Hereward (21 page)

Movement flashed on the edge of Alric’s vision. Hereward bounded from his hiding place, sword raised for a killing stroke. But the huscarl glimpsed the movement too, and he whirled, swinging his spear. The weapon clattered against the side of the warrior’s head, pitching him into the snow. In an instant, the spear-tip pressed against Hereward’s neck. The monk glimpsed a bead of blood rise up.

‘I … I am sorry,’ Alric called, realizing how pathetic he sounded.

The huscarl grinned at Hereward. ‘No devil. No ghost. Just a man.’ Tossing his torch to one side, he gripped the spear-haft with both hands and prepared to ram it down. With a cry, Alric darted forward, but the huscarl lashed out with the back of his hand, catching the monk full in the face. The younger man tumbled backwards, seeing stars. When his vision cleared, the huscarl was hunched over the spear once more, ready to make the killing blow.

Four men swept out of the blizzard and wrestled the Viking to the ground. Before he could cry out, the attackers rained blows down upon him. Two of the men were armed with cudgels. By the time Hereward scrambled to his feet to help, the huscarl had already been beaten senseless.

As Alric staggered upright, another man slipped from the lee of a house. He glanced round and the monk saw that it was Wulfhere. The rebel beckoned with his good hand. Within moments, the four men, Hereward and the monk slipped into a deserted textile workshop. In the dark, they crouched beside the loom amid the bitter smell of dyes.

‘Thank you for your aid,’ the warrior whispered, looking round at Wulfhere and his men. In Hereward’s face, Alric saw an expression of bafflement, as if the warrior couldn’t understand why anyone would have risked their own life to save him.

‘You have opposed Tostig’s cruel rule,’ the one-eyed man replied, ‘and the people of Eoferwic have taken strength from that. We could not stand by and see you killed.’

‘We hope you will join us in an uprising against the earl,’ one of the other men said.

Hereward shook his head. ‘This is not my fight.’ When he saw the disappointment around him, he added, ‘And this is not the time for an uprising. You will be crushed.’

‘The taxes bleed the life from us. Tostig steals our freedom and tries to bend us to his will. He is a man of the south. He does not understand how we do things in Northumbria.’ Wulfhere waved his good hand with passion. ‘We fight or we are broken anyway.’

‘I understand. But this is war, no less for lacking axes and spears. Fight it as you would any battle, choosing the time and the territory. And ensuring your forces are strong and well ordered.’ As Hereward spoke, a hint of a cold smile lit his face. Alric could see his companion was relishing giving the strategic advice that could damage his enemies.

‘What do you suggest?’ Wulfhere asked.

‘You must get the thegns on your side. If they support the earl he will never be moved from his hall. They are the true source of his power across Northumbria. Speak to them. Tell them your concerns. If it takes a year … two … win them over. Then your victory will be assured. Tostig cannot oppose all of Northumbria with only his huscarls at his back.’

My thoughts exactly
, the monk said to himself, pleased.
And
that will weaken Harold Godwinson
. The warrior was clever; he didn’t need a sword to wound.

Wulfhere and his men agreed that Hereward’s suggestion was a good one. ‘What now for you?’ the one-eyed man asked. ‘There are places where you can lie low, but—’

‘Tostig will not rest until I am found,’ the warrior interrupted. ‘He will burn your houses and make trouble for your neighbours until you are forced to give us up. I would not wish that upon you. We must leave Eoferwic this night. Where we go …’ he glanced at Alric, ‘we have yet to decide.’

He thanked Wulfhere again and slipped out into the night. When the monk followed him to the door, Wulfhere handed him a cloak. ‘Keep warm,’ the one-armed man said. ‘It is a bitter night, and you will freeze out there. Go well, Alric, and with all our thanks.’ Touched, the monk clapped the man on the shoulder and hurried after the warrior.

