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roof. Your loyalty is impressive. Now, go. Try to give some comfort to Asketil. His life has been made miserable over the years by his son’s violent and wayward behavior, but since Hereward brought slaughter to the Palace of Westminster it is as though the thegn is drowning in deep water.”
    Redwald said good-bye and hurried out into the night, his mood sobering as he neared his house. Inside, his vision adjusted slowly to the near-dark. Only a few embers glowed in the hearth. On a stool, Asketil stared into the remnants of the fire with heavy-lidded eyes, a cup of ale held loosely in his right hand. Redwald thought how old the thegn looked in the half-light, as if many years had eaten away at his skin and grayed his hair in the short time since Hereward had fled.
    â€œYou’re back,” Asketil slurred, his gaze wavering toward the young man.
    â€œYes. It was a long journey from Winchester in the snow.”
    Asketil beckoned Redwald to draw nearer, leaning forward to scrutinize the young man’s face with his bleary eyes. “I wish you had been my son,” he said finally. “You were always a good boy, even in those days after they brought you to me when your mother and father died.”
    â€œDo not think badly of Hereward.”
    â€œDo not think badly? He murdered a gentle woman who held only love in her heart for him. He has destroyed this family with the shame he has heaped upon us. Look what he has done to me.” The thegn slurped the last of his ale, then threw the cup into the corner of the room. Redwald was surprised to see Hereward’s younger brother Beric slumped in the shadows there, his arms wrapped around his knees. The boy stared at the boards as if no one else was present. He had not spoken since he had learned of the murder and the accusations against his brother. Redwald recalled the girls in the kitchen whispering to him, “Beric is broken.”
    Broken. A terrible legacy had indeed been left by the blood spilled that night.
    â€œSince we took you in, you have always been loyal to Hereward,” Asketil continued. “And that does you credit.”
    â€œHe was … he is … my friend.”
    â€œHe is, and always has been, unworthy of your friendship. Since his mother died when he was young, Hereward could never be tamed. In Mercia, his name is despised for the crimes he committed as boy and man. Robbery. Drunkenness. Violence against any who crossed his path. Willful destruction of the property of his neighbors. I did all I could to teach him how to be a man, and I failed.”
    â€œDo not blame yourself … Father.” Redwald felt unworthy to use that word, even though he had lived in Asketil’s home since he was a boy.
    His eyes glistening, Asketil looked away. “My business with the King is done, for now; I go home as soon as the snows melt. You must stay here and work for Harold Godwinson, if he will have you. He is a great man. He … he should be king one day, and you will be well cared for, as you deserve.” He choked on his words for a moment. “It was Harold who asked the King to declare Hereward exile so we would not be forced to go before the Witan and make the case for all to hear and debate across the land.”
    â€œAnd … and what of Hereward?” Redwald whispered.
    Asketil glared into the embers. “He will be made to pay for his crime, and soon. He has betrayed me … you and Beric … his mother’s name … and the King too. Only blood will set that right. And when he is finally gone, I will not mourn him.”

CHAPTER SIX
    B LACK GLASSY EYES GLISTENED IN THE GLOOM . S ILENT AND watchful, the ravens brooded in the branches of the lightning-blasted oak, the darkly gleaming canopy of their wings mirroring the churning clouds above. Hereward felt unable to look at those solemn sentinels. Their gaze spoke to him of terrors long gone and worse yet to come. And as a deep-rooted