Hereward 04 - Wolves of New Rome (21 page)

Salih sidled next to him. ‘We cannot fight our way out,’ he whispered. ‘We must bargain with them. Wits are needed more than axes here.’

‘When we meet their leader, we will see if he has ears that will listen. But that is not our only hope.’

The Imazighen wise man eyed him askance. ‘What say you?’

‘Count the heads. There is one of us missing.’

‘What can one man do?’

Hereward smiled.

Through the furnace heat of the day they trailed past tents of red and gold and emerald. Banners fluttered in the light breeze, the flags of an old England slowly slipping into shade: Mercia, Northumbria, Wessex. As the sea wolves jeered and threw rocks at the prisoners, Hereward saw them in a new light. Deep in their eyes, he glimpsed glimmers of desperation. They might have been farmers or merchants, soldiers too, but now they were all exiles as he was. Their country stolen from them by William the Bastard. The old ways of doing things, the certainties, snatched away. Perhaps their land and their livelihood too. They needed a new place in the world, a new home, and here was their one chance of reaching it.

Shaking their spears, the roaring sea wolves crowded in on every side. So deafening was the din, so furious their captors’ faces, Hereward wondered if his men were being herded like swine to the slaughter. Would their enemies merely fall upon them and tear them apart?

Stones clattered against skulls. Blood spattered. But the English would never go meekly, Hereward knew that. Kraki rounded on one tormentor and rammed his forehead into the man’s face. Cartilage and bone shattered. The sea wolf reeled back with a bloody pulp where his nose had been, an arc of crimson droplets following him down. Grinning, the Viking reared up to the cheers of his spear-brothers, but only for a moment. The hafts of axes rained down on him. Hereward flinched as Kraki disappeared among the bodies. But when he was hauled to his feet he was still grinning, though his legs could barely support him.

Jabbing spears herded them into a natural amphitheatre. Stumbling down over steep rocks, they came to a halt on the dusty floor of the bowl. Waves of oven heat stifled them. Walls rose up high on three sides, lower on the fourth. Over it, Hereward could see white-crested waves reaching to the blue horizon.

The English shuffled together, scowling as they watched the sea wolves trail in and perch on the rocks, like gulls waiting for a twilight feast. Hereward showed a defiant face. His men followed his lead, even Sighard, who looked more like a boy than ever with his tear-streaked face.

‘A trial,’ Guthrinc mused. ‘Either that or they would have us dance for them. I am light on my feet for a big man, but I do not think they would pay good coin to watch me, never mind set us free.’

‘I will dance,’ Kraki growled, spitting a mouthful of blood into the sand. ‘On their heads.’

‘You are mad,’ Sighard gasped. ‘You speak of fighting … challenge … when we are bound and defeated. There is no hope.’

‘We still live,’ Hereward said, his eyes fixed ahead.

Sighard glanced at him and fell silent.

Murmurs rustled through the crowd. The Mercian glanced up to the opening into the amphitheatre, where bodies were parting. A knot of men pushed through. There were six of them, bare-chested, showing warrior tattoos, clutching axes, and a seventh at their centre. The leader, Hereward guessed. He steadied himself, holding his devil in check as best he could. Salih was right. Now it was time for words and hard bargains.

The new arrivals barged through the sea wolves until they reached a spot on the low fourth wall where they could look over their captives. The six guards spread out, eyes darting all around as if they expected an attack from their own side as well as the battered men in front of them.

But as the leader swaggered out, Hereward stiffened, and he saw his captor do the same. For a long moment, they held each other’s gaze.

‘Siward?’ Hereward said.

‘Cousin?’

The other man flashed a broad grin. Though young, his long hair was as white as snow and all but glowing in the sun. He was tall and rangy, with the poise of a warrior. A fair swordsman, Hereward recalled from when they were boys. The last time he had seen Siward was at old King Edward’s court when he had ridden off to fight one of the monarch’s battles. With shame, Hereward remembered being so drunk at the time he could barely stand, and bloodied from a fight with one of the kitchen lads in the filthy area where they threw the scraps for the dogs. But unlike his own father, Siward had always shown him respect. There had been much laughter between them.

Hereward could tell his cousin was pleased to see a familiar face. But after a moment the sea wolf leader became aware of his surroundings. His eyes flickered, his grin faded. One of the guards whispered something in his ear and he nodded.

