by James Wilde
But all Rowena could think was that this was no chaste child. Whatever Juliana may have pretended to Wulfrun, she was exhibiting all the skills of a Frankish whore, and ones that only came with long experience.
The monastery was still. Only the sighing of the wind in the roof broke the silence as Neophytos hauled his bulk along the corridor. At the door to Nathaniel’s chamber, he pressed his ear to the wood and listened. Soon the sacrist would be required in the church, where the emperor would be praying for all those who lost their lives at Manzikert, and no doubt for the old emperor who had lost his head. But there was still time. With chubby fingers, the eunuch wiped the sweat from his brow and pushed the door open.
Nathaniel sprawled on his bed, naked. His eyes were wide and staring, but he still breathed, though shallowly. The boy sitting beside him jerked alert and smiled.
‘Here, boy. Now leave us,’ Neophytos said, pressing a coin into the lad’s palm. Once the young one had slipped out, the eunuch picked up the fallen goblet from the pool of wine. He sniffed it, wrinkling his nose at the bitter edge to the scent, then nodded.
‘Our appetites destroy us, Nathaniel, one way or another,’ he said in his sing-song voice. From his pouch, he removed a lump of grey metal and set it to heat in a spoon upon a lantern flame.
The door opened and a hooded figure slipped in. He sat upon a stool in one corner, keeping his head down.
‘Pay no heed to him,’ Neophytos said with a smile. He leaned over the sacrist and pressed two fingers against the pulse in the older man’s neck. ‘You live,’ he said with a nod. ‘You can hear. You can see. You can taste and smell. But you cannot speak and you cannot move. Why, you are quite like my uncle Kalamdios.’ Neophytos allowed himself a satisfied smile. These days, he took his pleasures where he could.
Once the lead had melted, he took the spoon and dribbled the contents into Nathaniel’s ear. There was no scream, of course, and no widening of those staring eyes, but Neophytos thought he saw an odd light in them. He enjoyed that too. Leaning down, he kissed Nathaniel on the forehead, and said, ‘And so, for you, the night draws in.’
‘You will know soon enough when the emperor has fallen,’ Ragener said as he paced the chamber. No sounds drifted through the monastery at that hour. They might have been alone in the world. He eyed the moon-faced boy, Justin, as he perched on the edge of the small bed. He looked as calm as if he were just awaking from a deep sleep, not someone who was about to take on the burden of the crown.
The sea wolf opened the door a crack and listened. How long until the blood flowed? His heart thumped in anticipation, but his elation was tinged with anxiety. This was the night when his life changed. The misfortune that had dogged him from when he was a boy would lie behind him. He would be raised up.
‘Will my father come to me?’ the boy asked in his dreamy voice.
‘When all who stand against him have fallen, and not before. He will come to save Constantinople from anarchy, not be seen as the man who caused it.’
The boy nodded, staring blankly at the wall. Ragener knew there were some who found Justin unsettling, but he had always felt he had much in common with the lad. Perhaps they could be friends. The emperor and his chief counsel.
As he turned back into the chamber, the door slammed against his back. The Hawk stumbled forward. Before he could steady himself, the flat of a blade clattered against the base of his skull. Stars flashed, then darkness.
When Ragener came round a moment later, he saw another boy looming over his charge. It was Leo Nepos, scion of that family which Victor always spoke of with contempt. He wielded a blade almost as big as himself, its tip pressed against Justin’s neck.
‘You shall never be emperor,’ Leo was saying. ‘I will take your head first.’
The Hawk tried to scramble to his feet, but his head still spun from the blow. As he pitched forward again, he saw Justin grip the blade with both hands, pressing it away. Though the other lad dragged the sword back, carving through soft palms, Justin showed not a glimmer of pain. His face remained as still as a mill-pond.
Shocked by what he saw, Leo hesitated, and that was enough. In an instant, Justin transformed into a wild beast. Snarling and spitting, his features contorted. Throwing aside the blade, he leapt on the other boy, tearing wildly with clawed fingers. Red lines ripped across Leo Nepos’ face.
