The parting at Clitheroe was a heart-rending affair. Martin and Einar warmly embraced Ingigerd and Maria, while Gwyneth and Wulfhild, in floods of tears, tugged at their tunics imploring them not to go. To Alphonso’s great embarrassment, Cristina too burst into tears. Hereward picked up his girls, one on each arm. Their beauty and boisterous personalities reminded everyone of Torfida.
Hereward smiled at his precious offspring. ‘Kiss your father goodbye; the men are waiting. I love you both very much.’
The girls spoke in unison and in perfect harmony. ‘We love you too.’
Both girls kissed their father and then joined the others. Hereward mounted his horse, rode up to the head of the column and signalled for it to move off. Edmund unfurled Hereward’s standard: in black, on a gold background, was the twin-bladed Great Axe of Goteborg. Below, in crimson, over the shaft of the axe, was the circular shield of a Saxon housecarl, crossed by two black swords. Each squadron leader carried pennons on their lances in the new colours — gold, crimson and black — the colours of the Talisman and of Hereward’s own battle-shield. As the wind blew from the Pennines, the standard of Hereward of Bourne flew proudly in the cool air of a fresh March day.
Ahead of them was York, the city that Hereward hoped would soon be the new capital of a resurgent England.
When they arrived in the city, the streets of York reverberated with wild rejoicing. Hereward’s clarion call had been heard and the city was full to bursting with people celebrating as if a thrilling victory had been snatched from the jaws of a tragic defeat. There were camps in the woods and fields around the city, men slept in the streets, and the taverns began to run short of mead and beer. The celebrations went on for days.
Edgar the Atheling, who had arrived from Scotland, as requested, with several hundred of King Malcolm’s Scottish warriors, was paraded around the streets to wild cheering. It was remarkable that a Cerdician atheling was being greeted with such enthusiasm in Anglo-Danish Northumbria, the most Scandinavian of all England’s settlements.
Cospatrick, the Earl of Bamburgh, had arrived with a force of over 500 men; Maerlesvein, the Sheriff of Lincoln, brought 300; Earl Waltheof, a senior earl from the East Midlands, brought 200; and Siward Bjorn, a wealthy thegn from Nottingham, contributed 100 to the growing ranks. Eadric the Steersman and Aelfwold of St Benet at Holme, both men from East Anglia, brought 100 men between them. Not counting the fickle Scots, Hereward estimated that, including his own men, the English force was now 1,600 strong; not enough to meet William head- on, but it was a beginning. If they could consolidate in York, a march south could swell their ranks to many thousands.
In his private thoughts, Hereward estimated that he needed 6,000 men to meet William in a full-scale battle. He presumed that William could not muster many more than that in one place, for fear of losing strongholds that he had already established. Disappointingly, Edith Swan-Neck had not appeared. William’s men were watching her closely and, following the rising at Durham, she had not dared to travel north.
In any case, events in York were certainly worthy of celebration.
English morale had been given a vital boost.
Hereward called a Council of War and insisted that Edgar, as heir apparent, preside.
Bowing to Edgar, Hereward began. ‘Sire, your presence here is the vital piece in our game of chess with William. Our war with William has not yet begun — and must not, until we are stronger.’
‘On whose authority do you speak here, Hereward of Bourne?’
Shaken by this unexpected dissent from Cospatrick, Earl of Bamburgh, Hereward hesitated for a moment before continuing. ‘Well, my Lord of Bamburgh, I was asked by Edith Swan-Neck to lead a revolt on behalf of Edgar the Atheling, heir to the throne of England.’
‘Edith Swan-Neck does not have authority here in Northumbria.’
‘No, but I do!’ Maerlesvein spoke with barely concealed fury. ‘When Earl Morcar was defeated at Gate Fulford by Hardrada, King Harold appointed me Governor of Northumbria until he could speak to Morcar about the earldom. As Harold is now dead, my authority here still stands. So, with Prince Edgar’s permission, I give Hereward authority to lead this Council.’
Edgar nodded his approval and Hereward continued.
