Hereward 04 - Wolves of New Rome Read Free

seemed there was a part of the old Wulfrun that still lived on, even under the colours of the Varangian Guard. ‘Then let him come,’ he said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. ‘If he dare walk through this city, his days will soon be ended. My axe will see to that.’

C HAPTER O NE
     
    THE WARRIORS WATCHED the ship drift towards them across the green swell. With faces like winter, they took in the billowing amber sail and the cracking lines, the freshly painted shields lining the side and the tiller swinging at the mercy of the currents. For this was a ship of ghosts, they could see that now. The vessel looked as if those who sailed it had only just set its course, but no man walked upon that deck. And all that rolled out was the groaning of the hull as it flexed against the waves, a sound that seemed to come from beyond the grave.
    ‘Pull alongside,’ Hereward commanded. In the sultry heat, he was stripped to the waist. The tattooed blue-black circles and spirals of the fighting man flexed across his tanned arms. Placing one foot upon the side of his own ship, Hereward studied the deserted vessel. Though he could sense his men urging him to leave well alone, instincts honed on the field of battle demanded that he know more.
    Overhead, the sail swelled as his men took to the oars. Their vessel was a warship, just large enough to accommodate the thirty men upon its benches. But some would say they were ghosts too, dead men all, stripped of their lives, their home, their loved ones, their hope. Outlaws, exiles, condemned to wander the earth for ever.
    ‘This is bad business,’ the Viking growled under his breath. Kraki was his name. Wild of hair and beard, his face was cleaved by a jagged scar. He scowled, trying to hide his unease. On land, he was a seasoned warrior, a former leader of Earl Tostig’s deadly huscarls, and axe-for-hire, trailing death behind him as he trekked from his cold northern home. But here on the whale road he seemed as superstitious as any drunken ceorl in the dark midwinter. Ghosts and portents and curses. He needed dry land under his feet to find himself again, Hereward knew. But he was not alone there.
    Only one of those aboard was not a member of the war-band. Red Erik was long seasoned by the salt winds and, unlike the others, capable of navigating to distant shores. In the five days they had been upon the waves, the warriors had started to learn to be seamen under his command. Until the exile, many of them had never left the well-trodden paths of their villages in the fenlands of eastern England. Then they had been forced to venture into open water with waves as high as towering cliffs. But England was gone for good, of that there could be no doubt. The comfort of the winter hearth, the care of kin, the joyful feasting after the harvest, all gone, never to be seen again. King William had seen to that.
    Hereward gritted his teeth. These good warriors had fought the Bastard long and hard after he had stolen the English crown that day at Senlac Ridge. And for a brief time, it had seemed the hated Norman invaders might be driven back into the sea. But betrayal came lightly to some, and while they had been looking out over the walls of their fortress at Ely they had not been paying heed to their backs, and the blades of their own.
    He swallowed his bitterness. On the Isle of Eels, their forces had been strong. They had weapons aplenty and the walls stood firm. The secret paths through the treacherous bogs and dense woods and flooding watercourses were unknown to the enemy. Once they had destroyed King William’s camp at Belsar’s Hill, it had seemed the invaders were on the brink of collapse. But the monks of Ely, who had offered sanctuary to the rebel band, began to fear for their gold and power. And so they showed the Bastard the secret ways and led his army to the gates. In the face of such vast numbers of Normans and mercenaries, it was then only a matter of time until the