Hereward 04 - Wolves of New Rome Page 28

  Wulfrun winced, torn. He seemed incapable of seeing the subtle manipulations in his love’s words, Hereward noted.

  Juliana knew she had the advantage. Pressing her hands forward gently, she eased Wulfrun back another step. Her smile never wavered. ‘This man is our friend, as you are the friend of the Nepotes, and more than friend to me,’ she breathed. ‘And he is an ally. My family needs his help. Would you see Victor Verinus truly triumphant? You know what he wants more than anything.’

  ‘No more,’ Wulfrun said, stung by whatever implication lay behind the words. His eyes flickered towards Hereward’s face, still glinting with murderous intent.

  Juliana’s eyes flashed with a moment of pleasure at her victory and then she showed a concerned face. ‘What is wrong?’ she asked. Moving her hands to her love’s cheeks, she forced him to look into her eyes. ‘Why do you attack our guest? I have never seen you this way.’

  ‘Yes, speak,’ Hereward said. ‘If I have wronged you in some way, tell me, so I can make amends.’

  ‘Only your death will balance what you did,’ Wulfrun spat.

  At some point, Deda had slipped into the hall. He frowned with dismay and addressed the commander. ‘You deceived me. You made me betray my friend. That is not honourable. It is you who should make amends. Speak. Tell us what has driven you to this.’

  Wulfrun kept a cold eye on the Mercian. ‘The days of my youth were spent in Barholme, in the east of England, as were this man’s. But he was not my friend. He was no man’s friend. Hereward was a blight on all who knew him. He robbed from anyone whose path he crossed. The rich and the poor. The strong and the weak. I saw him beat another lad with his fists until the boy’s face was such a bloody mess his own mother would not have recognized him. And even then he kept beating until we felt sure the lad would be killed. Six of us dragged him off and paid for it with a whipping ourselves.’ He swallowed. His voice had grown hoarse. ‘There was not a man or woman in all Barholme who was not afraid of him. Others were wounded. Some died, so it was said. Bodies found in the waters. For too long, his father protected him – he was the son of a thegn, after all.’

  Hereward felt his shame burning. All true.

  Wulfrun’s sword hand began to waver from the emotion coursing through him. He sheathed his blade, but still he did not break his accusing stare. ‘One night after the harvests, he stole my father’s horse. Our barn was set on fire – on purpose or by accident, I do not know – and we lost everything. Our plough. All that we had brought in from the fields to see us through the cold months. And when my father tried to stop him, this snake broke his arm. He could not work. We faced starvation and death – my mother, my three brothers and my sister. My father was a good man. He cared for us all, never raised a hand against us. He laughed, yet worked until his fingers bled to keep us fed.’ He jabbed a finger at Hereward, barely able to contain all that seethed inside him. ‘And in one night, this dog stole it all from him. My father became like one with the dead. I never saw him smile again. He walked from village to village, begging for aid. And when he had scraped together enough to see us through the winter, he ended his own days. A rope round his neck in the woods near our home, where I had hunted fowl as a boy. My mother died soon after. She wanted to be with him, I am certain.’

  Silence had fallen across the hall. Hereward could sense the eyes of the others upon him. ‘Now I remember,’ he said. And he did, but still only snatches. So many crimes there had been, as he fled from his own father’s cruelty, and they had become a blur. How terrible that was. He had cared for no one; had not given one thought to the people who fell before him.

  ‘Should a price not be paid for such crimes?’ Wulfrun implored as he looked around the hall. ‘Should this man walk free, and live, and laugh, and love, while my father lies in his grave? Where is the justice in that? They called him hero when he fought against William the Bastard at Ely, but he is no hero. He is a thief. He is a murderer. And he has never paid for all the crimes he committed.’

  Hereward felt sickened. He could not argue with this man at all. His thoughts flew back to the desert night when Maximos had told him there was no escape from days long gone. Now he feared that was true. First there had been Drogo, then Ragener, now this. There was a price to pay for everything he had done, a trail of blood that led from his own actions to some poor soul or other. And though he had tried to make amends since those times, the ghost of the man he had been would haunt him until his dying day. How many other wounded souls waited to meet him?

