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were too many.
    ‘Would that we could help find your husbands,’ Thurstan replied. ‘When we return to Ely, I will see what aid I can summon for your village. You have my word on that.’
    It was thin hope, Alric knew, and he could see the women felt the same. But Rowena’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are from Ely?’
    Thurstan hesitated, wondering if he had said too much.
    ‘You know Hereward?’ she pressed.
    Excitement rippled through the throng.
    ‘They say he kills bears with his bare hands …’ one woman exclaimed.
    ‘… and giants too. And that he chased the Devil out of Ely and stabbed his arse with a spear …’
    ‘… and has a sword of fire that brings death to every Norman it touches …’
    ‘Quiet,’ Rowena ordered, her eyes blazing. ‘You know him?’
    ‘We do,’ Alric replied.
    ‘He is the last hope of the English,’ she said. ‘He can find our husbands.’
    Thurstan’s eyes flickered towards Alric, and then he put on the kind of smile he would show to a child. ‘Hereward is consumed by work of great import—’
    ‘This is of great import to us,’ Rowena snapped.
    ‘Do you think he has time to listen to your pleas?’ Thurstan said, still smiling. ‘Or those of every woman in England? His days are taken with great matters. Battles … plans … this is beneath him.’
    Rowena flinched.
    ‘I know Hereward well,’ Alric interrupted, ‘and no man or woman is beneath him. If he could help, he would. But—’
    ‘You will not ask him.’ Rowena glared.
    ‘If only—’
    ‘Then I will ask him.’ She raised her chin, daring Alric to defy her. Thurstan laughed. The woman did not back down. ‘I will travel with you to Ely and make my plea to Hereward himself.’
    ‘You will not,’ the abbot said, his humour draining away.
    ‘I will go to Ely, whether you say so or not. I will travel through the woods, at night if I must. Would you see me killed by robbers? Or have my honour taken by Normans?’ She jabbed a finger at the abbot. ‘If I suffer, it will be upon your souls, know that.’
    Thurstan opened his mouth, but could find no words to say. Alric raised his hand to his mouth to stifle the urge to laugh. Here the abbot had met his match.
    ‘Good,’ Rowena said with a nod. ‘Then it is decided. And I will not return until Hereward has agreed to save us.’

C HAPTER F IVE
    THE WETLANDS SHIMMERED in the fading light. Alric shielded his eyes against the glare as he looked out across the last stretch of their journey. In a smoky haze, Ely sat atop the isle rising out of the deceptively placid waters. The church tower stood dark and proud upon the summit. The woods were a blaze of gold and russet and orange, a chill breeze whispering through the branches. Winter was not far away.
    He pulled his cloak tighter as he led his pony along the narrow causeway across the stinking bog. Perched on the horse, Rowena peered towards the settlement, a hopeful smile on her lips. Behind them, Thurstan sat in silence upon his own mount. He had simmered with irritation ever since he had been forced to allow the woman to accompany them on the journey home. Soon, though, they would have hot stew and bread and beer and their own beds.
    ‘I have heard tell of Hereward’s wife, Turfrida,’ Rowena mused. ‘Some said she was a witch.’ She shrugged. ‘That matters not to me. But all said she had the strength of an oak. A worthy wife for a great man like Hereward. Much can be told about a man by the woman he chooses. It is true that she is dead?’
    Alric nodded. ‘Slain by Hereward’s own brother, Redwald.’ He felt disgust burn in his chest at the foul murder. Even the fires of hell were a poor punishment for that wretched dog. Redwald had deceived them all, worming his way into the heart of the rebel camp, and then betraying everyone when he decided to throw his lot in with the Normans. Turfrida was a woman with only good in her heart, but Redwald had cut off her head and no doubt taken it to show off