By the time he caught up with Hereward, Alric realized the wind had dropped a little, and the snow was falling more slowly, in larger flakes. He felt a tranquillity that brought back sharp memories of childhood Christmases, but the recollection was fleeting. Barked orders filled the air. Feet pounded through the snow. In the direction of the church, a red glow lit the sky accompanied by a distant crackle and spit. Twists of golden sparks rose up to meet the snowflakes. Other ruddy glows appeared on every side, and Alric’s nose wrinkled at the sting of smoke.

‘Do they burn Eoferwic to the ground to find us?’ he asked, filled with mounting trepidation.

‘They have lit the bonfires the Northmen were preparing for their fire festival three days hence,’ Hereward said, his mood darkening. ‘With this snow all around, reflecting everything, they will light up the night, leaving fewer shadows for us to hide in.’

‘They must hate you greatly to go to such lengths.’

‘They fear me.’

The monk heard no boasting in his companion’s words, only a calm acceptance of the facts. Hereward crept along the narrow path between the houses until they heard raised voices and puzzling peals of laughter. Peering over the warrior’s shoulder, Alric saw a knot of men further along the street towards the church. Tostig was there, with Kraki and two other huscarls. The earl’s expression was severe as he conversed with an equally grave Ealdred. The archbishop was wrapped in a thick woollen robe, as grey as his face now appeared to be. But the laughter came from Harald Redteeth, who prowled around the group of men, occasionally throwing his head back and roaring his humour to the heavens. He looked, Alric thought, quite mad.

A man ran up to pass on some urgent information and disappeared just as quickly, and then another. The monk saw they were not huscarls. Tostig had bought more aid with his gold.

Hereward was watching the patterns the men made as they darted among the houses. ‘They scour the streets in an ordered way,’ he said. ‘They will have covered the gates and the walls. There is little chance of escape.’

‘What can we do?’

‘Burn Eoferwic down. In the confusion, we may be able to find a way out.’

‘We cannot kill good men and women,’ Alric said, horrified. ‘Our lives are not that important.’

Hereward bunched his fists in frustration and for a moment looked as if he might knock Alric to the ground. ‘Very well,’ he replied, calming. ‘You have probably ensured our own deaths, but so be it.’ Glancing back at the group of men, he murmured almost to himself, ‘There are now too many to fight, and they are too well organized.’

‘I have a plan,’ Alric said.

A few minutes later, the two men were creeping down a street where several families kept their pigs in a single large sty. Alric went in and herded the animals out while Hereward waited to slap their flanks as they passed. The squealing pigs bolted into the street in a frenzy, and within moments their owners ran out of the surrounding houses, bellowing their anger. Nearly twenty men, women and children chased after the pigs to round them up, calling incessantly, while more people emerged from their houses to see what was going on.

But that was only the start, Alric thought.

While Tostig’s men hurried towards the outcry, Hereward and Alric slipped among the houses towards the church. As they hoped, the enclosure was deserted.

‘And so we risk everything,’ Hereward muttered. ‘I must have lost my wits to take battle advice from a monk.’

Alric ran into the church, his footsteps echoing along the nave until he reached the door to the tower. ‘Help me,’ he called back to the warrior. Together, they leapt on the bell-rope and pulled with all their strength. High overhead, the bell tolled.

Within moments, the sound of running feet drew near. Hereward slipped behind the door, drawing his sword. A young deacon burst into the tower.

‘Quickly. You must help,’ the monk cried. ‘Eoferwic is under attack by raiders from the sea, just as in the times your father’s father spoke of. Raise the alarm. Let all know of the peril we face.’

Ancient fears burned in the man’s face. Without a word, he grabbed the bell-rope and began to pull. Racing back down the nave with Hereward beside him, Alric knew their time was short. The archbishop would send men to investigate, perhaps even some huscarls if he suspected Hereward was behind the alarm.