  Holding out his arms, he said, ‘There is nothing I can say that will ease your pain. I am not proud of what I was. Many suffered … many. I deserved to be killed as a wild dog would have been. But then I met a man of God upon the road and he tried to teach me all the things I had never learned – friendship, justice, care for the weak, sacrifice. Where I succeeded, it was because of him. Where I failed, it was my own weakness. There is nothing I would wish more than to wipe away the stain of those early days. All I can do is try to live my life now as I should have done then, and hope that when God judges me, he will not find me wanting.’

  Wulfrun snorted, unmoved.

  ‘If you wish to take my head now, I cannot stop you. But I will tell you what a good man taught me. Vengeance only wounds the one who wields it. Do not let it eat into your heart. Walk away. Live your life, enjoy your days, and your friends, and those who care for you. This course will only doom you.’

  The guardsman drew his sword once more. Juliana glared as the blade swung high, but it wavered there as the warrior weighed his actions. Hereward knew what raced through the other man’s head. His lust for vengeance had consumed him for so long he could not easily shrug it off.

  ‘You cannot do this,’ Juliana snapped, her face wintry. ‘You have sworn an oath to me.’

  Wulfrun frowned, not understanding.

  ‘Did you hear what I said? This warrior and his men now fight for the Nepotes. For the first time since we were brought low, we have allies. Victor Verinus can no longer trample us under his feet. Our lives depend upon this man and his followers. You have sworn an oath to defend me,’ Juliana repeated, ‘and I will hold you to it. You cannot let your feelings for this man intrude. Lay down your sword.’

  Hereward was struck by the pain in the other man’s face. ‘I have sworn an oath,’ he whispered, letting his sword fall. Smothering her cold words with a smile, Juliana whispered in Wulfrun’s ear, but whatever she said seemed to do no good. His shoulders were hunched, the fire gone out of him. But she had won, and she seemed pleased by that. Turning, she took her mother’s arm.

  When the two women had left, Deda told Wulfrun how he had overheard Victor Verinus demanding Juliana’s chastity. ‘You talk of crimes,’ the knight continued, ‘but the Stallion’s are not in days long gone, they are now, and they are unending, and they are unspeakable. We must stand together before more blood is spilled.’

  ‘How could I ever trust him?’ Wulfrun snapped, jabbing a finger towards Hereward.

  The Mercian bristled. ‘And how can we trust you? In battle will I forever be watching for a sword in my back?’

  Now it was Maximos’ turn to make the peace. He rested one hand on the commander’s arm. ‘Set aside your hatred, for now. Deda is right. We must ensure Victor Verinus commits no further crimes. We must protect my family … my sister.’

  Wulfrun clenched his fists. He could not deny what Maximos had said, but still he fought with himself. ‘My oath is to the emperor, and Victor Verinus is in his favour. And my oath to Juliana …’ He bit off the words.

  The Mercian understood the guardsman’s torment. One man could never serve two masters, but he had sworn to do so before God. Hereward hoped he would not regret those vows. ‘In war, we find our enemy, and then choose our allies, and not all of them are friends,’ he said.

  After a moment, Wulfrun nodded. ‘Very well. But there will come a time when this battle has been fought. And then we will end this between us with honour,
and one of us will die.’

  And with that, he whirled and marched out of the door. Yet barely had he crossed the threshold when a thin girl with lank red hair stepped into view. She must have been waiting outside until the raised voices had died away. A beggar, Hereward guessed, but she showed nothing but confidence in the way she scanned the hall.

  Maximos scowled. ‘Be away with you, witch. The Verini are no longer welcome here.’

  The girl was unmoved. ‘I bring you news of al-Kahina,’ she said. ‘Come now, lest she lose her life.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  GOLDEN SHARDS SHIMMERED on rippling black water. Oars dipped, splashed. Hollow echoes whispered back from on high. Across the vast vault of darkness, three pools of light drifted as the flat-bottomed boats crossed the abyss. Ghosts of marble columns marched out of the gloom into the illumination of the swinging lanterns and disappeared into the gulf behind. The world seemed to be holding its breath.

