Hereward 03 - End of Days (6 page)

‘We hide no one,’ the Viking continued, pacing around the circle of bowed heads, ‘because we do not know who committed these crimes. Nor do you.’

‘The knife …’ someone began.

‘The knife was stolen,’ Kraki barked. ‘But we will find who spilled innocent blood, and they will be punished. That is my oath. Now, return to your homes.’

The men and women lingered for a moment, not satisfied by what they had heard. Then one by one they began to drift away, sullen eyes darting back to the band of warriors.

When the crowd had dissipated, Alric marched over to Kraki. ‘What has put the fire in them?’

‘Another murder,’ Kraki grunted. ‘A woman from the Camp of Refuge, strangled and thrown into the waters.’

The monk bowed his head. ‘And they blame Hereward’s army?’

‘Aye. When we came here, we turned their lives on their heads.’ The Viking hawked phlegm and spat. ‘But mostly they
blame Hengist. His knife was found by the body of Oswyn the potter. Stolen, he says.’ He shrugged.

‘You do not trust him? He has always been loyal—’

‘I do not trust anyone any more,’ Kraki snarled with such ferocity that Alric took a step back. ‘Since Hereward has gone, we bicker and fight. Now this … Soon the folk here will drive us out of Ely. What then for the last hope of the English?’

Alric felt his heart fall. Hope was thin on the ground.

‘And while we tear ourselves apart here in Ely, the king does not rest. Come with me. There is a man you must meet, a new arrival in the camp.’ The Northman turned on his heel and strode up the hill, lowering his broad shoulders to thrust his way through the throng.

He led Alric and the abbot among the houses, past the piles of refuse reeking of rot, and the wells, to a hovel which looked as though it had been built in less than a day. The walls were packed with still-drying blocks of mud among the wood. Sods of turf had been laid across the low roof. They had to stoop to enter.

Smoke from the hearth hung in the air. Through the haze, the monk glimpsed a man sitting against the far wall. He barely murmured a word as they approached.

‘Cuthwin, I have brought two churchmen to see you,’ Kraki said in a hushed voice. ‘They would hear the tales you have brought back from the great north road.’

Once Alric’s eyes had adjusted to the gloom, he flinched. The sitting man was dressed in little more than filthy rags and he smelled of loam and sharp fear-sweat. His limbs hung limply, so thin the monk could have encircled his forearm in finger and thumb. But his face was the worst. Alric saw it had been ravaged by fire, one side blackened from forehead to jaw, the other bubbling with cracked blisters from the cheekbone down. One eye was milky with sightlessness, and he seemed half blind in the other. It was truly God’s miracle that he still lived.

Cuthwin moistened his lips and tried to lift his head, but so weak was he it rocked back against the wall.

‘Leave him be,’ Alric whispered to Kraki. ‘He needs rest, a chance to … to recover.’

‘No. You must hear his words,’ the Northman insisted. ‘Tell them, Cuthwin, of the north, as you told me when you were carried through the gates of Ely. Tell them what William the Bastard has left behind in his wake.’

‘Hell.’ The word rustled out into the still of the hut. In a rasping voice, Cuthwin continued, ‘The north is nothing but a wasteland, filled with the dead and the rats that feed upon them.’

‘Do not punish him so,’ Alric murmured. ‘We know the king throttled the life out of the north.’

‘Listen to him,’ Kraki said, his eyes blazing. He dropped to his haunches and rested one hand on the wounded man’s shoulder. ‘Tell them what the Bastard did.’

For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind soughing through the roof, and then Cuthwin began in a faltering voice that took on strength as the terrible memories rushed back to him. ‘The king came with his great army and destroyed everything in his path. All were put to the sword. Babes in arms and white-haired grandfathers too feeble to lift a bowl to their lips. Cut down in front of their wives and mothers. The bodies … some were burned, others thrown in ditches. The women and girls were raped. They were English, not Norman, you see. Then the Bastard’s men burned the barns, and the houses, and destroyed all the food we had stored to see us through the winter. Then the fields were salted so that nothing would grow in the spring. Even that was not enough. The army went from village to village. They sent out war-bands to hound any men who fled, tracking them through the woods and across the hillsides as if they were hunting meat for the king’s larder. A few escaped southwards, like me, more by luck than judgement.’

‘You were saved by God,’ Thurstan insisted.

