Hereward 04 - Wolves of New Rome (4 page)

Once his fingers closed around the cool hilt of his sword, Hereward launched himself off the side of the ship. The heaving swell flew beneath his feet. As he came down with a furious yell, he swung Brainbiter in an arc. The blade tore through the neck of the man in front of him, almost severing the head in one stroke. Snarling his hands in the dead man’s tunic, he yanked him forward into the brine between the ships, then stepped into the gap and hacked right and left. Two men howled as they buckled.

On the rolling swell, he felt as if he were fighting while standing on the back of a bucking stallion. But the reeking bodies were so closely packed in the confined space, he was locked in place. Unable to swing his sword, he gut-stabbed one man, then drove the blade up into the exposed jaw of another. Beside him, Kraki hooked with his axe. Guthrinc heaved a man above his head as if his victim were a sack of flour and hurled him into the sea. Others sliced groins or the backs of knees. Those with spears stayed by the gunwale, creating some room with their constant thrusting.

Under his feet, the deck was as slick with blood as the ghost ship they had discovered. The sea wolves fought on to the last. What else could they do? There was nowhere to flee, and any man who ended up in that turbulent sea was unlikely to survive long enough to swim to shore. And these were not true warriors, Hereward could see now. They handled their weapons like butchers’ knives. No grace, no skill. They were only interested in plundering those who were weaker than they were. Now they would pay the price for a life without honour.

The Mercian drove Brainbiter through the stomach of the man in front of him. As the dead man toppled over the side, Hereward looked around and saw he had no more foes to fight.

A hubbub rose up from a crowd of his spear-brothers gathered at the prow. They had disarmed the last of the pirates and herded him towards the edge.

As the spears drew back to thrust, Hereward called out, ‘Hold!’

At his command, his men held fast, looking back. The Mercian pushed his way among them. At the front, Sighard stood with the tip of his spear pressed against the neck of the pirates’ leader. The fighting seemed to have cleared his despair, if only for a while.

The ruined man peered up at his captors with his one good eye. Hereward saw no fear in that look.

‘Let him live,’ the Mercian ordered.

‘What value is his life?’ Sighard snarled. ‘He would have ended all our days if he had his way.’

‘We will show mercy.’

Kraki stepped forward and snatched Sighard’s spear away from the ruined man’s neck. For a moment, the younger man resisted. Then, with a sullen expression, he unfurled his fingers from the shaft and let the Viking take his weapon.

‘We will put him to shore and let him spread the word to any other wolves who sail these waters looking for lambs to prey upon,’ the Mercian said, his voice brooking no resistance. ‘The price for attacking Hereward and the last of the English will be more than any can stomach.’

‘You are Hereward?’ The ruined man’s one good eye narrowed. His words came out muffled by his ragged bottom lip.

‘You have heard of me?’

‘Aye. There are few who do not know of the man who bloodied the nose of William the Bastard.’

Hereward weighed the man’s accent and said, ‘You are from the north?’

‘Eoferwic. I owe the Norman dogs for this.’ He raised one trembling finger to his face. ‘One wrong word can cost a man everything.’

‘Few escaped the hard hand of the enemy.’ The Mercian eyed the sea wolf. He could tell a man’s character from the briefest tremor on a cheek, or the curve of a lip, or the glimmer in an eye, but this man’s disfigurement made him unreadable. ‘What is your name?’

‘Ragener.’ His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips. ‘Ragener the Hawk.’

Sighard laughed without mirth. ‘You have the eye of a hawk? Only one.’

Recognizing who held the power here, the sea wolf ignored the younger man and kept his gaze fixed on Hereward. ‘Put me ashore near a village and I will make sure you have gold to send you on your way.’

‘Stolen gold, splashed with blood?’ The Mercian shook his head slowly.

The Hawk flinched, his mouth jerking in what could have been a sneer. ‘Too tainted for the likes of the great Hereward? Some of us have not been smiled upon by God and must make our own way in the world as best we can.’

Kraki growled and raised his axe. Hereward raised one hand to stay the Viking’s arm. ‘This world has not been kind to you, that is true. But a man shoulders his burden and makes his own way—’

‘Words like that come easy. Walk in my shoes and see if you say the same. Women cannot look at me. Nor men. Even begging for alms is a trial.’

