Hereward 02 - The Devil's Army (30 page)

Out in the street, one of the guards ran up to him. ‘A stranger, at the gates,’ he said breathlessly. ‘He has words for your ears alone.’

Hereward followed the guard to the palisade, annoyed by the distraction. Folk would occasionally arrive at Ely to test the truth of the tales of the wild men of the woods or the blood-soaked battle-prince before they made their decision to join the army. Outside the gates, a ruddy-faced ceorl in a mud-spattered tunic waited, his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes darted around as if he thought he would be cut down at any moment.

‘I am Hereward. What is your business?’

‘Your ears only,’ the peasant muttered, eyeing the guard. The Mercian hid his irritation and stepped closer.

‘I have word from the Norman lord,’ the man began, unable to meet Hereward’s eye, ‘about your wife—’

Cold flooded Hereward. He grabbed the stranger by the tunic, almost lifting his feet off the ground. ‘Speak,’ he snarled, ‘before I carve out your heart.’

‘She is in the hands of the witchfinder,’ the man stammered, the blood draining from his taut features. ‘She is to be tested.’

Hereward felt sickened. Visions flashed across his mind of atrocities inflicted by the Church upon women suspected of
being witches. Missing noses and ears, scars and burning. And death more often than not.

‘The Norman lord said you can save her from harm,’ the ceorl continued. His eyes grew faraway and Hereward could see he was repeating word for word a message that had been branded into him. ‘But you must give yourself up to him, at the new castle in Lincylene. And you must come alone, without your Devil’s Army. If you fail to do this in good time, your wife will be put to death.’

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY
-T
WO

THE WARRIORS CAME
in the grey twilight. As the master of the flame lit the torches over Ely’s gates, five wild-bearded Danes swept in, their furs reeking of stale grease, their clanking hauberks scarred from numerous axe-blows. They had travelled far through the treacherous wetlands, losing one of their number to the waters along the way. They were in no mood for talk. Ignoring offers of bread and stew from the English hosts, they marched to the camp where their own men sat swilling back horns of ale around campfires.

In the abbot’s hall, the fire blazed in the hearth to dispel the coming night’s chill. Long and deep were the shadows, and the meaty scent of baked eel from the evening meal still hung in the air. At the head of the long table, Hereward hid his fears behind the mask of a ring-giver, aloof, cold, reflective. Redwald watched his brother, wondering what thoughts passed through his head. Since he had met the stranger at the gates, he had been a changed man. Yet he would tell no one what had transpired between the two of them.

Kraki shook his fist in the air and cursed in a tongue Redwald didn’t recognize. Guthrinc nodded, smiling wryly, which seemed
to send the Viking into even greater spasms of anger. They were arguing over the tactics for the coming war. Hereward seemed to hear none of it, as though their words were little more than the droning of flies.

What could be more important than the battle for which Hereward had planned for so long? he wondered. And where was the joy his brother had shown that morning when he believed his wife had left Ely of her own choice? Redwald looked around and saw he was not the only one to be puzzled by his brother’s demeanour. That interfering monk, Alric, watched from the shadows near the door. Though it seemed he scarcely left Hereward’s side, he never took part in the battle-talks. How great he must consider himself to be, so unconcerned by the petty struggles that dominated the lives of other men. Yet now the monk’s face was drawn, his gaze never leaving Hereward.

‘Are you blind or ale-soaked?’ Kraki roared. Redwald jerked his attention back to the war-council. The Viking leaned across the table as though he were about to take Guthrinc’s neck in his huge, scarred hands. ‘The trickle of men coming to our gates is turning into a flood once more. All tongues speak of Burgh, and William’s bloodied nose, and God’s glory shining down upon the English.’

‘And you would send those men, as untried and untested as children, into the storm of Norman axes and swords?’ Guthrinc’s voice was light.

‘We strike now!’ Kraki hammered a fist on the table. The cups flew over, flooding ale across the table-top.

‘Enough,’ Hereward commanded. ‘We sacrifice no man who comes to us in good faith. We fight when they are ready. Make them ready.’ As silence fell, the Mercian looked around the faces, glowering, and then stalked out into the night. Alric followed. Redwald could hear the harsh back and forth of their muffled conversation as they swept across the enclosure towards the church gate.

With an apologetic smile, Redwald held his arms out. ‘He has not eaten all day. Some food in his belly will do him good.’

