‘You do not know yourself.’ Alric jerked his head away as if he expected a blow. Shouts echoed outside. Kraki’s men were searching the nearby houses. ‘If you were the beast you say, you would have killed me already.’
Wulfhere tried to scramble to his feet. Hereward kicked the one-eyed man in the face, dazing him once more. ‘You stake your life on that belief?’ he snapped. ‘Truly, you are a fool.’
‘Kill me, then,’ Alric shouted with a passion that surprised Hereward. ‘God knows, I deserve it. But I will not allow you to take this man.’ The monk held his arms wide and pressed his chest against the point of the sword.
More shouts, not far beyond the door.
Hereward felt unsettled. He could not find it in himself to drive the sword into the young monk’s heart. With a flash of fury that he couldn’t explain, he punched Alric in the face.
‘Do not hurt him,’ Wulfhere spat from between split lips. ‘He is a good man.’
Out in the street, Kraki called to the huscarls to hurry.
Hereward yanked Alric back to his feet. ‘This is not some sign that your stupid idea is right.’ He shook the monk roughly. ‘I do not want to hear you whining about me being a good man, do you hear?’
Alric nodded, wiping the blood and snot from his top lip with the back of his hand.
A shadow crossed the doorway, and Hereward spun, cursing. He had wavered too long. They had been discovered. Yet no one entered, and even as the warrior’s brow knitted in sudden suspicion, what sounded like the rustling of autumn leaves raced over their heads. Crackling and spitting, the flames surged through the thatch and smoke swept into the hut.
‘The house is afire,’ Wulfhere cried, and began to scramble for the door. Hereward grabbed him by the back of his tunic and dragged him towards the screen.
‘You will see us burned alive?’ the one-eyed man whimpered.
Alric was watching his former companion. ‘Trust him,’ he said. ‘He knows death so well he can barter with his old friend.’
At the rear of the hut, Hereward aimed a kick at the wall. The daub had dried hard against the wattle beneath, but as the warrior repeated the action cracks appeared and large chunks fell away. When the hole was big enough, he propelled the monk through the gap, and then jabbed the one-eyed man with his sword to follow.
The three men stumbled out into thick smoke and air so hot it seared their throats. Hereward’s mind raced with questions, but he urged the others past the stinking refuse tip by the well and into the back of a woodworker’s shop. ‘One wrong move and I will change my mind,’ he growled. ‘Lead the way to your hiding place. If we are caught by the huscarls, we will all enjoy the sleep of the sword.’
Wulfhere and Alric followed a mazy route along trails that were barely wide enough for a dog. The crackling of the fire faded away, and the deserted streets gave way to ones buzzing with crowds of anxious people looking towards the black cloud and wondering if all of Eoferwic was to be consumed. The three men slipped into the throng, keeping their heads down.
By the time they reached a house not far from the great stone church, the snow was falling in fat, heavy flakes, drawing a blanket of white across the thatched roofs and dirty streets. The throb of daily life became muffled. Glancing back, Hereward could see no orange glow and thickening smoke to suggest the blaze was spreading. For a moment he stood by the door, watching the low black cloud, and then he stooped to enter the warm, smoky interior.
A tearful woman was hugging Wulfhere; his wife, the warrior guessed. Two young girls clung to his legs, and a small dog ran in circles around the family, yapping. A silver-haired man squatted in one corner, eyeing the warrior with suspicion. Hereward suspected it was his house and he had risked all to offer a haven to Wulfhere and his family.
Alric was warming his hands over the hearth, beaming with relief. ‘I knew you would listen to your heart,’ he said.
‘What did I tell you?’ Hereward strode forward so purposefully that the monk cowered. The Mercian felt angry with himself for allowing the one-eyed man to go free, and still didn’t understand why he had done it. ‘Keep your whining to yourself or I will cut out your tongue.’
Alric squatted beside the fire. ‘Why did you save us?’
Hereward grunted. ‘My brain must be as addled as yours.’ He glanced back at the door, and added, ‘Your refuge could not have caught alight so quickly. It was too far from the seat of the fire.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Someone knew we were there and tried to burn us.’
‘Would Tostig’s men truly attempt cold murder?’ Alric stared into the glowing embers. ‘Yes, they would. For the earl is an evil man.’
Hereward snorted. ‘You speak with an ale-tongue. He is a Godwin. His kinsmen have stridden across England like giants since my father’s father’s time. His brother Harold is the king’s most favoured adviser.’
‘And you are blinded by gold rings.’
The warrior’s hand twitched towards the hilt of his sword. ‘Watch yourself, monk.’
Alric took a deep breath and stood to look his former companion in the eye. ‘During your time in Eoferwic, you have been cosseted in the earl’s hall, drinking his mead, eating his food, warming yourself by his hearth. I have watched from afar, my friend. You have been well cared for. But I have been sleeping on a cold floor provided by the archbishop and I do not feel so sanguine.’
Wulfhere’s wife, a hard-faced woman with broken veins on her cheeks, interrupted them. With a grateful smile, she offered Hereward a cup of ale and some bread. He accepted the gift with a curt nod.
When she left them, Alric glanced towards the one-eyed man. ‘He is not what you think. Not what the earl says he is.’
The warrior swigged back his ale in a single gulp. ‘So he burns no houses and does not incite the people to rebel.’
‘Ask yourself why he does those things,’ the monk pleaded. ‘He is a woodworker, with mouths to feed.’
Hereward watched Wulfhere playing with his children, the rebel’s hard face softened by a fond smile.
‘These last days I have roamed across Eoferwic, looking for the reason God sent me here. You are one of those reasons, I know that now’ — he ignored Hereward’s snort as the warrior tore off a knob of bread and stuffed it into his mouth — ‘and the other reason soon became as clear as the sun off the snow. Everywhere I turned, I saw misery, hunger, despair. The people are suffering. They are angry, and no one listens to them.’
‘Not your God?’ Hereward said with his mouth full. ‘Not the archbishop? Is he not tending to his flock?’
Abashed, Alric peered into the fire. ‘Ealdred is close to the earl; to all the Godwins.’
‘Ha,’ Hereward mocked.
‘Tostig’s unfair tax is crushing the spirit of the people of Northumbria. Since he became earl, he has increased the burden of the geld. His collectors are cruel and unjust. And any who voice opposition are crushed in the most brutal way. Homes are burned. Farms despoiled. There is talk of murder… murder! Of Englishmen, by the earl who governs them.’
The warrior shrugged. ‘Is this a revelation to you, monk, that men who hold power over others abuse their position? Whatever Tostig does here, it is with the consent of the king. It could not be otherwise.’ Returning to the door, he peered out to see if they had been followed. The snow was lying heavily on the street. ‘Northumbria has always been a lawless place. It is the Viking blood, the Danish hearts. They make their own rules, and they are filled with rage when others try to tell them what to do. It takes a hard man to govern people like that.’
Alric beckoned Hereward back to the fire. ‘What is happening in Eoferwic is beyond hard governance. It is unfair. There is true suffering. The people will only take this for so long before they rise up. For now, the thegns are loyal, but that can change if men like Wulfhere continue to give voice to the pain.’