Hereward 04 - Wolves of New Rome (20 page)

Alric leaned back against a rock at the top of the rise, taking advantage of what little shade remained. His face was the colour of the sky, his cheeks hollow. Through eyes haunted by pain, he glanced down at the bloody cloth bound around his left hand. The stump of his finger whined, and needles of agony stabbed into his knuckle.

Hearing a noise behind him, he glanced back to see Meghigda hurrying towards him across the sand. Her expression was fierce, and in that moment he understood how she instilled fear in her enemies. There was a power to her.

At first he wondered how he had wronged her, but then she swooped down and plucked up one of the poisonous scurrying creatures that infested that land. Within a moment, it could have stung him with its lashing, spiked tail and he knew from past warnings that he could have been dead by nightfall. He expected Meghigda to crush it underfoot as he had seen their captors do. Instead, she carried it far off and let it loose in the dunes, smiling as it crawled away.

Alric frowned. There was much about this woman that he did not understand. She was as fierce as any English warrior, and yet, as now, there was a gentle side to her. At the Imazighen camp he had watched her care for the children, the elderly and the sick. She claimed to be possessed by the spirit of that ancient warrior Dihya, but he knew that was only her way to manipulate her followers. So she was skilled in the art of deception too. So many contradictions. Of all those he had met on the long road of life, she was the only one he could not fathom.

As she sat beside him, he welcomed the chance to distract himself from the debilitating pain. He offered his thanks for her swift aid, then asked her about the Imazighen.

Her eyes took on a wistful look as she peered into the distance. ‘We are a wandering people. Our homeland is wherever we are. You know where England is. You know your shores, your frontiers. We roam across the desert from the Almoravid empire to the edges of the Fatimid caliphate, from Alodia and Makuria and Bornu to the land of the Banu Hilal. We face attacks from all sides. Others covet our trade routes, our water. Even the sand beneath our feet – they want it because they do not have it. It is all our home, all this vast northern desert, and we will allow no others to take it from us.’

‘And all your life, even when you were a child, this has been your destiny – to be queen of the Imazighen?’

Since she had been taken from her people her unguarded moments had been more frequent, and this time Alric glimpsed a hint of sadness in her face. ‘If my mother and father had not been slain, many years would have passed before I had to bear that burden. But God did not choose that road for me. My training began before the blood of my family had soaked into the sand. The elders guided me, advised me. I learned all I would need to be a queen who would keep her people safe.’ She bowed her head, remembering.

Alric thought how sad that life must have been. The simple times of childhood had been stolen from her. To shoulder the burdens of a ruler at such a young age must have taken a great toll upon her.

Meghigda smiled as if she could read his thoughts. ‘I do not regret one day. This life I have is a gift, an honour. All I have I give freely for my people. If I die tomorrow, it will have been a life well spent. It is good to live this way. It means I know no fear.’

Alric feigned an annoyed expression. ‘You speak English well. That was not how it seemed when we met.’

She laughed. ‘A queen must wear many masks, man of God. I have met English before, warriors like your friends, knights. Men from all four corners of this world. And I have tried to learn from all of them. And then Salih ibn Ziyad arrived at our camp one day. His wisdom was greater even than our elders’, and I listened as he told me of many wonders, and of secret knowledge. A great man. Why he stayed I do not know, but I gave thanks every day that he was by my side to guide me.’

Alric felt surprised to see a deep joy in her that she had kept hidden until then. It pleased him. But then he winced as a lance of pain spiked up his arm.

Meghigda leaned forward, concerned. Reaching out, she let her slender fingers hover over his bandage. ‘Put your hand to your nose,’ she said. When he only stared at her, puzzled, she snatched his wrist and thrust his fingers under his nostrils. ‘Does it smell of ripe fruit?’

Alric shook his head.

‘Good. You must do this every day. Every day,’ she stressed, ‘without fail. And if one day you do smell fruit, we must take your hand at the wrist and put the stump to the fire.’

The monk recoiled, horrified. ‘Are you mad?’

‘If not, you will die. The black rot will eat up your arm and into your heart. You must trust me on this.’

For a moment he hesitated, and then he gave a slow, reluctant nod. He could not think about that course. Fear of what lay ahead would consume him. When his finger had been removed, the pain had almost torn him apart. He remembered the sawing, and the blood, and his screams, and his terror that the unbearable suffering would drive him mad.

