Conquest

‘She must know of our plans. Her presence in York in support of Edgar would be invaluable. Finally, Edmund, send for the remainder of our men and tell them to bring provisions, blacksmiths, carpenters and cooks. A general rallying call must be sent via your network of scouts for all loyal men to join any of the forces we’ve mentioned, or to instigate actions in their own areas to add momentum to our cause. Now is the time to act swiftly and decisively. All Norman soldiers are targets; all Norman merchants are to be attacked; all Norman goods are to be plundered. Are there any questions, gentlemen?’

There was no response, only a look of steely determination in the eyes of all present.

‘Very good, let’s rest. Tomorrow we set out to regain a kingdom.’

As Hereward walked away, he took the Talisman from under his smock and looked at it. He remembered Torfida’s words and knew that her spirit was with him.

His sternest test, as leader of the great English rebellion against William and the Normans, had begun.

By midday the next day, the messengers were long gone and Hereward’s force was on the march.

At Einar’s recommendation, it had been agreed that the family, protected by a small group of housecarls under the command of the thegn Hogor, would camp at a place called Clitheroe Hill, an isolated knoll with commanding views over the heavily wooded valley of the Ribble. It would serve as the rear encampment for the approach to York, with a forward camp further into the Pennines at Einar’s birthplace, the fortified hilltop settlement at Skipton, only two days’ ride from York. The baggage train, supplies and treasury would remain on Clitheroe Hill, from where, should things not go well at York, a speedy retreat was possible into the surrounding fells.

As they made their way eastwards, the ground rose and became more remote. Other than a small settlement of monks and peasants at the Abbey of Whalley, they saw no one between Preston and Clitheroe. The only significant presence was the great cowl of Pen Hill, which glowered at them whenever there was a clearing in the forest. Einar said it was a place of worship for those who still followed the old religion and that Druid sacrifices to the old gods were made from its summit. Hereward paid little attention to the stories, but thought the presence of the massive hill might be propitious. He also knew it was a perfect lookout, should a tactical retreat be needed in the next few weeks.

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.