support and hope. Two men are the start of an army-’
His anger rising, Hereward shoved the cleric aside and stepped out into the stinging snow before he lost his fragile control. He felt as if the world were shifting under his feet. Before he met the monk, his life had been fraught but simple, his choices clear. Association with the churchman had brought only doubt and confusion. Looking over the thatched roofs of Eoferwic, under the pall of grey smoke from the homefires, he saw that the dull red glow on the town’s southern edge had died down. He hoped his actions that day would not cost him dear.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Pressing his cheek against the icy stone wall in the shadows, Alric spied into the golden glow of the candlelit nave. The sweet scent of incense hung in the air around the copper censer. Two figures walked towards the main altar, heads bowed in reverence. A third waited near the font. Their whispers rustled around the vast, echoing interior, larger than any church the young monk had visited in his life. Thirty altars, he had been told when he accepted the Province’s hospitality, though he had not seen even a third of them. Everywhere he looked chapels had been appended, seemingly in haphazard fashion. The place had grown out of all recognition in the four hundred years since King Edwin had ordered the small wooden church that had stood on the site to be rebuilt in stone. Shadows everywhere. Hiding places aplenty. He had hoped to find a sanctuary here, but the oppressive atmosphere that hung over all Eoferwic reached even into this sanctified interior.
Who plotted? Who weaved schemes in search of power and gold? Whom could he trust? Not the archbishop, he was increasingly sure, though it pained him deeply to doubt such a great man. Alric watched Ealdred drift along the nave, the candles casting a looming, hook-nosed shadow on the far wall. His ceremonial mitre gave an odd, flat-topped appearance to the shadow’s head, distorting the figure further. Alric shivered, his breath clouding, but the archbishop would be warm in his green and purple woollen chasuble.
Ealdred was a man who understood the world of power as well as the spiritual realm, the monk knew. He had the king’s ear, and he was close to the Godwins, who wielded such great influence across England. Given a choice between the poor ceorls and the wealthy, where would he stand? Alric thought he knew.
Beside the archbishop, the earl’s wife, Judith, listened intently to the advice she was being offered. Her expression was grave, the darkness in her features emphasized by her white headdress. She wrapped herself in her green woollen cloak, the red embroidery around the hem gleaming like blood.
‘And what does the church think of these dark prophecies that consume the thoughts of the people?’ she was saying in a quiet voice. ‘They talk of voices whispering in the deep forests, and signs in the night sky. Their fears are fuelled by those who still pray to the pagan gods, I am sure. Is the world truly coming to an end?’
Ealdred clasped his hands behind his back, raising his face to the altar. ‘The Revelation of St John tells us of the End-Times. It is… a difficult work and requires much reflection and study. But the words of our own Archbishop Wulfstan come down to us. His Sermon of the Wolf to the English is much discussed by my fellow churchmen and once was proclaimed from every parish pulpit.’ The archbishop pressed two fingers on the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, remembering. ‘ This world is in haste and is drawing ever closer to its end, and it always happens that the longer it lasts, the worse it becomes. And so it must ever be, for the coming of the Anti-Christ grows ever more evil because of the sins of the people, and then truly it will be grim and terrible widely in the world.’ Ealdred opened his eyes and gave a wolfish grin as if he was revelling in the apocalyptic message.
‘And the Anti-Christ?’ Judith asked. ‘How shall we know him?’
‘We will know him, fear not. Wulfstan thought the Vikings in their dragon-ships were harbingers of the End. But now…’ Ealdred shrugged. ‘The king is fading and with no issue, England faces a time of great upheaval. Perhaps this is the time when the Wolf hunts us all.’
Judith blanched and crossed herself.
‘I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.’ The archbishop pressed his palms together. ‘We must put our faith in God who will save all good men and women. For now, a strong hand is needed to steady the course of our great ship in these turbulent waters.’ He leaned in close and gave a conspiratorial nod. ‘Now, I will leave you to your prayers. Should you require any more guidance, one of the acolytes will fetch me.’
