Hereward 04 - Wolves of New Rome (22 page)

Standing in the prow of the lead vessel, Hereward watched the town approaching across the white-crested waves. Even from that distance he could tell that Sabta had seen better days. Sections of the walls had crumbled and no effort had been made to repair them. Towers were broken teeth and roofs sagged. Black smoke plumed and white clouds of screeching gulls fed upon the refuse dumped in the lapping waters. No flag flew.

‘If your grand plan works, you will earn yourself many new friends,’ Siward said, his white-blond hair flying in the wind.

‘Salih ibn Ziyad knows this town well. There is gold aplenty here.’ That was no lie, and it was only fair that Siward would get some reward for unknowingly aiding his cousin’s plans, Hereward thought.

The sea wolf leader gave a wry smile. ‘Lying in the streets for us to pluck up as we pass.’

‘Sabta is a city of thieves. They plunder the length of this coast and the lands beyond the whale road and bring it all here. But there is no rule of law. No wergilds. No army, no
fyrd
. No king or earls or thegns to see justice done. In Sabta there is only the rule of the axe. Once the Umayyad caliph abandoned the place, every rogue with ten men to command thought himself king.’ The Mercian shielded his eyes against the sun. ‘There will be no true defence. When we strike we will carve through the town like hot pork and take everything we wish.’

Siward nodded. ‘It is good to have you at my side again, cousin.’

Hereward looked across the fleet of ships. ‘You have done well for yourself.’

His cousin laughed without humour. ‘William the Bastard left me … left all of us … with little choice. Our land was stolen. Our kin were hunted. The England we remembered was razed to the ground. You know that as well as any man. These …’ He swept his arm out to indicate the vessels. ‘These are not sea wolves. They are farmers, millers, woodworkers, huscarls, warriors who fought for their earls. Good men who have had all they knew ripped from their hands. Who have seen their wives and children murdered.’

The Mercian heard the crack of emotion in his cousin’s voice. Siward peered towards their goal, his face drawn. ‘We do what we must to survive, as all men do.’

‘Survival—’

‘Is not the filling of an empty belly, or a drink when the throat is dry, or a hearth-fire in the cold of winter. It is home, cousin. It is a place where we can be the men we were meant to be.’

Hereward felt a surprising pang. These words he understood. It was as if he had been searching for such a place all his life. Glancing back at the benches, he saw Guthrinc and Kraki and Sighard and all the others, just as lost, just as hopeful.

Siward pointed to the town’s defences. ‘We will break through where the walls have collapsed. Sweep into the heart of Sabta from all sides. They have no army, no generals. They will not know where to defend first.’

Hereward nodded. ‘We will run them ragged.’

The leader of the sea wolves looked across his fleet, frowning. ‘How many have fled England?’ he mused, his voice wistful. ‘There was a time when it seemed every ship was used to escape those shores. All those who could leave have done so. None of us here could face another winter with William’s boot upon our throat.’

‘I heard tell that many ran to join the Danes, and others went in search of a great land to the west. The Vikings told tales of a place far beyond the whale road that could only be reached by their secret routes, even though they were never out of sight of land.’ Hereward shook his head in amazement.

‘Once we have all the gold we need, we will sail to a new land and there we will build a new England,’ Siward said. ‘A safe place where we can have our comforts as we knew them. Our hearth-fires, our kin, our earls and thegns, our fine art, our laws. A place where women can speak freely and hold their head high as they once did, before William insisted they bow their heads to their husbands.’ His wistful voice hardened. ‘The Normans live in a cold world of castles, and vast, empty churches, and tax ledgers, as cold as William the Bastard’s heart. Our new home will be …’ For a moment he let the words hang as he looked towards the sunlit horizon, and then he clapped the Mercian on the shoulder and smiled. ‘When our attack begins, watch yourself, Hereward. Bedhelm had friends. They will not forgive you easily. In the thick of battle in a narrow street, it is as easy to get a blade in the back as in the front.’

Once Siward had returned to the tiller-man, Hereward studied the town. His plan was unfolding as he had hoped. The lure of great riches had been enough to convince the sea wolves that an attack on Sabta was a worthy goal, especially when Salih had told them that only chaos existed behind the town’s crumbling walls. No one guessed that by now Meghigda would be a captive there. And with the bounty that Arcadius’ father had placed upon her head making her a prize worth more than all else that could be looted from the town, he intended that they never should.

