Publisher: Longship Publishing
Series: Sons of the Wolf, Book 2
Genre: Historical Fiction
Synopsis
WAR AND BLOODFEUD
"Best battle description ever!"
1056...England lurches towards war as the rebellious Lord Alfgar plots against the indolent King Edward. Sussex thegn, Wulfhere, must defy both his lord, Harold Godwinson, and his bitter enemy, Helghi, to protect his beloved daughter.
As the shadow of war stretches across the land, a more personal battle rages at home, and when it follows him into battle, he knows he must keep his wits about him more than ever, and COURAGE AND FEAR MUST BECOME HIS ARMOUR…
Read an Excerpt
The Wolf Banner: Sons of the Wolf Book 2
By Paula Lofting
Harold bent to have a closer look at Burghred’s injuries. One eye was swollen shut; a red sore grazed the bridge of his prominent straight nose and across his forehead; his mouth was cut, so far as Harold could see, in at least two places along the top and bottom lips. An older injury above his brow looked to have reopened. To add insult to his list, Harold noticed the poor state of his apparel which was torn and covered in dust.
Harold released him from his manacles and whisked him down the stairs.
“Where are you taking me? I want to see the king!”
“Somewhere private.”
“I said I want to see the king.”
“Haven’t you made fool enough of yourself?”
Harold took hold of Burghred by his tunic and yanked him, stumbling, to his own quarters. The young servant who’d valiantly tried to protect his lord from a beating, followed them.
Inside, Harold set about cleansing the injuries as the young lord perched precariously on a board.
“I tried to tell him, lord. That it was not a good idea, not with him having had so much mead,” the boy said.
“Aye, well, you tried. What is your name, son?”
“Beric, lord.”
“In the chest over there, there should be some linen. Pass it to me, then fetch that jug of water from the board by that bed and open the shutters so I can see.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Thank you, Beric,” Harold said as the boy set down the water and linen by him. “Your master owes you a debt. Are you all right? It looks like you took a blow for him.”
Beric looked confused.
“Your face,” Harold said.
“Oh,” Beric said, touching his cheek.
Harold turned the boy’s head this way and that. “I think you’ll live. But you might want to stand further away next time your master gets into trouble.”
The beating had not done anything to sober the young Mercian. Slurring as the blood was being wiped from his forehead, Burghred said to the boy, “’Tis nothing to worry about, Rebic….” He paused as though forgetting what he wanted to say. “’Tis no more than a little mis-misunderstanding… Nothing more.”
Harold steadied him as he almost slipped off the board.
Beric addressed Harold with a look of anguish. “I was trying to stop him –”
“S-stop me?” the Mercian interrupted, “From what? Demanding my rights or demanding that the k-king – oh and L-Lord H-Harold – keep their word, which is zactly what you avised me to do, boy.” He muttered something under his breath, cursing his servant.
“Perhaps you should keep a tighter rein on your master,” Harold quipped, dabbing at the bleeding wound with a sponge. “Looks like this could do with a stitch but I’ve no needles or twine to hand.”
“I can fetch some, lord. And do the stitching.”
“Aye, lad, if you would,” Harold said. With a short bow, Beric left.
Burghred swayed. “I got that killing a Wícinga, you know? He was trying to kill me, all part of a plot between Gruffudd and my father – or maybe it was Ragnald – yessh, Ragnald. Did you know I nearly died that night – did you? Did you?! Spying for you. No of course you didn’t. It nearly wrecked the whole alliance with Magnus. Ha! I killed one of his favourite warriors, you see.” His leg slipped, and he steadied himself. “I nearly died for it. They were going to kill me.”
“I do know, Burghred. You have told me the story before.” Harold stood back to examine his handy work. “It seems your loyal servant is looking out for you, but he needs to give you better advice. Or you must take better heed of him.” Harold wiped his hands on a linen towel.
“I w-want to see the king. I will not go… until I see him and put my face to him.” He hiccupped. “Those men, they treated me no better than a dog –”
“Well, you were no doubt behaving no better than one,” Harold replied.
