When the cloak was torn away, she saw they stood on the ramparts on the southern edge of the town with the conflagration behind them. Hacking out coughs, Kraki rested for a moment with his hands on his knees. Sparks flickered in his beard and his face was black.
‘Thank you,’ Acha said, overwhelmed with gratitude. ‘You risked your life for me. I… I would not have thought it.’
‘You’re a sullen cow with a savage tongue, but you deserve better than that,’ he muttered.
They stumbled through the ditches and across the plain in the October chill, heading for the high ground where they knew the remnants of those loyal to Tostig waited. Not far beyond the ramparts, two bodies hung on poles, the flesh green and bird-torn. Acha recognized Amund and Ravenswart, two of the huscarls, who had been butchered on the first day of the insurrection when the Northumbrian thegns had attacked with two hundred men. The earl had been over-confident, she realized, believing he could contain the long-simmering uprising with even more brutality and desperate pleas to his brother for support. Within hours the treasury had been sacked, the armoury looted and Tostig and his forces driven beyond the walls. A fool, she thought, like all English men, seduced by their own bragging.
They fell silent as they trudged across the grasslands, their lungs protesting from the smoke they had inhaled. Briefly, they halted before a vast field of armoured corpses reeking of decay. A sad red banner fluttered on a pole. Though the blood had long since soaked into the black soil, Acha knew the slaughter of so many of Tostig’s men would linger in the earl’s mind for as long as he lived. Never had he suffered such a defeat.
Her legs were shaking with exhaustion when they reached the high ground and heard the snort of horses and the low murmur of strained voices. She felt shocked to see barely fifty men gathered on the edge of the wood, their heads low in dismay. With his wife Judith beside him, Tostig looked towards the fires of Eoferwic painting the night sky a dull red in the distance. His face was drained of blood, and he looked at that moment many years older than the last time she had seen him, Acha thought.
‘Did you know they have declared me outlaw? That they have sent for Morcar of Mercia to rule here in my stead?’ the earl said to Kraki, his voice drenched in bitterness. ‘For all I did to bring law and prosperity to Northumbria, the ungrateful bastards have brought me down to nothing.’
‘While there is life in your breast, the end is untold,’ the huscarl muttered.
‘True. Though Eoferwic is lost, this is a time for plotting. There are other roads ahead.’
‘You will meet your brother?’ Kraki enquired. ‘If Harold Godwinson still backs your claim-’
Tostig shook his head forcefully. ‘My brother has betrayed me. He sees his own power under threat if this uprising spreads south and so he has thrown me to the wolves. He supports Morcar as earl. Morcar, the Mercian bastard, as bad as his brother Edwin, our bitterest rivals. And so the poor souls who cleave to me are put to the sword and wild lawlessness spreads across the land.’ He glanced at Judith and said, ‘I wish I had listened to you, wife. I thought the blood I shared with my brother meant something, but Harold thinks only of himself.’
‘You will still meet him, though?’ she asked. Acha thought her mistress’s face looked unbearably sad.
‘I will speak to him, and the king, though I fear I know the outcome already.’
‘What, then?’ Judith enquired, her voice tremulous.
‘We will flee to Flanders and entrust ourselves to your blood. Count Baldwin will welcome us, I am sure, and then we shall see what price shall be paid for this shame.’ His voice grew as hard as iron.
‘I heard the rebels chanting the name of that Mercian, Hereward,’ Kraki muttered. ‘I thought him dead. Has he played some part in this uprising?’
‘Hereward left England behind for Flanders long ago,’ Judith replied.
Acha saw Tostig snap round to his wife, as surprised by this information as everyone else there. Anger burned in his eyes at his wife’s secrecy, but gradually he softened, and then shook his head. ‘No matter. Hereward was as much a victim of my brother’s plotting as everyone here. I hold no grudge against him.’
Judith reached out and took her husband’s hand, though both kept their eyes on the distant flames. After a moment, the earl said, ‘Kraki, you have been a loyal servant, but I now free you from your oath to me, and from your contract.’
The huscarl bowed his head and thanked him. Acha felt surprised by Tostig’s reward to his most faithful follower in this darkest hour. Perhaps there was some honour in the earl’s heart after all. As the Viking wandered away towards the other men in the trees, she hurried after him. ‘Wait,’ she called, and when he half turned she added, ‘I would come with you. If you will have me.’
Kraki laughed. ‘How sly you are. You see an opportunity where many see only defeat.’
Acha felt her ears burn, though she set her jaw defiantly, expecting a refusal.
‘Very well, then,’ the huscarl said finally. ‘I could do with some comfort on the road ahead. You will get your protection. But if you believe you can bewitch me into returning you to Gwynedd, think again. I travel south where there will be work aplenty for my axe, I wager.’
Relieved, Acha skipped beside her new companion. But as they walked into the woods, a movement caught her eye. In the trees stood a dark figure, close enough to have overheard every word Tostig had uttered. When the shape moved, she realized it was Harald Redteeth, the wild Viking who had left such a trail of blood in his wake when he had joined the earl’s huscarls all those seasons ago. With a shudder, she realized she was happy to leave that red-bearded madman far behind her.
When she glanced back a moment later, Redteeth was gone. And in the distance, the flames of Eoferwic burned higher.
CHAPTER THIRTY — ONE
Two men hunched in silence over black and white counters on a tabula board which had been carved around the edge with scenes of warriors at arms. Only the spit and crackle of the logs in the hearth broke the silence. Harold Godwinson studied the arrangement of the ivory counters, one finger resting on his chin. But Redwald watched the older man’s face, as he scrutinized all that the earl did. The young man had learned that his master approached everything in life with the same degree of preparation and strategy as he did battle. Nothing was left to chance.
Redwald watched, and learned.
Good advice at the right time, remaining silent at all others, loyalty in the face of harsh treatment, all these things had secured his place within the earl’s trust, the young man knew. As the seasons passed, Redwald had kept himself close to the older man’s shoulder, for power bred loneliness, and the great always needed a friend and honest adviser. Promoted by degree, he had fetched mead when his master’s cup was empty, and passed on whispered secrets he had become privy to in the gossip of the court. Redwald had become Harold’s eyes and ears, and sometimes his strong right arm, and the rewards had flowed to him accordingly, slowly at first, but now there was no man in all England who could benefit more from Harold’s coming ascension.
Harold rolled the dice. In making his move, he left two of his men exposed. When it was Redwald’s turn, the young man broke up his defensive position to attempt to gain an advantage. By the next round, Harold had carved through Redwald’s counters and was on his way to victory.
Redwald slapped his right palm on the table in annoyance.
‘A lesson,’ Harold said, with a grin. ‘Sometimes it is necessary to sacrifice the things we most cherish to win.’