‘Thank you, Maerlesvein of Lincoln.’ He turned to Cospatrick. ‘My Lord Earl, now is not the time for us to argue. Do I have your support?’
‘Yes, but let us be clear — neither I nor my men will go scurrying south in the futile hope of removing William from the throne of Westminster. The Saxon earls have lost that battle. Wessex, Kent, East Anglia — those earldoms have gone to the Normans. Don’t expect the Northumbrians to get them back for you. What we will fight for is a kingdom here in York. I’m not sure Prince Edgar is the right choice to rule here but, if he has the support of the Danes and Malcolm Canmore, then I suppose that’s who it must be.’
‘Allow me to thank my Lord Bamburgh for such a heartfelt endorsement,’ the young Prince interjected.
His sarcasm lessened the tension a little, but it did not thwart Waltheof, Earl of the East Midlands.
‘The Earl of Bamburgh is a fool! What’s more, he’s always been a fool. He’s got a nerve to stand here and talk to us about Saxon defeats. First of all, after the Northumbrians and Mercians had been taught a lesson by Hardrada’s Norwegians at Gate Fulford, it was King Harold’s army, largely composed of housecarls from the earldoms of the South, which routed the Norse at Stamford Bridge!’
Men shouted at one another as the Council split between North and South, each faction accusing the other of cowardice and treachery.
Earl Waltheof raised his voice above the din, despite Hereward’s attempts to stop him. ‘My Lords, consider who was missing from Senlac Ridge! Cospatrick for one…’
The Council began to resemble a riot.
Waltheof, his blood up, screamed, ‘… And those other cowards — Edwin and Morcar — who are, at this very minute, licking the fat arse of William the Bastard!’
Swords were drawn and axes raised as men closed in on one another. The gathering was in danger of turning into a civil war rather than a council of war, when, with a deafening crack, Hereward slammed the Great Axe of Goteborg into the middle of the high table. The rapidly advancing factions stopped in their tracks and silence replaced the mayhem.
Hereward took two breaths, then spoke with the strained voice of a man struggling to control his rage. ‘You have until noon tomorrow. Any man still in the city by then will, by his presence, recognize Prince Edgar as the future King of England and accept my authority over all the forces loyal to the Atheling. If any man still here does not so recognize and accept, I will split him asunder with this axe, so help me God! Now go, all of you!’
Hereward wrenched the Great Axe from the table and held it out in front of him. He glared at Cospatrick, willing him to challenge him there and then, but the Earl turned and left. The Council emptied slowly and in silence. Hereward grasped the Talisman and sighed.
He tried to summon up Torfida’s image; he needed her blessing if he was to face what lay ahead.
The council gathered again at midday the next day and, to everyone’s relief, all were present, including Cospatrick and Waltheof.
Hereward stood and addressed the Council once more. ‘Prince Edgar, with your permission.’
The Aetheling signalled his approval.
‘My Lords, I thank you all for returning here today. Edmund of Kent, standard-bearer of my hearthtroop, has some news that will gladden your hearts and quicken your pulses. My Lords, news has arrived from Martin Lightfoot’s corps of messengers. Eadric the Wild sends his greetings to all here and lends his unqualified support to me as leader of England’s vanguard. His attacks continue throughout Mercia and will go on until our objective is achieved. He has over a thousand men under his command, including five hundred Welsh supporters from the Princes of Powys and Gwynedd, and he looks forward to joining us whenever we choose. Prince Godwin, son of King Harold, will set sail for the South West from Dublin within the week. He promises sixty ships and three thousand men.
‘Finally, Edwin has returned from Denmark. We have an answer from Svein Estrithson, King of the Danes: he will set sail as soon as his fleet can be assembled, probably by August. Led by his brother, Osbjorn, a fine warrior of great repute, he will send two hundred and fifty ships and seven thousand men.’
There was an astonished silence around the room as men looked at one another in disbelief at so much good news from all quarters. Hereward had known since dawn, when Edmund and Edwin had woken him with the reports. His fury at the discord of the night before had had its effect. Now, all factions listened intently, waiting to
