Time of the Wolf (26 page)

Redwald watched, and learned.

Good advice at the right time, remaining silent at all others, loyalty in the face of harsh treatment, all these things had secured his place within the earl's trust, the young man knew. As the seasons passed, Redwald had kept himself close to the older man's shoulder, for power bred loneliness, and the great always needed a friend and honest adviser. Promoted by degree, he had fetched mead when his master's cup was empty, and passed on whispered secrets he had become privy to in the gossip of the court. Redwald had become Harold's eyes and ears, and sometimes his strong right arm, and the rewards had flowed to him accordingly, slowly at first, but now there was no man in all England who could benefit more from Harold's coming ascension.

Harold rolled the dice. In making his move, he left two of his men exposed. When it was Redwald's turn, the young man broke up his defensive position to attempt to gain an advantage. By the next round, Harold had carved through Redwald's counters and was on his way to victory.

Redwald slapped his right palm on the table in annoyance.

“A lesson,” Harold said, with a grin. “Sometimes, to win, it is necessary to sacrifice the things we most cherish.”

Redwald feigned irritation. He had long since seen the older man's ploy and had let the earl win. “And that is what you did in Northumbria?”

Harold scooped up the dice and dropped them on the board. “Tostig had failed,” he said with a crack of anger. “He moved too fast, demanded too much. He did not display the cunning of a king. The uprising by the lawless Northumbrians could easily have spread, and they might have damned all men of Wessex for Tostig's failings. How could I then ask them to follow me into battle once I am on the throne?”

“But you have strengthened the Mercians by advising Edward to make Morcar Earl of Northumbria?”

“For now.” Harold grinned. He stood up to stretch his legs. Redwald followed him to the hearth. “Neither Edwin nor Morcar has any experience of leading. And now Morcar will be too distracted by bringing order to the unruly lot in the north to plot and connive with his brother. No, the Mercians are not a problem for now.”

“A wise move,” the younger man said, adding, in a wry tone: “If only those Mercians realized that you were leading them by the nose.”

“Know, then, that you and I are the same,” Harold said, laying a hand on his attendant's shoulder. “We have both been forced to abandon brothers we love for the greater glory. But our sons and our sons' sons would never forgive us if we showed weakness and failed to grasp our true destiny. Men cannot afford to give in to their hearts. That is for women and boys.” The earl lowered his voice, and the younger man thought he heard warmth there, as if Harold were speaking to one of his two sons. “But you understand that well, I know.”

“You have prodded and poked me enough to ensure that my skin is well callused,” Redwald replied with a confident smile.

The earl poured himself some mead and let the cup linger on his lips for a moment, his gaze searching far beyond the walls. “My own father taught me these lessons when I was young. He tried to teach Tostig too, but my brother would never learn. He always cried and ran to my mother, hiding in her skirts until my father flew into a rage and threatened to beat him with the stick he kept by the door.” Harold swallowed a deep draught of the mead. “Once, when I was very young, he took me out to the hills at night. The moon was full and turned the grass to silver. I could hear the wolves howling in the woods in the valley, and I began to tremble. My father knelt before me and took my shoulders in his big hands. He was not a harsh man. He did not strike me, even though I could see in his face that he was disappointed that I was scared. ‘Here, take my knife,' he said, and he gave me the blade I had seen him use to skin a deer and once to kill a man who had offended him. It was a fine knife, well balanced, with a handle made of antler, and it had belonged to his father. I have it still, though the blade is tarnished and weak.

“And he said to me, ‘Harold, this is the night when you become a man. I will leave you here now and you must let me go, without tears. You must sit and tell yourself the story of the loaves and fishes, as the priest told it to you, and when you are done, you must try to find your way home. It will be hard and there are many dangers along the way.' ‘The wolves—' I began, but he only placed a finger on my lips to silence me. ‘If you return to our hall, what you learn about yourself on the way will change you for ever. You will become the man you need to be, you want to be, in your heart.' He watched me for a moment, and although I wanted to cry, I held the tears inside. And then he was gone.”

