Read Hereward 02 - The Devil's Army for Free Online

in the Viking’s direction, but Redwald grabbed his arm. ‘Would you roast yourself like a Christmas ox?’ he demanded, concerned. ‘That bastard’s wounds are too great for him to live.’
    ‘He will live,’ Hereward snarled as the other man dragged him away. ‘Only I can kill him.’
    The two men stumbled out of the burning woods into the relief of the night-breeze. The inferno lit up the battlefield. The wetlands beyond glowed a hellish red in the reflected light. Hereward blinked sweat from his eyes, feeling his throat and chest burn. ‘I owe you my thanks, brother,’ he grinned, clapping a hand on the other man’s shoulder.
    ‘I look out for you, as I always have.’ Redwald smiled shyly.
    The din of battle had moved away from the fire, but Hereward could hear it was already dying down. Norman bodies littered the edge of the bog. A few English men lay here and there, but nowhere near as many as he had expected.
    Redwald squinted to pierce the dark surrounding the remains of the battle. ‘The Normans’ strength comes from their ordered ranks. Faced with the wildness of the wolf, they cannot cope and are torn apart.’ He paused, seemingly unable to believe what he was seeing. Then he turned and looked to Hereward with bright eyes. ‘We have won.’
    ‘Not yet. Not until William de Warenne bows down before us and the Butcher’s head sits atop a spike for his sins. But this Devil’s Army has its blood up. Now let us drive the Normans before us to their end.’

C HAPTER S IX
    FLAKES OF BLACK snowed down on the gathered warriors. Whisked up by the sour-smelling wind, the charred remnants of the burning villages settled across the wetlands far and wide in that quiet time before dawn. In the gloom, ash-streaked faces glowed, death’s-heads haunting the tattered remnants of the Norman force. Here was the fate that awaited all men, but them sooner than most.
    The English stood on the bank of the Great Ouse. On the far bank, the invaders licked their wounds. Bloody heads and gashed arms were dark against pale skin in the wavering torchlight. Hereward watched the turned-down faces and smiled with satisfaction. He could almost taste the desolation of these warriors who fought in the most feared army in all Europe, yet who had been rent apart by a rag-tag band of mud-spattered English with straw in their hair. This matter was far from done, but here was a cry that would reach all the way to the king.
    He narrowed his eyes at the hated enemy and walked to the river’s edge. Raising his sword in defiance, he said in a loud, clear voice, knowing full well that the Norman nobles and knights understood the English tongue, ‘These are the men who have put women and children to the sword, broken families,stolen food and livestock, carved up lands, and murdered loved ones. These are the men who tried to steal the very soul of the English, putting castles and stone and ledgers in its place. No more. We have whipped them like curs, and we will do so again and again until they flee these shores and return to their God-forsaken home.’ He looked around at his men, serious faces all as they hung on his every word. ‘We have been failed by our leaders, betrayed by all those who seek their own benefit from power. And I say again, no more. Now it is time for the English to fight back. All the English, together. One voice. One spear. Let us drive the invaders out.’
    The skull-faced men raised their fists and bellowed Hereward’s final exhortation.
    The Mercian turned to the grim-faced Normans across the black river. At this point, the waters moved too fast for the English to try to wade across, even where they were shallowest. ‘William de Warenne, do you hear me?’
    A long silence followed, filled only with the rushing of the river. Hereward called again.
    Finally, the Norman nobleman stepped out from among his bedraggled men. He raised his chin and attempted to show a brave face, but even in the dancing torchlight,