When the boy had been sent to end Justin’s days, no one could have guessed what would be unleashed, Ragener thought as he staggered to his feet. He could not have guessed himself.
Before he could draw himself up, the girl, Ariadne, darted in. A knife shimmered in her hand. Throwing herself upon her brother’s back, she cuffed him across the back of the head with the hilt of her blade. Dazed, the fire went out of him.
‘You are your father’s daughter,’ Ragener slurred.
But Ariadne turned to him, her eyes blazing. ‘I am not,’ she spat. ‘I am al-Kahina, slayer of devils. This night you will live. But know that one day, when you least expect it, I will come for you. And then I will take your other eye, and your hand, and your feet as well, and I will leave you in the filth of the street where you belong.’
Ragener shivered. Those very words had been uttered by Meghigda in the cell in the catacombs. How could this girl have known that – unless the spirit of the Imazighen queen now possessed her? He staggered back, crossing himself.
Hauling Leo to his feet, Ariadne thrust him into the corner. ‘For all that he has done, he is still my brother,’ she said, waving her knife towards Justin. ‘I cannot stand by and let you end his days.’
Leo lowered his blade. ‘If he leaves here … if he leaves Constantinople … he can live.’
For the briefest moment, Ariadne’s face softened. Ragener thought he saw something pass between her and the Nepos boy, but then she whirled and thrust Justin towards the door. ‘Take him away from here,’ she said to the Hawk, her voice and her eyes cold. ‘Take him to my uncle in the east. Karas will care for him – they are of a kind. Take him … and wait for me.’
Ragener felt gripped by a terrible fear. Grabbing Justin, he dragged the boy out into the silent corridor. ‘Run,’ he urged. ‘Run. This night is going to hell.’
The candles flickered. Shadows danced across the chamber as Victor threw his head back in ecstasy. Kalamdios whined like a sick dog. The naked women were silent.
Rowena crouched in the shadows. She could barely bring herself to spy any longer, but she still hoped that Victor might utter something, just a word or two, that would give her information she could use to save her husband.
While her daughter worked upon her knees, Simonis crossed behind him. Pressing her breasts against his skin, she kissed him upon his shoulders and his neck and caressed his broad chest with her slender fingers. When he moaned a little, she lifted a goblet from a table beside Kalamdios.
‘Let us give you more pleasure than you can bear,’ she whispered in the Stallion’s ear.
Reaching around him, she eased the goblet to Victor’s lips. He slurped the wine, the red liquid cascading down his chest, soaking Juliana’s hair. When he had had his fill, he smacked his lips. With another kiss upon his neck, Simonis tossed the goblet aside.
Rowena could not understand how the women could give themselves willingly to such a beast. She knew full well the price that had to be paid when such sacrifices were made, whatever the end.
Linking her arms with Victor’s, Simonis pulled her hands behind his back and locked them. At first she was gentle, but then she yanked them tight. Rowena could see that Victor enjoyed the restraint. His smile became a grin of pure pleasure.
But then a shadow crossed his face. Rowena leaned forward, puzzled. The Stallion’s eyes opened, and he moved his lips as if trying to speak, but no sound came forth. When he staggered a step, Simonis supported him.
‘The wine is strong,’ she breathed in his ear.
Juliana looked up at her mother, Victor’s cock still deep in her throat. Those wide eyes, thos
e once innocent eyes, smiled, Rowena thought. And then Juliana bit down.
Rowena recoiled, her hand flying to her mouth. She might well have cried out, but if so it was lost beneath Kalamdios’ wild mewlings, which had whipped up to fever pitch. And now Victor did make a sound, but it was only a long, terrible groan like the closing of a tomb.
Sickened, Rowena pulled back. She could not bear to watch, but hearing the noises that issued from that bloody chamber was just as bad. Soles flapped upon the marble floor; a convulsion. A grunt from Simonis as she held her prisoner fast. And then a sound like tearing silk. Rowena tried to smother the vision that flashed across her mind but she could not deny it: Victor Verinus was a stallion no more.
She listened to the sound of a large form slumping down, and then Juliana coughing and spluttering as she spat out the contents of her mouth. Mother and daughter laughed. Kalamdios made a wheezing, barking noise that seemed almost joyful.