Hereward watched the ships race across the swell to surround the promontory. Siward had planned well. Whatever ragged defence Sabta could muster would be stretched thin along three sides of the town. Resting one foot on the side of the ship, he let his gaze run along the broken walls, seeing the guards scurrying along the ancient stones, their cries of warning ringing deep into the heart of the town.

Another yell echoed, this time from behind him. A hubbub of alarm followed. The Mercian whirled to see Maximos held against the mast by Salih, the silver dagger pressed against the Roman’s neck. The wise man’s eyes bulged with fury, his lips curling back from his teeth.

Hereward bounded across the deck and dragged him back. ‘Have you lost your wits?’ he hissed. ‘This will not help us rescue your queen.’ He kept his voice low so that the sea wolves could not overhear.

For a moment Salih remained rigid, staring coldly into the other man’s eyes. Finally he threw off the Mercian’s grip and walked away without a word. Hereward turned to the Roman.

‘What did you say to him to drive him to such anger?’

Maximos brushed himself down, grinning. ‘He is a sour man. He does not laugh enough.’

The Mercian pressed his hand in the other man’s chest to prevent him from leaving. The Roman’s eyes narrowed. ‘This is not the time to be fighting among ourselves. I will cut you down before you place Alric at risk, know that.’

‘I have fought in Phrygia and Duklja, aye, and at Manzikert too,’ Maximos snapped, pushing the English warrior’s hand to one side. ‘I know the battlefield, and I know what it is like to have sword-brothers beside me, men whose lives are in the palm of my hand. Do not insult me.’

Hereward nodded. ‘Very well. But understand, we need Salih if we are to reach Alric and Meghigda. Only he can guide us through that maze.’

‘He loves her,’ the Roman said abruptly.

‘The queen?’

Maximos snorted. ‘Could you not see it? It is present in every look he ever cast at her, every gesture, every word. Salih ibn Ziyad once had the ear of the caliph himself, so they say, and riches and power were set before him. But he gave it all up to stand beside a warrior queen fighting for a patch of sand. He loves her, Hereward, and he has always resented that Meghigda only had eyes for me.’

Hereward eyed the wise man, who was brooding astern with Siward. ‘Do not vex him, then,’ he commanded. ‘Our enemies are waiting for us. And there will be no victory if we do not stand together.’ He felt the familiar throb of blood in his temples. He needed the din of battle to still the voices that had been whispering in his head since he had slain the giant. Only then would he find peace. ‘Keep your spears and axes and shields to hand,’ he called to his warriors. ‘When the ship nears the shore, there will be little time to prepare yourselves.’

The faces of the English lit with an inner light. Here was purpose. Honour. No more running and hiding.

Maximos joined him in the prow to watch the town walls racing towards them. ‘The Carthaginians were here first. It was Abyla then.’ With a note of pride, he added, ‘But it was not until the Romans took the city that it became a force to be reckoned with. They named it Septa, and from here the army controlled vast swathes of the dry land in these parts.’

‘You know your days long gone,’ Hereward grunted.

‘I know the long and illustrious history of our empire. We are taught it as children, for our days yet to come are seeded in the pride we feel for the power we have wielded since ancient times.’

Hereward heard an odd note in the other man’s voice, and when he glanced at him it seemed that tears glistened in his eyes. But there was no time to puzzle over that. Spray whisked over the prow as the ship ploughed into the shallows. He heard Siward give the order for his sea wolves to stop rowing. On every side the ships swept in. Raucous voices rang out across the swell, everyone there fired up for the coming battle.

Along the walls, men swathed in robes and headcloths swarmed, their swords glinting in the sunlight. But as he squinted, Hereward glimpsed other movement. Whirling, he roared, ‘Shields!’

His warriors responded without a second thought, their shields whisking up above their heads. Behind them, Siward’s men only gaped. An instant later, arrows rained down from the sky.

Hereward braced himself, his head bowed behind his white Imazighen shield. Shafts whistled by his head. Two rattled off the hide covering, but a third and a fourth punched through the wood. Splinters spun at him.

