Hereward 04 - Wolves of New Rome Read online

  ‘Aye, we are,’ Sighard said with a grin. ‘We will take your tokens.’

  Picking up their skirts, the women flocked around the spear-brothers, gushing their praise for the English and Viking fighting men who made up the ranks of the feared guard. Kraki and the others gaped in amazement. Never had they received such a reception as this.

  ‘Can this be?’ Sighard gasped. ‘They treat the Guard as heroes. No, as noblemen.’

  ‘Hold tight to your spear,’ Guthrinc urged with a wry smile, ‘or you will be swept away into a marriage while your back is turned.’

  ‘A good axe can lift skirts and open legs, it seems,’ Kraki said with a shake of his weapon. ‘This city was built for us.’

  Hereward could see that his men were overwhelmed by the adulation. The women gushed accounts of the Varangian Guard’s exploits as if they had been standing alongside them in battle. These warriors were braver than any Roman man, and stronger, and more handsome – aye, and wealthier than many too, so Hereward had heard. The fighting men of the Varangian Guard were well rewarded for their service to the emperor. Though their lives might be short, they would have riches beyond measure and, by the looks of it, any woman in the city that they desired. For all its glory, Constantinople was short of heroes of its own. Few Romans chose to join the army, preferring to earn their coin as merchants where they could grow fat while keeping their heads upon their shoulders, so Maximos had said.

  ‘Keep your heads high, and keep your heads,’ the Mercian growled once more as he urged his men on. ‘When the Guard throws its doors open to us, we want their commanders to see the finest warriors in all the west, not lovesick children led by the nose.’

  The spear-brothers eased their way through the crowd up to the palace gates. The palace was the Varangian Guard’s home while they were on duty, Hereward had learned from the street-sellers outside the hippodrome. But all of them had been given fine houses in a part of the city called the Vlanga, so highly were they held in esteem.

  At the gates, he called up to the guards who peered from the windows on either side. ‘Open up. We are here to join the Varangian Guard.’

  He heard the sound of muttering inside and then the echo of feet running down stone steps. The gates swung open. He was surprised to see a large group on the other side. Several were warriors – members of the Guard, he guessed – with shields upon their arms and axes in hand. One he took to be their commander stood at their head, a Viking with a long brown beard. His helm was tucked under his right arm and he wore a crimson cape. But around these were other men, Romans by the look of it, perhaps workers in the palace.

  ‘You are here to join the Varangian Guard,’ the commander repeated with a broad grin. Laughter rippled through the watching crowd.

  Hereward felt his ears burn. He could see no humour in the situation. ‘We are called the last of the English. We fought the Norman bastards at Ely …’

  The commander nodded. ‘And lost.’

  The Mercian felt his men shift at his back. ‘Betrayed at the last,’ he snapped, angry that he was having to explain himself. ‘But you will find no braver warriors than these.’

  ‘Be that as it may,’ the Viking said, looking around at the bedraggled English men, ‘where is your gold?’

  ‘Gold?’

  The commander laughed, and those around him joined in with his mockery. ‘Do you think we let any ceorl with a stick into the Varangian Guard? Not a day passes without some piss-leaking dog rolling up at these gates, boasting that he was the greatest warrior in whatever mud-soaked village spawned him. Most would cry like babes on the first day of proving themselves here, or faint dead away. And if we let them all in, we would not be so feared, eh?’

  Hereward showed a cold face. ‘We will prove ourselves, gladly.’

  More laughter rang out. ‘Be scared, Haeming,’ someone jeered. ‘They have scars! And axes! And shields!’

  ‘There are rules here,’ the commander continued, still grinning. ‘You buy your way into the Guard with gold, and lots of it. And then you prove yourselves. That way we see how serious you are, and how much you believe in your strong right arm. And if, as many are, you are broken within two days, we piss on your corpse and keep your gold.’

  ‘How do we get gold?’ Sighard’s voice was edged with dismay.

  And yet more laughter. Hereward flinched at the younger warrior’s naivety. ‘You work,’ the Viking called. ‘Or you steal. Or you find a patron. Come back when your purses are full. And waste no more of our time, or we will run you off with your spears shoved up your arses.’