Meghigda seemed to sense his thoughts, for he saw her face soften. ‘You have suffered,’ she murmured, ‘but you have endured.’

‘To face more suffering ahead?’ He caught himself, dismayed by the bitterness he heard in his own words.

‘We are at war, all of us. Day by day, we fight, and we fight. We see peace …’ she glanced towards Sabta, shimmering in the haze, ‘like some distant palace, but we never reach it. But what choice do we have? Lie down in the dust and die? And so we fight.’

Alric glimpsed a hint of deep pain in her eyes, and felt a pang of guilt at his own complaints. ‘You speak true,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘Death holds dominion over God’s earth. It is his way of teaching us to be humble, for the grave waits for king and slave, and judgement will come in the next world, not this one.’ He tried to show a defiant face, but the agony in his hand contorted it. ‘There is something for us amid all this suffering, if only we can find it,’ he added, almost to himself.

On the slope, the Norman warriors folded the tent-cloth and packed away the poles with the discipline of men who fought and died together. Two figures broke away from the pack and began to climb the hill. Ragener the Hawk had a rolling gait as if his missing parts had thrown him off balance. His good eye roved around, watching for any threat, but his milky orb carried with it the look of the dead.

Beside him, Drogo Vavasour threw back his head and laughed at some humorous word or other. His back was straight, his shoulders were square, and he strode as if he had not a care in the world.

When the two men stood in front of them, Alric looked up. He had prepared himself for what was to come.

‘You still live. That is good,’ the noble said with a faint smile. ‘I feared the Hawk had been too rough with you.’

‘I thought the Normans were a godly folk,’ the monk said, ‘and yet you allowed a man of the church to be harmed. And for what?’

Drogo rolled his head as if puzzling over his answer. ‘You complain about a little scratch?’

‘A scratch?’ Alric exclaimed.

‘You have your life, monk, and that is more than my brother.’ Though the commander grinned, there was thunder in his eyes. ‘I am a godly man. My prayers are offered five times a day. But the Lord has given us power over our own affairs, and to seek out justice—’

‘Justice! Your brother and his men slaughtered Hereward’s own brother! A boy! This circle never ends. There is hypocrisy here.’

‘Nevertheless, Hereward must be punished.’ He folded his hands behind his back. ‘My brother no doubt had his reasons. The boy was a thief, or he raped girls …’

‘Or he would not bow his head to Norman dogs.’

Drogo held his taut smile for a long moment. Alric braced himself, expecting a blow, but none came. ‘Let us talk about heads,’ the Norman said through a clenched jaw. ‘Hereward cut off my brother’s head and set it upon a spike. That is not justice. That is not a clean and honourable death. It is the work of a wild beast. A devil. One that must be cut down for the sake of all that is good and holy. God is on
my
side, monk. Not yours – you stood with that devil. Do not forget that.’

The monk hesitated. He could not deny much of what Drogo had said. ‘’Tis true. Hereward has slaughtered. He has robbed and beaten and killed for little more than a wrong word. But that man no longer exists.’

The Norman laughed without humour. ‘You believe that?’

‘How long must a man keep paying for his sins?’

‘Is that not a question for God? Here is my answer. If a man’s sins are great enough, he pays, and he pays, and he pays, and then he dies.’

‘There is no escape?’

‘From the things you have wrought? Never. There is always a price to pay.’

The monk felt hollowed out. He could see no end to it now, for any of them.

The Norman turned to Meghigda and bowed. ‘Would that I did not have to turn you over to those Roman dogs. But I have reached agreement with my good friend here, and the gold heaped upon your head would dazzle any man.’

‘Do what you will. You must live with your choice. There is always a price to pay.’

Drogo frowned to hear his words spoken back to him, and at the defiance he saw in the woman’s face. The Normans liked their women pliant. Alric allowed himself a smile. Clearly the nobleman was not used to one who had fire in her heart and a tongue in her head.

But then Ragener stooped to snarl his hand in Alric’s dusty tunic, hauling him to his feet. ‘I have no qualms about seeing you suffer, monk,’ he mumbled through his ragged lips. ‘Any man who can stand by and witness the agony inflicted upon me is not worthy of my care. God watches over me now and I do his work, not you.’

