Last Tales of Mercia 7: Godric the Thegn Page 4

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  Many times, Godric questioned his decision to bring Dudda along. But once the journey began, he could not change his mind. The pudgy boy complained constantly and slowed their progress to a crawl. The strain of riding caused him constant pain. Godric searched for ways to take advantage of Dudda’s presence, despite his inclination to bash the boy’s head in.

  “Hereward abandoned you,” he pointed out one night across a waning fire. “Do you still trust him?”

  “I suppose I should have seen it coming.” Dudda slurped some ale as he stared wearily into the glowing embers. Despite complaining all day, his skin was returning to a normal color, and his eyes glinted with the first hint of anger. “He always put himself before others.”

  Godric nodded. In truth, he felt curious to meet the brave youth who would travel so far from home just to insult some Normans. In different circumstances he might have admired the fellow. But for now, he needed to focus on the boy’s faults. “Because of Hereward, the Anglo-Saxons in Shropshire and Herefordshire will have to work harder and faster on Richard’s castle. Richard will be more suspicious of his workers and certain of his need to protect himself. Furthermore, he will now build more of the castle in stone. What else did you think such a petty crime would accomplish?”

  “We wanted to send a message,” grumbled Dudda plaintively.

  “And now Lord Richard will send one back.”

  An ominous silence followed Godric’s words. Dudda’s shoulders drooped over his belly. His sad eyes stared deep into the fire.

  “Please don’t kill him,” said Dudda at last. “Despite everything, he is my friend.”

  Godric’s eye met Dudda’s gaze over the flames. He hadn’t decided yet what to do to Hereward, but he doubted the rebellious youth would respond well to a heart-felt conversation. “Do you have a better suggestion?”

  Dudda sighed. “I don’t know.”

  Godric stared pointedly at Dudda’s leg. “Perhaps I could do to him what he did to you.”

  “Normans did this to me!”

  “Yes. Well …” Godric shrugged.

  “You could try talking to his parents!” Dudda sat up with excitement. “That’s what you should do. They’re already very upset with him. They are prepared to take drastic measures. Lord Leofric even told Hereward that the next time he misbehaved, he would be punished severely. ”

  “Mm.” Godric doubted any punishment from Hereward’s parents would satisfy Richard. He picked up a stick and poked the fire irritably.

  “Are you a Viking?”

  The question caught Godric by surprise. He had wondered if Dudda knew anything about his past or not. Now he had his answer. Perhaps the rumors of his past deeds—already more widely spread than he liked—had not spread so far as Lincolnshire.

  “I mean … you kind of seem like one,” Dudda continued. “Your clothes look Danish. You’re clearly a warrior of some sort.”

  Truly enough, Godric had never lost his taste for Viking fashion, even after leaving Jomsborg. His gauntlets were made of intricately wound leather, and the collar of his tunic folded and laced in a manner uncommon to Engla-lond. He also wore his hair long and sometimes lightened it with limewater. “You’re very observant.”

  “I ask because Hereward’s family is Danish. They deeply mourned the passing of King Canute. I think they will respect you and pay heed to your demands.”

  Godric stirred restlessly. He couldn’t deny that Dudda made a good case. He had no better plan anyway. So what might he ‘demand’?

  If Lord Leofric had mourned the death of Canute, then Godric probably shouldn’t mention his own involvement in the event. But he may yet manage to impress them. “Perhaps they would appreciate the fact that I was personally trained by Thorkell the Tall?”

  Dudda’s eyes doubled in size.