‘And so we have taken from you all that you valued.’ Rowena glanced back into the chamber. Victor lay with his head in Kalamdios’ lap. Simonis was kneeling beside him, whispering in his ear. ‘You are dying now. Soon your blood will have drained away. You cannot speak, but you can hear, man who is no longer a man. And you should know how badly you have failed. You thought yourself so clever with your plots and your plans, your taunts and your torments. But you underestimated the Nepotes.’
‘Poor Victor. You never guessed, did you, nor even suspected?’ Juliana breathed, running her fingers through the general’s lank hair.
‘Maximos murdered your son, not that queen. She witnessed his crime, but through love she never spoke out. And now she too is dead,’ Simonis murmured, enjoying twisting the knife even at the last. ‘That was always the first part of our plan. To take away your best hope for emperor so you would be forced to rely upon that boy … that monster, Justin.’
Victor shook as if he had a fever. Rowena watched the pool of blood around him gleam in the candlelight.
‘And Maximos killed the English warrior in the street outside this house, so they would join us in the fight against you,’ Simonis continued. ‘From that moment, all that you hoped for was slipping through your fingers. Then we only had to wait for you to do our work for us. Murdering the emperor’s closest advisers, who could be replaced by our own. And then murdering the emperor himself. When he dies at the hands of your men tonight, it will not be Justin who seizes the crown, it will be Maximos. He will be the hero of this night, and he will be the new emperor. And the Nepotes will rule Constantinople, and the Verini will fade away, never to be remembered.’
‘He goes now, Mother,’ Juliana said. ‘Quickly.’
As Simonis clamped her hands on Victor’s head and forced his mouth wide, Juliana pressed something into her father’s hand. His fingers twitched and spasmed, but she held them tight and manipulated them towards their dying tormentor’s mouth.
Rowena heard his groans become stifled. She winced at the grunts and gasps as he choked upon his own flesh. But after a moment they grew weaker and weaker, and finally they were done.
Victor Verinus was dead.
Racked with horror, Rowena clawed her way out of the chamber and scrambled towards the door to the street. She knew now that the Nepotes were capable of anything. If they found her there, if they suspected for a moment what she had witnessed, her life would be over.
As she stumbled out into the cool night, a figure stepped towards her. In her shock, Rowena cried out, clasping her hands to her mouth to silence herself.
But it was only Alric. ‘You must come with me,’ he urged, looking around as if he feared for his own life. ‘I know Victor Verinus’ plan. Tonight rivers of blood will be spilled.’
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
BLACK RATS FOUGHT over crumbs of bread. Cloaked in the gloom in the corner of the piss-reeking cell, ringed tails lashed the air, claws raked, fangs were bared. Hereward sat on the filthy straw, his back pressed against the cold stone, and watched the frenzy. The hungry vermin had turned on each other in a moment to get what they most desired.
Beneath the Boukoleon palace, where not long before the Varangian Guard had dashed the hopes of the English, the low-ceilinged cell was large enough to accommodate Hereward, his men, Deda and Salih ibn Ziyad. Through a grille in the solid door, wavering light washed from a single torch in the corridor. For men used to seeing in the black fenland nights, it was enough.
The Mercian glanced around the faces of his spear-brothers. In twos and threes, they sat whispering, some laughing. They did not look like men who had been told they faced certain death when the sun came up. Only Salih sat alone, brooding. Head bowed, wrapped in his black robes, he looked like a battlefield raven waiting to feast.
Hereward felt the weight upon his shoulders. All his men’s hope of a new dawn had been placed in him, but he had led them only to this, as he had led them to defeat at Ely. They deserved better. And now they expected him to find some path out of this plight.
‘No one blames you for what happened. You have done only the best for us, but sometimes fate decrees that even the strongest man’s will is not enough.’
Hereward jerked his head up at the words. It was as if his very thoughts had been read.
Sighard stood in front of him. ‘You are our leader, Hereward, but this is not your burden alone.’
‘Then why are your brothers so spirited?’
