The Bloody Crown

by James Wilde

  ‘Aye.’ Kraki shook his fist in the air with defiance. ‘One man . . . an army . . . I am not afraid.’

  ‘Ah, a brave warrior,’ Guthrinc said with a slow nod. ‘Or a jolt-head. I have yet to decide.’

  As the Viking bared his teeth, the spear-brothers cheered, playfully urging a fight. But when he looked around, Hereward could see that jocularity was only a mask to hide the worry they had shared that their leader would never return.

  Sighard stepped forward, always the most honest with his feelings, as the young often were. ‘Victory?’ he asked.

  ‘The Blood Eagle is here, alive, and all is well.’

  ‘Did Wulfrun snap like a wounded dog when he found you had done a whole war-band’s work on your own? And ignored his orders?’ Kraki wiped lamb grease from his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Ah, fuck him. He has a face like a stone, and a heart like one too.’

  Derman thrust a cup of wine into Hereward’s hand. ‘Speak. We would all hear what you have learned in the east. Is war coming? Will we soon be called on to fight the Seljuk hordes?’

  The Mercian swilled back his drink and licked his lips. ‘Aye, the Turks are gathering. It was always to be, but the Blood Eagle’s slaughter has made it sooner rather than later.’ He looked around at the serious faces. They were not afraid. That was good. It would take steel to carve a path through the carnage that was to come. Eyeing Alric, he added, ‘Whispers pass through the court that we face another enemy too.’

  ‘A Norman adventurer,’ the monk said, picking up the telling. ‘A great warlord, greater than Roussel de Bailleul. He was only interested in gold and power. This one wants to bring the empire to its knees.’

  ‘This you know for sure?’ Sighard asked.

  ‘Fear has driven the Romans into the churches to pray for their souls. The truth of these threats rings up to the rafters with every plea to God.’

  ‘And what does the emperor do? Nothing, I would wager,’ Hiroc grumbled. ‘He was good enough when his own rule was threatened. He pursued the traitor Basilakios to the end, and blinded him in judgement. But does he have the stomach for a fight on two fronts, a fight against two great armies that turn us into dwarfs?’

  ‘And we are caught in the middle,’ Sighard said, rubbing a hand through his thick red curls. ‘A few good men.’

  Kraki swilled back the last of his mead. ‘We have been here before. Hope was thin on the ground when William the Bastard besieged us at Ely, but still we fought him to a standstill. And we would have won if not for the treachery of churchmen.’ His gaze flickered towards Alric.

  The monk held up his chin. ‘We are not all the same.’

  ‘Be that as it may, what do we do now?’ Guthrinc asked. ‘Wait for orders to ride into the jaws of death?’

  ‘That is our job,’ Derman said. ‘That is why we are weighed down by sacks of gold. It would not be honourable to flee from this fight.’

  ‘No one is talking about fleeing,’ Kraki snapped, glaring.

  Slowly, all eyes turned towards Hereward. A silence fell across the feasting hall. In the glow of the fire, the women bowed their heads, pretending they were no part of this, but gripped by what they were hearing. Kraki was wrong. They had not been here before. Never had they faced so many enemies without a good general to lead them to the higher ground.

  ‘Our fate has not yet been written,’ Hereward said in a quiet voice that carried clear across the hall. ‘Now, return to your feasting and keep your spirits high. I have more work to do.’

  It was enough. The spear-brothers turned away, their voices growing louder as they searched for their cups, their meat and their women. They had long since decided to put all their faith in their leader, and they had not been disappointed yet.

  ‘You shoulder your burden well,’ Alric whispered, leaning in. ‘You are a good man, and they know it.’

  Hereward turned to his friend, shaking his head slowly. ‘Make no mistake, when it comes to war, I am a devil. This fight will not be over soon. You know that to be true.’

  A shadow crossed the monk’s face at what he saw in his friend. But he nodded in agreement and said with a note of caution, ‘You make things plain as day and night when you look upon yourself. Angels and devils. But men are men, and what do you call a devil who does God’s work?’

  Hereward looked back to the spear-brothers who had followed him loyally for so long. He had no time for the monk’s clever words.

