Hereward 03 - End of Days (29 page)

The hubbub was rising from somewhere near the gates. He shook the last of the sleep from his head and tried to comprehend what he was hearing. The rest of Ely still slumbered. No smoke rose from the hearth-fires. As he trudged over curled leaves crisp with frost, he decided the voices were not urgent enough to signify an attack. Names were called. Orders were shouted.

The sound of running feet drew near, and Sighard and Madulf dashed from among the huts. Worry cast a shadow over their features.

‘Hereward,’ Sighard called. ‘We were coming to wake you.’

‘What is amiss?’

‘It is Morcar,’ Madulf gasped, resting his hands on his knees
to catch his breath. ‘He is taking his leave of Ely. And his army goes with him.’

Hereward frowned. Morcar, never trustworthy, always seeking his own gain. What was he hoping to achieve now?

He pushed past the other two men and loped down to the gates. Morcar’s men milled around the walls, spilling out on to the track leading down the slope away from Ely. They were bleary-eyed and sullen at being stirred to action so early. Hereward thrust his way into the throng, throwing bodies aside as he searched for the earl.

He found the nobleman in deep conversation with one of his commanders. When the warrior neared, Morcar eyed him slyly, running one hand through his straggly blond hair.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Hereward tried to keep his tone civil. The earl was thin-skinned and easily aggrieved. If Morcar took offence, there would be no reasoning with him.

‘We have fought well together as brothers,’ the earl replied with an unconvincing smile, ‘but it is now time for us to part ways.’

‘We have won a battle, not the war. There is still fighting to be done,’ Hereward said, too sharply. He tried to read the plan he saw flickering behind the other man’s eyes. Was this some ploy to gain a greater commitment from Hereward, perhaps the support of the English for Morcar’s own bid for the crown?

‘Our fighting is done,’ Morcar replied, swinging one arm out to indicate his army. ‘I gave my spears to you, as promised. But this agreement was not for all time.’

Hereward leaned in and said in a low voice so the others would not hear, ‘You know we cannot defeat the king without your force.’

Morcar laughed. ‘Where is the fire in your breast? The great Hereward! You can do aught that you set your mind to. The English will rise when you call to them. You will have an army greater than the few you see here. No, you have no need of us.’

Hereward gritted his teeth. Not a word that left the earl’s lips rang true.

Kraki pushed his way alongside, scowling with fury. ‘They have robbed us of our supplies,’ he snarled.

‘A few morsels for the road.’ Morcar showed an innocent face. ‘Would you see us starve?’

‘Morsels? There is barely enough left to feed us,’ the Viking raged. Hereward stretched out an arm to hold him back.

‘The king is wounded, not dead, and that is when he is at his most dangerous. You said so yourself,’ Hereward insisted. ‘If you think this business done, or if you think you can bargain with him, you will find his teeth sunk in you in no time.’

Morcar only laughed. Hereward fought to hold back his rage. They were so close to victory he could almost taste it, yet in playing his games of ambition Morcar could snatch it away from them. His hand closed on the hilt of his sword.

Morcar saw the move and the false humour drained from his face. ‘It will only benefit the king if we slaughter each other,’ he said.

‘It would be worth any price to see a snake put to death,’ Kraki raged.

Hereward withdrew his hand. Morcar was right. The earl would fight out of pride, and they would tear each other apart. He had no choice. ‘Let them go,’ he said.

‘And leave us short of food and men,’ Kraki protested.

‘Let them go,’ Hereward thundered.

‘I am taking one of your scouts to lead me along the secret path,’ Morcar said. ‘Those waters are treacherous and I could never navigate them alone.’ Hereward felt sickened to see that triumphant grin.

‘May they suck you down to Hel,’ Kraki snarled.

Hereward drew the Northman away, barely able to control his own anger. When they were out of the crowd, he said, ‘Morcar is right about one thing. Once our messengers spread the word and the English rise up, this morn will be forgotten.’ He forced a grin, knowing he would have to work hard to keep spirits high. Kraki grunted, unconvinced.

As he walked up the slope, Hereward refused to look back.
He could hear Morcar’s men beginning to sing as they started their long trek away from Ely. First the arm of St Oswald was stolen, and now this. But he would not be downhearted. Victory was still within their grasp.