“
If
you return,” Redwald repeated, imagining how terrifying it must have been. “How old were you?”

“I had entered my ninth year,” Harold replied, still lost to his memories. “And my father was right. I remember little of that night, apart from the terror and my certainty that I would die. I do not know how I found my way back to the hall in the dark—I could not have done it in the light. But the next day, when I woke, and my father greeted me as if it was any other day and the previous night had not happened, I was changed.” He flashed a curious, unreadable smile at Redwald. “But later my father told me there was but one more thing I needed to learn: the only question in life that matters.”

“What is that?” Redwald asked, his curiosity piqued.

“How far will you travel along the road to damnation to achieve your heart's desire?”

“A good question.” Redwald refilled his master's cup.

Reflecting, Harold sipped his mead, and then said, “Perhaps I will give you that knife one day.”

Redwald flashed a polite smile, but he didn't want the knife. He already had one. From outside, the throb of voices intensified. “By the sound of it, they are almost ready.”

Harold grunted and finished his mead. “We cannot leave this moment all to Edward. Let us reward the waiting throng.”

Sweeping on his best cloak, the red one edged with a design of looping yellow circles that made him stand out in a crowd, Harold stepped out into the crisp morning. He made his way across the palace enclosure toward the edge of Thorney Island where the gray stone tower rose up against the blue sky. Shielding his eyes against the sun, Redwald could see the stonemasons making the final preparations at the summit. Most of the timber platforms and the greased fiber ropes had been removed to give a clear view of the magnificent abbey. It must indeed match any of the great churches across Europe as Edward proclaimed, the young man thought.

The crowd had gathered around the sunlit western wall of the abbey, the women in their white headdresses, the men garbed in their finest embroidered woolen clothes for the occasion. Gold glinted everywhere, in brooches, amulets, sword hilts, rings, and bracelets. All heads craned upward in awe.

When they saw Harold nearing, the men, women, and children turned and cheered. Redwald's chest swelled. He saw in the flushed faces the respect they held for Harold, yes, and the love too. To be loved by so many people must be a wonderful thing indeed, he reflected.

The King approached unnoticed from the direction of his hall. His jeweled crown gleamed on his snowy hair, but his face was as gray as his cloak and he leaned heavily on Edith's arm. The Queen deposited him by the west door and, beaming, hurried over to her brother. She kissed Harold on the cheek.

“I won our wager,” she whispered, breathless with excitement. “The abbey will be stocked with three times the relics that Edward found. It is my name that springs first to the lips of the abbot.”

“Well done, sister. And Edward?”

“Survives.”

Resplendent in his tunic and cap, Archbishop Ealdred caught Harold's eye and sidled over. Redwald knew that the cleric's journey from Eoferwic for the ceremony served another purpose: to inform his close ally of the current state of affairs in Northumbria. Redwald left the group to discuss their business and slipped inside the new abbey. He smelled the freshness of the wood and clean-cut stone, and marveled at the stained glass in the windows. His attention was drawn to the wooden box on a table in an alcove. Inside lay the shankbone of St. John the Baptist, the relic he had recovered from the village near Winchester. Hurrying over, he rested one hand upon the casket and bowed his head. His heart beat faster at the thought of what was within: a secret so profound that it seared the deepest part of him. For a moment, he stayed there with his thoughts, and then he returned to the throng, wishing he could leave that box well alone.

A slender hand caught his arm as he pushed through the crowd and he turned to see Hild smiling coyly. She was the daughter of Blacwin, one of the King's thegns, and as beautiful as any woman at court. Her eyes were as lush as a summer forest, her well-defined cheekbones setting off plump lips. Redwald had admired her from the moment he arrived at the Palace of Westminster, but Hild had spurned all his initial advances. Now she was more than happy to hold his hand and let him steal a kiss, and her father was happy too.

“I saw you walking beside Harold Godwinson,” she breathed. “You have grown well into the role he has granted to you.” Glancing around, she whispered, “Let me stand with you during the ceremony. So all can see.”

“I would be honored.”

