It's not what you'd call wine, hut it sure is good, though. Alan thought.

"So you want to join the English fyrd, young man," said Heribert turning to Alan, slurring his words and almost falling off his stool onto Alan's lap. "It's not an easy life being a fyrdsman. You'll have to fight, and get killed, you know. Oh yes, they get killed every time they go outside, normally by their wives, he, he, he."

Everyone laughed out loud, including Philippe, as Ebba continued to translate to him.

Philippe whispered into Ebba's ear, requesting her to ask Heribert a burning question.

"Ebba, ask Heribert what he thinks of Harold. I really want to know what the housecarls and the ordinary people think of him."

Ebba interrupted Heribert's next sentence with Philippe's question.

Through Alan, Philippe listened as Heribert told him of his king being a fine upstanding leader, and a brave one, too. He also told of how he'd fought with the king when he was Earl Harold, how Harold was always fair to his men, and how they always got paid on time. He related how Harold once had to rob a church to pay his housecarls, and of how Harold paid the church back, plus interest.

Heribert nodded drunkenly around the room with self-important knowledge.

"He likes the ladies, by all accounts," interrupted Thridred with a wide grin and a twinkle in his eye.

"Aye, he does, at that, but he always does right by them. I've never had a girl come knocking at my door with a child in her arms, asking where he might be found," Heribert replied, as once more riotous laughter filled the room.

Philippe laughed along, too. He felt quite at home amongst his newfound friends. "I will learn to speak your tongue, Ebba," he whispered, noticing her nodding appreciation of his intention, as he continued to listen to Heribert's words via this sweet young waif, of the beloved Harold, that fascinated him so much.

"As a fighter," continued Heribert, "he's fearless in battle. I stood by his side in Wales many years ago, when an opponent wielding a sword slashed him across the face. He never once batted an eyelid. He just took the sword off the man, and cut his head off for his trouble. He was much younger then and perhaps a little arrogant, but you always knew where you stood with him."

Thridred interrupted his brother with a remark that made them all cheer loudly. "Harold would never ask a man to do anything he was not capable of doing himself. He has good judgment, too. He always weighs up a situation first before he acts. He'll ask for your opinion, if he feels it might be of good use; indeed, he's a good and honest man."

The door opened, and there in the doorway stood Hilda with Boisil by her side. He was looking a little embarrassed and carrying a cast iron pot, full of rabbit stew.

"Look what I found in the woods," said Hilda, smiling. "I've got myself a fine-looking young man, and what's more, he's brought us dinner!"

"Boisil! My comrade in arms, my God, I'm sorry. We forgot all about you," said Heribert rather sheepishly, as he staggered toward him, with his arms outstretched.

Boisil settled down amongst his companions, laughed at the story of his comrades' downfall and drank his fill -- the only one still mindful of the next day, when they should meet with Harold's housecarls.

The morning brought a warm breeze to the sleepy hamlet. The men stirred lazily from their night's sleep.

Alan thought that he might' ve managed another ale before being hoisted to the sleeping cot by Philippe. A dog barked at something, but lay back down to snooze, feeling a little of the men's ennui.

The ladies stood around outside, laughing, chattering, and occasionally giggling as they prepared the men breakfast. The aroma of cooking sausage, cabbage, parsnips, and peas, prepared for the men's delight, wafted about the village.

Ebba had taken advantage of everyone else's preoccupation and had enjoyed a wondrous night of lovemaking with Philippe. Yet she feared this might be the last day she would ever see him. She kissed his still-sleeping head and whispered a little love poem in his ear. He awoke to her lips softly molded to his. They continued to kiss, but time was pressing to dress, eat, and then be gone. She pressed in his hand a flower, tied with a lock of her golden hair.

"Go eat, my sweet Philippe. Do what you must, and then return to me. Do you promise me this?" She gazed longingly into his eyes, her loins still moist with longing for more, from a night of physical and cerebral love.

"Ebba. If I die in battle against evil men, you will know that I died doing what is right. If I am able to return, I will wed you in God's house. I'll give you children who will know of the deeds of good men and of the sacrifice many made to overcome evil."

Ebba then fell into uncontrollable sobs, and the tears ran in rivulets down her cheeks.

Philippe hardly knew how to console her. Only once had he been forced to cope with a woman in such grief. When Thora had died that fateful morning, Maria had been all but suicidal, and it'd taken all their family's efforts to comfort her. Thora, will she understand? She is my companion in heaven, and Ebba my companion on earth. He held Ebba closely and kissed the top of her head, stroking her hair whilst speaking softly to her. Once more he thought of his beloved Thora. Am I allowed happiness, here, on earth, Thora? Will you forgive my sin with Ebba, my darling?