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY
-T
HREE

BLOOD STREAMED DOWN
the man’s face. He blinked away the puddle in his socket and looked up into the face of the devil. Harald Redteeth grinned.

The Viking’s fingers were knotted in the front of the wounded man’s stained tunic and he raised him up slowly, staring deep into those terrified eyes. There was a power in watching a man die, in seeing the light slowly fade in the black of the pupil. It was an honour too. For that privilege, every warrior owed a debt to those they had slain, and in return should take a moment to usher them over the threshold into the Hall of the Fallen.

‘You are not the first messenger to die,’ he said, giving the man a shake so that droplets splattered from the gaping wound on the side of his head.

Behind him, horses snorted. The Norman hunting band waited further along the track that this man would have taken to Mercia. Redteeth could feel the eyes of Deda upon his back. ‘Do not mourn for the life you have lost,’ he continued. ‘Nor should you think you have failed. There was never any hope of success.’

The man whimpered. Blood bubbled between his lips.

The Viking tapped the blade of his axe against the side of his victim’s head. ‘The English will never hear the call from Ely. We knew Hereward would send you messengers out. We knew when, and we knew where. We have eyes and ears in your camp. Every one of you who set forth now lies dead.’

In his last moments, the messenger seemed to find some depths of courage. His mouth hardened and his eyes grew cold. Redteeth felt proud of him for that. ‘You will never defeat the English,’ the man said.

In the trees waving in the breeze, Harald could hear the
alfar
laughing. He laughed too. ‘The English are doomed. The king has sent out his own messengers, and they will tell all they meet that the men at Ely have been routed. No one will answer Hereward’s call. What is left of your army is trapped on that isle. Time is short. The end of their days is close.’

The bravado drained from the messenger’s face. His sacrifice was for naught.

‘You will have a good death,’ Redteeth said. Snagging his fingers in the man’s hair, he yanked, and swung his axe.

With a grin, he held up the head for the Normans to see. Their faces were like granite. Deda, though, looked away into the willows. Something had been troubling him ever since they had left Branduna.

Redteeth wandered back to the knot of riders, swinging the head beside him. He hummed the tune that the
alfar
had taught him, the song of the dead as they walked the grey roads. ‘We are done here,’ he called to Deda, ignoring the other men. ‘Let us ride hard. We can be drinking before the sun sets.’

Deda forced a smile. ‘A day well spent at harvest,’ he said with little humour.

Hoofbeats echoed from further along the road. Another band of Normans rode up, ten of them, and at their head was the king’s new dog, Redwald. Redteeth spat. The man had the face of an innocent child and a heart as rotten and black as any man the Viking had encountered.

Redwald brought his mount to a halt. His gaze flickered over
Redteeth, as suspicious of the Viking as Harald was of him. Then he turned his attention to Deda. ‘You are to come with me,’ he said. ‘The king’s orders.’

‘I do not hear the king’s voice,’ Redteeth said. He raised the head he was holding and peered into the dead eyes.

‘I speak for him. You know that,’ the younger man said, his cheeks colouring.

The Viking feigned distraction. He imagined hauling the Englishman into the trees and hacking his head from his shoulders. The notion pleased him.

His faint smile must have offended Redwald for he snapped, ‘You have no voice here. I could see you killed.’

Redteeth looked up at him and grinned. He would not be able to rest until this bastard was dead, he knew that. And he could see from the other man’s eyes that Redwald felt the same. The Northman turned his gaze to Deda and communicated his thoughts with a smile and a nod. The knight sighed and shook his head.

Annoyed, Redwald snapped, ‘Follow me,’ and urged his horse away. Redteeth clambered on to his own mount. Before they rode off, Deda leaned in and whispered, ‘Every thought that passes through your head does not need to crawl out of your lips. You would do well not to anger that one needlessly.’

The Viking snorted. ‘He is nothing. Less than that.’

‘Still, I would take care. I know his kind. He is a viper, and you may well find that his poison will kill you days after the bite.’

They rode east along the road, deep into the fenlands. The growing shadows had begun to pool among the trees when Redwald brought them to a halt. He beckoned Deda over and exchanged a few words with him. Suspicious, Redteeth watched as the Normans tethered their horses and then slipped into the woods until they were lost in the gathering gloom.

