Hereward paused, searching for the correct words to describe the event that had changed the course of his life and possibly heralded his death. In his mind’s eye, the warrior saw himself stumbling drunkenly through the palace enclosure towards his home and his bed. He smelled the smoke of the hearths and the stone dust from the masons’ work on the king’s great folly, his new abbey. He heard the owls hooting in the trees on the far side of the wide, grey river, and the singing reverberating from the royal hall. He could still taste the sweet mead on his tongue and feel the night breeze caressing his skin as if every aspect of that night had been locked into his head for all time.
When he heard the echoing cry he raced to investigate. Where the vast stone blocks and timbers for the abbey’s construction were piled high, he glimpsed fierce movement on the edge of a circle of flickering torchlight. Two men, hooded and swathed in dark woollen cloaks, were plunging spears into a third man sprawled on the hard-packed earth. A pool of glistening blood was growing around him.
When Hereward yelled an alarm, the two murderers darted into the night. The warrior knelt beside the victim, but could see instantly that there was no saving him. The man’s face was unfamiliar; his beard and lank hair were turning white, his cheeks were hollow and his eyes were sunk deep in their sockets as if he had not eaten for many days.
‘Do not leave me!’ the man gasped, grabbing hold of Hereward’s wrist with a desperate strength.
‘I am here. Tell me who did this to you. I will see that you are avenged.’
‘I do not know their names.’ He dragged the warrior in closer. ‘Six summers gone I killed Edward Aetheling, the son of old King Edmund Ironside. Poisoned him. In Oxford.’
Hereward felt his drunkenness vanish in an instant. He was still being tutored by the monks at Burgh Abbey when he had heard of the death of the man who had been chosen to succeed England’s childless monarch. Edward Aetheling, the son of the present king’s half-brother, was in his forty-first year when he was brought back from exile in Hungary with the sole intent of being groomed to inherit the throne. No culprit had ever been found.
‘I wanted more gold,’ the man croaked. Tears leaked from his eyes. ‘To buy my silence. And they told me they would pay me here tonight…’
Hereward’s mind raced. ‘Who told you?’ But the victim would never answer anyone again, silenced in a more bloody manner than he had anticipated before he could implicate others in his terrible crime.
Querying calls rang across the palace grounds, answering the warrior’s earlier cry of alarm. After a moment’s hesitation, Hereward realized he could not risk being found with the victim. Someone would suspect he had learned too much.
Back at the house he shared with Asketil, Beric and Redwald, he found his adopted brother snoring in his sleep and woke him roughly to recount what he had witnessed. Perched on the edge of his bed, Redwald had sat with his head in his hands, more aware than Hereward how grave was the situation. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, ‘I overheard Earl Edwin instructing two men in the shadows of the abbey earlier today. I did not recognize them, and they stopped talking when I neared and glared at me until I departed.’
‘Edwin? His kin have always rivalled the Godwins in their lust for power. But could the Earl of Mercia really seek the throne for himself? He has no claim. The Pope would not sanction it. William the Bastard… Harold Godwinson himself… surely they would all resist?’
‘It is a grand prize,’ Redwald said. ‘Worth a grand risk.’
His head still spinning, Hereward said, ‘If there is a plot here, the king’s own life could be at risk. Poison, the man said. We must raise the alarm…’
‘Wait.’ Redwald jumped from the bed and grasped his friend’s shoulders. ‘Did anyone witness you hear that last confession?’
‘No…’
‘Are you certain? The two murderers could have watched from afar, and if they thought you privy to such a terrible secret, your own life could be at risk.’
‘Nevertheless, the king must be informed.’
‘Of course. Let me think.’ Redwald paced around the hearth, scrubbing his fingers through his brown hair. ‘I have it. No one will suspect me. I will go to raise the alarm. You go to Aedilred’s house. He is with his kin in Wessex. Edwin’s men will not think to look for you there.’
Grinning, the warrior clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘This is like those summer days in the fens, saving each other from trouble.’
Redwald grinned in return. ‘Drink some ale to steady yourself, brother. I will be back soon. But not too much — you are a foul drunk.’
He had drunk too much, and the rest of the night had spun away into confusion. But he recalled with clarity the moment when his life fell into the dark. He remembered the blood, gleaming in the firelight, the hot-iron smell of it. He remembered Tidhild’s eyes staring up at him, through him, into that everlasting night-world. His love’s eyes. And he remembered fleeing, shortly before his own father had asked the king to declare him outlaw.
Shaking his head to dispel the memory, he eyed Tostig through the curtain of grey smoke and the whirl of scarlet sparks. ‘The court has the appearance of a still summer pool,’ he said. ‘But sharp-toothed predators swim beneath the surface. I now know for certain that the king’s chosen heir was murdered, and I fear Edward’s own life is at risk from plotters.’
Shock flared in the earl’s face, then disbelief, as the warrior had expected. Calmly, he explained what he had seen and heard that night, and expressed his growing concern that Edwin of Mercia, his own earl, was preparing to move for the throne once Edward had died. But he did not tell Tostig of Redwald’s mission or what happened after Redwald had left, only that he had left London that night. And he hid the fact that he was outlaw, mistrusted by the king and despised by his own father, for fear it would damage his case.
Tostig listened with rapt attention, growing more troubled with each word. ‘And these enemies who pursue you. They are the plotters?’
‘Or in their employ. I need to be silenced. They know I cannot stay quiet on these matters. To ensure I should not be believed, they have tried to implicate me in the shame of that night’s murder.’ Murders, he thought. ‘But they know they must have me killed, quietly, before the truth comes out.’
‘It would have been easier for you to flee abroad.’ The earl rose and strode around the hearth in thought. ‘I must send word to London. While the snows are heavy, by ship is our best course. But it must be secret. Too forward and Edwin will be alerted — plotters have eyes and ears everywhere and we do not know whom we can trust. And if we speak too loudly too soon, Edwin may be forced to move quickly, before we are ready. Our actions may even bring about the king’s murder.’
‘I agree. Caution is the only way. If word can be got to the king himself, he can prepare his defences and strike back while Edwin is unguarded.’
‘Very well, Asketilson, I will send a man on one of the trading vessels. With luck, we may hear back before Christmas.’
Hereward felt relief that his burden had finally been shared, but, studying Tostig through the smoke, he wondered if he had made the right decision. In the fog of shifting alliances that swirled around the court during these wintry days surely near the end of Edward’s reign, no man could have a clear view of the path ahead. But his options were few. To run for ever, like a frightened hare, or to escape, recover, prepare and return to claim the vengeance that set his heart beating like the drums on the galleys.
Tostig allowed himself a tight smile. ‘A great game unfolds around us, and we barely see the pieces, never mind the moves.’ He held a hand out to Hereward. ‘You have done a great thing this day, at risk to your own life. The king will for ever be in your debt. There is a place for you to lay your head here in my hall and I will do whatever is in my power to protect you from your enemies. For now, my huscarls could benefit from your sword-arm. Join them, and help me bring order to Eoferwic. And let us both pray that we can stave off disaster on every front.’