When Alric looked over the man’s ruined face, he could not believe that was an act of mercy.

‘Those who did not come south, but hid out in the hills,
fared worse,’ Cuthwin croaked. ‘In the bitter cold of the winter, they ate the horses, then they ate the dogs. And then, God help them, they fed on themselves.’

Thurstan recoiled, crossing himself. ‘This cannot be. No man would stoop to such a foul act. Whoever told you these things was lying.’

Alric watched the wounded man’s hand tremble. He had not been told these tales.

Kraki seemed to understand too. ‘Go on,’ he said with an unfamiliar note of gentleness in his voice.

‘The sickness came soon after, taking the women who had been left to suffer. There is God’s charity,’ he said with bitterness. ‘Now there is nothing left beyond Eoferwic.’

‘Nothing?’ Alric repeated, hoping he had misheard.

Cuthwin shook his head. ‘Only a wasteland remains. More died in one season than in any battles I have heard tell of. This was not war, it was slaughter. This was cruelty beyond any we have ever known.’ He grabbed Kraki’s arm with a burst of passion. ‘What man could do such a thing? A man who calls himself king! He is the Devil; he can be no other.’ He pulled Kraki in closer and hissed, ‘The English must never forget. Hereward must avenge us.’

He slumped back, so still once more that Alric thought he had died until he saw the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest.

Kraki led them out into the chill afternoon. Their breath had begun to steam. ‘Why do you show us this?’ Alric enquired.

‘So you know what awaits us in the days to come.’ Kraki held the monk’s gaze for a long moment, his eyes like deep water, and then he marched off towards the church on the top of the hill.

When they caught up with him, he was already seated at the table in the refectory, swilling beer. At the head of the table, Guthrinc gnawed on a goose leg. He wiped the grease from his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded as the two churchmen entered. Hengist limped around the room. His
madness came and went these days – the wound left by the slaughter of his kin would never heal completely – but at that moment he was kneading his hands and muttering to himself, his filthy blond hair hanging across his face. Sighard was there too.

‘Sit your arse down, monk. We have much to discuss,’ Kraki growled. He called to one of the girls to bring stew to warm the bellies of the travellers, and beer. Once he was seated, Alric searched the faces of those around the table. Worry gnawed at them, as it had eaten its way into Alric’s bones on the journey south.

‘Close the door,’ Kraki barked, yelling to the guard outside. ‘Let no one come in while we talk.’

The door groaned shut.

‘No news of Hereward?’ Thurstan asked as he took his seat. ‘Hereward is not here.’ Kraki slammed down his cup. ‘He has left us to fight this cursed war on our own. And fight it we shall.’

Hengist stopped his pacing and leaned on the table with both hands. ‘I had a dream last night, that I walked under a hot sun and there was sand as far as the eye could see. And though I cried out for water, there was none. What does this mean? Is it a portent?’ He looked to Thurstan.

‘God speaks to us in dreams,’ the abbot replied. ‘This we are told. But I would ponder upon your vision for a while before I give you the answer you need.’

‘Dreams!’ Kraki said, clenching his fist. ‘Let us speak of the here and now, before Ely is swamped in a tide of blood.’

Alric leaned forward and held out his hands. ‘I do not understand this talk of portents and blood. When I set off for Bottisham, we searched for Hereward, yes, but we also made plans to take this war beyond the fens, to the king’s door, if necessary.’

‘All that has changed.’ Kraki wagged a finger at Sighard and ordered him to speak. In a clear voice, the red-headed man told of the Norman force sweeping in from the west and the
message of the murdered scout. When he was done, Kraki boomed his own account of the king’s army venturing further into the fens than it ever had before, and in greater numbers. But when he spoke of the siege machines floating across what they had perceived to be the impassable waters of the east, Alric felt his heart sink.

‘The king has sent out men from Grentabrige to close the roads from the south,’ the monk added. ‘He tries to throttle us … cut off our trade and keep out the men who come to join our army.’

‘And he has tried to throttle us before,’ Guthrinc mused. ‘Why should this time be any different?’

Kraki poured himself another beer and hugged it between his palms as he stared into the brown depths. ‘The king is cunning,’ he reiterated. ‘Some plan will be burning in the dark of his head.’

‘The danger,’ Thurstan suggested, ‘is that you find out what that plan is too late to stop it.’ His words might have sounded harsh, but Alric knew every man there was thinking the same thing.