‘Finding his woman is the only thing that will make him well,’ Guthrinc said. ‘The leech has no salve to cure that ill.’ Kraki grunted his agreement.

‘Then I hope he finds her soon,’ Redwald replied, ‘for there are times when I think she is the source of all his strength.’

‘Her and the monk,’ the Viking interjected, shaking his head at the strangeness of it all.

‘Aye, we are all riddles.’ Guthrinc poured himself more ale and swigged it back in one. ‘That is the way God made us, so there must be some sense in it.’

‘Hel take me if I can see it,’ Kraki muttered.

The sound of running feet echoed outside the door. Hengist crashed in, breathless. ‘Danes,’ he gasped. ‘Here.’

‘We know there are Danes here,’ Kraki snapped. ‘Your madness has you in its grip again.’

Hengist shook his head. He seemed to have more of his wits about him since Burgh, Redwald thought. Truly that was another form of madness if the thought of war with the king made him sane. ‘Messengers from Sweyn Estrithson. Their mood is grim. I smell trouble.’

Guthrinc and Kraki jumped to their feet, striding to the door. ‘Fetch Hereward,’ Guthrinc ordered. ‘His mood may be foul, but he will come.’ Hengist raced into the night.

‘What would trouble the Danes’ king?’ Redwald enquired, doubtful.

‘News that William is to attack their camp by the whale road?’ Kraki mused. ‘That is what I would do. Drive the Danes away and leave us with half an army again.’ He looked to Guthrinc, adding, ‘We thought that sly bastard would try something like that.’

Cries and the clash of iron jerked them from their conversation. As they ran out of the hall, following their ears, the tumult grew louder. Redwald thought it sounded like a mob brawling and a vision of his brother caught in the grip of his terrible rage flashed across his mind. Outside the treasure hall, torches danced. Warriors surged amid the bark of orders in the guttural
Danish mother-tongue. Redwald slowed, unable to comprehend what was happening. His gaze fell upon the guards Kraki had placed outside the hall, now lying face down on the ground.
Dead
, he thought at first until he saw one stir. The treasure-hall door hung open and warriors were carrying out armfuls of the gold, silver and jewels that they had plundered from Burgh.

‘Stay your hands,’ Kraki bellowed, ‘or face my axe. I care little that there are more of you. I can reduce that number in a thrice.’ To make his point, he shook his weapon in the face of the nearest Dane.

‘Hold.’ The order rang out and the warriors slowed and came to a halt. All eyes fell on Kraki, Guthrinc and Redwald as the one who had made the command pushed his way through his men. Redwald recognized Nasi, a tall man, beardless, with blond hair tied with leather thongs. He was one of the two seasoned warriors Sweyn Estrithson had put in charge of the war-band he had released to the rebel army. Most of the English liked him. He laughed easily and bragged less than his brothers, but he had been first into battle when the Normans had attacked at Burgh.

He turned his ice-blue eyes on Kraki. ‘I would not have wanted this.’

‘What is
this
?’ Guthrinc asked, folding his arms.

‘My king has ordered us to give you no further aid in battle, and to take the gold to our ships, where it will be safe.’

‘It is safe here,’ Kraki growled.

‘Aye. For you.’

Kraki flinched, raising his axe. The Danes bristled at the threat, levelling their own weapons. Guthrinc waved his hands palm down to calm the situation. He saw the danger, as Redwald did. The Danes were always quick to anger. He had seen men laid flat with a single punch for one wrong word. And gold always made those passions burn hotter. ‘You do not trust us?’ Guthrinc asked.

Nasi did not reply.

‘We have been good spear-brothers. We shared the mead-oath.
We face a common foe. And when we promise gold, we always are true to our word.’ Guthrinc smiled to ease the tension.

‘True. We have faced death shoulder-to-shoulder. That bond can never be broken.’ Nasi held out his hands, the meaning clear: he had no say in the matter.

‘Sweyn Estrithson doubts us because he does not know us.’ Kraki forced himself to lower his axe, following Guthrinc’s lead. Redwald watched him struggle; he was not a man known for calm during conflict. ‘Let him speak with Hereward. He will ease your king’s worries.’

Nasri nodded. ‘Sweyn will listen to Hereward. But for now, we have our orders. The gold must rest on our ships. Are we to fight?’