  ‘I am a devil,’ he repeated quietly.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HEREWARD PRESSED BACK into the deep shadows of the alley. In a swirling pool of torchlight, Wulfrun strode down the street ahead, his helm dipping down, his crimson cloak flapping behind him. Ricbert hurried at his side, holding the flaming brand aloft. The festivities were ending. The Yule fire would be burning low, the Varangian Guard drunk.

  Cloaked in the dark at the Mercian’s back, Alric waited until the commander and his aide had passed and then he breathed, ‘Can we trust no one?’

  ‘This has become a city of plots. The threat of an early grave drives men wild. Some seek advantage in the confusion, a new road to power. Others seek only to survive until a new dawn. But they will do anything to win their heart’s desire. We can trust none of them.’

  ‘This is a lonely road we walk,’ the monk replied with a note of regret.

  ‘Was it not ever so?’ Hereward turned to his friend, trying to soften. ‘And keep one eye on Neophytos. That bastard monk is as treacherous as any man I know. He has spun his lies well for his poisonous kin, the Nepotes. In their war against Karas Verinus, that family will do anything – murder anyone, cheat, betray, and in Juliana Nepa’s case bed any man – to achieve their ends. But it is through Neophytos the eunuch that we will know when the Nepotes prepare to make their move.’

  ‘He keeps his own counsel,’ Alric said doubtfully.

  ‘True. But his lips are loose when need be and he can be easily bought if you are sly.’

  ‘Aye. Now he has been shaved, he can no longer lust after women. But his hunger for other pleasures never ends. A table groaning under the kitchen’s finest meats and cakes will make his eyes sparkle.’

  ‘Then return to the monastery. You have much work to do.’

  With some reluctance, Alric nodded and walked away. Hereward felt a pang of regret for the demands he had made. By calling upon their friendship he was leading his ally further and further away from the path of righteousness. But the monk would never deny him. They had shared too much.

  Glancing around, Hereward wrapped his crimson cloak about him and slipped across the narrow street. The houses there were whitewashed, with cool, fragrant gardens at the back. They were mainly the homes of wealthy merchants, and others who had made good coin in that city which loved its gold.

  At a large house with a bronze plate stamped with a wolf’s head by the door, two guards waited under a hissing torch. Hereward nodded to them and stepped inside. The indoor slaves asked him to wait, but he ignored their protests and pushed past them. Searching through the empty chambers, he found himself outside a door through which muffled voices echoed.

  Hereward hammered his fist three times on the wood, and the voices snapped off. For a long moment, there was no sound. Then footsteps padded towards the door and it eased open a crack.

  Alexios Comnenos’ eyes widened in surprise when he saw the Mercian. The commander of the Roman army was naked to the waist, his cheeks flushed and his long black hair curling into ringlets with sweat. His enemies still called him boy, though he had seen twenty-four summers. Still young for such a powerful position, but he had been a better general and warrior than all of them when he was only just starting to grow hairs on his chest, and he had more than grown into the power heaped on him by the emperor. The warriors who fought at his side respected him above all others.

  Before Alexios could utter a word, Hereward pushed past him to tell him the news about Varin where no one could overhear them. For long seasons they had been
allies, bound by secrets and plots, and they had entrusted each other with their lives. The commander began to complain, but his words drained away as the Mercian ground to a halt. There was no longer any use in pretending.

  In the bed, a startled woman peered back, the silk and furs pulled tight to her neck to hide her nakedness. She was older than Alexios – five years, the Mercian knew – and her delicate aristocratic features were pretty, her lips full, her mahogany hair tumbling in curls around her pale face. Hereward had seen her before on many occasions. Why would he not? She was Maria of Alania, the emperor’s wife.

  He stared in surprise for a moment, then bowed his head in deference. ‘I am sorry to disturb your peace,’ he murmured, though no words would do justice to that moment. He turned his back upon the bed. He heard the rustle of silk as the woman slipped out from under her covers, and then the sound of bare feet upon marble as she darted into the next chamber.

  ‘Are you mad?’ he whispered. ‘If the emperor finds his wife here he will cut off your balls. And then he will cut off your head. And now that you have made me an ally in your crime, he will cut off my head too.’