Slowly, Ebba recovered her composure and gazed into Philippe's moistening eyes. She picked stray bits of straw from his clothing, dreading the final words of goodbye. "I can't bear to see you leave, my darling. Just go, and come back safe to me." Ebba turned to face the wall; this was the moment that she had dreaded. "Go, please, go," she pleaded through her sobbing.

Philippe left the room and didn't look back; he couldn't. He felt guilt running through every pore in his body. He felt that he'd betrayed Thora. Pulling the door gently closed behind him, he strode out to meet the others. He looked across to see Alan and the other men making ready the fresh horses. They were real horses, not ponies as the Saxons customarily used. The Normans did have a use after all, he thought, and bid the men good morning in broken English.

"Ah, Philippe, I trust you slept well?" enquired Alan with a sly grin.

"He slept better than any of us; he slept with a beautiful woman, and one that loves him. Now, that is a good, sleep," said Boisil, with a chuckle. "Oh, yes, we buried the three turds this morning; not that you'd have noticed, Philippe." Boisil turned to see the women flocking around them. They all were in tears as they bid the two men, whom they'd come to trust and had taken to their hearts, farewell.

Ebba stayed indoors and listened to the chatter coming from outside. Her head fell into her hands as the tears fell through her fingers and onto the dry, earthen floor.

Acha stepped forward. "I speak for everyone here. We wish you well in the battle to come. You have our respect as men, and for what you all are bravely about to face. We will be here for you should any of you wish to return. You will be made most welcome. And for one of you here, there is a woman waiting to be a good, faithful wife. Go, and return victoriously, and above all, be safe." Acha turned and walked briskly away. She did not look back, but entered her dwelling and shut the door behind her. She lay on the bed sobbing, for she knew that the man she had fallen in love with had a wife in France, and a child, too; he was forbidden fruit.

Heribert turned to Alan, looking at the man with a rare admiration. "Are you sure you wish to accompany us to join Harold's forces, Alan? You could have a good life here, both of you. The women here need a couple of good strong men to look after their interests."

"We've chosen the path of righteousness, Heribert. We now have a mission to accomplish. We shall then see what the Lord brings us. We promise to return, or die in the attempt. If not, we'll die knowing that we did our best to defy and defeat evil to the end. Philippe and I are strong and fit. We can look after ourselves, too. We'll be proud to serve Harold... if he'll have us with him, that is."

"I can see you're both good men. You've shown this to be so by your deeds, and your treatment of our women. We would be proud to have you both join us in the shield wall. In return, all we can promise you are tears, blood, sweat, and friendship," Heribert reached over, clapping Alan heartily on the back. "Come along; we must be going."

The five men rode off into the hills to see what fate would serve them in the coming days.

At Waltham, Harold inspected his housecarls. A band of men so tough not even the devil could make them flinch, he mused. He felt proud and confident as he thought of his father and all that he'd achieved in his lifetime. We all miss you, Father; you'll he proud of us, live or die. He crossed himself and looked about for Brithnoth.

Harold's forces had camped for the night whilst the messengers gave news of William"s static position just above Hastings. The fearless Godwinson brothers sat in a drcle, the light of the campfire illuminating their faces in ghostly fashion.

"This is the position, Brithnoth," Harold said confidently. "William"s forces have moved some half a day's walk inland, looking for a spot that suits them; that is here." With a stick, Harold drew a map in the dirt approximating the rivers Maltose and Astern Brook. "I know this region well, so if our scouts are correct, then we have an advantage." Harold molded some mud pies into small hills to represent the lay of the land, as he knew it to be. "On this ridge here, we'll assemble first thing in the morning. It's known locally as the 'hoary apples' or 'crab trees' to some of you. The Normans won't see our approach because the valley, where they're encamped, is just here. To the north is a basin that's marshland; that's about two thousand paces from our destination; it's tree-lined, so their view of our approach will be obscured." Harold looked aroimd, waiting for comments or questions.

"How far away are we from their position?" Brithnoth asked.

"Just two hours march. We dare not go any closer, or we'll give away our position and strength; they'll know about us soon enough. We'll come through the trees to this position here," said Harold, pointing on the dirt map to Caldbec Hill with his stick.

"What about the reinforcements, Harold? Shouldn't we wait for them?" asked Wulfnoth,

"After all, an extra day or two will help our forces' numbers to be complete.

"The reinforcements will be here about mid-afternoon. By that time, we can be sure of a victory, or at the least a good sign that we are on our way to one. We should, by then, have another three thousand men at hand," Harold said, shaking his head in the negative, and gazing at Gyrth. Harold noticed that Gyrth looked uneasy at the prospect of fighting with a depleted force.

"That is not going to happen, Harold, and you know it! We need another day to assemble such a force. We must disentangle the rational from the irrational. We've won a great victory over Harald Sigurdsson, so don't let it go to your head," replied Gyrth, his imploring eyes burning his thoughts telepathically toward his brother.

