Hereward 04 - Wolves of New Rome Read Online Free

neared the fire-pot, Hereward saw it was Alric. The flames lit the terror that contorted his face.
    ‘We must put to shore,’ he yelled above the gale. ‘This storm will send us to the bottom.’
    The monk’s fear seemed to ease Kraki’s own worries. The Viking raised one eyebrow and said, ‘Are you not praying to your God? Surely at your plea his great hands will scoop us up and carry us all to calm waters.’
    Alric glared. ‘He tests me, I know. I have been all but drowned every time I have dared to cross the whale road. Enough, I say!’
    ‘We should have been warned of this before we agreed to sail with you,’ Kraki said. He jabbed a finger into the monk’s chest so that the younger man almost tumbled backwards. The men around laughed, the humour easing their concern.
    ‘These waters are known for their terrible storms, so we have been told,’ Hereward said, ‘and putting in to shore is a good plan. But first we have another worry.’
    Kraki’s eyes flicked out across the waves once more. The red-sailed ship was nearer still. In that gale, there was now no question it had set a course for them. ‘Fight, or run like dogs?’ he asked. Both options had their risks.
    ‘How do you fight at sea?’ Alric asked.
    ‘The same as on land,’ Kraki replied. ‘For your life.’
    Hereward’s hand fell to the golden hilt of his sword, Brainbiter. He sensed his friends’ fear. If fight they must, they would have to rely on their instincts and God’s judgement.
    ‘No doubt now,’ Kraki said, peering into the storm. ‘Those curs are bearing down on us.’
    Hereward nodded. ‘Ready yourselves,’ he bellowed, his voice cutting through the gale. Heads ducked down to search for spears and axes secreted beneath benches. He gave an approving nod. Though his men were afraid, they showed none of it. They all knew death had many guises. It came as a winter storm. The thunderclap of a full-throated roar. The lightning strike of a keen axe blade in a churning field of mud and blood. Or a soft autumn wind when the leaves are turning gold and the fruits are heavy, or a whisper in the still of midnight. If they wanted to see their days continue, they had to be always vigilant, always ready.
    As he clambered over the benches towards the prow, he felt the first flames of anger flicker to life. He was already sick of running.
    ‘We will draw them on,’ he shouted. ‘If they decide a chase in these waters is a trouble too far, so be it. But if they come on, let them think us weak. They will let their guards down. And by the time they find the truth, it will be too late.’
    More lightning flickered along the horizon. The pitching waves glimmered as a rumble of thunder rolled out. For one moment the world became black and white, and then the blood-red sails carved above the roll of dark water. Hereward felt the blood in his head begin to match the pounding of the elements. The part of him he loathed, the part of him that brought him bloody and brutal victory in battle, began its insidious whispering. So much had been torn from his grip, but now, by God, he would deny any man who would try to take all that he had left: the lives of his men, and the future they sought together.
    ‘Keep your heads down,’ he roared. ‘Act as if you are bedraggled merchants lost at sea, little fish to be gutted and eaten.’
    His crew obeyed in an instant. At the prow, Mad Hengist danced, his lank blond hair whipping in the gale. His feet whisked across the bucking, slick boards as if he were in an earl’s hall. Since the Normans had slaughtered his kin his wits came and went, but he seemed to see things hidden to other men. He turned his rodent features towards Hereward, his eyes glittering. ‘I smell gold,’ he cackled, glancing ahead.
    ‘And blood?’ Hereward asked. ‘Do you smell that on the wind this day, Hengist? Victory for the last of the English?’
    The smaller man gave a wolfish grin.
    Hereward nodded, grinning in return.