Alric was aghast that the Hawk seemed oblivious of the crimes that had led Hereward to punish him. Yet as he looked into the sea wolf’s ruined face, he felt his cheeks flush with passion. ‘So you both think you act for God? Your pride will doom you both.’

Ragener snickered, shaking the monk back and forth. ‘He bares his fangs! See, Drogo!’ The sea wolf pushed his face forward so he was barely a finger’s width from Alric’s nose. He smelled of rotten meat and sweat. ‘Let us see how much fight there is in you when I take the next piece.’

‘Wait until Sabta, Hawk,’ the Norman commander said, walking away. ‘I would wash the filth of the desert off me, and have a bed to sleep in.’

‘Aye, then I can take my time,’ Ragener breathed. He bared his broken teeth in a monstrous grin. ‘What next for my knife? A toe? An ear? An eye? You have two. Look at this face, monk, and think upon it. Soon it will be yours.’

BLOOD DRIPPED FROM
a broken nose. Eyes swelled shut. Bruises bloomed. But no complaints issued from the battered English warriors squatting on the floor of the billowing tent. Only the crack of the lines and the whistle of the wind broke the silence that lay over them.

Hereward looked across the bowed heads and hunched shoulders. Their wrists were bound, their weapons taken. Scowling guards watched over them, spears levelled to ram through chests at the slightest provocation. The air was sharp with the reek of sweat and brine and blood. But not defeat. They all yet lived. But for how much longer? After the sea wolves had dragged them from the surf, the Mercian remembered the deafening chorus of jeers as fists and boots, the hafts of spears and the flats of blades rained down on them until their wits fled. The numbers had been too uneven to fight back.

But they all yet lived.

Through the open tent flaps, Hereward could see the brightness of a new day. Gulls shrieked, and waves crashed. Smoke from fresh campfires drifted by. Voices still raw with sleep chimed as the camp woke. The hour of reckoning was drawing near.

‘I have doomed you all.’ Sighard’s voice was barely more than a croak. His cheeks, filthy with the dust of the desert, were streaked.

After such a long period of silent reflection, heads jerked up at the sound. Kraki hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spat into the sand.

‘I will die first,’ Sighard insisted, his voice breaking.

Guthrinc sniffed. ‘I have seen worse.’

‘Worse?’ The young warrior gaped.

‘Aye.’ Guthrinc shrugged. ‘What say you, Kraki?’

The Viking nodded. ‘Worse.’ He sucked on his teeth. ‘I once drank the tavern out of mead.’

Sighard stared, his brow creased.

‘No mead,’ Kraki said with a sad shake of his head.

‘A harsh blow. You took it like a warrior?’ Guthrinc asked.

The Viking nodded slowly. ‘I know not how.’

‘There was this time in Grentabridge,’ Guthrinc began, his voice heavy with regret. ‘My stomach growled, and the air was heavy with the most wondrous scent. Goose, I think it was. And I had no coin.’

‘You went hungry?’

‘I went hungry.’

Maximos nodded. ‘I have only been bound in a hole in the ground for day upon day and night upon night. But still …’ He frowned, reflecting. ‘But no wine or women. So … yes … worse.’

Sighard looked around the war-band. ‘Have you lost your wits? These sea wolves will drag us out and slaughter us one by one.’

‘Aye. Likely,’ Guthrinc nodded. ‘Still … I have seen worse.’

Hereward felt proud of his men for distracting Sighard from his despair in such a way. Strength was not only shown in the thick of battle.

Eight men appeared at the opening. The English warriors fell silent. The time had come. Like Hereward, the leader of the new arrivals had arms dappled with the tattooed circles and spirals of a warrior. His broad chest was bare, the tanned skin criss-crossed with a mass of scars. Another scar ran from the edge of his mouth to his left ear so that it seemed he had a permanent sneer. ‘Bring them,’ he barked. A Northumbrian man from the sound of it, the Mercian thought.

The sea wolves stabbed their spears, not caring if the tips bit too deeply. Even then the English would not be cowed.

As the captives trailed out, Hereward caught Salih’s eye. The wise man, too, had not given himself up to despair, the Mercian could see that. He observed calmly, his gaze always searching for an advantage. For the sake of his queen, he could not allow this day to end in disaster. And for the sake of Alric, Hereward knew he had to do the same.