  Hereward knelt in the prow, watching the way ahead. He could see nothing; it was blacker than a moonless fenland night. When he cocked his head, all he could hear were the distorted rumbles and beats of lapping water and falling droplets. In the chill air, the smell of wet stone was sharp in his nose.

  He smiled. After so long, they were close.

  Behind him, Kraki rowed, slow, steady. Sighard and Salih ibn Ziyad squatted astern. No one spoke. Twelve of them there were in all, but that was more than enough if the girl had been right. Somewhere ahead, through a ragged hole in a stone wall, Meghigda waited in her cell. Once they had her back, they could take this war to Victor Verinus’ door.

  At first, Maximos had called the Stallion’s daughter, Ariadne, a liar. Then, when Hereward had become convinced of the truth in her eyes, the Roman had refused to come. Salih had bared his teeth and half drawn his silver dagger before the others had restrained him, but Maximos would not be persuaded. Hereward could only guess that at the last his troubled feelings for the woman he had once loved, and then abandoned, had proved too much. Either that or he could not face the edge of Meghigda’s tongue in front of the men he had come to call brothers.

  Once he had sent word for the men to accompany him, Ariadne had led the way through the deepening shadows like a wolf-child, lean and loping. As the sun slipped behind the hills they had found themselves heading south-west, past the grand homes of wealthy Romans with the vast dome of the Hagia Sophia looming high overhead. Here they had come to a basilica surrounded by a colonnade with lush gardens alive with the music of the birds’ evensong.

  Through doors and darkened corridors she guided them, until they came to a steep flight of stone steps leading down into the cistern which collected water channelled from far outside the city. And there she had left them. As they stood on the stone platform where the three boats were moored, Hereward and his spear-brothers had marvelled at the construction. Never had they seen such a wonder. But once they were out on the water, all thoughts returned to Meghigda.

  Behind him, Hereward could sense Salih ibn Ziyad’s brooding presence. The Imazighen wise man had barely spoken a word since they had left the house of the Nepotes. Only one thought burned in his mind now: saving his queen. The price that would be paid for her suffering would come later.

  As they swept past one of the spectral stone columns, a woman’s shriek rang out from deep in the dark ahead. Every man on those three boats jerked alert. Hereward stiffened, his blood running cold. He had heard agony in that cry.

  The boat rocked as Salih half stood. ‘Row faster,’ he urged, ‘or we will be too late.’ His voice crackled with desperation.

  The Mercian pushed aside all thoughts of what might have caused that shriek. But everything he had heard about Victor Verinus told him to expect the worst.

  Another shriek rang out, and another, and then a long silence that left Hereward praying for another scream.

  Now they had no need for subterfuge. The boats ploughed through the black water. Echoes of the splashing oars and Hereward’s exhortations became a constant rolling thunder. Soon the gulf of darkness fell away and the lantern-light shimmered across a dripping stone wall. ‘There!’ Salih called, pointing to a gaping hole in the masonry.

  As soon as the boats crashed against the narrow platform, the spear-brothers leapt out. While three men moored the craft, Hereward snatched a lantern and led the others through the ragged gash. Drawing Brainbiter, he prowled into the catacombs. The English warriors pressed close at his back, eyes darting into every tunnel they passed.

  ‘If Meghigda is dead, there will be blood,’ Salih hissed, ‘and agonies unimaginable by man.’

  The Mercian believed him.

  His men were unnerved by the silence, he could sense it. If Victor Verinus waited at the end of the passage, there was no doubt that he could hear their approach. Lowering the lantern, Hereward peered ahead. In a chamber at the end of the tunnel, the light of a guttering candle danced. He sniffed the air. The iron scent of blood wafted on the draught. He hoped Salih could not smell that reek, for he feared the wise man would not be able to control himself.

  ‘Be ready,’ he whispered.

  His warriors raised their weapons, their eyes searching for even the hint of movement in the gloom.

  When Hereward stepped into the candlelit chamber he hunched low, ready for any attack. But none came. A body lay face down on the filthy floor, blood puddling around the head. The throat had been slashed. The thumping of his heart eased when he saw that it was a man. But it was not Victor Verinus. The victim was smaller, older, the skin of the arms like parchment, the thinning hair white. And this was a wealthy man too, his tunic woven from fine cloth and heavily embroidered.