‘Follow my lead. Say nothing,’ Redwald muttered to the Viking. ‘You will not need your axe unless I am attacked.’

‘You trust me to defend you?’

‘You are responsible for me. If I die, the others will tell the king and he will hunt you down like a rat.’

‘You think the king cares aught for you? You serve his purpose, for now, like the girls who bring him wine.’

Redwald ignored him, coaxing his horse into the gloom. They followed the track until it began a slow descent into a hollow. Through the ash trees ahead, Redteeth could see a campfire flickering. The whistle of a sentry rang out. Within moments, a wall of spears encircled them. Puzzled, the Viking looked around at the cold-eyed Englishmen peering at him over their shields.

‘I am here for Earl Morcar,’ Redwald said in a clear voice.

The Viking frowned. More of the king’s manipulations? Had he truly prised Hereward’s closest ally away from the fold?

Soon enough, the earl wandered from the direction of the campfire, surrounded by six of his huscarls, Northmen all, in furs and mail shirts and helms. He looked Redwald up and down with some suspicion, but Redteeth saw that the nobleman’s eyes gleamed with hunger. ‘You have news?’ he said.

‘Aye, but not here.’ Redwald looked at the rows of spears and held out his hands. ‘I have come unarmed, alone apart from this one guard who will protect me from the thieves who roam in these woods.’

‘Where, then?’ the earl asked.

Redwald pointed up the slope. ‘Bring your huscarls, if you are afrit.’ He smiled, pretending to be warm. Morcar’s cheeks flushed, but he nodded.

The Viking rode close enough to the two men to eavesdrop as they rode back the way they had come. ‘All is in place?’ the earl asked with a sly smile.

‘The king’s power is fading fast,’ Redwald replied. ‘Many nobles are ready to move against him. You know these Normans … they plot and kill their own in search of power. That is the Norman way.’

‘And this disarray will leave the way open for me to claim the crown,’ the nobleman affirmed with a nod.

‘The English have not forgotten the name of Earl Morcar, or the power you wielded alongside your brother Edwin. It will take a strong hand to hold the crown. Who better than you?’

‘First, I must talk to those who will support me.’

Redwald nodded. ‘I will give you their names when we have reached our agreement.’

‘I remember you from the court,’ Morcar said, glancing up at the other man. ‘You had the ear of Harold Godwinson. He thought you loyal.’

‘Aye, loyal I am,’ Redwald replied.

To yourself
, the Viking thought.

They reached the lip of the hollow and continued through the growing gloom. Redteeth watched Morcar smile to himself, his hunger growing with each step. No doubt he was lost to visions of a gold crown sitting on his head as he took the throne in Wincestre.

One of the huscarls muttered in his master’s ear, and the earl asked, ‘How much further?’

‘I have made camp here,’ Redwald said, pointing into the dark among the trees. ‘There is salt pork and bread and ale.’

Licking his lips, Morcar nodded. ‘My huscarls will keep watch so we are not disturbed. And once we have agreed …’

His words died in his throat as grey shapes rose up from the bracken on every side. The Normans rushed the group, swords drawn. Two huscarls were dead before they even realized they had been attacked. The others whipped up their axes, but they were surrounded in an instant. Swords flew up and came down, again and again. Redteeth glanced back to see if any of the army had heard the attack, but Redwald was clever. He had put enough space between them.

Morcar gaped, scarce able to believe he had been betrayed.

‘Take him back to Branduna,’ Redwald said to the Normans. A small smile flickered on his lips as he looked across at his captive. ‘The king wishes to make you his guest in Wincestre. For many days to come.’

Horror dawned on the earl’s face.

Once he had been herded away, Redwald grinned to himself. He seemed oblivious of anyone else’s presence, the Viking thought. As the traitor faded into the dark of the woods in the Normans’ wake, Redteeth heard his voice float back: ‘And so begins the end.’

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY
-F
OUR

SIX DEAD RABBITS
swung from the stick. Waterfowl hung from another rod, swaying as the men carried them along the narrow flint causeway. Guthrinc hummed to himself as he looked towards the dark clouds gathering in the north. Nothing seemed to trouble this giant of a man, Hereward thought, not hunger, not the hardship of a long trek through the wetlands nor the threat of more fighting to come.