Kraki snorted. ‘I have seen men who have suffered more than you. Aye, I have. Men without hands or feet. Eyes put out by hot iron. Even then they live their days with honour.’

Ragener’s lips curled back from his teeth in rage. Before he could lunge, Sighard put one foot in his chest and drove him back on to the boards. The sea wolf’s emotion was now so hot that the Mercian had no trouble reading it: the Hawk would kill them all if he could.

‘Your life has no worth, then?’ Hereward said. ‘You would throw it away so easily?’

‘You will end my days whatever I say,’ the ruined man snapped. He caught himself. His good eye darted and he moistened his lips. ‘I can offer you more than gold. Something with value beyond your dreams.’

Kraki laughed with contempt. ‘Aye. You sail the whale road for joy alone.’

Ragener ignored the Viking, his eyes narrowing. ‘Something that will set king against king, and see rivers of blood spilled to win it.’

Hereward looked around with a wry expression. ‘And where is this great treasure? Not here. Only the blood of your men fills this boat.’

‘You do not have the right eyes.’

The Mercian nodded. ‘Speak, then.’

‘Hereward!’

Spinning at the sound of his name, Hereward looked back along the ship. Alric had leapt aboard and was squatting next to a bench, pointing towards a mound of sailcloth aft. ‘I saw it move. Someone hides there,’ the monk called.

‘Watch him,’ the Mercian said with a nod to Ragener. ‘I think he is more snake than hawk.’ Drawing Brainbiter, he clambered over the benches to where Alric waited, a knot of men at his back. As the vessel heaved up on the swell, he watched the sailcloth. Nothing moved.

‘I saw it!’ Alric repeated in answer to the unspoken question.

As the beat of the Mercian’s feet thudded along the deck, the mound shifted, barely perceptibly but enough for Hereward’s keen eyes. A cowardly pirate hoping to escape the judgement of the rebel crew, he guessed. Catching the edge of the filthy cloth, he yanked it up. The figure beneath lunged so fast the Mercian barely saw it. A bloodstained blade lashed out. Wrong-footed, Hereward could only watch as the short sword whisked to open up his guts.

But Alric was quicker. The monk threw himself into his friend, propelling Hereward just beyond the reach of the cutting edge. Yet the figure rising from the mound of sailcloth was as fast as a viper. It struck again, this time catching Alric a glancing blow. Stunned, he flew over the edge of the ship and into the surging waters. Within an instant, he had been sucked beneath the surface.

For a moment, Hereward could not move. For the murderous attacker who might well have claimed his friend’s life was a naked woman. Slaked in blood, seemingly as feral as a wildcat, she hunched over, spitting and snarling, and ready to slay any man who came near her.

WAVES BOOMED OVER
Alric’s head. The turbulent current’s claws wrenched him into the maw of icy darkness. Brine surged into his nose, his mouth, and for a moment the shock of the cold slapped his senses away. As he flailed in the grip of the crushing swell, he felt the candle of his life gutter.

The last of his breath seeped away. Lights flashed in the dark deep in his head. Memories rushed up as if they had been freed from a sealed vault: times he missed, faces he half knew, days he hoped he would never recall again. His father, struggling to find the words to say goodbye as the old man delivered him to the door of the monastery at Jarrow. Fierce, cruel Father Leomas thrashing him with a willow cane for failing to recite the catechism. Dark, cold nights in his cell, listening to the scratching of the rats.

The blackness clawed at the edge of his vision and he thought his chest might burst.

More memories flooded his skull, some almost too painful to bear. His hands around the throat of Hereward’s treacherous brother Redwald, throttling the life from him so that his friend could be free of that hated man’s curse. And his desperate fear that, however selfless his actions, Hereward would only despise him if he discovered the truth of his crime.

Water surged into his mouth.
I am dying
, he thought. His arms drifted to the side. His panicked movements ebbed. Soon all would be gone. Perhaps it would be for the best.

But then his mind burned with one image: a sword, raised high, glinting in the sun. Hereward, a good man who carried a devil inside him. A soul to be saved, God’s work that only he could do, for without him the devil would be free, and Hereward would kill wantonly, foe or friend, until he ultimately destroyed himself.

Once more he began to flail. He could not die, he would not. For if he did, Hereward, his friend, would be doomed. But the world was as black as pitch, he could not tell up from down, and he had no air left in his lungs.