‘Would you have it any other way?’ Sighard squatted. ‘Turn your thoughts out, not in. We are all warriors. There are days when you fight better than you ever have before, and the sod turns under your foot and you fall before a weaker man’s spear. You know that. And you know that death waits for all of us, and he can come on a summer’s day as readily as a winter’s night. How you meet him … that is the mark of a man.’ He smiled. ‘Clear your head of the doubts that nag you. You know what I say is true.’
‘I promised you gold and glory—’
‘You promised us the chance of gold and glory. And you gave us that. We are all thankful. We could have died at Ely, but you helped us live. And in Afrique, and here in this pit of vipers. We owe you all we have. And if there was mead here we would drink to you, aye, even as we walked to our death.’
The Mercian felt warmed by Sighard’s words. For so long he had been a solitary wolf in winter woods. Now he had brothers who would die for him. Who accepted his word without question. And who accepted the failures alongside the victories. He could ask for no more from this life. ‘We still live,’ he said with a firm nod. ‘And so we still fight.’
Sighard grinned. Glancing around, he leaned in and whispered, ‘One more thing. The blackness was eating my heart. I wished only to die. But you would not let me. You … and Kraki … you made me fight when I had laid down my arms. I owe you my life. That I will never forget.’
When Sighard had returned to the others, Hereward thought on what he had said. They had reached their lowest ebb, but they had been here before and fought their way out. Given a chance, they would do so again.
When the door ground open, he was ready. But as he jumped to his feet, he paused. Wulfrun stood framed in the dancing torchlight, his helm tucked under his arm. Hereward thought that the commander looked as if he had been told of the death of a loved one. ‘Follow me,’ he intoned, and spun away.
The English glanced at each other in surprise, but they did not need to be told twice. Grinning, they stumbled over each other to get out into the corridor.
Wulfrun waited with Ricbert, the guard who had seized them. He heard the smaller man ask, ‘You are sure of this?’
‘No,’ the commander said. ‘But this world has been turned on its head. If we run with dogs instead of lions, so be it.’
He led the way up steep stone steps and into a chamber that looked out over the night-garden. ‘Take your weapons,’ he commanded, sweeping his arm towards a jumble of axes, spears and shields in one corner. Thinking it was yet another trap, the English hesitated until Hereward plucked
up Brainbiter and slid it into its sheath.
‘What has brought this change of heart?’ he asked.
Sliding his helm on to his head, Wulfrun said, ‘Victor Verinus is dead. How, I do not yet know. But his plot has not died with him. The Varangian Guard are abroad in the city, searching for your men, and far from where they are needed. Victor’s men lie in wait to slaughter the emperor and any of his advisers who stand with him.’ He paused, seemingly gathering his strength. ‘And those who killed the Stallion will wait for Victor’s plan to unfold and, blameless, will then seize control.’
‘Who murdered him?’
Wulfrun moistened his lips. ‘The Nepotes.’
‘The family of your woman.’
Wulfrun would not meet Hereward’s eye. The commander sent Ricbert out and a moment later the aide returned with Alric and Rowena.
‘They pleaded for your worthless lives,’ Wulfrun said, his face like stone, ‘and I listened.’
‘The Verini planned to attack the emperor at the monastery as he prays for those who died at Manzikert,’ Alric said. ‘The Varangian Guard would not be allowed upon the sacred ground during those prayers, even if they had been near. And thus the emperor would be undefended.’
‘How did you learn this?’ Hereward asked.
Smiling, Alric tapped his head with his good hand. ‘Sometimes I have brains of mud, but this day God blessed me. The poisoning of the sacrist had been weighing heavily upon my mind. But with Nathaniel in that role, he could place others of a like mind around him. Together they could allow Victor’s men into the monastery and hide them away until they were needed.’
Ricbert glanced at Wulfrun. ‘My spy who died upon the altar … he must have had news of this plot.’
‘It seems many of us have mud for brains,’ the commander muttered. ‘I should have seen this unfolding …’ He caught himself, not wishing to show weakness. But then his features darkened. ‘I have bad news. Victor Verinus did not die without bringing more misery into this world.’