And what a one-sided fight that would be, Redwald thought bitterly. Three men alone, with the rest of the English dozing by their hearths or drunk. ‘Where is Hereward when we need him?’ he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for the other two men to hear.

Kraki thrust out his chest, stepping towards the Dane. Guthrinc caught his arm. ‘This is not the time.’ He leaned in and Redwald heard him whisper, ‘If we take a stand, they will cut us down and take the gold anyway.’

Kraki snarled like a cornered wolf. Cursing, he turned on his heel and walked away so he would not have to see the Danes carrying off the hard-won treasure. At the abbey gate, he bellowed, ‘Hereward. We need you.’

Guthrinc, coming to join him, glanced back at the milling Danes. ‘I do not like this one bit,’ he muttered. ‘Once that gold is on their ships, what chance have we to bring it back to dry land?’

‘You think that is their plan?’ Redwald asked. ‘And it was their plan all along?’

Kraki shook his head. ‘Sweyn could have taken that gold without our help. Something else is amiss here.’

‘There,’ Guthrinc exclaimed, pointing towards the church. Two Danes lurched out of the door, hauling the relic box
between them. ‘This is about more than gold,’ he added, his face darkening.

Redwald looked over to the monks of Burgh who had gathered by the enclosure fence. When they had seen their precious church treasures being taken from their grasp once again, they had raised their arms to the heavens, calling for God’s help. Now they grew silent, staring in dismay at the relic box, more valuable to them by far than all the gold from their abbey. As the two Danes carried the chest towards the gate, Prior Aethelwold could contain himself no longer. He ran out and threw himself to his knees in front of the warriors, grasping for the box. The other monks swarmed behind him, crying for mercy.

Redwald lost sight of the warriors at the centre of the heaving circle of desperate churchmen clawing for the chest. Guthrinc clutched his head, knowing what was to come. With a roar, the Danes rushed the monks, tearing them off one by one. But each churchman only threw himself back into the fray. Redwald saw anger rising in the warriors’ faces. Their tempers snapped as the monks continued to battle, and axes were wrenched high. It would be a slaughter.

‘Enough,’ Kraki roared. With Guthrinc at his side, he hurled himself towards the fight. Redwald cursed at the pointless sacrifice. The fools would be dead before they saved even one monk’s life. He edged back towards the gate, preparing to run.

‘Halt.’ Arms outstretched, Nasi stepped between Kraki and Guthrinc and the churning mass of monks and warriors. ‘Take no lives,’ he barked to his men before looking Kraki in the eye. ‘We want no bloodshed,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘but the king has given his orders.’

Kraki and Guthrinc slowed as the Danes lowered their axes. ‘One drop spilled,’ the Viking said, stabbing a finger at Nasi, ‘and you will pay with your life.’

Though the Danes put their weapons aside, they gave no further mercy. They ripped the monks off the mass of bodies, cuffing them and hurling them aside. Redwald watched the
churchmen sprawl across the abbey enclosure, bloodied and dazed. But no lives were taken, as Nasi had promised, and Kraki and Guthrinc held back, glowering.

Once the monks had been dispersed, the warriors formed a circle around the two men carrying the chest and escorted them out of the abbey gate. His left eye caked with blood, Prior Aethelwold knelt, praying for aid in a loud voice. His monks wailed and tore at their hearts around him.

‘Where is Hereward?’ Kraki roared, shaking a fist in frustration.

‘He is gone.’ The three men turned to see Hengist trudging towards them. ‘He took some bread, his spear and his shield and left Ely. And the monk with him.’ His face fell, revealing the dismay he had been trying to contain. ‘Hereward has abandoned us.’

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY
-T
HREE

‘
IF YOU TAKE
one more step, you will pay a price that you will regret,’ Hereward growled. His voice carried through the dark beneath the willows and across the moonlit mere.

Alric inhaled the chill air reeking of rotting leaves and black mud, but he did not flinch. ‘You would not strike me. You have learned many lessons since we first met and you are a better man for it. Now learn how to take a friend’s hand when it is offered.’

‘You think you can help me? How? By praying for a host of angels to bring me what I need?’ The Mercian shook his head wearily, his anger draining away. ‘Go back. Must I tell you again?’ He turned and looked towards the north. His destination, Alric thought. Since they had left Ely behind, following the hidden tracks, Hereward had always been heading in that direction.