  The crowd disappeared into the palace grounds as the gates creaked shut.

  For a long moment, Hereward glowered at the barred way. When he turned he saw that his spear-brothers’ shoulders had sagged, the weariness that had eaten into them since they had fled England now carving lines into their faces. After all they had suffered, this had been a blow too far. They deserved better.

  The rejection had struck Sighard the hardest. His eyes were hollow and he swayed as though he could barely stand.

  ‘We are not done here.’ Hereward’s voice carried over the heads of his warriors. ‘We will get our gold, and then we will return to show these bastards what we can do.’

  Yet this time his words barely stirred a response. And as they trudged back the way they had come, more insult was heaped on their heads. The women no longer paid them any heed. Aloof now, they averted their gaze as if some filthy, reeking farmers strode by too near.

  Hereward gritted his teeth. Though their dreams had been dashed, and they had nowhere to go, he would find a way to lead them to victory, he vowed.

  Kraki and Guthrinc flanked him as they tramped back towards the fine houses in the shadow of the hippodrome. ‘There is no greater city than this on earth,’ Kraki grunted. ‘It is filled with riches beyond my wildest dreams, and wise men and beautiful women, great buildings and statues and wonders. But the folk …’ He spat. ‘They look down on us as if we were dogs. Worse than dogs. Because we have no gold. Or no learning. Because we are nothing more than earth-walking axes-for-hire with no home. I have had a belly full of them. And if one more speaks to me as if I am the dirt under his shoe I will snap him over my knee like a rotten branch.’

  ‘You will not be alone there,’ Guthrinc put in. The Mercian rarely saw the strong man without a smile playing on his lips, but now he was as grim as his Viking friend.

  ‘We have one friend here,’ Hereward said. ‘We risked our own necks when Maximos stood before Victor Verinus and now we have a price on our heads. Let us see if he will come to our aid in return.’

  ‘Our last hope,’ Sighard muttered from somewhere behind them.

  Kraki whirled, shaking his axe at the young warrior. ‘Have we taught you nothing, you jolt-headed rabbit? While there is a breath left in you, there is always hope.’

  Chastened, Sighard looked down. But Guthrinc threw a huge arm across his shoulders and crushed him against his side. ‘What do we say, eh?’

  ‘We have seen worse,’ the younger man murmured.

  The street-sellers directed them to the house of the Nepotes. They found Maximos squatting against the wall outside. He had not yet found the strength to return to the responsibilities and demands placed upon him by his kin. Jumping to his feet, he flashed a grin to hide his troubled thoughts. ‘Your lives are darker without me in them,’ he boomed. ‘You could not bear to live without the wit of Maximos Nepos.’

  Hereward held up a hand to silence Kraki before the Viking’s bubbling curses reached fever pitch. ‘Our plans have changed,’ he said. ‘For now we need a place to rest, something to fill our bellies, and a way to earn coin.’

  The Roman grinned. ‘My family does not have much, but we will do what we can. And our army always needs good fighting men. But the work is hard, the pay is poor, and the risks are great. Constantinople is beset by enemies on all sides. The empire is close to crumbling, some say. You will be welcomed there, if that is what
you want. But for now, come. Enjoy the kindness of House Nepotes.’

  With a cry of surprise, the slave admitted Maximos, Hereward, Kraki and Guthrinc while the other English waited in the busy street. Soon Maximos was surrounded by people Hereward presumed were his mother, sister and young brother. The older woman held her head high and walked with the poise of a noble; the sister bounded around, barely able to contain her emotion as she smothered Maximos with hugs and shrieked with delight. And the boy showed a quiet strength that belied his years as he beamed at his brother, his eyes moist. So excited were they they paid no heed to their guests, and dragged the Roman away to see his father.

  ‘Can this be?’

  Hereward turned at the familiar voice. In an archway leading to a shady courtyard stood Deda, a wry smile playing on his lips. The Mercian could scarcely believe his eyes. The last time he had seen him was in a forest in England as the knight led Acha, Kraki’s woman, to safety. Hereward was surprised at how pleased he was to see a friendly face. Deda was the only Norman Hereward had encountered who had acted with honour in his dealings with everyone, not just his fellow knights. He clapped the other man on the arm, roaring, ‘Are you a ghost, here to haunt me with memories of my darkest days?’

