Conquest

Hereward did not look at the man, nor speak to him; he just stared into the distance, thinking of Gythin. The man struggled at first, but then his movements subsided, his face swelled and his eyes bulged as if they were going to burst. Finally, the puce of the man’s gorged face paled, his lids closed over his blood-filled eyes and his body went limp.

Hereward held on, savouring the act of retribution.

The only sounds were the spit and crackle of the fire and the gentle dribble from the man’s leggings as his bodily fluids drained away for the last time.

It took Hereward only a few minutes to walk from Edgar’s tannery to the abbey. Blood flowed down his arm, and his face was blackened by soot and etched with scarlet burns, but he did not falter. He almost ran across the cloister of the abbey, avoiding the beautifully decorated stone crucifix in the centre of the crosswalk. It was deserted except for a few benches lining the quadrangle to facilitate prayer and contemplation.

Hereward threw open the heavy wooden door of the Great Hall. At one end, a huge fire spat flames towards the blackened roof timbers high above and filled the air with woodsmoke. There were several armed monks in the shadows, two more stood by the Abbot, along with his man-at-arms. They looked like Normans, with their distinctive chain-mail armour and nose-guard helmets.

The Abbot was a man to behold: his robes were a rich fawn, like chamois leather, and around his neck a heavy chain held a glistening gold crucifix, encrusted at its four corners by large rubies. He did not move, nor even look up, as Hereward made his dramatic entrance; he seemed to be in meditation, staring at the Scriptures that lay before him on the pages of a beautifully decorated Bible. Apart from his ostentatious garb, he had the appearance of a devout man of God: he was clean-shaven, had tonsured, cropped hair and the stern face of an ascetic. His left hand rested on the Holy Book, his right was hidden from view beneath the table; Hereward assumed it held a dagger. Silence reigned for a moment as the young thegn of Bourne surveyed the scene.

‘Do close the door; Ely’s winter chills me to the bone.’ The Abbot spoke in the clear, precise tone of an educated cleric practised in speaking down to congregations. ‘The usual arrangement is to make an appointment with my clerk.’

Hereward did not respond.

The Abbot still did not move his head, nor glance up from the page. ‘Do you read the Holy Scriptures?’

Again, Hereward said nothing.

‘You should. Let me read to you from the Book of Revelation of St John the Divine: And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see. And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.’ Finally, the Abbot looked up.

This brought an instant response from Hereward. ‘You are right; I bring Hell with me, Thurstan, Abbot of Ely. I intend to take you to Leofric, Earl of Mercia. There I will ask that you be tried for murder before the King. If you resist, I will kill you.’

Thurstan smiled. He looked down at the Scriptures once more. ‘You misunderstand. Let me continue: And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth. You see, I am Death. I have the power of the sword and the beasts of the earth are mine… I think you have already felt my power… and met my beasts.’

‘Your beasts are no more. They have felt my power.’

Thurstan’s face turned to anger for the first time. His demeanour suddenly became vicious, contorted and cruel.

Now Hereward recognized his enemy, the kind of man who could, without a hint of remorse, order the murder of a woman in cold blood.

‘You are a naive boy. The Beast is legion; however many you kill, there will be multitudes more. Look around you.’

With that, Thurstan’s men stepped forward from the gloomy shadows of the hall and drew their swords. More than ten yards and the formidable obstacle of a large refectory table separated Hereward from Thurstan. However, without hesitation or regard for the impossibility of the odds, Hereward leapt on to the end of the table and raised his battle-axe. Almost immediately, the blades of the nearest swords slashed at his legs and he had little choice but to hurl his axe in an attempt to impale his quarry.