An arm gripped him.

Instinctively, he tried to wrench himself free, but whoever was there held him fast. Strong kicks propelled him on. The water lightened. Dimly, Alric realized he was being dragged to safety. Bubbles streamed past his face. Though the swell tore at him, trying to suck him back down to the deep, his rescuer did not relent.

And then he broke the surface. With a cry, he filled his aching lungs. The waves heaved him up, tossed him around like a leaf in a winter gale. Alone, he would not have had the strength to resist.

‘Go limp, monk! You will be the death of both of us!’ It was Hereward’s voice that bawled into his ear, his friend’s arm pinning his chest.

The Mercian kicked out once more, fighting the furious force of the sea. And then, over the pounding of the water, Alric thought he could hear shouts of encouragement. In no time at all, hands were grasping his soaking tunic and he was hauled out of the waves and dumped on the sodden deck. Seawater sluiced around his face. For a long moment he lay there, gulping in deep draughts of air.

Once the darkness washed away from his thoughts, he felt a rush of passion and he all but cried in joy that he yet lived. Murmuring a prayer of thanks, he looked up, only to find he was alone.

His spear-brothers were clustered around the woman. Someone had draped a filthy cloak over her naked form. She crouched like a cornered dog, lips curled back from her teeth. A murderous look glowed in her eyes as she searched the faces of the men around her.

Alric could now see that she was not English, nor from the north countries, like the others who had sailed on that ship. Where the spray had streaked the blood on her face, dark skin showed through. Her eyes were almond-shaped and seemed to glint with gold at the core, her lips were full, and her matted hair had the lustrous sheen of raven wings. He guessed she had seen twenty-five summers. The monk had come across her kind before, on the quayside in Eoferwic and Lincylene. Strange men in loose-fitting tunics and trousers of bright amber and sapphire, thick layers of cloth wrapped around head and neck. They had journeyed from the hot lands in ships reeking of unfamiliar spices.

Alric watched the woman give Hereward an ugly look. She seemed afraid behind her anger, but she would not allow herself to show it. Yet for all the hatred that hardened her features she had a delicate beauty and a poise to the arch of her neck. Not peasant stock, this woman.

Hereward stood over her, his face like thunder. ‘What is your name?’ he growled.

The woman glared at him, uncomprehending.

‘Like as much, she does not speak our tongue,’ Kraki said, studying her. ‘Stolen from her home, I would wager. These dogs no doubt thought they could make good coin selling her as slave or whore.’

Guthrinc towered over the woman. ‘Only one? If these were slavers, they would have more on board.’

Alric watched Hereward soften as he crouched to look the prisoner in the face. Still defiant, she pressed herself back against a bench as if he might strike her. ‘This blood is fresh.’ He plucked up a length of rope, the ends frayed where they had been cut. ‘They had her bound, lying here on the deck. She would have been soaked in the blood of those who had fallen. Her bonds were cut. Likely by herself, from a fallen weapon.’

Alric stumbled over the benches as the boat swung up and down on the back of the swell. ‘Can you not see she is afrit?’ he protested. ‘She does not need fierce warriors poking and prodding her as if she were a side of meat.’

‘Aye, I see that, and more.’ Hereward ripped off a length of sailcloth and dipped it in the seawater running along the deck. He held it out to the woman and made a cleaning motion. For a moment, she held his gaze with those piercing eyes, and then she snatched the cloth from him and began to wipe the blood from her arms. As she did so, Hereward snatched her wrist and yanked it up. The woman cried out and made to strike him with a free hand, but the Mercian caught that wrist too.

‘Hereward! Leave her!’ Alric said, horrified.

‘See here,’ the warrior commanded.

Where the gore had washed from her skin, a patchwork of bruises showed, and long grooves cut into the flesh. Knife cuts.

The Mercian let go of the woman’s wrists, his features softening once again. He reached out and she recoiled, spitting, but he held his arm steady, pointing at her left eye. Alric could now see it was black and swollen. Hereward’s finger dropped to the woman’s exposed thigh. A tapestry of bruises embroidered by rough hands. ‘My words are strange to you,’ he said in a gentle tone, ‘but you may take some meaning from what I say.’ Though she still eyed him with suspicion, Alric saw she seemed to respond to his calm voice. ‘You will not be treated harshly by my men. You will be well cared for.’