  ‘Not yet. Though I would have been if William had his way.’

  ‘A Norman and an English rebel, still talking,’ Guthrinc said drily. ‘Fate confounds us with strange choices.’

  Deda must have glimpsed something in Kraki’s face, for he quickly turned to the Viking and said, ‘Acha is well, or was when we parted company. I left her with the Cymri, who vowed to protect her from William’s wrath.’ He paused, then added, ‘She said if I were ever to see you again, I should tell you that you remain in her heart.’

  Nodding, Kraki looked away. Leaving him alone with his thoughts, Hereward and Guthrinc pulled Deda to one side. They listened as he told them of his adventures: how he had taken Rowena as his wife and the two of them had fled England; how Rowena had saved him from thieves upon the road; how they had almost died a hundred times, from hunger and thirst and wild beasts and rogues. The Mercian saw the deep affection in the other man’s face when he spoke of his wife, and the resolve there. The world was a better place with men like Deda in it.

  ‘And England?’ Hereward asked finally, his face darkening.

  ‘Is no better. Without you there to lead the fight, the English have no choice but to bow their heads to their king,’ Deda replied. ‘He is a hard man, but I think, given time, he will be a fair one, if there is no more rebellion. But for now he collects his taxes with a cold face and there is hardship in many places. And the women complain that he takes away their right to speak.’

  Bowing his head, Hereward reflected on how different things might have been if he had not been betrayed before that final battle in the east.

  From the street, a tumult of cries and angry shouts rang out. An instant later the door crashed open and Sighard burst in. Blood streaked his face and turned his tunic black.

  ‘Come,’ he cried. ‘It is Germund.’

  Outside, a crowd had gathered. Hereward shouldered his way through the onlookers and knelt beside a body. More blood soaked into the dust. Germund had been one of the last to join the rebel band in Ely, a quiet man who liked to catch eels, but had been a fierce fighter none the less. His throat had been slashed from ear to ear.

  Sighard barged his way to the Mercian. ‘I saw,’ he began, gulping for air. ‘Germund was just wandering along the street, exploring. A man stepped out … he was wearing a hood. And then he …’ Sighard slashed his hand across his throat.

  ‘Here?’ Kraki roared. ‘This is not the wildwood! In the clear light of the sun? And they called us barbarians!’

  ‘It was one of Victor Verinus’ men.’

  Hereward looked up into the face of Maximos’ sister, a sweet blonde woman who seemed untroubled by the sight of all the blood. She pointed at two slash marks forming a V on Germund’s cheek. ‘See – he has sent you a warning. This is a sign, from the Verini. They have marked you, English. This is the start of it, and they will not stop until you are all dead.’

  The Mercian gaped at the bleeding mark. ‘All because we stood up to him at the hippodrome?’

  ‘Who knows the mind of Victor Verinus?’ Maximos crouched beside the body. ‘A wrong word there, perhaps. Or he has some larger plan that we cannot yet see. But for whatever reason, you have made a powerful enemy, and if he wishes you gone he will make his word good. Victor will not rest until you are all dead.’

  His eyes narrowing, Kraki looked around. ‘We are powerless here. Nowhere to hide. We do not know this city. He does. We are like rabbits to be hunted.’

  ‘What, then?’ Sighard demanded. ‘We run? As we have been running ever since we left England?’

  Hereward hunched over the dead man, feeling the guilt for this death weigh down on him as if he had thrust the blade himself. He thought of his father, who beat his mother to death. And he thought of King William who choked the life out of all England, slaughtering men, women and children to achieve his end. This Victor Verinus was no different. He felt his blood throb, his devil whisper. Maximos was right – one of them must die.

  ‘We have been driven out of our home. We have had everything we value stolen from us. We will not be forced from here too. We are done with running.’ Raising his head, he looked around his men and said, ‘This is war.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  THE DARK WAS everything. The drip of water echoed through the gulf, accompanied every now and then by the frenzied scratching of rat claws. Pressed against the chill stone, Meghigda shivered. The dank scent of great age filled her nose. Under her heels, filthy straw crackled as she stretched out her aching legs. The space was too cramped, barely more than an arm’s length from the rear wall to the cold iron bars.

  How long had she been drifting there in the void? All sense of time had ebbed away. She recalled the moment Victor Verinus raised his fist, but little beyond that. Voices had come to her through the dull haze of pain as she had been dragged to this place, though speaking in a tongue she did not know. And then she had finally come to her senses in this cell, with nothing but the echoes and the gloom for companionship. Once a day a guard brought her a bowl of thin, foul-smelling gruel and a knob of dry bread. Not a word ever left his lips.

  Sometimes faces seemed to float away in the dark, ghosts sent to haunt her. She had glimpsed her mother, as she lay dying, before they cut off her head. And Maximos, that night beneath the stars with the dunes rolling behind him, when he had professed his love and promised to stand beside her while she fought for her people. How quickly those words had turned to mist, she thought with bitterness. Perhaps the very moment she had opened her legs.

  And she remembered Salih, loyal Salih, raising her up when she was at her lowest ebb and telling her the spirit of al-Kahina lived in her breast. Meghigda allowed herself a smile. She owed him everything. This hardship would not deter her from her path. She would find a way to escape, that she vowed. She would not let Salih ibn Ziyad down, nor her people.

  Far off in the dark, a light was flickering. At first she thought it was in her head, another memory returning of the hardships that had forged her. But then the light danced closer, and she heard the shuffle of feet upon stone. Pushing her back up against the wall, she showed a defiant face.

  The candle flame painted a shimmering glow on the wet walls of the passage. The footsteps echoed, closer. An odd gait. Not her guard, she decided.

  And then the visitor came to a halt by the iron bars and raised his candle. Shadows flew across a face that seemed to belong to a devil. Only when the wavering illumination settled did she realize she was looking into the ravaged features of Ragener.

  A chuckle crackled deep in his throat as he set the candle down on the floor. ‘Have you been alone enough yet for even my face to bring a warmth to your heart?’ he lisped through his ragged lips.

  Meghigda spat, but that only
seemed to drive the Hawk to greater laughter. He squatted on his haunches, gripping a bar with his remaining hand to balance himself. ‘Do you find comfort in your new home? You have earned this place with your actions.’

  ‘I should have throttled the life from you when I had the chance.’

  ‘But you showed mercy, as did Hereward before you,’ he replied with a sly grin, ‘because you did not fear me enough. Now you have learned your lesson.’

  ‘There will come another time when I have my hands round your throat, and then I will finish what I began,’ she replied in a calm voice.

  Ragener pretended to look around the cell. ‘I could not leave you alone here without seeing how you fared, and bringing you news of the world you have left behind. You know you will never see the light again?’

  ‘If I am to die, why has your new master not yet ended my days?’ she sneered. ‘There is no gain to him to leave me down here in the dark, wasting food to keep me alive.’

  ‘Your time will come, be sure of that. Victor Verinus has plans for you, I am certain of it.’ The Hawk pressed his face between the bars, the skin stretching so that he became even more of a grotesque in the dancing light. ‘And I am proud to call him master. He holds great power in his grasp, and soon he will hold more still. And I will be there at his side.’

  Meghigda laughed. ‘Of what use are you to a man like that?’

  Ragener scowled. ‘Victor heeds my words. He sees value in me, whereas you and all your filthy kind saw me only as the dirt beneath your feet.’

  ‘We saw you as you are. Look into your own heart, sea wolf.’

  His one good eye bulging, the pirate roared his fury. Meghigda knew that if he could reach her at that moment he would have killed her. But then he sucked in a calming draught of cold air and said through gritted teeth, ‘For bringing you to him, Victor has already made me rich beyond my dreams. I will not regret one moment of the agonies he is going to heap upon your head. But I am clever … more clever than you.’ He bumped his head against the bars. ‘That is why I am on this side. I see a chance here for great things. More than mere gold.’