Hereward (19 page)

When he saw his master glaring at him, the young man ducked down and grabbed the corpse’s shoulders. Together they carried the remains to a small copse. Harold threw the Mercian down as if he were a sack of barley.

‘What … what will you say when the body is found tomorrow?’ Redwald ventured. ‘Edwin will suspect—’

‘Let Edwin suspect. He knows nothing and can make no accusations,’ the earl snapped. ‘But look …’ He pointed to a mess of pawprints in the snow. ‘In this cold weather, the wolves come out of the woods in search of food. They will smell the blood, and there will be no body here tomorrow, or none that is recognizable.’

When Redwald stared at the crumpled form in the snow, he flashed back to the sight of Tidhild sprawled amid the thickening pool of her blood. She had always been kind to him. He knew she felt sorry for him for losing his father and mother so young and she had stolen honey cakes for him when he had first arrived at the Palace of Westminster with Asketil and Hereward. So much misery, so much pain.

‘That night,’ Harold grunted, giving the body a kick, ‘the night Hereward ran, you made a good choice. You could have gone to Asketil, or Edwin, or one of the thegns. But you came to me.’

Redwald’s stomach churned. He saw the dead Mercian at his feet. He saw Tidhild.

‘You recognized that only I had the strength to deal with the storm of weapons blowing up around England.’ A whisper of a smile graced the earl’s lips. ‘And you knew only I could raise you up to the levels you dreamed of, out of the mud and into the world of gold.’

And even when I realized you were the true murderer of Edward Aetheling, I continued down this road
, Redwald thought.
Because, God help me, I wanted what I saw within reach
.

Harold looked towards the hall, where the light from the torches around the enclosure formed a halo in the dark. ‘Think no more of Hereward. You are a man now, not a boy, and men make hard decisions to grasp hold of the things in life that have value. Your brother could not be allowed to pass on what the dying man had told him. It would have left England in the hands of men who care little for the way we live our lives.’

‘Hereward will be killed?’ Redwald felt a constriction round his throat.

‘In a manner that does not draw attention to the Godwins. We must be above all suspicion. I have received word from my brother in Northumbria, and these things are in motion.’ The earl studied the young man’s face for any sign of weakness or betrayal. ‘You accept this is the way it must be?’

Redwald drove all thoughts of his childhood from his mind, of the kindness Hereward had shown him, the friendship and support. He felt the world whirl around him, cold and dark. And then he nodded.

‘Good.’ Harold rubbed his hands together for warmth. ‘I have allowed you to see me take a life with my own hands. Few others have witnessed such a thing. We are bound by more than trust now, by something deep and unshakable. Should you betray this bond, know that I will kill you too. Your body will not be found. Your loved ones will never know your whereabouts. Do you understand?’

Once again, Redwald nodded, this time more quickly.

‘I need a good man I can trust to do my bidding. My plans rush apace, and there is much business that must be conducted away from the harsh light if we are to win the prize. First, though, a blood-oath, to seal this thing.’

Leaning down, the earl dipped two fingers in the dead Mercian’s blood and pointed them up to the stars and the moon. Redwald copied him, and when Harold spoke, the younger man repeated every word of the vow. ‘My life is no longer my own. I swear to obey the word of my master, Harold Godwinson, Earl of Wessex, even though it go against my heart and mind. Even though it cost me my life.’

Once they had done, the earl gave a pleased nod. ‘The throne will be mine. Stand with me and you will have everything you dreamed of.’ Turning his back on the body without a second glance, he marched up the slope towards the lights of the hall.

After a moment, Redwald followed.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-T
WO

CLAMPING ONE HAND over Acha’s mouth, Hereward dragged her into the shadows inside her small house. She struggled with her unseen assailant, but the warrior’s strong arms held her tight.

‘Make no sound,’ he whispered. ‘No one must know I am here.’

