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

murmured.
    ‘The king has guests from the east. They smile, but their eyes are worried.’
    Balthar nodded. ‘Good lad. I will have a coin for you.’
    As they walked towards the palace, Balthar slowed his step when he saw two men striding through the crowd, chins held high. One was blond-haired, lithe and strong, his hand resting easily upon the golden dragon-head hilt of his sword. The other was a horse-faced, balding man.
    ‘Who are they, and why do your eyes narrow when you see them?’ Felgild whispered.
    Balthar chuckled. ‘I have taught you well.’
    ‘Who are they?’
    ‘They are the old world, Felgild,’ he replied with a sly smile. ‘The tall one is Edwin, Earl of Mercia, once a force to be reckoned with in the land, when you were still playing in the mud instead of scrabbling for coin. The other one, though few could tell by looking at him, is Edwin’s brother, Morcar. He was once earl of unruly Northumbria, a poisoned chalice for even a strong leader. And Morcar was far from strong.’
    He bowed his head as the two earls passed, but they looked away, pretending not to see him. Balthar chuckled again, untouched by the slight. ‘So proud, so haughty, with no good reason to be.’
    Felgild kicked a chunk of stone in a looping arc. A cry rang out and he ducked behind the older man, keeping his head down.
    ‘If those two were braver or wiser they could unite the broken-backed English into a force to be reckoned with,’ Balthar continued. ‘And so King William keeps them close, deep in the heart of his court, trapped in a prison of fine food and whores and wine. The monarch flatters them that they still hold some value in this new England that he is building, and they bow their heads and accept his way of seeing, for to believe otherwise is unthinkable.’
    ‘They would do well to heed you,’ Felgild said with a nod. ‘ You are a force to be reckoned with now.’
    Balthar could not disagree.
    Once the lad had scurried off to see to his chores, Balthar hurried into the king’s hall, cool after the heat of the day, quiet after the pandemonium of the builders’ yard. The sound of voices speaking in the Norman tongue he had worked so hard to learn echoed dimly from the recesses. He slowed his pace so his footsteps would not give him away. He was not a moment too soon. More footsteps approached, small ones and rapid, accompanied by the sound of short breaths. He pressed himself into the shadows under an arched doorway.
    A pretty, blonde-haired girl of some eighteen summershurried past, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of the Norman voices. She was scared, perhaps, that the king would find her away from her duties. Godrun was her name. Balthar smiled to himself as he recalled how she had caught his eye the day she passed through Dungate and arrived at the palace at the beginning of the hot season. She was hungry, abandoned, with dirt under nails and more besmirching her roughly made dress. Yet she had been raised up with alacrity, soon serving the table of the king himself. Balthar had not been surprised at that. Her beauty was pristine. What man would not want such an angel at their right hand? In her pale face, he thought he had seen an innocence that would need protecting amid the random cruelty and base desires of the court. It was a task he would gladly take up.
    Once she had passed, he eased out of the shadows and hastened towards the vaulted hall, still fragrant with the aroma of fresh stone and newly cut timber. Sumptuous tapestries hung on the walls, their bright colours illuminated by the hissing torches. Slipping through the open door, Balthar darted to his right and found his favourite hiding place behind a screen showing an image of the Christ ascending to heaven. He held his breath and peeked around the edge.
    William sat on his throne, leaning forward and pointing at two men who stood before him. Balthar had quickly learned that with the king appearances could not be trusted. He was