  Hereward’s eyes darted to the only other person there. A woman sat on the dirty straw of a cell, behind bars of iron reaching from the floor to the rock overhead. The door hung open. The Mercian furrowed his brow when he saw that it was not Meghigda. Long black hair framed a face as hard as flint. She was grinning, taunting silently. As he watched, she opened her mouth and shrieked, drawing up a play of agony from deep inside her. When the scream died away, she grinned once more, her gaze challenging him.

  Salih ibn Ziyad lunged. His silver dagger glittered in the flickering candle-flame. When Hereward swung up an arm to hold him back, the wise man roared, ‘Who are you? What have you done with my queen?’

  The woman only grinned.

  ‘Stay your hand,’ the Mercian commanded. He peered back along the passage, his thoughts whirling. ‘Maximos was right not to come. This is a trap.’

  ‘But what kind of trap?’ Guthrinc muttered, looking round.

  ‘I do not know, but we should not tarry to find out.’ Hereward levelled his blade at the woman. ‘Stand. You will come with us. And once we are away from this place, you will answer our questions, mark my words.’

  With a shrug, the woman eased out of the cell and joined them. The Mercian felt uneasy that she had obliged so quickly.

  ‘Make haste,’ he urged. ‘I would not be down here any longer than need be.’

  As the spear-brothers streamed into the passage, Salih snarled, ‘Then that dog still has Meghigda.’ His voice crackled with fury, but his eyes showed only desperation.

  As the men clambered into the boats, Hereward spoke his thoughts aloud. ‘Victor Verinus knew we would come here. He wanted us to come. And he made sure his daughter would bring us.’

  ‘She tricked us?’ Kraki growled.

  The Mercian shook his head. ‘You could see she spoke true. She was as much a pawn as we were.’

  Even when they were in the boats and rowing hard across the cistern, the warriors could not rest. Eyes darted around. They listened for any sound among the whispering echoes. They knew, as well as Hereward did, that the Stallion’s game was still to play out.

  ‘We are simple men,’ Sighard protested from the stern. ‘Give us an axe or a spear and we will show you the fire in our hearts. But we are not prepared for this city of plots and whispers, words as
sharp as blades and shadows and trickery.’

  Kraki glanced back. ‘I miss the smoke-filled halls of Eoferwic, and the rain dripping through the thatch. I miss the simple pleasures of mead and hearth-fire. But this is the world we have inherited now. It is just another battlefield. We learn the rules or we die.’ He held Sighard’s gaze until the younger man nodded his acceptance.

  But as they drifted out of the dark towards the landing platform, booming echoes resounded, so loud that they could not hear themselves speak. The sound of running feet on stone steps. The crash of axes upon shields, the rattle of mail-shirts.

  Warriors flooded out from the steps and formed a line three deep along the stone platform. Crimson capes swirled in the lantern light. A wall of shields, cold eyes gleaming over the edges. The Varangian Guard waited in silence.

  ‘Do we fight?’ Sighard gasped.

  ‘We will be slaughtered.’ Glowering, Kraki sat back on his bench and scanned the row. ‘They are many, we are few.’

  ‘Row back, then.’

  ‘To what end?’ the Viking growled. ‘There is no way out. We would be waiting for death to claim us.’

  Sighard shook his head. ‘What do they want? We have done no wrong.’

  Hereward searched for Wulfrun among the ranks, hoping that conflict could be averted, but could see no sign of him. On the edges, archers trained their shafts upon the three boats. The Mercian sensed his men looking to him. He showed a confident face. ‘Keep your weapons down,’ he called.

  But as the boats bumped against the platform, the woman leapt out and ran to the guard’s commander. ‘They murdered Jacob Scleras,’ she called, pointing at Hereward. ‘Cut him down because he is one of the emperor’s trusted advisers.’

  The Mercian felt his heart sink. Now he could see what Victor Verinus had planned. ‘He was already dead when we found him—’

  ‘Lies!’ the woman shrieked. ‘I saw it with my own eyes. And they say this is part of some greater plot. They threaten us all!’