Hereward Read Free

and divinations. She is a heathen who denies the Paternoster and the Creed.’
    As the shouts of their pursuers began to follow the path of the stream, Hereward grabbed Alric’s shoulders and shook him. ‘We do what we do to survive. You would rather die than break bread with a heathen?’
    Snapping from the strain, Alric launched himself at the warrior, punching and kicking, spittle flying from his mouth as he raged. ‘None of this matters. They will pursue us until we drop from exhaustion! We are already dead!’
    ‘Yes. We are. All of us.’ Hereward swung his fist into the monk’s jaw and knocked him cold.
    Dragging his companion across the snow and rocks to a broad oak tree, the warrior stripped off his own blood-sodden woollen tunic and leggings and used them to bind the monk to the bole. Once he was done, he tucked his leather pouch containing coin and a knife behind a rock. Naked, he flexed his muscles so that the blue whorls that covered his torso rippled in the fading light, and then he bellowed. A moment of silence ended in an abrupt crashing in the frozen undergrowth as Redteeth’s men raced towards the sound.
    Hereward bounded off into the growing gloom.
    The monk must have come round in time to see him disappear into the trees, for the warrior heard Alric roar, ‘Monster! You are the Devil!’
    From his hiding place, Hereward watched two of the Viking mercenaries skid down the snowy bank to arrive beside Alric, one clutching an axe, the other a spear. Two more followed, wearing helmets and well-worn mail. ‘It is only the monk,’ the one with the axe said. ‘The other has fled.’
    ‘He left me here to slow you down!’ Alric shouted. ‘Pursue him! He is only a moment or two ahead!’
    Hereward spied the two helmeted raiders following his trail; their time would come first. The Viking with the spear turned to Alric. ‘Your debt can only be repaid with blood.’
    ‘Harald will want to take that payment himself!’ Alric replied bitterly.
    ‘I will take your head back to him. He will be pleased with that … and reward me fully.’
    Hereward saw Alric close his eyes and call on the Lord to save his soul. As the prayer whispered out on the wind, the Mercian was already circling round the two men trudging along his trail. When they separated to widen their search, he struck, allowing one blood-chilling scream to echo among the trees.
    The monk’s two remaining tormentors laughed. ‘Your friend is dead,’ one of them said.
    ‘He is not my friend!’ Alric snapped. ‘He is nothing but a beast.’
    Nearby, the dead man’s companion crashed through the undergrowth, each guttural curse a testament to the fear he now felt. Once again Hereward struck with the speed and efficiency of a wolf, delaying the killing blow just enough to draw out another cry. It rang above the gale whipping through the branches.
    Slipping back to where he could observe the monk and the two remaining raiders, Hereward saw that the Vikings’ faces were drawn; their humour had drained away. The mercenary with the axe made to venture into the trees, but his comrade caught his arm to hold him back.
    Letting his chin fall on to his chest, Alric whispered, ‘He is the Devil.’
    Ignoring the cold, Hereward waited, watching the fear rise in the two warriors. They raised their weapons as they circled the monk, searching for an attack from any direction. Long moments passed with only the howl of the wind and the blast of the snow. The darkness slipped among the trees and enveloped them.
    Finally, Hereward moved from his hiding place. Knotted together by their long hair, the two heads arced from the shadows, twisting and turning to crash into the snow at the feet of the raiders with a splatter of blood.
    Overcome with rage at the slaughter of his comrades, the warrior with the axe roared his battle cry and raced forwards. The warning from the other Northman came too late.
    Spectral in the gloom, Hereward stepped from behind a spreading