significant shares of the bounty from William’s treasury.
‘Prince Osbjorn, thank you for seeing us. I am Hereward of Bourne, commander of the forces of Edgar the Atheling, rightful heir to the throne of England. You have met Edwin before, my aide-de-camp. This is Edmund of Kent, my standard-bearer.’
‘Gentlemen, please sit and eat with us. We are roasting some fine English mutton.’
‘Thank you, sire.’
‘Hereward of Bourne, we are honoured to have you in our camp. Your reputation goes before you. Edwin we know well. He is a fine young soldier. We were delighted to have him at our court in Aarhus.’
‘Prince Osbjorn, I will come to the point.’
‘Of course.’
‘William, Duke of Normandy has been here.’
‘He has. I am amused that you still refer to him as the “Duke of Normandy”. I thought he had ruled here as King for almost three years.’
‘Only by force of arms.’
‘Many kings win their throne by force of arms.’
‘That is true. But many kings are also unseated by force of arms, and that will be William’s fate. Isn’t that why you came here — to help us do that?’
Prince Osbjorn was a man of palpable intelligence and cunning and did not take offence at the bluntness of Hereward’s question. ‘Following your pleas, conveyed by Edwin, I was asked to lead our forces by my brother, King Svein. Our objective was to bring a large enough army to help the English in their campaign against King William — the “Duke”, as you call him. We destroyed his navy, as you asked. We caused disruption along the east coast, as you asked. And then, with Prince Edgar and his men, we stormed the gates of York and put the Normans to flight… as you asked.’
‘Yes, you did all that we asked of you, and for that we are grateful. But the final piece of the strategy was to rout William in the North with an attack on his main force, after which we would sweep south together and claim the Kingdom.’
‘Yes, we know.’
‘But then you parleyed with him and filled your longships with gold and silver!’ Hereward’s voice was rising in anger. ‘Why?’
‘Let me do some reckoning for you. We are close to six thousand; William has four thousand heavy cavalry and more could be summoned at any time. How many men could you have brought to the field?’
‘Several thousand, Prince Osbjorn.’
‘Our estimate is two thousand at best. And your cavalry is light cavalry; you don’t have heavy Norman horses.’
‘It would have been enough, sire.’
‘Forgive me, it would not. Six thousand Danes… two thousand Englishmen… Should it not have been the other way round? Aren’t we on English soil, fighting for an English crown? If the circumstances were reversed, and we were in Denmark, we would be able to put twenty-five thousand men into the fray.’
Prince Osbjorn’s blunt analysis was difficult to accept, but Hereward knew it was accurate. ‘So, you’ve taken William’s geld instead.’
‘Of course! We have an army to feed and many supporters to reward.’
The pragmatic summary delivered by the Prince was the only logical position that the Danes could have taken. Nevertheless, it made Hereward angry — angry that only two thousand Englishmen could be mustered to stand with the Danes.
‘I am sorry, Hereward of Bourne. We respect William’s heavy cavalry. Our view is that, without cavalry, we would need to have an advantage of at least two to one for our shield wall to hold. Remember what your cavalry did to Hardrada at Stamford Bridge, and bear in mind that Harold’s mighty shield wall eventually gave way to the destriers at Senlac Ridge.’
Hereward, angry and saddened, rose to leave, resigned to the brutal reality that Osbjorn had described. ‘My Lord Prince, I thank you for your candour. Many a man would have engaged in platitudes and tried to exact an advantage from us.’
The Prince beckoned Hereward to one side, away from everyone’s hearing, and spoke in a hushed voice. ‘Let me tell you frankly our position. William is no lover of the sea and has no skills as commander of a fleet. Therefore, as it has been for centuries, England’s east coast will be vulnerable to us for a long time to come. Malcolm, King of the Scots, is our ally and a serious threat to England. Then there is Edgar and your English rebellion; there is much we can exploit here and William is rich. We will take William’s money for as long as he’s prepared to offer it. As for you, we will stand with you only if you can muster six or seven thousand housecarls and at least four thousand men on war horses.’
‘And your price, my Lord?’
‘A new Danelaw: Lincoln, Nottingham, Gloucester and everything to their north would be Danish. Our capital would be at York. The South would be English.’
‘That is a high price, even for a Dane!’
‘Yes, it is half your kingdom — and we Danes would say it’s the better half! But when you have found ten thousand men, we can haggle about the price. As you know, we have decided to stay for the winter. We thought there would be a few more twists in this tale before it ran its course. Come back and talk in the spring; you will always be welcome here.’
‘Thank you. But you must realize that if I had ten thousand men, I wouldn’t need the support of the Danes.’
‘Perhaps, but William is an awesome opponent. Never underestimate him.’
‘I’ve learned not to. Winter well here in Axholme.’
‘Thank you. Good luck in your noble attempts to rouse your English comrades.’
The two men parted far more amicably than at first seemed possible. At least Hereward now knew the full extent of the dilemma he faced.
It was going to be a long hard winter of reflection in his Pennine eyrie.
Clitheroe Hill, his family and his girls were an uplifting sight as Hereward approached the camp — a home that was beginning to have an air of permanence about it. Gohor’s men had built a wooden hall with a stone hearth for the family, and his men were building longhouses to replace their canvas tents and pelt lean-tos; the Pennines was not a place to be huddled in a makeshift shelter through the long winter months.
Hereward’s band had become smaller. Some men were ill, some had injuries or wounds that refused to heal, and some had asked to go, weary of the fight. When the four squadrons which had been campaigning with Eadric returned, the 80 men who had gone with him had dwindled to 56. A roll-call was taken. Only 268 Englishmen remained at Hereward’s side.
The winter of 1069 was particularly hard. Pen Hill was enveloped by deep snow from mid-November onwards, and the camp was engulfed by several heavy blizzards. At the turn of the year, although it did not seem possible, the weather worsened. Hunting became difficult, even dangerous; nights were long and black; firewood became sparse and spring seemed a long way off. The only comfort was that the dead of winter made England subdued. Few men stirred, offering at least a chimera of peace and tranquillity.
That falsehood was rudely exposed on the Sabbath of the second week of January.
Hereward had sent a scout to York to reconnoitre the disposition of William’s forces and assess the progress of the building of the new Norman city and fortifications. To the scout’s astonishment, within hours of his arrival, he watched as William rode out of the city with a force of nearly 2,000 men. A return to Winchester, in the depths of a winter as fierce as this one, would have been an intrepid move, but Winchester was not his destination; when he passed the new gates of the city, instead of turning south, he turned north.
The scout galloped back to Clitheroe Hill as quickly as his mount would carry him, eager to give his report.
Hereward looked at him in disbelief. ‘How long has it taken you to get back here?’
‘Less than a day, sir.’
Alphonso spoke before Hereward. ‘That is an outstanding ride. Well done!’
‘Thank you, sir.’