Her cheeks flushed with excitement. Redwald imagined the soft warmth of her thighs, but that would be a joy for another day. For now, there was serious business at hand, and it would only grow more testing in the days to come. He could not afford a distraction like Hild. “I must speak to someone first, but catch my eye when I return and I will take you to stand with Harold.”

“And has your master any more gifts? Some amber, perhaps, or ivory?” She jangled the bracelet he had given her after Harold had advised him how to make the most of the attention Hild had been showing him.

With a smile, Redwald tapped his nose and slipped away. He would find a different route back through the crowd to avoid seeing her, but give her a gift at sunset to mitigate her disappointment. He knew exactly how to play her.

Returning from a merchant, who had little useful information, the young man found Asketil waiting for him. Hereward's father looked as though he had aged ten years in the last three, but he beamed when he saw the man he had adopted as his son.

“You have put some strong meat on you since last we met,” he laughed, gripping Redwald by the arms.

“I work hard. It is good to see you looking well. How are things in Barholme?”

“Quiet, which is good. But your name is spoken often in the taverns and fields. A local boy, now advising Harold Godwinson. It is a source of great joy to all who remember the young lad who fished and hunted and made mischief among them.” Redwald could hear the pride in Asketil's voice. The young man glanced down at Beric, who stood silent and sullen beside his father. Hereward's brother was now on the cusp of manhood, but Redwald could see that he was still broken.

“He has still not spoken since that night,” Asketil hissed when he saw Redwald looking, “and now I fear he never will.”

“And no news of Hereward?” the young man ventured.

The thegn's features darkened. “His name is never mentioned in Mercia. He must be dead.”

Redwald wondered whether Asketil was right. If Hereward was still alive, he hoped his brother had finally found some peace.

A cheer rippled through the crowd. The ceremony was about to begin. The young man bid good-bye to Asketil and Beric and hurried back to Harold's side. Edith had rejoined her husband beside the abbey wall, but she looked impatient.

“In the dusty heat of eighteen summers and the bitter wind of eighteen hard winters, we have labored here to build our monument to God's glory. And now we are almost done,” the King began, his dry croak almost lost beneath the murmur of the crowd. “This great abbey is more than a testament to our devotion; it is a beacon to all Englishmen, reminding us that even in our darkest times God watches over us and listens to our prayers.”

Redwald felt surprised to hear the smack of his master's cunning in the King's words. England faces dark times. God watches over us. And Edward's good work here is the bond that joins the two. The old monarch was establishing his great legacy, a man of God, a protector of the people. As the King's words rustled out, the young man thought it sounded as though Edward knew his days were ending, and that what was to come would be terrible indeed. So terrible, in fact, that people would look back on his rule with fondness. Redwald glanced aside and saw that Harold's brow was knit, his expression angry. Was Edward damning the Earl of Wessex's rule before it had begun? Perhaps, as Harold had often suspected, the King hid his cunning behind a mask of weakness.

When Edward had finished his speech, all heads turned up toward the tower's summit. The master mason held the final stone aloft for all to see, and then set it in place with a flourish. A great cheer rang out. The abbey was done, now ready for the consecration that had been planned for three days after the Christmas feast.

When the crowd began to disperse, Harold grabbed Redwald's arm and steered him away from the flow of bodies. “I have had my fill of Edward weaving his web. King or not, he is an old man and a fool. First he leads William the Bastard on. Then he makes plain to me that it is all to keep William's sword in its sheath and I am the one who will take the throne. Enough!” In a cold fury, Harold punched his right fist into his left palm. “The time has passed for these things. Edward must name me as his chosen heir. And he will do so, of his own volition or with the edge of my axe against his neck.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

9 November 1065

I
N THE LEE OF
C
AMBRAI
'
S FORTIFICATIONS
, H
EREWARD STRODE
along the ranks of the apprehensive young men he now commanded. “The enemy will come at you with their shields held high, like this.” He raised his own shield in demonstration. “Each one will be pressed hard against another so there will be a wall in front of you. Do not attack a wall. It does not bleed.” He grinned, hoping some humor could raise the spirits of his ramshackle group. Wan smiles appeared on a few faces.