Guthrinc cracked his knuckles. ‘Now Earl Morcar has brought his men to Ely to stand with us, we have an army that could make the king quake. Our fangs are as sharp as the Bastard’s, and we have a fortress better than any he can claim. I say we keep strong, and hold fast to the plans we have made. Soon we will be ready to strike out beyond the fens.’ He looked from one man to the next. ‘When we rout the king’s men at our first battle, the English will race to our standard. William will be outnumbered, surrounded and driven back across the whale road to Normandy. Or he will stand and fight and his head will sit atop the gate at the palace at Wincestre. His choice.’

‘I know I do not have a wise head like all others here,’ Sighard interrupted, ‘but we know the king cannot bring his army within a day’s march of Ely. We are safe. Safe to plan. Safe to strike when we are ready.’

‘The king is cunning,’ Kraki insisted. ‘We do not know his mind. But we must fathom it, and soon.’

The mood in the refectory had grown almost unbearable. All seemed happy to draw the discussion to a close so they could be alone with their thoughts. The council reached agreement to send out more scouts, though three had already been killed by the Normans that week. Risks would have to be taken if they were to learn the king’s plans.

Before they could rise from their benches, the door crashed open and a red-faced monk raced in. ‘Murder,’ he gasped. ‘Another murder.’

Kraki bellowed a curse. ‘Take us there.’

The monk led the men beyond the gates and down the slopes to where the waters lapped against the isle. In the trees, not far from the narrow wooden jetty where the small fishing boats were moored, the shaking cleric stopped and pointed.

Kraki grabbed him by the shoulders and growled, ‘You will speak of this to no one, do you hear me?’

Abbot Thurstan nodded his support for the implied threat in those words. Relieved to be released from his burden, the monk hurried back up the hill.

In the fading light, the men gathered around the pale remains. It was a man, though at first barely recognizable from his wounds. An axe had been taken to him, Alric noted with disgust.

‘No God-fearing soul could have committed such a crime. This is the work of the Devil,’ the abbot gasped, horrified by the extent of the injuries.

‘Aye, or a madman,’ Kraki snapped, whirling around and bearing down upon Hengist. ‘What have you done?’ he roared.

Hengist threw himself back, waving his arms impotently in front of him. ‘It was not me,’ he protested.

‘You lie.’ Lost to his rage, the Viking grabbed the smaller man’s tunic and swung up his axe.

Guthrinc and Sighard snatched Kraki’s arms and wrestled him back. ‘You destroy all we have built here,’ the Viking spat.

‘I did not do this thing, I swear,’ Hengist proclaimed. He was shaking.

‘There is naught to be gained by tearing ourselves apart,’ Guthrinc said, his quiet voice bringing calm.

Kraki let his weapon fall. ‘If not Hengist, then who?’ he growled. He looked around the circle of grim faces, but no one had any answers.

Alric knelt beside the corpse. ‘I … I think I know him. A fisherman. I read the scripture to his son.’

Thurstan crossed himself. ‘Another innocent. We must pray for him—’

‘No,’ Kraki said. ‘Tie rocks to him and throw him into Dedman’s Bog.’

Aghast, Alric jumped to his feet. ‘We cannot do that.’

‘His kin must be told, so they can mourn for him,’ Sighard protested.

The Viking snatched a handful of Sighard’s tunic and all but dragged him forward. ‘If you weaken here, we will lose everything. Do you hear me?’ He hurled the younger man to one side and strode around the others. ‘One more innocent death will turn all Ely against us. They will drive us out. And once we are away from this fortress, the king will hunt us down like rabbits.’

Guthrinc nodded. ‘What choice do we have?’

‘This,’ Alric began, ‘is worthy of William the Bastard. Are we not better?’

‘What do you suggest, monk?’ Kraki snarled. ‘Turn the other cheek and die, and have all that we fought for die with us? This war has dragged us all down into the mud. Now you have to ask yourself, do you want to win? And if you do, how far along the road to hell are you ready to walk to snatch victory?’

Alric stared down at the mutilated body, fighting with himself. How easy everything had seemed when they first rose up against the Norman invaders. But when he looked around at the others, he realized there was a bigger price to pay than he had foreseen. Thurstan frowned. Sighard looked away,
disgusted. Hengist cowered. Guthrinc bowed his head, torn. The shield wall was breaking. How long before they could no longer stand together as spear-brothers?