Hereward (13 page)

Alric was warming his hands over the hearth, beaming with relief. ‘I knew you would listen to your heart,’ he said.

‘What did I tell you?’ Hereward strode forward so purposefully that the monk cowered. The Mercian felt angry with himself for allowing the one-eyed man to go free, and still didn’t understand why he had done it. ‘Keep your whining to yourself or I will cut out your tongue.’

Alric squatted beside the fire. ‘Why did you save us?’

Hereward grunted. ‘My brain must be as addled as yours.’ He glanced back at the door, and added, ‘Your refuge could not have caught alight so quickly. It was too far from the seat of the fire.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Someone knew we were there and tried to burn us.’

‘Would Tostig’s men truly attempt cold murder?’ Alric stared into the glowing embers. ‘Yes, they would. For the earl is an evil man.’

Hereward snorted. ‘You speak with an ale-tongue. He is a Godwin. His kinsmen have stridden across England like giants since my father’s father’s time. His brother Harold is the king’s most favoured adviser.’

‘And you are blinded by gold rings.’

The warrior’s hand twitched towards the hilt of his sword. ‘Watch yourself, monk.’

Alric took a deep breath and stood to look his former companion in the eye. ‘During your time in Eoferwic, you have been cosseted in the earl’s hall, drinking his mead, eating his food, warming yourself by his hearth. I have watched from afar, my friend. You have been well cared for. But I have been sleeping on a cold floor provided by the archbishop and I do not feel so sanguine.’

Wulfhere’s wife, a hard-faced woman with broken veins on her cheeks, interrupted them. With a grateful smile, she offered Hereward a cup of ale and some bread. He accepted the gift with a curt nod.

When she left them, Alric glanced towards the one-eyed man. ‘He is not what you think. Not what the earl says he is.’

The warrior swigged back his ale in a single gulp. ‘So he burns no houses and does not incite the people to rebel.’

‘Ask yourself why he does those things,’ the monk pleaded. ‘He is a woodworker, with mouths to feed.’

Hereward watched Wulfhere playing with his children, the rebel’s hard face softened by a fond smile.

‘These last days I have roamed across Eoferwic, looking for the reason God sent me here. You are one of those reasons, I know that now’ – he ignored Hereward’s snort as the warrior tore off a knob of bread and stuffed it into his mouth – ‘and the other reason soon became as clear as the sun off the snow. Everywhere I turned, I saw misery, hunger, despair. The people are suffering. They are angry, and no one listens to them.’

‘Not your God?’ Hereward said with his mouth full. ‘Not the archbishop? Is he not tending to his flock?’

Abashed, Alric peered into the fire. ‘Ealdred is close to the earl; to all the Godwins.’

‘Ha,’ Hereward mocked.

‘Tostig’s unfair tax is crushing the spirit of the people of Northumbria. Since he became earl, he has increased the burden of the geld. His collectors are cruel and unjust. And any who voice opposition are crushed in the most brutal way. Homes are burned. Farms despoiled. There is talk of murder … murder! Of Englishmen, by the earl who governs them.’

The warrior shrugged. ‘Is this a revelation to you, monk, that men who hold power over others abuse their position? Whatever Tostig does here, it is with the consent of the king. It could not be otherwise.’ Returning to the door, he peered out to see if they had been followed. The snow was lying heavily on the street. ‘Northumbria has always been a lawless place. It is the Viking blood, the Danish hearts. They make their own rules, and they are filled with rage when others try to tell them what to do. It takes a hard man to govern people like that.’

Alric beckoned Hereward back to the fire. ‘What is happening in Eoferwic is beyond hard governance. It is unfair. There is true suffering. The people will only take this for so long before they rise up. For now, the thegns are loyal, but that can change if men like Wulfhere continue to give voice to the pain.’

The warrior studied the young monk. ‘What compels you? From the moment I found you, like a frightened rabbit, you have been a riddle. I have spent time with many churchmen, but none like you.’

