by James Wilde
‘I saw him with Karas Verinus, their heads bowed together,’ Maria protested. ‘Karas would use this knowledge to destroy all of us. Then he would be free to sate his hunger for the throne.’
‘We spoke of the coming war with the Normans,’ the old man wailed. ‘I would never betray the Comnenoi. My heart is filled only with love for you all.’ Dropping to his knees, he closed his eyes, pressed his hands together and mouthed a silent prayer.
‘My son speaks true,’ Anna said. She crossed the chamber to confront the other woman. ‘No servant has been more faithful. Genesios’ wise words guided me when Alexios was a babe in my arms. His teachings shaped my son’s wits and made them as sharp as they are now. And when the Doukai drove me out of Constantinople and I had no friends anywhere, and little hope, Genesios stood by me. Only Genesios.’ She rested a calming hand on the old man’s shoulder. Relief flooded his face. ‘No man has served us better,’ Anna continued. ‘No man ever will.’
As Anna passed behind the kneeling man, Hereward saw a flash of steel. The hidden blade whisked across Genesios’ throat. Choking, the old man flapped feeble hands at the gush of crimson. An instant of disbelief froze in his eyes. A moment later he had crashed forward into the spreading pool.
Gaping in horror, a mute Alexios reached out one wavering hand towards the man who had been like a father to him. Maria nodded, her face impassive. Both women knew there was no other choice.
Hereward was uneasy. If Anna felt any regret for the brutal slaying and for the harsh blow dealt to her son, he could not see it. She kept her back to him as she swayed towards the door.
‘Throw the body into the sea,’ she said without turning. ‘No one will tie this to us. And from this day on, take more care. This death is now upon both your souls.’
And then she was gone.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BLACK AGAINST THE pink-streaked sky, the gulls wheeled past the great dome of Hagia Sophia. Their plaintive shrieks echoed over the silent city. Now the storm of the previous night had blown itself out, the breeze from the plains was cool.
Three men waited in the shadows against the western wall, not far from the towering gate of Rhesios. Though there were few prying eyes in that first light, they kept their heads down. Their voices were lost beneath the whine of the wind in the rooftops of the clustering houses.
Easing back the hood he used to hide his ruined features, Ragener the Hawk peered up into the face of his master. Nearby, Justin kicked pebbles into the road.
‘I am placing my faith in you,’ Karas Verinus rumbled. ‘This is what you have desired since you joined my service. Do not let me down.’
The sea wolf swallowed, no doubt caught between excitement that his fortunes would soon be great, and unease at the magnitude of the task ahead of him. Karas felt only contempt for this weak-willed cur, but there was no other he could trust to be his right hand.
‘I will do as you ask,’ the Hawk replied when he could speak, ‘and I will do it well. You will not regret giving me this chance to prove myself.’
‘Let us pray that is true, for your sake.’ The general craned his neck to study the top of the vast wall. For the first time in living memory, no guards watched the western approach to the city. His coin had been well spent. Nothing could be left to chance, certainly no whispers that he had sent his man – a man as recognizable as this one – out on some secret task.
Tethered to the wall-post, a chestnut mare raised plumes of dust as it stamped its hooves. Not too large, it had been selected specifically for the sea wolf, who was more at home on a heaving deck than a bucking horse, Karas had noted with disdain. ‘Your ride,’ he said with a nod. ‘It will serve you?’
Uneasily, Ragener walked up to his mount. As he glanced back to show his approval, his gaze skittered to Justin who was now prowling around the street, seemingly oblivious of Karas’ desire for secrecy. The Hawk hurried back and whispered, ‘Watch him while I am gone. He needs to be shackled or he will bring all your plans crashing down.’
Karas sniffed. ‘There have been worse emperors than Justin, in Constantinople and in Rome.’
Ragener widened his eyes, scarcely able to believe there could be anyone worse than this murderous youth.
‘Our emperor Justinian sent his army to Cherson with orders to drown some of the inhabitants with stones bound to their feet, and to roast the others alive,’ Karas said. The sea wolf’s face remained blank, so he shook his head and continued, ‘Diocletian tortured and executed good Christian men and women by the hundreds in the Circus Maximus and the Colosseum, while the citizens of Rome looked on and bayed for blood.’ When he noticed the Hawk’s frown, he asked, ‘Have you had no learning?’
Ragener squirmed. ‘My father was a farmer. I learned of the seasons, and the harvest.’
‘And the lore of your land? Of the empire? Of Rome, and Constantinople, and of the great men who carved riches from this earth?’
The ruined man shook his head slowly.
‘If you do not know the days gone by, how can you chart a path into the days yet to come? What is gone makes what is to come, always.’ Karas hawked phlegm and spat into the dust, seeing from the other man’s baffled face that he was wasting his time with such talk. ