Hereward 05 - The Immortals Read online

  ‘You are the key to winning the throne, and by God you will not escape me,’ he snarled. His huge fist slammed down like a hammer upon an anvil, and Kraki knew no more.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘I WILL BRING you back his head!’

  The words throbbed in the void, almost lost beneath the pounding of blood. Kraki blinked once, twice. As the darkness ebbed away, he realized he was lying on cold stone amid the reek of charred wood. Pearly curls of smoke wafted through the air. He glimpsed arches and tapestries and knew he was in the main hall of the palace. At his back, a drone of low voices and the grinding of objects being dragged across the floor told him the fire had been extinguished. A blast of cool night air from the open door washed over him.

  But he found his attention drawn to the man who had spoken with such passion. Drogo Vavasour was like a madman. His hands clutching at the air, he ranged around Roussel de Bailleul. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes staring at horizons far beyond that chamber. ‘Ten men, that is all I need,’ he spewed, spittle flying.

  Roussel, though, was calm. Arms folded, he watched the prowling warrior, a fixed smile on his lips. His demeanour suggested that he thought the other man was less than sane, Kraki thought. ‘Take them, and do not return until he is dead,’ he said, placating.

  ‘I will follow Hereward of the English to the ends of the earth, if that is what it takes.’

  ‘Hereward?’ Kraki jerked up, his head ringing.

  ‘Your friend was here this night,’ Drogo spat, ‘trying to steal the Caesar from under our noses. He failed, and we ran him out of here like a rat.’

  Kraki gritted his teeth. To have come so close! If Hereward had known he was captive here, he would now be riding back to the Athanatoi, his life his own once more.

  Drogo strode forward and made to vent his frustration upon the captive with a kick to the gut.

  ‘Leave him,’ Roussel commanded. ‘He has his uses, yes?’

  From behind Kraki, the towering bulk of Karas Verinus stepped forward. ‘He has his uses,’ he said, looking down at the man he had battered into unconsciousness.

  Roussel turned to Drogo and said, ‘Our plans have of necessity been brought forward a day or two at most, but we are ready. We will ride tonight and join our army on the plain. Once you have sated your blood-lust, find us. You know where.’

  Vavasour nodded. Animated, he snapped his fingers at the one-eyed warrior Kraki had seen earlier, and a few others. They trailed after him out into the night. Kraki felt his heart sink. If any man could track down Hereward, it would be Drogo Vavasour. His hatred for the Mercian made him a relentless enemy.

  A tonsured man in an emerald tunic wandered over, a goblet of wine held loosely in his hand. He raised his cup in a toast.

  Roussel nodded. ‘You did well to raise the alarm, John Doukas. If my men had not been half asleep, our enemies would be dead now.’ He shrugged. ‘It matters little. They are fleas upon a dog.’

  Pushing himself up, Kraki studied the Caesar. Something was amiss here. The warlord had said our enemies, and John Doukas seemed not to be a captive at all.

  As if he could sense the Viking’s thoughts, Roussel smiled. Crouching so he could look his prisoner in the eye, he said with a confident smile, ‘The Romans sent you out here to die, Viking. Do you trust your new masters?’

  ‘I trust no one.’

  ‘Wise words.’ He nodded. ‘You will be well treated, do not fear.’

  ‘I am not afrit of any Norman. I killed enough of you bastards in England.’

  ‘I have heard the stories of Hereward of the English and his rebels. Brave men all. Still, we share blood, you and I.’

  ‘You are not my kin.’

  Roussel laughed silently. ‘You have not heard the tales of days long gone, then. Vikings from the cold north found a new home in Normandy. We are fierce folk, both. We should not be enemies.’

  Kraki glowered. ‘Any man who learns his ways from William the Bastard will always be my foe.’

  ‘Is that what they tell you?’ Roussel chuckled. ‘I am no William the Bastard, Viking. I would not slaughter babes in arms and old men, as he did in the English north. I believe in honour above all. But I like the gold he has in his coffers, and the land that spreads out before him, I admit.’ Standing, he looked around the hall. ‘There is much to be said for being king.’

  Kraki shrugged. He had no quarrel with this man. In other times, he may well have liked him. They were brothers of the field of battle. But the Viking stared past the warlord to where Karas was lurking in the shadows. The Roman was a different matter. He reeked of threat, as did his dog Ragener, aye, and the moon-faced boy too. It was only fitting that they travelled together. Why they had come to the warlord, he did not know, but he sensed that here there were plots within plots.

  Leaning down, Roussel caught Kraki under the arm and hauled him to his feet. ‘You will soon get some food in your belly, and wine too. I would wager you would not say no to that?’ He laughed, slapping the Viking on the back. ‘But first we must put some miles behind us.’

  With a gentle shove, he urged Kraki towards the door. Accompanied by a knot of warriors, they crossed the town and passed through the gates. In the east, a pink sliver edged across the horizon. Kraki came to a halt, looking around in surprise. The tent city of the warlord’s army was empty. Silence hung over the once bustling town. Nearby, horses had been readied and carts were laden with provisions.

  ‘You need all your men to hunt down Hereward? Or to crush the Athanatoi?’ the Viking asked.

  Roussel grinned. ‘Aye, crush them we will.’ He looked to the lightening sky. ‘They may well be already lying in their own blood. They will have found a surprise waiting for them. But that is not all, Viking.’ Leaping on to the back of his mount with the skill of a seasoned horseman, Roussel waved a hand to command his men to throw Kraki into the back of one of the carts. ‘My army will not be returning this day. No, today we leave Amaseia behind.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  IT WAS THE hour of dawn. Around the dome of the Hagia Sophia, a halo was forming. The rooftops were limned with gold, and the whitewashed halls were starting to emerge from the night like ghosts. But in Constantinople’s lonely streets the shadows still swelled. As the first birdsong trilled, a faint beat echoed. Footsteps clattered nearer. Two children raced from the dark, faces flushed, wide eyes darting as they searched for a place to hide.

  ‘We were too confident,’ Leo Nepos gasped. He glanced over his shoulder as he ran. The men at their backs were drawing closer.

  ‘If you would live a life without risk, be a farmer.’ Ariadne Verina narrowed her eyes. They were close now. There was still a chance they could escape by the skin of their teeth. But then she too looked back. Shapes moved in the dark, four, perhaps five of them. Her voice deepened, her face growing harder. ‘Do not be afraid. Should they catch us, we will gut them like deer. This is the vow of al-Kahina.’

  Clasping her companion’s wrist, she yanked him to the right, down a filthy alley where the light had still not licked. Her head spun with thoughts, memories of the woman she would be, she believed herself to be: Meghigda, warrior-queen of the desert tribes, a woman who would never show fear, never be beaten like a cur, never die. The spirit of Dihya burns in my breast, she repeated silently in her head; a prayer, a spell.

  For a moment, she stumbled over shards of shattered amphorae and discarded sacks until she found the pile of rotting fish guts, tossed out by one of the merchants, where she had come across it the other day. Leo gagged at the foul stink. Pressing a finger to her lips, she thrust the lad down on the other side of the heap and crushed in close to him. The blush of his skin warmed her cheek and she felt her heart trip faster.

  Ariadne’s breath burned in her chest as the crack of footsteps rattled past the end of the alley. She counted the passing bodies, then pushed her head up just as the final pursuer ran by. She glimpsed a sword, glinting in the first light.

  �
��Are we safe?’ Leo breathed.

  Ariadne glanced at the lad fondly. He was weaker than she. He could never survive the hardships she had endured. Yet she understood his yearning to be something more: to gain respect, and, perhaps, power. Without respect he was nothing, and no one could bear to be that way. When her father died, she had been left with no value in this cruel city. But she had found some worth through Salih ibn Ziyad, and some purpose too. And she had found her power in Meghigda. ‘For now,’ she said. ‘But they will be searching for us. We will wait here until the merchants arrive, and then lose ourselves in the crowd.’ She fumbled for his hand and gave it a squeeze. After a moment, he responded.

  Ariadne thought back to earlier that night: her desire to escape the confines of the house of Anna Dalassene had made her too reckless. Once she had found Leo she had persuaded him to join her in spying on Falkon Cephalas, the architect of all her misery. After following Nikephoritzes and his closest advisers from the Boukoleon palace, they had eventually found themselves at the back of a filthy tavern not far from the Petrion Gate on the north side of the city. More of his men had gathered there, spies it seemed, far away from prying eyes. Talk had been unguarded, and Ariadne and Leo had heard too much. When they had been discovered by a drunken rogue stumbling out into the night to drain his bladder, Falkon could not let them escape with what they now knew. His dogs had been loosed, a host of bloodthirsty warriors, hunting them through the streets with a relentlessness that told Ariadne she would never be able to rest easy again.

  ‘Why did I follow you?’ Leo moaned, hugging his arms around his knees.

  ‘To find the truth. Falkon Cephalas will come for your own kin soon. You must know that. He seizes any that he feels threatens the emperor, never mind if they are noble. It is said that he has a chamber deep beneath the Boukoleon palace where he tortures them until they plead for death. The cries that rise from that place would chill the blood, they say.’

  ‘Who say?’

  ‘People.’

  Leo turned up his nose. ‘He would not dare come for the Nepotes.’

  Salih ibn Ziyad would lash her with his tongue if he knew that she was in the company of one of the hated Nepotes. If only he could see that Leo was still an innocent. The boy could not be blamed in any way for the death of Meghigda, queen of the Imazighen and the woman Salih had loved above all others. No, that stain was upon the soul of Maximos Nepos alone. But her teacher believed that vengeance should follow blood. In his eyes, all of the Nepotes must pay.

  For a moment, Leo’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head, puzzled. ‘Why do you help me? Your kin have been rivals of the Nepotes since before we were both born.’

  ‘I have no kin,’ Ariadne snapped. Catching herself, she forced her voice to soften. ‘My father cared only for his sons. He treated me worse than a dog, forcing me to crawl beneath the table waiting for scraps from his meal, locking me in the dark for days at a time, beating me till I bled … beating me, and worse …’ She choked on the words, the memories burning her mind. ‘I am glad the Nepotes murdered him.’ She spat into the pile of fish guts. ‘But the Verini live on. My uncle, Karas, is worse by far than even my father. He too is ruled by his lust for power, a hunger that will make men do aught to gain what they want.’

  ‘But you are not like the rest of your kin,’ Leo murmured. ‘I see kindness in you. You pleaded for my life. You have even tried to help the Nepotes this night.’

  ‘We do not have to be ruled by our blood, or by days long gone,’ Ariadne said, passion igniting in her voice. ‘I can see that clearly now.’ Her thoughts flew back to when she crept through the catacombs and discovered the cell where her father had imprisoned Meghigda. ‘My eyes were opened by a woman … a wanderer from Afrique, a queen, a warrior—’

  ‘A warrior?’ Leo’s brow furrowed. ‘A woman?’

  ‘Yes! She was filled with fire and fury, and filled with hope too. She led her people in battle, and cared for them as a mother, and taught them that they should never bow their heads to any man. They called her al-Kahina, slayer of devils.’ Her voice hardened, her eyes flashed. ‘And now that she is dead, I am al-Kahina, and all that she believed lives on in me. You must trust me.’ She closed her eyes, feeling herself become the woman who had showed her a light in this miserable life. ‘We will survive this night.’ She heard her voice echo as if from the depths of a well, the voice of another. It was as if she were standing in the dark at the back of her head, observing herself. ‘Falkon’s men are dogs who smell blood, and like dogs they can be easily deceived. We will let the shadows of the city cloak us. We will move through it like ghosts. And if they dare confront us, they will know our wrath.’ She felt the blood pulse in her temple. Fire swept through her, the fire of al-Kahina.

  Leo let these words settle on him, giving no sign that he believed them. ‘And what of this strange man who follows you everywhere?’

  Ariadne opened her eyes. For a moment, the fire dampened. ‘Salih ibn Ziyad is a great man, a wise man, and he has a heart bigger than a lion. He teaches me everything that he taught al-Kahina, so I can grow to be like her—’

  ‘A good story, little mouse. But now you are dead.’ The shadow loomed over them both and Ariadne jerked in shock. One of Falkon’s rogues leered down at them. He must have chanced upon them while searching the alley.

  The short-bladed knife leapt into her fingers and she rammed it upwards without a moment’s thought, under the chin of the rogue and into his throat. Twisting the weapon as Salih had taught her, she ripped it to one side. Hot blood gushed down on her. As the man staggered back, gurgling, Ariadne fell upon him like a wolf. He tumbled back on to the heap of fish guts, and she crashed down on him, plunging the knife over and over again into his chest, lost to the frenzy, seeing only her father’s face.

  When the fury finally ebbed, she swayed back. Trembling, she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Leo was gaping at her, in horror or dismay, she could not tell. But there was no longer time to talk. In the growing light, two silhouettes lurched into the end of the alley and a cry of alarm rang out.

  ‘Come,’ she said, wrenching Leo to his feet. ‘There is a place near here where we can hide. But we must be quick.’

  Through the shadows they weaved, with the shouts of pursuit echoing at their backs. Ariadne gritted her teeth. For years, she had been like a rat fleeing the light, unnoticed by all. She knew Constantinople better than anyone: the alleys, the drains, the empty houses, the filthy holes where no one ventured, the secret places. Clambering over a midden, she dragged Leo to a door in a mildew-streaked wall. Inside it was dark and reeked of piss and sweat.

  ‘Where are we?’ the boy whispered.

  ‘The place where my father stored the wares he looted from those who fell before him.’ She fumbled by the door until she found a candle and a flint. Once the flame leapt up, Leo gasped. Across the mud floor, a multitude of children lay under blankets of rags. Most of them were girls. Some still slumbered, but others stirred, pushing themselves up to stare with sleepy eyes. The pale faces were streaked with dirt, the cheeks hollow from hunger. Ariadne felt her heart ache. It was the same every time she ventured here.

  ‘They have no homes, no kin,’ she said, swallowing. ‘They had been beaten, raped, left to die, but I brought them here, gave them shelter, and what food I could steal. Now they have some hope, thin though it may be. And together they will help each other survive.’

  ‘Al-Kahina,’ one of the girls near the front murmured, her eyes welling with tears of gratitude. She lowered her head in respect.

  A figure loomed at Ariadne’s shoulder and she whirled, the knife flying to her fingers once more. Only at the last did she catch herself. It was Rowena, her features shifting from worry to annoyance.

  ‘I knew I would find you here,’ she snapped.

  ‘How?’ Ariadne exclaimed, incredulous. This place had been her secret and hers alone.

  ‘I have followed you here time and again. You think only S
alih watches over you?’

  The girl felt shocked that anyone would care enough to be her guardian. ‘You should not be here. It is too dangerous.’

  Rowena laughed bitterly. ‘Once I was like you. Filled with so much anger at the hardships the world had thrown at me. I cared so little for my own life, I risked it all for vengeance.’ In the candlelight, her eyes gleamed and Ariadne thought how haunted they looked. She had never seen this side of the woman in the time they had spent together in the house of Anna Dalassene. Rowena had always seemed distant, even cold. ‘The price I paid was high,’ the woman continued. ‘I would not see you suffer so. You are just a girl. Do not throw away what joy awaits you.’

  ‘I will come and go as I please,’ Ariadne said, her voice growing flinty.

  Rowena hardened. ‘You do not realize the danger—’

  ‘Nor do you,’ the girl snapped. ‘Falkon Cephalas has more spies abroad than we all feared. And tonight we learned how far he plans to go. Those he accuses will be executed, swiftly, their bodies hanged in the public places. And thus his message will be made clear to everyone in this city.’

  ‘The emperor will never allow it.’

  ‘He will look the other way as long as Falkon ends the plots that have besieged the throne for so long. He is coming for all of us now, anyone who has spoken out, anyone he decides is a traitor. If I were just a girl, we would never have been forewarned—’

  The door thundered open. The candle guttered and went out. There was enough thin light outside to see that three of Falkon’s men had forced their way in. Once the rogues saw that they had found what they were looking for, they drew their swords. Ariadne stiffened. She could see from their faces that no one would be allowed to leave this place alive.

  ‘Why did you come here, Rowena?’ Gripping her knife, Ariadne readied herself to fight to the last. ‘You will die now, and all because of me—’