CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

THE BARKED ORDERS OF THE NORMAN COMMANDER ECHOED through the fog. Redwald grinned. Though he could not understand the words, he could hear the uncertainty in the man’s voice. Another scream tore out nearby. Hereward’s plan was working perfectly.

Leaning against the damp trunk of an ash tree, he listened to the sound of feet running in confusion. When heavy footsteps drew near, he cupped his hands to his mouth and called out as though he were lost. The Normans lumber like oxen in their armor, he thought as the leaden footsteps moved in his direction. He waited until the figures coalesced in the fog and then turned on his heel and ran down the slope.

Branches tore at his face, but his breathing remained regular. He had not felt this alive since the days with Harold Godwinson. From the thunder at his back, he estimated he had drawn seven or eight of the knights; a good number.

Leaping over a rotting log that had been dragged across the path, he flashed a quick smile at Guthrinc who waited behind a tree beside it. The large man’s face was smeared with white mud, the hair matted, charcoal ground into the skin around his eyes. He had the face of death, like many of the rebels. Redwald remembered Hereward’s words: terror strikes as sharp as any axe. He hesitated a little farther on and glanced back. As the first knight slowed near the log, the burly rebel swung his axe into his chest. The chunk of iron carving bone echoed down the slope. Guthrinc wrenched out the blade and had faded into the fog before the knight had slumped to his knees in a gout of blood.

Turning, Redwald continued down the slope, just slowly enough to catch the attention of the Normans who had hesitated beside their dying fellow. He allowed himself a gleeful laugh. He felt a queasy joy at seeing such vengeance for the terror the Normans had inflicted on him during William the Bastard’s victorious battle for the English crown. The enemy had made him feel weak that day, and that was the harshest blow of all. He would rather lose a hand than feel that way again.

Further down the slope, he jumped across a spread of branches, yellowing turf, and dry leaves. Once more he turned and glanced back at the wall of iron speeding toward him. The knight at the head crashed through the thin covering into the hidden pit. His bubbling scream rang out as the stakes embedded in the bottom rammed through his body. Unable to slow, a second knight tumbled in after him.

Redwald clenched his fist in triumph. He had doubted Hereward’s assertion that the numerous pits they had dug would claim lives, but the warrior had insisted he had witnessed the tactic’s lethal success on his travels on the other side of the whale road. His brother had grown during the years they had been apart, Redwald decided. Perhaps Hereward truly could lay claim to the throne.

Sprinting to the edge of the marshland, Redwald continued along the rim until he came to a green area reaching into the fog. He glanced around for the secret marker and then ran out from the treeline. The four remaining knights roared as they saw him.

Feigning panic, the rebel raced ahead. A sly smile crossed his face as he heard the pounding of the Normans’ leather shoes turn to splashing. A moment later, their frantic cries sounded and Redwald came to a halt. He turned and placed his hands on his hips, relishing the sight of his enemies’ final breaths. The four knights thrashed thigh-deep in the sucking bog, the weight of their armor dragging them down. Redwald stood on the thin finger of solid ground reaching out into the marsh that only a fenlander would recognize. The more the Normans fought to get free, the more they sank. In desperation, they tossed aside their swords and axes and hurled their helmets away. Redwald enjoyed that, for it meant he could see the terror in their eyes more clearly. Two of them struggled to remove their hauberks, but it was a futile task. Down they went, with gathering speed, the stinking black mud pulling at their stomachs, their chests, their necks. Their cries became childlike, their eyes filling with tears.

Redwald drew closer, dropping to his haunches to see better. His enemies pleaded with him in their tongue, but then the mud washed into their mouths, and only chokes and gurgles emerged, and then a silence broken only by the bubbles bursting on the slimy surface.

Redwald stood up, brushing the dried mud from his hands. His darkest days lay behind him now, he was sure. His heart swelled. He would never again be deflected from reaching his goal. By any means necessary, power and security would be his.