Acha calmed when she realized who had hold of her. Whirling, she glared at him. ‘You do not lay a hand upon me unbidden. Why are you here? Where have you been this evening? Your absence was noted. Even Tostig commented upon it.’

Hereward gave a bitter laugh. ‘The earl noticed my absence? I am sure I am much on his mind these days.’ He knelt to peer out of the door into the blizzard. The sounds of revelry drifting from Tostig’s hall had subsided a little, but he saw no sign of movement in the snowbound enclosure. ‘This night is far from done, and by the end of it I will no longer be able to call Eoferwic home.’

‘You are leaving?’

Softening when he heard the hurt note in her voice, Hereward stood to face her. ‘I must. And I would have you come with me.’

‘I cannot … the earl …’

‘I will face down any man Tostig sends to stand in my way. I care little about the consequences of my actions. If there is killing, so be it.’

‘The earl will hunt you down—’

‘I am already hunted, and friendless. There is no more he can do. I had hoped I might find an ally in Tostig, but now I know he is party to the plot I have uncovered and I have only survived until now because he cannot have me killed in a manner that will draw attention. So one of his men tries to burn me to death in the middle of a foray with his huscarls, and when that fails he sets a bear on me. An accident, and no further questions asked.’

Hereward watched the confusion in Acha’s face strip away the brittle hardness that was usually etched in her features. Behind it, he saw the hidden woman he had identified on their first meeting, the one struggling to survive far from her home in a place where she was considered a worthless outsider. His heart was touched by this true Acha.

‘You accuse the earl of trying to kill you? Why?’ she stuttered.

‘I learned this night that it is Tostig’s brother, Harold Godwinson, who is plotting to seize the throne for himself once the king has died, if not before. Harold has always been an ambitious man, but until tonight I did not realize how much he valued power. He puts his own advancement, and that of his kin, ahead of all England.’

‘Are you surprised that men of power seek power?’

‘What makes men do the things they do? Truly? Some men seek power yet they have never gone to the depths that Harold plumbs.’ Hereward looked past her to the dull glow of the fire, still trying to assimilate the revelations of the dying man. ‘To order the killing of the king’s heir, Edward Aetheling, the greatest obstacle in the way of his taking the throne, then to slaughter the man who committed that murder. To tear me from my own life, and the hopes I had, and make me scapegoat for his crimes, so that I am shamed and so are all my kin. To hunt me down like a beast. And …’ he paused, trying to hold his incipient rage in check, ‘to oversee the murder of Tidhild. A good woman who only thought the best of everyone she encountered. She was discarded as if she were a deer to be skinned. Betrayed.’

His final word resonated with such bitterness, Acha was silenced for a moment. ‘You are sure he did all these things?’ she eventually asked in a quiet voice.

‘The man who told me was in no position to lie. Tostig is as tarnished as his brother. All the Godwins must be. Perhaps the foul corruption lies in the blood itself, and the entire family is born to deceive.’

‘What will you do?’ Acha asked. ‘Surely you would not seek vengeance on the Godwins themselves.’

‘I will no longer be run like a dog.’ His voice burned with passion.

Acha gripped his arms. ‘You are one man. Would you kill them all? Would you ride into London and fight your way into Edward’s presence, when surely Harold will have all the king’s swords raised in his defence?’

‘If not I, then who?’ He found his thoughts turning to Wulfhere and the other men and women of Eoferwic, suffering under the yoke of Tostig’s taxes. The Godwins cared little for anyone but themselves, that was clear enough. The injustice of Harold’s cold-hearted drive for power struck the warrior as acutely as his seething desire for vengeance. ‘My plans must change,’ he continued, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘The Godwins and their allies – even Archbishop Ealdred who is so close to them – they are all my enemies now.’ He paused, his mind flashing on a vision of Tostig impaled on Brainbiter. Could he get away with such an act?

‘The Godwins are the most powerful family in the land. There will be no escape for you anywhere in England,’ Acha ventured.