Outside, though, he saw that their plan was already taking effect. Men, women and children streamed from every house, some drunken, others bleary-eyed from sleep. The meaning of the alarm bells was encoded in the deepest parts of them. They swarmed into every street, every public place, yelling questions, searching for arms, demanding to know the direction of the attack. The blazing beacons only added to their fears.

Confusion filled every public space of Eoferwic. In the din and the madness, Hereward and Alric pulled up their hoods and merged into the swirl of bodies.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-F
IVE

THE HARSH WIND blew along the wharfside. Ice edged the black ribbon of river reaching out into the rolling white plain as the two hooded men darted out of the shadows. Their feet only slowed when they could hear the lap of the water against the banks. Beyond the natural noises of the river, all was silent. The daily bustle of the port had stilled for the Twelve Days. The workshops of the shipwrights stood dark and quiet, the smell of new wood still hanging in the cold air. The smaller boats lay like beached fishes on the snowy banks. The larger vessels strained against their creaking ropes along the quay and jetty.

Hereward picked a path to a large mound of ballast rocks and found a hiding place behind it. Once they had settled out of the wind, the two men rubbed their hands, trying to bring some life back to their numb fingers.

‘My plan worked well, then,’ Alric said.

‘No one likes a braggart, monk,’ the warrior said. ‘And there is still time for both our heads to end up on sticks.’

‘The rule of law—’

‘Forget the rule of law. That is for ceorls. Men like Tostig, and Harold Godwinson, make their own rules.’

‘Still, we should offer up prayers of thanks for our survival. Without God’s mercy, we would never have made it this far.’ Alric closed his eyes, recalling his darkest hours after Harald Redteeth had delivered him up to the archbishop. He had hoped and prayed for a chance to be redeemed, but he had never truly believed it would come. Silently, he cursed his own lack of faith, and made another promise to God.

The clanging bells died away, and the hubbub of voices began to ebb.

‘Who is she?’ the monk asked when he realized why Hereward kept peering round the ballast heap.

At first he thought the warrior was not going to answer, but then he replied with studied detachment, ‘Her name is Acha. Taken from the Cymri and brought here to fetch water and keep the fires burning. She said she met you at the minster.’

Alric nodded. ‘And you are in love?’

Hereward clipped the monk round the ear and went to sit on his own for a while.

Time passed. The snow stopped falling, and the black clouds began to drift away. In their absence, icy stars glittered in a majestic sweep across the heavens, and a full moon cast shimmers across the water.

In the town, the bonfires still burned and the questioning call and response of Tostig’s search parties continued to echo. When footsteps trudged nearby, Hereward drew his sword and crept on to the heap of rocks. Alric crawled beside him. They saw the newcomer was only a sailor making his way to one of the larger ships. Another joined him, and then a stream of them meandered up. The seamen stumbled, sleepy-eyed and still half drunk from the tavern, chattering in tired voices. But as they prepared their vessel for sailing, they began to sing. Torches sparked into life to light their work, and to warm their hands.

‘An early start to cross the whale road to their homeland,’ Alric muttered.

‘We have nothing to offer them to buy passage.’

‘It is our only way out of Eoferwic.’

‘What do you suggest? That I kill them all and steal their ship, and the two of us man it on the whale’s way, with your prayers for help? A great plan.’ Hereward slithered down the slope and sat brooding.

Alric continued to watch the sailors, turning over ideas but finding no solution. After a while, he noticed a dark figure, cloaked and hooded, gliding along the quayside. From the elegant steps, he could see it was a woman.

‘Hereward,’ he whispered.

The warrior scrambled back up the slope, his face lighting when he saw her. Climbing over the ballast heap, he crunched through the snow towards her. The woman stopped, hesitated for one moment, and then pulled back her hood.

Hereward came to a sharp halt, arms outstretched.

It was Judith.

The warrior backed away a step, as if Tostig’s wife was the first sign of an attack. But then she smiled, a little sadly, Alric thought, and beckoned the warrior to step closer.

‘She does not come, Hereward,’ the woman said, her face lit by the sailors’ torches.