl’s cavalry had not expected such a bold response. They were in loose formation, expecting easy pickings among infantry exposed on open ground, but Gruffydd’s column was tightly packed, rigidly disciplined and had gained significant momentum. As the two armies collided, the carnage began in the front ranks: men screamed, trying to inflict blows or avoid them; horses reared, struggling to free themselves.
Gruffydd’s infantry held its shape. The lances and shields of its front ranks, reinforced by its collective discipline, formed a solid, surging wall that was far too strong for the Earl’s cavalry. The horses behind the first wave of the attack streamed down the sides of the solid phalanx of foot soldiers and made easy targets for the spirited infantrymen of Wales, wielding swords and battle-axes. Many riders turned and fled but a small group, perhaps no more than thirty, were more determined. From their distinctive shield designs and the human skulls tied to their saddles, Hereward guessed they were Welsh chieftains, defeated by Gruffydd, who had thrown in their lot with the Earl of Hereford. Despite the catastrophe of Ralph’s reckless attack, this small group fought on, moving ever closer to Gruffydd’s position.
Although they were small in number, the ferocity of their onslaught soon saw them engaging the King’s hearthtroop. Their leader, distinguished by a magnificent bronze helmet with a boar’s head crest, suddenly burst through the line of defending guards and made open ground within a few yards of the King. Several of his followers poured through the gap and, in a blind fury of revenge, began cutting down Gruffydd’s housecarls in swathes. Hereward was only a few feet from the King and, supported by Einar and Martin, moved forward to protect the royal cordon. The three men put themselves between the King and his assailants and unleashed a fury of blows that cut down several of the attackers.
Hereward was at the forefront, tall in his saddle and using his axe to murderous effect. He moved purposefully towards the boars’ head chieftain and made eye contact with him. They clashed immediately, with Hereward ducking under a huge swing of the Welshman’s axe. It gave Hereward the split second he needed as he thrust his lance deep into his opponent’s ribcage, somersaulting him over the rear of his horse. He then turned to the back of the melee, grabbed Gruffydd’s reins and pulled his mount around.
As he did so, he shouted at the King’s housecarls: ‘Hold your ground, protect the King!’
He pulled the King’s steed away from the assault, and shouted again: ‘Make way for the King! Make way for the King.’
The wall of royal hearthtroops parted and Hereward escorted Gruffydd over to Earl Aelfgar’s cavalry, which had been holding firm in reserve.
‘I don’t normally flee in battle, especially from one I’m winning!’ spluttered the breathless King.
‘With you removed, my Lord, their fury will soon be spent. Your housecarls will easily cut them down.’
As Gruffydd thought about Hereward’s answer, Aelfgar spoke for both of them. ‘The young Saxon thinks as well as he fights.’
Hereward was soon proved right. Encircled by Gruffydd’s elite warriors, and with their quarry safe with Aelfgar’s cavalry, the Welsh chieftains were quickly overwhelmed and ruthlessly massacred.
Gruffydd’s thoughts quickly returned to the main battle. ‘Earl Aelfgar, you must commit the cavalry. Before the day is ours, we need to find the Earl’s infantry.’
After witnessing the bloody failure of the Earl’s cavalry, his infantry were retreating through the trees at full pelt. As Aelfgar’s cavalry bore down on them, Ralph and his surviving mounted thegns tried to persuade his infantry to hold, but the howling invaders put the fear of God into them. The rash move to commit his horses in a surprise attack had been a disastrous miscalculation by the Earl of Hereford. Many good men had already paid with their lives; many more would be caught in the open in a chaotic retreat, and a trail of death that would lead all the way to the walls of Hereford.
As his loyal troops died in their hundreds, Ralph abandoned his burgh to its fate and fled towards Winchester and the protection of King Edward.
The first of the victors poured into Hereford at dusk and the mayhem of war continued as the rape and murder of the innocent began.
Hereward and the leaders arrived in the burgh shortly after the advanced guard. Houses were being torched and male inhabitants were being put to the sword; booty was being loaded into carts; larders and grain stores were being emptied and the screams of women and children could be heard everywhere.
As Hereward, Martin Lightfoot, Einar and the Captain of the King’s housecarls arrived at the nunnery of Hereford, the great wooden cathedral, adjacent to the nunnery, was already in flames. Warriors were stacking books, church plate, altar crosses and tapestries on to carts, while several clerics lay in pools of blood in the
