The monk told her his name and thanked her, though he would now have to spin his lie further. Acha did not soften, but they exchanged a courteous conversation about the festivities the earl planned for Christmas. His men had already selected the Yule log, which Ealdred himself would bless, and the holly and mistletoe would soon be collected. All-spice, nutmeg and cinnamon were ready for the baking of the festive cakes.
When Judith had finished her prayers, Acha led Alric over and introduced him. The younger woman stepped back, but listened with what the monk thought was keen interest. The countess’s face softened when Alric told her of his mission to take the Word to the villages of Northumbria that did not yet have a church or a priest. The monk had heard that Judith was a pious woman who had made many gifts to the church of St Cuthbert in Dun Holme. Learned, too; she was said to own many books and illuminated manuscripts. She seemed surprisingly keen when the monk mentioned Hereward’s name and spoke of the warrior with clear warmth.
‘You knew him before he came to Eoferwic?’ Acha asked.
The countess smiled at the younger woman’s interest. ‘Yes, I knew him. At court.’
‘Hereward was at court?’ Unable to hide the shock in his voice, Alric was filled with a crimson vision of the warrior rising from the pool of blood, eyes glinting with uncivilized fury.
Judith laughed. ‘He is your friend, and you know nothing about him?’
‘I know him better than he knows himself,’ the monk asserted, ‘but of the events of his life I know nothing at all.’
‘Tell us,’ Acha urged her mistress, unable to hide her curiosity.
‘I remember a boy of barely twelve summers looking as if a great wind had blown him into the king’s hall, golden hair filled with straw and dirt and bruises and dried blood smearing his face. He was a fighter even then, and a trouble to his father, Asketil, one of the king’s thegns. Though he had a singing voice that could reduce men to tears and a face of beauty and innocence, there were some who said the Devil lived in his heart.’ She looked from Acha to Alric, a shadow crossing her face. ‘In his Mercian home, he and a band of friends were responsible for such unrest that Asketil feared for his son’s safety. The boys were like wolves, untamed, they say. Stealing. Fighting. Burning barns. Attacking good men and women. Unable to control the boy, Asketil brought him to court where he hoped his son would learn to be an honourable man. Hereward promptly ran back to Mercia and hid for more than a year in the wilds.’
Acha covered her mouth to hide a laugh. ‘And his mother? I have never seen a good wife who could not bring a child to heel with the side of her hand or the sharp of her tongue.’
Judith gave a sad smile. ‘The boy’s mother was taken by God when he was young. Asketil is as unbending as an oak and as cold as the ground outside this church. He played little part in the boy’s upbringing, preferring to devote himself to the king’s business and his own needs. Though he hides a hot temper. I found Hereward once so badly beaten he could not stand.’
‘His father?’ Alric asked.
Judith nodded. ‘Asketil swung between uninterest and dealing out beatings that no just man would inflict on a beast. Yet Hereward wanted for nothing. The monks at Peterborough gave him schooling. He learned to play the harp. On his father’s estates he was trained in fighting with spear, axe and sword, and he became a fine horseman. He learned the secrets of the watermen of the fens. He hunted boar and waterfowl and he was adept at hawking. And yet as the years passed, he caused such a tumult in Mercia that it was as if he cared for no man or woman.’
‘I cannot believe that,’ Alric put in.
‘Nor I,’ the countess said with a nod. ‘He was a lost soul, but inside I saw a spark of goodness, if only someone could fan it into a flame.’
Alric felt his spirit rise. It was almost as if Judith were speaking directly to him.
‘Perhaps it is too late,’ Acha mused. ‘Those who saw his treatment of Thangbrand said he was more beast than man. And I would agree.’
‘Perhaps.’ Judith rubbed her hands together to warm them. ‘Asketil brought him back to court and kept him there for three summers, and though there were moments of fighting and drunkenness that shamed his father, he did seem to find some peace. When he returned to Mercia on the brink of manhood, I hoped he would escape the devils that haunted him.’
‘And now he is in Eoferwic.’ Acha stroked the tip of her index finger along her full lips. ‘And no one knows why, for he refuses to tell a soul of his true reasons for being here.’
‘His sword-arm is a valuable addition to the huscarls in these turbulent times,’ Judith said. ‘He is the best warrior here. At court, the men said he was unbeatable in battle because he has no fear.’
Because he cares for nothing, not even himself, the monk thought. He watched the raven-haired woman from the corner of his eye. Her expression was thoughtful, and he wondered what was passing through her head.
‘Mercia’s loss is Northumbria’s gain. Hereward will serve us well here, I think. Now, this cold reaches deep into my bones and I would spend some time by my own hearth.’ Judith was about to walk away along the nave when she added, ‘Would you like me to remember you to your friend?’
‘Thank you, Countess, but that is not necessary,’ Alric replied with a polite smile. ‘I will see him again soon enough.’
The tap-tap-tap of the two women’s leather soles faded into the gloom. Just before the shadows folded around her, Acha glanced back and the monk thought he glimpsed something fierce in her face, a desire, perhaps, to seize an opportunity with both hands and never let it go.
Alone in the nave, Alric wondered what to do now. There was enough work in the church to keep him occupied until long after sunset, but then Wulfhere and some of the other men were meeting in secret to discuss their next move. The monk hoped to persuade the rebellious group to concentrate their efforts on urging the thegns to change the earl’s mind, perhaps after Twelfth Night when Tostig would be replete and rested, without bloodshed or further burning.
Walking slowly towards the altar, he was distracted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Ealdred appeared, but Alric’s smile of greeting froze on his face when he saw that the archbishop was not alone. Four men stood in the shadows behind the churchman, but the monk was rooted by the sight of the red-bearded Viking at Ealdred’s side.
Harald Redteeth grinned, raising one muscular arm to point at Alric. ‘That one,’ he said. ‘His hands are red with a woman’s blood. He is a murderer who attempted to flee the punishment for his crime. Now he must pay the price for his sin.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
On the snow-covered bank of the grey river, in the teeth of a bitter wind, Hereward watched the sailors tie up a ship laden with lapis lazuli, amethyst pendants and silk brought from the lands beyond the whale road. It would be the last vessel to visit Eoferwic before the port closed for Christmas, for no one worked during the Twelve Days. The seamen, skin lashed red by the wind and the icy sea spray, struggled to work their frozen fingers despite the thick furs and leather they wore against the cold.
‘News from the south?’ the warrior asked a weary Saxon fumbling a knot on the rope looped round the wooden post by the jetty. Hereward had hoped the messenger Tostig had sent to warn the king would have returned by now to report that Edwin of Mercia had been imprisoned.
‘It’s cold,’ the sailor grunted without raising his eyes.
‘Is your blood as cold as the fish that swim in the river?’ The voice at Hereward’s back was laced with mockery. He turned to see Acha, her pale face peering from the depths of a hood, a wry smile playing on her lips. ‘I cannot think of another reason why you would shun the fire on this icy day.’
‘You follow me out into the winter gale to torment me now?’