Hereward 04 - Wolves of New Rome Read Online Free PDF Page B

saved, God’s work that only he could do, for without him the devil would be free, and Hereward would kill wantonly, foe or friend, until he ultimately destroyed himself.
    Once more he began to flail. He could not die, he would not. For if he did, Hereward, his friend, would be doomed. But the world was as black as pitch, he could not tell up from down, and he had no air left in his lungs.
    An arm gripped him.
    Instinctively, he tried to wrench himself free, but whoever was there held him fast. Strong kicks propelled him on. The water lightened. Dimly, Alric realized he was being dragged to safety. Bubbles streamed past his face. Though the swell tore at him, trying to suck him back down to the deep, his rescuer did not relent.
    And then he broke the surface. With a cry, he filled his aching lungs. The waves heaved him up, tossed him around like a leaf in a winter gale. Alone, he would not have had the strength to resist.
    ‘Go limp, monk! You will be the death of both of us!’ It was Hereward’s voice that bawled into his ear, his friend’s arm pinning his chest.
    The Mercian kicked out once more, fighting the furious force of the sea. And then, over the pounding of the water, Alric thought he could hear shouts of encouragement. In no time at all, hands were grasping his soaking tunic and he was hauled out of the waves and dumped on the sodden deck. Seawater sluiced around his face. For a long moment he lay there, gulping in deep draughts of air.
    Once the darkness washed away from his thoughts, he felt a rush of passion and he all but cried in joy that he yet lived. Murmuring a prayer of thanks, he looked up, only to find he was alone.
    His spear-brothers were clustered around the woman. Someone had draped a filthy cloak over her naked form. She crouched like a cornered dog, lips curled back from her teeth. A murderous look glowed in her eyes as she searched the faces of the men around her.
    Alric could now see that she was not English, nor from the north countries, like the others who had sailed on that ship. Where the spray had streaked the blood on her face, dark skin showed through. Her eyes were almond-shaped and seemed to glint with gold at the core, her lips were full, and her matted hair had the lustrous sheen of raven wings. He guessed she had seen twenty-five summers. The monk had come across her kind before, on the quayside in Eoferwic and Lincylene. Strange men in loose-fitting tunics and trousers of bright amber and sapphire, thick layers of cloth wrapped around head and neck. They had journeyed from the hot lands in ships reeking of unfamiliar spices.
    Alric watched the woman give Hereward an ugly look. She seemed afraid behind her anger, but she would not allow herself to show it. Yet for all the hatred that hardened her features she had a delicate beauty and a poise to the arch of her neck. Not peasant stock, this woman.
    Hereward stood over her, his face like thunder. ‘What is your name?’ he growled.
    The woman glared at him, uncomprehending.
    ‘Like as much, she does not speak our tongue,’ Kraki said, studying her. ‘Stolen from her home, I would wager. These dogs no doubt thought they could make good coin selling her as slave or whore.’
    Guthrinc towered over the woman. ‘Only one? If these were slavers, they would have more on board.’
    Alric watched Hereward soften as he crouched to look the prisoner in the face. Still defiant, she pressed herself back against a bench as if he might strike her. ‘This blood is fresh.’ He plucked up a length of rope, the ends frayed where they had been cut. ‘They had her bound, lying here on the deck. She would have been soaked in the blood of those who had fallen. Her bonds were cut. Likely by herself, from a fallen weapon.’
    Alric stumbled over the benches as the boat swung up and down on the back of the swell. ‘Can you not see she is afrit?’ he protested. ‘She does not need fierce warriors poking and prodding her as if she were a side of