"You're right, of course, Gyrth. We must look both strategically and tactically at the situation. I'm only sorry that I disbanded the navy at Pevensey and sent them to Chatham. This was a foolish error, since we have such a large coastline to cover. What is done is done, so we have to make the best of a bad judgment. William is at Hastings and hasn't moved very far inland. This means that our fleet at Chatham can come around and strike at the Norman rear, so that their supply line can be broken, but only if the wind is in our favor. As for Pevensey, well, they have a little over a thousand men garrisoned in the old Roman fort. I've dispatched the local fyrd to keep the Normans that are there occupied. I've made sixteen hundred men available for the job, and that will protect our flank. We have eight thousand five hundred in the main force. That should be sufficient for a total victory; of that, I'm confident."

"Well, it's a start, but what of tomorrow?" Leofwine Inquired.

Gyrth raised his hand and once more cut in with a suggestion. "Harold, Swein and myself should take in the main force. You bring the backup forces if we should get into trouble. That way, at least we have a good chance of depleting the bastard's forces to a point where the losses will mean almost certain disaster for him."

Harold stared sternly at his brother. "You'll do as I say, Gyrth. We'll have enough strength to take out William and whatever he has brought against us. In any case, I'll need you and Swein to command the flanks. William has a cavalry force that your men are quite able to confront. I need your expertise. I've been teaching my housecarls a new tactic to deal with cavalry. With one swing, they'll take off the front leg of a horse, and on the return swing, take out the rider as he falls. That way they conserve overall strength and can do more damage quickly. Is everything I've said understood?" He looked about, and they all nodded. "We gather at first light and take the route I've described. Now go and see that the men are ready. Gentlemen, goodnight." Harold rose to his feet and briskly retired to his tent, leaving his brothers and the other officers to talk amongst themselves.

He stood at the entrance to his tent for a moment, in the light of a torch. He looked up to gaze at the heavens. Father, is this the end for the Godwinsons? Have I miscalculated and moved too soonl "Tomorrow," he mumbled, "I shall kick some Norman arses so hard, they'll wish they'd never been born." He smiled confidently, safe in the knowledge that he had the resources and the courage of good men about him.

Falling into a deep sleep, he dreamed of Edith Swanneck and the last night they'd spent together. He visioned their rolling in the grass, the spring flowers smelling sweetly as their bodies crushed the petals beneath them, releasing their sweet scent. They kissed and made love until the light faded....

"Harold, Harold!" Swein shook his snoring brother from his slumber.

Harold awoke with a start, wondering who, what, where, until he realized Swein was above him looking down, fully armored and ready for battle. He idly noticed how candlelight flickered over Swein's fine smooth features.

"It will be light very soon, Harold. You ought to get ready for the men. The boys are preparing breakfast, and I think that we should go and eat."

"You know, Swein, I was dreaming that I was back home with Edith and the children. I knew it was all a dream. Sadly, reality is always something other than we wish it to be," Harold said, as he washed his face in the warm water that Cedric brought in.

"Would you like me to shave you. Father?" Cedric asked casually.

Harold reached for the boy's hand. "Cedric, my son, you're a fine young man. Please kneel before me." Harold turned toward his brother. "Swein, this young man is my natural son. I recognize him as such, and make him Earl of York." Harold took his sword and tapped Cedric on both shoulders. "Arise, Earl Cedric." Harold then kissed the boy on his forehead.

Cedric rose to his feet, looking bemused. He bowed to his father, and withdrew-walking backwards from the tent. Not realizing there was a tent rope at his heels he fell back. His face turned a bright pink with embarrassment as those around all laughed heartily.

Meanwhile, Harold related to Swein the story of the affair with the boy's mother as a youth and of Cedric's birth. "He's a good boy, Swein. If I don't survive the battle, see he is looked after with Edith; she knows the truth."

"Yes, of course, Harold. By the moon, you're a dark stallion. He's your son, and all these years you have kept this a secret from everyone. I'm an uncle again, I see."

"It is no secret, Swein. It's just that I've never mentioned it to anyone other than Edith and our sister."

"Well, come along, Harold; let's eat, and I'm starved." Swein smiled at his younger brother and winked. "It's good to have family, brother."

Dawn's light was just bright enough to make out men, without benefit of torches. The men were seated, quietly eating their fill before making ready for the two hours march that would take them to the battlefield.

Brithnoth awoke feeling refreshed. He ate, and relaxed back into his hammock, when he noticed Swein emerging from Harold's tent, calling to him.

"Ah, Swein, I think I could do with a pull."

"Good morning, Brithnoth; what do you mean by a pull!" Swein asked.

"It's my finger... it's gone funny; give it a yank for me, will you? There's a good fellow," said Brithnoth, holding out his hand, with the offending finger out-stretched.

Swein took hold of the finger and pulled gently. Suddenly he heard the loudest fart he'd heard in months emanating from Brithnoth's rotting innards. "You fucking arse-licking toad!