Alric would not meet the other man’s eye. ‘I seek to make amends …’ He caught himself. ‘I seek to live my life in a godly manner. Shepherding the weak, the hungry, the lost …’

‘I save your life and you immediately throw yourself into more danger. I should have left you to your fate.’

The monk jumped to his feet, his eyes blazing. ‘But you did save me. And now you have saved me twice. You reveal your true nature by your actions, a nature, perhaps, that you are not even aware of yourself. It seems to me that you fight yourself as much as everything that passes within a hair of your sword, and in that, you and I are not so different.’

‘You are a fool. I am not. And I have wasted enough time here.’ Hereward turned to the woman and thanked her for her hospitality, and then to Wulfhere. ‘Take care. The next time you stand alone.’ He strode to the door, but Alric jumped in front of him. ‘Monk, you try my patience. I will not sully this good wife’s floor with your blood, but I will bash the wits out of your head.’

‘Join us in our battle.’

‘You are mad.’ The warrior shook his head in disbelief. ‘How many times must I tell you? I care only for myself.’

‘And what of Gedley? Would I be here now if you were driven by purely selfish motives?’

‘I need the earl’s aid to achieve my revenge,’ Hereward said through gritted teeth. ‘And he provides shelter from my enemies. It would be foolish to stand against him. What gain is there for me in that?’

‘Men achieve more together than they do alone.’ Alric stuck his chin out.

‘One man means survival. Two or more means the opportunity for betrayal.’

The monk softened his tone, holding his arms wide. ‘Two men mean the opportunity for friendship and support and hope. Two men are the start of an army—’

His anger rising, Hereward shoved the cleric aside and stepped out into the stinging snow before he lost his fragile control. He felt as if the world were shifting under his feet. Before he met the monk, his life had been fraught but simple, his choices clear. Association with the churchman had brought only doubt and confusion. Looking over the thatched roofs of Eoferwic, under the pall of grey smoke from the homefires, he saw that the dull red glow on the town’s southern edge had died down. He hoped his actions that day would not cost him dear.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

PRESSING HIS CHEEK against the icy stone wall in the shadows, Alric spied into the golden glow of the candlelit nave. The sweet scent of incense hung in the air around the copper censer. Two figures walked towards the main altar, heads bowed in reverence. A third waited near the font. Their whispers rustled around the vast, echoing interior, larger than any church the young monk had visited in his life. Thirty altars, he had been told when he accepted the Province’s hospitality, though he had not seen even a third of them. Everywhere he looked chapels had been appended, seemingly in haphazard fashion. The place had grown out of all recognition in the four hundred years since King Edwin had ordered the small wooden church that had stood on the site to be rebuilt in stone. Shadows everywhere. Hiding places aplenty. He had hoped to find a sanctuary here, but the oppressive atmosphere that hung over all Eoferwic reached even into this sanctified interior.

Who plotted? Who weaved schemes in search of power and gold? Whom could he trust? Not the archbishop, he was increasingly sure, though it pained him deeply to doubt such a great man. Alric watched Ealdred drift along the nave, the candles casting a looming, hook-nosed shadow on the far wall. His ceremonial mitre gave an odd, flat-topped appearance to the shadow’s head, distorting the figure further. Alric shivered, his breath clouding, but the archbishop would be warm in his green and purple woollen chasuble.

Ealdred was a man who understood the world of power as well as the spiritual realm, the monk knew. He had the king’s ear, and he was close to the Godwins, who wielded such great influence across England. Given a choice between the poor ceorls and the wealthy, where would he stand? Alric thought he knew.

Beside the archbishop, the earl’s wife, Judith, listened intently to the advice she was being offered. Her expression was grave, the darkness in her features emphasized by her white headdress. She wrapped herself in her green woollen cloak, the red embroidery around the hem gleaming like blood.

‘And what does the church think of these dark prophecies that consume the thoughts of the people?’ she was saying in a quiet voice. ‘They talk of voices whispering in the deep forests, and signs in the night sky. Their fears are fuelled by those who still pray to the pagan gods, I am sure. Is the world truly coming to an end?’