“I am no lowborn peasant to be trod into the ground. I am a son and grandson of earls! They dared to mandandle me…”
Harold tried to supress a smile but couldn’t.
“Is this how the mighty honnable Lord Harold, Earl of Wessex, Dux – Dux something, treats men who are loyal to him? Even when that loyalty could have cost a man his life? You are not the honnable man I thought you were, Lord Harold. I should have known you would betray me. I should have listened to the men of Scrobbesbr – Scrobber – Scrobbsbur –” Burghred put a hand to his forehead. He looked pale.
Harold, his good humour toward the young Mercian beginning to fade, said, “I regret that things have not turned out as we hoped, but I feel your accusation of betrayal is somewhat unfair. That was not my intention.”
Burghred slipped off the board to his feet and stood unsteadily. An accusatory finger pointed at Harold. You – gave – me – your – word... It was all for naught. All for naught… in the end.”
“I promised you nothing,” Harold replied evenly, feeling somewhat indignant. “I told you that you needed to prove your worth, and you had a chance to win the Mercians over and hold them. You failed. It was beyond my control to refuse Alfgar his demands. It was clear that if he did not get his lands back, then thousands of men would have died fighting fellow Englisc men and Gruffudd would forever be a thorn in our sides. Even the men you came with have gone back to Alfgar – yes, they have – because they know that he is the stronger of you. I am sorry, Burghred, but this is how it has to be.”
Harold realised by the look on the lad’s face he was unaware that his men had gone.
“My men have deserted me?”
“They have, and do you know what? Looking at you now, the way you have been behaving, I am not surprised.”
Harold saw that his words hit home, for suddenly, the younger man lost the haughty expression his damaged features wore. His one good eye blinked a tear away and he hung his head as though ashamed.
“I had them…” Burghred cupped his hands, gazing at them as though something precious were inside. “Right here…I had them… in my hands. Mercia. They’d all agreed. The thegns, all of them. They were coming – coming to me at Scrobbabrig. Then he got to them – Alfgar. He got to them and forced them back to his side with – with…”
“With his ability to command men to his banner?”
Burghred looked up. “With force and threats! He lied about Magnus. He lied. They would not have gone to him otherwise.”
“You’re right, lad, that would never have happened. Alfgar is not stupid. Your father cleverly used the Norwægians – and the Mercians… hedging his bets. God knows he probably used Gruffudd too.”
“Just as you used me.”
Burghred put out a hand to steady himself. Harold caught him as he fell forward, holding the young Mercian to him.
“I have nothing to give you. I am sorry,” Harold whispered as the young lord, his head on Harold’s chest, sobbed.
“Then create an earldom for him as you have done for Leofwin.”
Harold had not heard or seen Lady Godgifu enter his bower. She was standing in the open doorway, regal in a scarlet gown of the finest linen, and a pale silk veil. She stepped inside and behind her appeared Beric.
“Lady Godgifu.” Harold went to her and took her hand, leaving Burghred to Beric, now in possession of a needle and thread.
“Grandmother, Lord Harold and I were just talking about that very matter –”
“Oh, shut up, Burghred. Is it not bad enough that I have a truculent ignoramus for a son and a drunken dolt as my grandson?” She looked at Harold with cold eyes. “So, is this where we do the king’s business now? Never mind,” she said with a wave of her hand as Harold opened his mouth to offer an apology. “We can discuss the matter with the king – but you, young man,” she said, turning to Burghred, “need desperately to clean yourself up. Just look at you. Been fighting, have we? You are just like your father used to be. Drunk and pugnacious.”
Her grandson took her hand and Godgifu withdrew it swiftly, causing Burghred to kiss the air. “Grandmother, I –”
“Don’t bother trying to explain. What a dreadful state to be in. Go get yourself washed! Can you walk straight? I shall find you and talk to you later – when you are sober.”
Where to Purchase
Amazon UK • Amazon US
Meet the Author
As a reenactor of the period I can actually say that I have fought and died at the Battle of Hastings at least three times.
Website • Blog • Twitter • Instagram
Blog Tour Schedule
I love this excerpt!
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for hosting today's blog tour stop!!