Stepping forward, Siward threw his arms wide. ‘Brothers,’ he called. The jeers and yells subsided. ‘You thought you had brought me rats who wanted to feast from our table. Yes, they would steal from us, and yes, these are the curs who took our prize, the woman worth riches beyond measure.’

Hereward watched his cousin at work. Siward had always spun silvered words, but here he was draining the well of his skills to turn these men to his ends. The Mercian looked around at the ranks of glowering faces, then at the strained lines of his cousin’s own features, which even his forced grin could not hide.

‘But look, brothers,’ Siward continued. ‘Here is no rat, but Hereward, the last of the English, who fought so bravely at Ely against the Bastard’s forces.’

‘And he lost,’ someone bellowed. Braying laughter rang out all around.

Hereward watched his cousin’s face grow taut, but still he smiled. ‘These are great warriors, brothers. Their axes have spilled an ocean of Norman blood. Should we not let them fight alongside us—’

‘We already have too many mouths to feed,’ another sea wolf shouted. Ayes rang out.

When Siward hesitated, Hereward’s moment of hope was extinguished. Even his cousin could not save them.

‘But we have even greater prizes ahead of us,’ Siward said, adding steel to his voice. His men fell silent once more. ‘We are strong already, this is true, but if we were stronger still we could plunder Majorca … even Sicily. I say we need these good English warriors alongside us.’

For a long moment, only the wind whined among the rocks. Hereward could see no welcome among the sea wolves for their leader’s words. They wanted blood, and they would not be satisfied until they had it.

‘Let them prove themselves,’ one man called out.

‘Aye,’ another said, sneering. ‘If these warriors are so great, let their leader fight Bedhelm the Giant.’

Laughter turned to cheers, ones that ran on and on. Hereward could see that Siward had lost control of his pack. There was no way out of this.

‘If he is so great, let him fight as he is,’ someone else roared. ‘With his hands tied behind his back. Surely it would not be a fair fight if Hereward the Giant-killer had his magic sword!’

The cheers drowned out the crashing of the waves and the shrieking of the gulls.

‘Very well,’ Siward announced when the din had ebbed. ‘Bedhelm! Prepare yourself!’

A towering figure loomed up from the crowd. A giant he was, Hereward could see, almost half as tall again as any warrior the Mercian had ever encountered. His chest was broad, his arms like tree-trunks, and as he stepped forward he dragged an axe that must have been made for him alone, so big was it.

‘I should take this challenge,’ Guthrinc sighed. ‘At least he will not think me a dwarf.’

Hereward shook his head. ‘No, old friend. This is my burden and mine alone.’ He stepped forward before any of his men could volunteer, as he knew they would. The Mercian tested his bonds once more, but the rope was still taut and cut into his wrists.

The giant was prowling along the ranks of his sea wolf brothers, enjoying the cheers. Hereward studied him. There were weaknesses. For all his size, he had no grace. He lumbered like a bear, and his axe, though huge enough to bring down an oak, was heavy and clumsy to wield. More thin hope, but he would take whatever he could.

Stepping down from the rocks, Siward came over, seemingly to jeer. But at the last he leaned in and whispered, ‘My sorrow is great, cousin. I did what I could. But this rabble will not be contained, once they have the smell of blood in their noses. When we fled William’s wrath, I fought hard to seize control of this fleet. But it is a poisoned chalice.’ He looked down as a shadow crossed his face. ‘My hands are tied.’

‘As are mine.’

Siward smiled. ‘Good. Keep your spirits high, cousin. And stay on Bedhelm’s left side. He is half blind in that eye. May God watch over you.’

When he was alone in the centre of the arena, Hereward bowed his head. The chanting of the crowd faded into the background. Now he urged his devil to rise. He welcomed it. Only the rage could help him match his opponent’s advantage, even though all there saw him for the dog he truly was. The beast his father had always called him, when old Asketil had shut him in the space under the boards of his hall with only rats for company. He pushed aside his shame and raised his head to peer at his foe. Bedhelm the Giant grinned back. He swung up his axe and whirled it around his head. The crowd roared.