When Ealdred’s echoing footsteps had disappeared into the depths of the church, Judith knelt before the altar and bowed her head. Studying the slump of her shoulders, Alric thought how troubled she looked.
‘Why do you spy upon my mistress?’
The monk jumped at the harsh voice. He whirled to see that the third figure had crept up on him. It was a woman with a face like the snow outside and hair the colour of raven’s wings. ‘I… I…’ he stuttered.
‘Answer me,’ she hissed, leaning in close. Her eyes were like black pebbles.
Alric thought quickly. He couldn’t say that he was spying on any visitor from Tostig’s hall who might reveal the earl’s plans to deal with the simmering conflict across Eoferwic. ‘I would have news about a… a friend…’ His words tailed away. The woman’s stare was unsettling, and he decided he did not like her.
‘What friend?’
‘His name is Hereward. We travelled to Eoferwic together-’
‘Hereward?’ Her eyes flashed in recognition, but she hid the first glimmer of her feelings before he divined them. ‘What do you know of him?’
‘That he is a good man who hides his true nature behind a fierce face.’
Her laughter reminded him of stones falling on a frozen river. ‘My name is Acha. I will take you to my mistress once she has finished her prayers and you can ask her all you wish to know.’
The monk told her his name and thanked her, though he would now have to spin his lie further. Acha did not soften, but they exchanged a courteous conversation about the festivities the earl planned for Christmas. His men had already selected the Yule log, which Ealdred himself would bless, and the holly and mistletoe would soon be collected. All-spice, nutmeg and cinnamon were ready for the baking of the festive cakes.
When Judith had finished her prayers, Acha led Alric over and introduced him. The younger woman stepped back, but listened with what the monk thought was keen interest. The countess’s face softened when Alric told her of his mission to take the Word to the villages of Northumbria that did not yet have a church or a priest. The monk had heard that Judith was a pious woman who had made many gifts to the church of St Cuthbert in Dun Holme. Learned, too; she was said to own many books and illuminated manuscripts. She seemed surprisingly keen when the monk mentioned Hereward’s name and spoke of the warrior with clear warmth.
‘You knew him before he came to Eoferwic?’ Acha asked.
The countess smiled at the younger woman’s interest. ‘Yes, I knew him. At court.’
‘Hereward was at court?’ Unable to hide the shock in his voice, Alric was filled with a crimson vision of the warrior rising from the pool of blood, eyes glinting with uncivilized fury.
Judith laughed. ‘He is your friend, and you know nothing about him?’
‘I know him better than he knows himself,’ the monk asserted, ‘but of the events of his life I know nothing at all.’
‘Tell us,’ Acha urged her mistress, unable to hide her curiosity.
‘I remember a boy of barely twelve summers looking as if a great wind had blown him into the king’s hall, golden hair filled with straw and dirt and bruises and dried blood smearing his face. He was a fighter even then, and a trouble to his father, Asketil, one of the king’s thegns. Though he had a singing voice that could reduce men to tears and a face of beauty and innocence, there were some who said the Devil lived in his heart.’ She looked from Acha to Alric, a shadow crossing her face. ‘In his Mercian home, he and a band of friends were responsible for such unrest that Asketil feared for his son’s safety. The boys were like wolves, untamed, they say. Stealing. Fighting. Burning barns. Attacking good men and women. Unable to control the boy, Asketil brought him to court where he hoped his son would learn to be an honourable man. Hereward promptly ran back to Mercia and hid for more than a year in the wilds.’
Acha covered her mouth to hide a laugh. ‘And his mother? I have never seen a good wife who could not bring a child to heel with the side of her hand or the sharp of her tongue.’
Judith gave a sad smile. ‘The boy’s mother was taken by God when he was young. Asketil is as unbending as an oak and as cold as the ground outside this church. He played little part in the boy’s upbringing, preferring to devote himself to the king’s business and his own needs. Though he hides a hot temper. I found Hereward once so