Hereward looked at her closely, trying to read the thoughts that chased each other like shadows across her face. He laid his hand upon his heart.

‘We have known each other only a short time, but I feel we are of a kind,’ he said. ‘In here there is something that connects us. I have some business to attend to, but after I am done, before dawn, meet me at the wharf. I will protect you. And we will be together.’

‘You will protect me?’ she echoed, unable to meet his eyes.

‘I know what you want.’ He transferred his hand to her heart. ‘I know your secret fears and hopes because they are my own.’

‘And what is your business now?’

‘I go to free the monk you told me of.’

‘The murderer?’

He nodded. ‘He deserves better justice than he will ever find in Eoferwic.’

A cry of alarm echoed through the storm. Hereward guessed the bloody evidence of his questioning had been uncovered. ‘I must go before I am found here.’ He stepped towards the door, then turned back. ‘Meet me at the wharf before dawn,’ he repeated, searching her face for a response.

Another cry, caught by a second throat, and a third. Hereward knew he couldn’t afford to wait any longer. With one backward glance at Acha, he slipped out into the blizzard. Dark figures darted through the swirling snow, their calls disappearing into the howling wind. The warrior ran along the side of Acha’s house to the enclosure fence, kicked his way through the gate and lurched across the knee-deep drifts. The flakes were falling so fast, he knew his tracks would soon be covered.

He put Acha out of his mind. Pulling his cloak around him, he forced his way through the bitter gale towards the church. Deep inside him, the drums beat out the word
betrayal
in a steady rhythm. His plans were shifting fast to match the new way he saw the world, a place of shadows where honour mattered little. He was beginning to think that the men who spoke of honour were the ones least likely to have it.

On the higher ground, the waves of white washed up high against the sturdy grey vessel of the church. The bell protested with faint musical notes against the wind’s turbulent battering. Beneath the tower, the low houses of the clerics stood silent, their thatch now lost beneath folds of snow.

Hereward strode to the hut where Alric had been held, but he found the small, straw-covered room empty. Rats scurried away when he entered. He grew angry and that surprised him, a little. The monk meant nothing to him. But the order imposed by undeserving powers needed to be confronted, to be disrupted, and the monk, like all men, deserved a second chance. Prowling around the church enclosure, Hereward considered dragging the archbishop from his hall and prodding him with a sword until Alric’s new location was revealed. Perhaps more than prodding him.

But as the warrior made his way to Ealdred’s looming hall, he heard faint, discordant voices. Following the sound, he came to a sturdier house with a timber roof. He identified Alric’s tones, and, he thought, the archbishop’s. The two men appeared to be involved in an argument. Pressing his ear against the door, Hereward listened.

‘Tell me what the Mercian knows.’ It was the archbishop, his voice strained.

‘If I knew anything, I would not tell you.’ Alric’s voice cracked.

‘What others have heard his lies?’

‘I do not believe he lies. He has always spoken with an honest tongue. Which is more than I can say for other men I have encountered in Eoferwic.’

‘He is a murderer … a beast.’

‘He is a man. Like all men.’

Ealdred snorted. ‘The Mercian has shown himself to be corrupted by evil—’

‘Like all men,’ Alric interrupted in a loud voice, ‘he has good and evil within him, and like all men he can be saved and brought to God.
Woe unto them that call Evil Good, and Good Evil
—’

‘Do not quote scripture to me! You face punishment for your own crimes against God. First the court will hear your shame, and then you will endure your trial by ordeal. Your flesh will be seared. Your nose will be filled with the stink of your burning flesh, and your cries will rend your throat. Let us see then if you continue to protect this worthless sinner.’

‘I care nothing for myself.’ Alric’s voice broke with emotion. ‘You think to tempt me. You hint that I will face no trial, no ordeal, if I give up this man who needs me. I welcome the opportunity to proclaim my sins and beg forgiveness.’