Hereward by James Wilde Read Free Book Online Page B

growled.
    ‘It is the end of your story,’ Hereward replied. ‘Except for the part where the ravens feast on your remains.’
    ‘You should have left well alone,’ Alric added.
    ‘Good Christian man,’ Redteeth spat.
    The monk was a strange man, Hereward thought, but he might have his uses. Turning his back on the glowering Viking, he said, ‘You are a free man now. What will you do? Return to your monastery?’
    Alric hung his head. ‘I am not free. If Harald Redteeth does not return with my head, another will come in his place, and another after that, until this matter is done.’ His eyes flickered in the direction of Gedley. ‘I will never be free.’
    ‘I have business in Eoferwic … grim business,’ Hereward said, searching the other’s face for even the barest hint that betrayal lay ahead, ‘and I cannot risk becoming food for the wolves.’
    The monk’s eyes narrowed. ‘What manner of business?’
    Hereward hesitated. How could he tell the younger man that it involved murder, conspiracy and the security of the very throne of England itself when he had no idea who could be trusted or how far the plot reached? ‘There are lives at stake,’ he said. ‘More, perhaps, than died in Gedley.’
    ‘You butcher without thought for God’s work. Why would you be concerned with saving lives?’
    ‘We all wrestle with our devils, monk. Can any man truly say he is wholly saint or wholly sinner?’
    Alric’s eyes brightened as if he had alighted on some great notion. Waving a finger, he said, ‘And you would have me accompany you?’
    ‘If I can be sure you will not pass judgement on me on the road, as it seems in your nature to do.’ He could feel his legs growing weaker by the moment. They would need to find new shelter, and a chance to recover. ‘These wounds drag me down. You are right: I will never reach Eoferwic on my own.’
    The monk pondered.
    ‘I will pay you well,’ the warrior added, jangling the pouch at his hip.
    ‘Very well,’ Alric said, setting his jaw. ‘You need me now, and I, God help me, need you for protection, at least until we reach Eoferwic.’
    Hereward clapped a weak hand on his companion’s shoulder. ‘You are a whining little shit, monk, with a miserable disposition that makes for poor company. But if we can survive the hardships of this wild land, I will shoulder the burden.’
    While Alric cast one tormented backward glance at the Viking balancing on the block, Hereward felt the weight of the secret he carried with him. With a heavy heart, he peered among the clustering oaks and ash trees, but saw no sign of the pursuit that had dogged him for so long. Perhaps there was some hope after all, he thought.
    As Hereward lurched away with Alric supporting him, Redteeth roared his defiance: ‘This is not an ending!’
    If Hereward had searched the depths of the Viking’s eyes at that moment, he would have seen that Redteeth was right. It was not an ending. The red-bearded Northman would not give in to death.
    He was Death.

C HAPTER S EVEN
    ‘HARALD REDTEETH IS dead. Why do you waste so much time watching for pursuers?’ Alric struggled to keep the crack out of his voice, but he felt irritable from exhaustion and hunger and the bitter wind burrowing deep into his bones.
    Hereward crouched on the granite outcropping, one hand shielding his eyes from the midday sun. Now his wounds had healed, the sinewy warrior showed no sign of feeling the cold as he searched the bleak, white landscape tumbling away from the foot of the hillside below them. There were times when the young monk thought his companion more beast than man, at home in the wild countryside, perceiving scents that Alric could never smell on the knife-sharp wind, identifying spoor, detecting the merest hint of movement a day’s march away or more, hearing notes of warning in the cawing of the rooks, and, for all he knew, the voice of God in the soughing in the branches.
    ‘Men move through the forest below.’