  Alexios shrugged and poured himself a goblet of wine. ‘A man will risk anything for love.’

  ‘There are women aplenty in this city. The greatest beauties in all—’

  ‘Not like her.’ Alexios spun back, his eyes dark with emotion.

  Hereward felt surprised by the intensity he saw there. He had fought alongside the Roman for many a year, and the commander had always seemed serious, a cool-headed general. On the battlefield, he was like ice in his planning. Never had the Mercian seen him like this.

  ‘How long have you been risking your neck?’

  ‘How long have I been in love with Maria?’ Alexios corrected, each word cracking. ‘From the first moment we met.’

  ‘You are throwing meat to starving wolves.’

  ‘I have no choice. I cannot turn away from this.’

  Maria stepped out of the dark of the adjoining chamber, now composed and covered in an amber dress of fine Syrian silk that all but glowed like the sun. ‘As a captain of the Varangian Guard, you have sworn an oath to the emperor,’ she began, fixing her gaze on the Mercian. She spoke English fluently, but it was edged with the thick accent of her Georgian homeland. ‘But you are loyal to your friends, yes? To Alexios?’

  ‘I have seen nothing here this night that is worthy of mention.’

  She nodded and smiled, plucking up a comb to attack the tangle of her hair. Now they were all bound by this secret.

  Hereward thought how strange this honest love must be for her. Her life had been nothing but a series of arrangements to maintain the balance of power. Her father, King George, had sent her to the court at Constantinople to further her education, but she had found herself, at fourteen years, married off to Michael Doukas before that guileless boy had ascended to the throne. With her son, Constantine, she had fled to a Petrion monastery when Nikephoros had deposed Michael and sent him away to become a monk.

  ‘She is a beauty, is she not?’ Alexios’ eyes sparkled as he watched Maria comb her hair.

  ‘Aye,’ Hereward agreed, but he saw much more. Like many of the women he had encountered in Constantinople, Maria of Alania had ambition to match even the most hardened of Roman aristocrats. After the life of an empress, she would never settle for a meagre existence in a monastery, anyone could have seen that. And so it was. His thoughts flew back to the time of mourning that settled on the city when Nikephoros’ wife had died and it seemed that every woman in Constantinople was battling for his hand and the power that came with it. The Doukai had given Maria the help she needed to compete, even against her former mother-in-law Eudokia and her daughter Zoe. And like Alexios, the old goat Nikephoros had been dazzled by this woman’s beauty, and, no doubt, his desire to stop the Doukai plotting against him.

  ‘How is your son?’ Hereward asked. ‘Is he well?’

  Maria’s eyes flashed, and a silent understanding flew between them. Nikephoros had so far refused to name Constantine as his heir. If he had, he might have bought Maria’s loyalty. But now she knew, as all who passed through the court knew, that her days yet to come were built upon shifting sand. After an instant she found her smile again. ‘He thrives like the tallest and most beautiful flower in the garden.’

  Turning back to Alexios, Hereward whispered, ‘The empress is a fine catch, any man can see that. But you must keep your mind on the battle ahead.’

  ‘Maria will not tear me away from the path we forge together. I am no callow youth. I know full well the import of all the matters we have discussed.’

  ‘We must talk about what I saw in the east, and the Blood Eagle, and the threat rising in the west,’ Hereward pressed. ‘The days we have left are fewer now. Hope is fading. Soon it will be time for us to make our choice.’

  Alexios nodded, but before he could speak the door swung open. It was Alexios’ mother, Anna Dalassene. Tall and slender, in a dress of brightest crimson, she was a woman who commanded attention. The beauty of her youth had not been diminished. Her black hair, now streaked with silver, tumbled down her back. She held her head up imperiously, as if she ruled that city in all but name. And once, Hereward knew, she had almost had her fingers upon the throne until plots and powerful men had prised her grip away.

  Her gaze moved slowly, heavy with the wine that she loved so much, and then it fell upon Maria. Hereward stiffened. When roused, Anna’s fury knew no match, and here was her much-loved son, the plaything of an older and more powerful woman, a rival even.

  But Anna only smiled and nodded. ‘Maria,’ she said. ‘How beautiful you always look.’