Ealdred clasped his hands behind his back, raising his face to the altar. ‘The Revelation of St John tells us of the End-Times. It is … a difficult work and requires much reflection and study. But the words of our own Archbishop Wulfstan come down to us. His
Sermon of the Wolf to the English
is much discussed by my fellow churchmen and once was proclaimed from every parish pulpit.’ The archbishop pressed two fingers on the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, remembering. ‘
This world is in haste and is drawing ever closer to its end, and it always happens that the longer it lasts, the worse it becomes. And so it must ever be, for the coming of the Anti-Christ grows ever more evil because of the sins of the people, and then truly it will be grim and terrible widely in the world
.’ Ealdred opened his eyes and gave a wolfish grin as if he was revelling in the apocalyptic message.

‘And the Anti-Christ?’ Judith asked. ‘How shall we know him?’

‘We will know him, fear not. Wulfstan thought the Vikings in their dragon-ships were harbingers of the End. But now …’ Ealdred shrugged. ‘The king is fading and with no issue, England faces a time of great upheaval. Perhaps this is the time when the Wolf hunts us all.’

Judith blanched and crossed herself.

‘I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.’ The archbishop pressed his palms together. ‘We must put our faith in God who will save all good men and women. For now, a strong hand is needed to steady the course of our great ship in these turbulent waters.’ He leaned in close and gave a conspiratorial nod. ‘Now, I will leave you to your prayers. Should you require any more guidance, one of the acolytes will fetch me.’

When Ealdred’s echoing footsteps had disappeared into the depths of the church, Judith knelt before the altar and bowed her head. Studying the slump of her shoulders, Alric thought how troubled she looked.

‘Why do you spy upon my mistress?’

The monk jumped at the harsh voice. He whirled to see that the third figure had crept up on him. It was a woman with a face like the snow outside and hair the colour of raven’s wings. ‘I … I …’ he stuttered.

‘Answer me,’ she hissed, leaning in close. Her eyes were like black pebbles.

Alric thought quickly. He couldn’t say that he was spying on any visitor from Tostig’s hall who might reveal the earl’s plans to deal with the simmering conflict across Eoferwic. ‘I would have news about a … a friend …’ His words tailed away. The woman’s stare was unsettling, and he decided he did not like her.

‘What friend?’

‘His name is Hereward. We travelled to Eoferwic together—’

‘Hereward?’ Her eyes flashed in recognition, but she hid the first glimmer of her feelings before he divined them. ‘What do you know of him?’

‘That he is a good man who hides his true nature behind a fierce face.’

Her laughter reminded him of stones falling on a frozen river. ‘My name is Acha. I will take you to my mistress once she has finished her prayers and you can ask her all you wish to know.’

The monk told her his name and thanked her, though he would now have to spin his lie further. Acha did not soften, but they exchanged a courteous conversation about the festivities the earl planned for Christmas. His men had already selected the Yule log, which Ealdred himself would bless, and the holly and mistletoe would soon be collected. All-spice, nutmeg and cinnamon were ready for the baking of the festive cakes.

When Judith had finished her prayers, Acha led Alric over and introduced him. The younger woman stepped back, but listened with what the monk thought was keen interest. The countess’s face softened when Alric told her of his mission to take the Word to the villages of Northumbria that did not yet have a church or a priest. The monk had heard that Judith was a pious woman who had made many gifts to the church of St Cuthbert in Dun Holme. Learned, too; she was said to own many books and illuminated manuscripts. She seemed surprisingly keen when the monk mentioned Hereward’s name and spoke of the warrior with clear warmth.

‘You knew him before he came to Eoferwic?’ Acha asked.

The countess smiled at the younger woman’s interest. ‘Yes, I knew him. At court.’

‘Hereward was at court?’ Unable to hide the shock in his voice, Alric was filled with a crimson vision of the warrior rising from the pool of blood, eyes glinting with uncivilized fury.