At his back, screams rang out. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a sea wolf clawing at his face as he staggered across the deck. An arrow was embedded in his right eye. The man was dead; he had not yet realized it. Three other men slumped on the benches, shafts bristling from their torsos.

His face contorted with fury, Siward was bellowing at his slow-moving sea wolves. Finally they dragged their shields from the sides of the ship and raised them high.

More shafts whisked down. Most splashed harmlessly into the waves. Sabta had sent its slaves to the walls to try to cut down as many of the attackers as they could before land was reached. But they were not trained bowmen. Only the numbers were a threat.

In the shade of his own shield, Maximos was grinning. The tip of an arrow had burst through the wood a hand’s width from his face. Reaching around the edge, he snapped off the shaft and tossed it away.

‘This is what we live for,’ he said, his voice filled with exuberance.

‘Battle is a serious business.’

The Roman laughed. ‘You are too grim, Mercian. You must drink deep of every moment. Our days are short.’ And with that, he put one hand on the side of the ship and vaulted into the shallows.

Hereward thrust one arm into the air and snapped it forward. Instantly, his warriors leapt from their benches. Over the lips of their shields, he could see eyes afire with passion. He felt proud.

‘For England,’ he yelled, and his men picked up the cry.

Leaping over the side, he splashed into the sea. His spear-brothers streamed after him. The din of full-throated battle-cries drowned out even the sound of the ocean as hundreds of sea wolves leapt from their ships at every point where the walls could be breached. Arrows whined through the air. The shafts thumped against shields, rattled off helms. Sabta’s defenders had not been expecting an attack. Soon their store of shafts would be exhausted, Hereward knew. Then it would be man against man.

Maximos had his back pressed against the town wall, looking this way and that for the best path. He was laughing as if he were drunk. While wave upon wave of sea wolves broke upon the narrow, rocky shore near where the walls had crumbled most, the Roman pointed with his sword away from the fiercest activity. Hereward followed the line of his blade. By a small jetty, the maw of a narrow archway gaped. Deep shadow engulfed the passage. There would undoubtedly be men waiting on the other side to pick off any invader who dared venture through the small space.

The Mercian nodded to Maximos and waved his men to follow him. ‘Come, brothers,’ he yelled as he splashed through the surf. ‘Today we must fight like never before.’

THE SUN GLARED
off the creamy walls of Sabta. But in the narrow archway, the deep shadow seemed endless and impenetrable. Hereward crept to one side of the opening. Maximos darted to the other. Both men pressed their backs against the stone, listening. The deafening roar of the attacking sea wolves drowned out any sound that might have emanated from within.

The Mercian glanced back to the line of warriors sheltering behind their shields along the foot of the wall. When he spied Salih, he beckoned. Arrows whistling by his head, the wise man scrambled over the rocks to the head of the war-band. Cupping his hand against Salih’s ear, Hereward whispered his command. The other man nodded. He edged into the dark under the archway. When he heard Salih begin to speak in his throaty native tongue, the Mercian crept in behind him. Sliding Brainbiter out of its sheath, he kept low.

The cramped passage reeked of piss. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he eased close behind the wise man. Salih was babbling loudly now, the intonation sounding like prayers. Beyond him, framed in the arch at the end of the short alley, was a long, thin street, thrown into shade by the houses on either side.

After a moment, a questioning voice answered Salih in the same musical tongue. The wise man responded with a stream of impassioned pleas. He stepped through the arch, then darted ahead as Hereward leapt out of the shadows and slashed right and left. He half glimpsed men waiting on either side, two of them, armed with swords. But their guard was down, and both fell. One gurgled his last, but the other twitched on the edge of death.

Kneeling, Salih pressed his lips close to the fallen man’s ear. Whatever he said, it made the dying warrior’s eyes widen with terror. He jabbered a stream of words and tried to point along the street until the light in his eyes faded. Salih glanced up at the Mercian and nodded.

Satisfied, Hereward poked his head back into the stinking passage and whistled. Maximos and his men eased through the arch at the other end and hurried towards him. Emerging into the street, the warriors gathered by the wall and looked along the deserted way ahead.