  Maria glided across the chamber, and touched the other woman’s forearm in greeting. ‘My beauty pales beside your own,’ she purred.

  Hereward studied the two women together, the quick looks, the smiles, the way they held themselves close. No rivals these, but friends who shared secrets, and a friendship that was itself a secret, for he had seen no sign of it at court.

  Maria flashed a smile of parting at Alexios. With a nod to Hereward and Anna, she eased out of the door into the quiet house beyond.

  ‘Wash yourself, and dress. We have urgent business,’ Anna commanded her son. Turning to the Mercian, she added, ‘You have heard news of the Normans in the west, readying to attack?’

  ‘From Alric. The churches are filled with Romans. Word travels fast when folk worry.’

  ‘We cannot leave these matters to the emperor.’ She poured herself a goblet of wine. ‘He is old, too fearful in his long years, too slow. But we still have time. The Turks are not ready to make their move. Not yet the risk that we will be caught fast between the blacksmith’s tongs, ready to be smashed upon the anvil.’

  When Alexios slipped into the other chamber to follow his mother’s commands, Hereward lowered his voice. ‘You know of this business with the emperor’s wife?’

  Anna’s lips curled into a faint smile. ‘My son is still young, and this is what young men do. They get carried away by their hearts and forget their heads.’

  ‘With Maria, he could lose his head.’ Hereward studied the aristocrat as she crossed the room to peer at the dishevelled bed. He furrowed his brow, trying, and failing, to understand what ran through her mind. For he had learned that for Anna Dalassene there was always some advantage to be gained from even the smallest thing. Much as she valued her children, and Alexios in particular, she was not averse to using them in whatever plot she weaved.

  ‘And Alexios’ wife, Irene . . .?’

  ‘She knows nothing of this, of course.’ Anna lazily waved an arm, almost slopping wine upon the flagstones. ‘You know as well as I that my son’s marriage to the granddaughter of the Caesar John Doukas was merely to keep the Doukai close, and happy. They can be a dangerous family, filled with passion and long-held grudges.’

  Hereward nodded. He had long since accepted the manipulations of the powerful Roman families constantly j
ostling for advancement. Here love meant nothing; only power.

  ‘Besides,’ Anna said, ‘Maria has the emperor’s ear. She can whisper honeyed words as they lie in their bed stained with the sweat of their lovemaking. And perhaps, with those words, Maria can guide her husband to look fondly upon Alexios, and upon his wishes.’

  Hereward smiled to himself. He admired this woman. She had sharper wits than almost any man at court. No wonder she had found shared interest with Maria of Alania. In England, the new bastard king was forcing women to their knees, putting men above them in all things. But here in this strange, reeking city, women could look a man in the eye, and, if they were brave and cunning enough, wield as much power.

  When Anna turned back to him, her face had darkened. ‘We have found ourselves in a stew, have we not, Hereward of the English? Constantinople seethes with plots and all of them are coming to a head at once. Because all here know that the night is drawing in fast, and if the throne is to be seized, it must be done before the sun is gone. Caught as we are between the Normans and the Turks, the hours of peace are fading fast within these walls. Karas Verinus readies himself to put that devil-child upon the throne. I can see it in every part of him at court, in his smiles and his calm words and the swagger that grows by the day.’ She threw back the last of her wine with fury. ‘And the Nepotes know they must make their move before Karas if they are to stand any chance of taking the crown.’

  Hereward prowled the chamber, one hand upon his sword. Anna Dalassene was right. He rarely slept easy these days. ‘Karas is a dangerous man, but he is a plain one. He is a warrior. You will know when he is ready to raise his axe. No, it is the Nepotes that trouble me. They are all smiles and words of kindness until they turn like cornered dogs. We must be ready for them, above all.’

  Alexios stepped back into the chamber, humming to himself as he pulled on his cloak. Anna gave him a weary look. But when she glanced back at Hereward the Mercian was surprised to see the worry etched in her face. ‘If all goes wrong, there will be bloodshed and death to a degree that none of us have known before in our lifetime, not even you, with all your battles in England,’ she said. ‘And it is likely that few of us will see a new dawn breaking over the empire. Not I, not my sons. Nor you and your loyal spear-brothers.’