eye across his nose to his right cheek. His stare was cold and unwavering, the look of a man who saw enemies everywhere.
The night was coming in hard. Only a sliver of red and gold lay in the western sky. Alric shivered in his woollen habit as the temperature plunged. All around him men began to vacate their workshops, abandoning their hammers or their looms to make their way back to their hearths for the evening meal of bread, bean stew and ale. The monk slipped through the steady stream of weary workers until he saw Hereward turn left into a street echoing with the calling of swine, where the smell of rotten apples hung thick in the icy air.
Near the pen where the fat black and pink pigs were kept, four youths taunted a smaller lad. Tears streaked the boy’s pale cheeks and he lumbered around with a limp, trying to avoid their swipes. Hereward paused to watch. Alric waited too, studying the warrior, wondering what thoughts were passing through his head. The four bigger boys grew rougher, finally knocking the weaker one to the frozen mud. Hereward flinched.
The monk smiled, a tingle of expectation running down his spine. This was it, he thought, the moment when the warrior revealed his true nature, that deeply buried goodness that Alric had sensed during their long journey. His soul.
As the four bullies launched sharp kicks at the whimpering lad, Hereward roughly pulled them back, flinging one of them so hard that he fell on to his behind. The monk broke into a grin.
He lies to himself about who he is , he thought with a nod. My task, then, is to bring him to awareness of the good inside him .
Hereward hooked his large left hand into the smallest boy’s tunic and yanked him upright. Silently, he cuffed the lad across the ear, whispered a few words to him and threw the now sobbing child back to the ground. While Alric tried to make sense of what he had seen, Hereward disappeared into the growing gloom and the monk had to hurry to catch up.
The street was deserted and icy stars were glittering in the black sky when he saw the warrior reach an enclosure. Hereward paused at the gate, surveying the dark bulk looming ahead of him, and then strode towards the golden glow falling through the open door on to the snowy ground.
Alric’s breath caught in his throat. The thatched hall was the largest building in all of Eoferwic, dwarfing five nearby houses. There was no doubt in his mind. It had to be the hall of Tostig, the earl of all Northumbria. What connection could Hereward have with one of the highest in the land?
C HAPTER E IGHT
THE SUN WAS setting over London in a crimson blaze. A knife of shadow slashed through the heart of the white-blanketed Palace of Westminster from the stark silhouette of the new abbey’s unfinished tower. Torches sizzled in the crisp air as the Master of the Flame brought light to the enclosure and in the king’s hall slaves stoked the fire for the night to come.
Redwald crept through the gloom against the church’s western wall. With his hood pulled up to mask his identity, the young man eased past the shaky wooden ladders soaring up to the timber platforms on their vast pillars of elm. All around, the clatter of the stonecutters’ hammers rang out, the masons labouring in the dying light under the direct instructions of the king, who could not bear to see his great work lying unfinished for a day longer than necessary. Redwald could smell the earthy tang of the stone dust and the woodsmoke from the fires the workmen used to keep warm.
Low voices echoed from the abbey’s shadowy interior. He edged to the arch where the west door would eventually be fixed and peered inside. Ruddy light falling through the window-holes tinged the drifting snow on the floor, and he could see the moon and first stars through the open roof. Two silhouettes stood in quiet conversation in the centre of the nave. When they walked a few paces towards where the altar would be located, Redwald saw that one was
The night was coming in hard. Only a sliver of red and gold lay in the western sky. Alric shivered in his woollen habit as the temperature plunged. All around him men began to vacate their workshops, abandoning their hammers or their looms to make their way back to their hearths for the evening meal of bread, bean stew and ale. The monk slipped through the steady stream of weary workers until he saw Hereward turn left into a street echoing with the calling of swine, where the smell of rotten apples hung thick in the icy air.
Near the pen where the fat black and pink pigs were kept, four youths taunted a smaller lad. Tears streaked the boy’s pale cheeks and he lumbered around with a limp, trying to avoid their swipes. Hereward paused to watch. Alric waited too, studying the warrior, wondering what thoughts were passing through his head. The four bigger boys grew rougher, finally knocking the weaker one to the frozen mud. Hereward flinched.
The monk smiled, a tingle of expectation running down his spine. This was it, he thought, the moment when the warrior revealed his true nature, that deeply buried goodness that Alric had sensed during their long journey. His soul.
As the four bullies launched sharp kicks at the whimpering lad, Hereward roughly pulled them back, flinging one of them so hard that he fell on to his behind. The monk broke into a grin.
He lies to himself about who he is , he thought with a nod. My task, then, is to bring him to awareness of the good inside him .
Hereward hooked his large left hand into the smallest boy’s tunic and yanked him upright. Silently, he cuffed the lad across the ear, whispered a few words to him and threw the now sobbing child back to the ground. While Alric tried to make sense of what he had seen, Hereward disappeared into the growing gloom and the monk had to hurry to catch up.
The street was deserted and icy stars were glittering in the black sky when he saw the warrior reach an enclosure. Hereward paused at the gate, surveying the dark bulk looming ahead of him, and then strode towards the golden glow falling through the open door on to the snowy ground.
Alric’s breath caught in his throat. The thatched hall was the largest building in all of Eoferwic, dwarfing five nearby houses. There was no doubt in his mind. It had to be the hall of Tostig, the earl of all Northumbria. What connection could Hereward have with one of the highest in the land?
C HAPTER E IGHT
THE SUN WAS setting over London in a crimson blaze. A knife of shadow slashed through the heart of the white-blanketed Palace of Westminster from the stark silhouette of the new abbey’s unfinished tower. Torches sizzled in the crisp air as the Master of the Flame brought light to the enclosure and in the king’s hall slaves stoked the fire for the night to come.
Redwald crept through the gloom against the church’s western wall. With his hood pulled up to mask his identity, the young man eased past the shaky wooden ladders soaring up to the timber platforms on their vast pillars of elm. All around, the clatter of the stonecutters’ hammers rang out, the masons labouring in the dying light under the direct instructions of the king, who could not bear to see his great work lying unfinished for a day longer than necessary. Redwald could smell the earthy tang of the stone dust and the woodsmoke from the fires the workmen used to keep warm.
Low voices echoed from the abbey’s shadowy interior. He edged to the arch where the west door would eventually be fixed and peered inside. Ruddy light falling through the window-holes tinged the drifting snow on the floor, and he could see the moon and first stars through the open roof. Two silhouettes stood in quiet conversation in the centre of the nave. When they walked a few paces towards where the altar would be located, Redwald saw that one was
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