badly beaten he could not stand.’
‘His father?’ Alric asked.
Judith nodded. ‘Asketil swung between uninterest and dealing out beatings that no just man would inflict on a beast. Yet Hereward wanted for nothing. The monks at Peterborough gave him schooling. He learned to play the harp. On his father’s estates he was trained in fighting with spear, axe and sword, and he became a fine horseman. He learned the secrets of the watermen of the fens. He hunted boar and waterfowl and he was adept at hawking. And yet as the years passed, he caused such a tumult in Mercia that it was as if he cared for no man or woman.’
‘I cannot believe that,’ Alric put in.
‘Nor I,’ the countess said with a nod. ‘He was a lost soul, but inside I saw a spark of goodness, if only someone could fan it into a flame.’
Alric felt his spirit rise. It was almost as if Judith were speaking directly to him.
‘Perhaps it is too late,’ Acha mused. ‘Those who saw his treatment of Thangbrand said he was more beast than man. And I would agree.’
‘Perhaps.’ Judith rubbed her hands together to warm them. ‘Asketil brought him back to court and kept him there for three summers, and though there were moments of fighting and drunkenness that shamed his father, he did seem to find some peace. When he returned to Mercia on the brink of manhood, I hoped he would escape the devils that haunted him.’
‘And now he is in Eoferwic.’ Acha stroked the tip of her index finger along her full lips. ‘And no one knows why, for he refuses to tell a soul of his true reasons for being here.’
‘His sword-arm is a valuable addition to the huscarls in these turbulent times,’ Judith said. ‘He is the best warrior here. At court, the men said he was unbeatable in battle because he has no fear.’
Because he cares for nothing, not even himself, the monk thought. He watched the raven-haired woman from the corner of his eye. Her expression was thoughtful, and he wondered what was passing through her head.
‘Mercia’s loss is Northumbria’s gain. Hereward will serve us well here, I think. Now, this cold reaches deep into my bones and I would spend some time by my own hearth.’ Judith was about to walk away along the nave when she added, ‘Would you like me to remember you to your friend?’
‘Thank you, Countess, but that is not necessary,’ Alric replied with a polite smile. ‘I will see him again soon enough.’
The tap-tap-tap of the two women’s leather soles faded into the gloom. Just before the shadows folded around her, Acha glanced back and the monk thought he glimpsed something fierce in her face, a desire, perhaps, to seize an opportunity with both hands and never let it go.
Alone in the nave, Alric wondered what to do now. There was enough work in the church to keep him occupied until long after sunset, but then Wulfhere and some of the other men were meeting in secret to discuss their next move. The monk hoped to persuade the rebellious group to concentrate their efforts on urging the thegns to change the earl’s mind, perhaps after Twelfth Night when Tostig would be replete and rested, without bloodshed or further burning.
Walking slowly towards the altar, he was distracted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Ealdred appeared, but Alric’s smile of greeting froze on his face when he saw that the archbishop was not alone. Four men stood in the shadows behind the churchman, but the monk was rooted by the sight of the red-bearded Viking at Ealdred’s side.
Harald Redteeth grinned, raising one muscular arm to point at Alric. ‘That one,’ he said. ‘His hands are red with a woman’s blood. He is a murderer who attempted to flee the punishment for his crime. Now he must pay the price for his sin.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
On the snow-covered bank of the grey river, in the teeth of a bitter wind, Hereward watched the sailors tie up a ship laden with lapis lazuli, amethyst pendants and silk brought from the lands beyond the whale road. It would be the last vessel to visit Eoferwic before the port closed for Christmas, for no one worked during the Twelve Days. The seamen, skin lashed red by the wind and the icy sea spray, struggled to work their frozen fingers despite the thick furs and leather they wore against the cold.
‘News from the south?’ the warrior asked a weary Saxon fumbling a knot on the rope looped round the wooden post by the jetty. Hereward had hoped the messenger Tostig had sent to warn the king would have returned by now to report that Edwin of Mercia had been imprisoned.
‘It’s cold,’ the sailor grunted without raising his eyes.
‘Is your blood as cold as the fish that swim in the river?’ The voice at Hereward’s back was laced with mockery. He turned to see Acha, her pale face peering from the depths of a hood, a wry smile playing on her lips. ‘I cannot think of another reason why you would shun the fire on this icy day.’
‘You follow me out into the winter gale to torment me now?’
‘Torment? You are too sensitive. When I first saw you, I thought you a man who liked to play rough and tumble.’
At the clear tease in her voice, Hereward looked at her sharply, trying to guess what game she played. His instinct told him she was trying to keep him off-kilter. He felt sure she was used to making men run like dogs. ‘Leave me be. I have no time for your diversions.’
He was surprised when she did not take offence, and instead slipped her arm through his. She leaned in close to breathe in his ear. ‘Come. There is someone you should meet. And later, more comfort than you will ever find on these frozen banks.’
The promise hung in the icy air for a moment, then Hereward allowed himself to be led back into the filthy streets of Eoferwic. Under the pall of woodsmoke, the people were eagerly anticipating the coming feast and relief from daily toil, if only for a while. Faces were flushed and eyes gleamed. Freshly cut holly twisted round doorways, and sweating men dragged Yule logs across the frozen mud to their hearths. Under twirls of milky-berried mistletoe, men stole kisses from young women as they had done since the days of their most distant ancestors. Over the rooftops rang the squeals of the pigs and the honking of the geese facing slaughter.
‘You are allowed greater freedom than many slaves,’ Hereward said as Acha picked a narrow path into one of the oldest, dirtiest parts of the town.
‘My reward for serving my mistress well.’
‘I have watched you. You are filled with fire, and your tongue is as sharp as a knife, but you bite it whenever the earl or his wife is around.’
‘We all do what we do to survive.’ She skirted a spoil-heap where two hollow-stomached dogs fought over a cow bone, snapping and snarling.
‘But you are not at ease with your lot.’
‘You see that, do you?’ Her eyes flashed.
Hereward saw more than she realized. Her flinty exterior hid a deep, unfocused yearning, much like the one he felt himself. He had never known peace, and Acha, too, was filled with unease, he was sure. The warrior knew that she thought escaping back to her homeland of mountains and forests would still the incessant drone in her head, but he guessed that the source of her troubles lay deeper than that. Perhaps it was the curse of all men and women that no one could see the road that would take them safely through the wilderness.
‘Your king, Gruffyd ap Llywelyn, is raiding England once again. You know King Edward will not allow that to continue. Your people will face a bloody response.’
‘Do not treat me like a girl,’ she snapped. ‘I know many things, and more than you. I know Edward is to discuss the English response at his Christmas court at Gloucester, the court Earl Tostig cannot attend because of the troubles here in Eoferwic. But he will be asked to invade Gwynedd and Powis to drive Gruffyd ap Llywelyn back, there is no doubt of that.’
‘You keep your eyes and ears open in your mistress’s presence, I see. Do you hope that your knowledge of your homeland might be of use to Earl Tostig should such an invasion arise? Perhaps that he might take you back to the Cymri? And then what? An escape? The information you have gathered on the earl would be of great value to