‘Come to me,’ Hereward murmured to his dark companion. But as the words left his lips, he glanced past the towering warrior and saw a familiar face among the pirates on the edge of the battlefield. The head was bowed, the figure still so as not to draw eyes, but still it was Herrig the Rat. He recalled watching the scout swim away into the night like his namesake as the English stood in the surf offering up their surrender. If any man could have survived and crept back into the heart of their enemy, it was Herrig, a ghost, who left no trace in his passing, no footprint, not even a sigh.

‘Come, you little bastard,’ Bedhelm said, grinning. ‘Let my axe sup your blood.’

Something the giant saw in his opponent’s eyes gave him pause for a moment. But then he strode forward, scowling. The axe whisked up.

Balancing on the balls of his feet, the Mercian danced out of the way of the first strike. A cloud of dust plumed where the blade bit into the ground. But his bound hands threw him off balance, and when his foe tried to lop off his head Hereward stumbled. The axe whisked by only a hair’s breadth away from opening his skull. Skidding along the stones and sand, he ripped open his cheek. The blood throbbed in his head at the pain.

The blade slammed down again. He rolled out of the way at the last, staggering back to his feet. Remembering Siward’s words, he kept to the left, bounding this way and that. Whirling, the giant flailed. The crowd’s jeers whipped up into an even greater frenzy, now tinged with frustration. They had expected a head on the ground by this time.

Hereward gritted his teeth and thought of Alric and his suffering. Finally, his devil answered his call.

His vision closed in. The booming in his head drowned out the crowd. There was only Bedhelm. The giant spun round, hacking wildly. Blinking away sweat and grit, Hereward stepped back from the axe. The moment it raised a shower of sparks on the stones, he hurled himself forward. Placing one foot on his foe’s thigh, he launched himself up.

Bedhelm jerked his head back, too late. The Mercian clamped his teeth on to the other man’s cheek and bit deep. Blood bubbled around his teeth. With a yank of his head, he ripped the meat away from the bone. The giant howled in agony.

Hereward spat out the torn cheek as he fell. When he crashed into the ground on the edge of the arena, he heard Bedhelm’s roars dully through the pulsing of his own blood. He had bought himself a moment. Jerking into a kneeling position, he felt the sea wolves try to press him back into the battle. But his fall had not been by chance.

As filthy hands clawed at his back, he felt a lighter pressure on his bonds. In an instant, they broke, and an instant later something cold pressed into his palm. He wrenched forward. Glancing back, he saw that Herrig the Rat had wriggled back into the mass of bodies and was gone. But he had done enough.

Hereward’s fingers closed around the hilt of the knife. Distantly, he was aware of the crowd yelling in fury that his hands were free and that he was now armed. But somewhere Siward was smiling. He would not allow his men to interfere in this battle, the Mercian knew that.

Fury engulfed him. Anger at the betrayal that had cost him victory against William the Bastard. Anger at his cold dismissal from his homeland. Anger at all the miseries fate had dealt him in his life.

Through the crimson haze, he glimpsed Bedhelm, eyes wide in shock at the apparition bearing down upon him. The sea wolf swung his axe half-heartedly in his confusion. Hereward slid under the blade and ripped the edge of the knife across his foe’s wrist.

Bedhelm barely had time to cry out in pain. The Mercian clawed his way up the towering frame and rammed the knife into the giant’s right eye. Hooking his left arm around Bedhelm’s neck, Hereward swung his body around and used his weight to drag his foe back. The giant clawed at the air. Releasing his grip, Hereward plunged the blade into his defeated foe’s neck and wrenched it across the throat.

The world turned red.

Silence fell across the arena. Slowly Hereward turned, staring back at the army of sea wolves, who could scarcely believe what they had seen. As the thunder in his head faded away, he realized how he must look, slicked in blood from head to toe. More beast than man. As he once had been; as, it seemed, he was fated always to be.

THE SEA WOLVES
swept across the aquamarine swell. Sails billowed in the ocean breeze. At the oars the men chanted a song of blood and gold to keep the rhythm of their rowing. Sunlight shimmered off helms and hauberks, spear-tips and axe-heads so that it seemed a brittle, unearthly illumination shone out of the sea itself. From the walls of Sabta, perched on a finger of land reaching out from the northern coast of Afrique, the guards must have been struck by fear when they saw such a force bearing down on them.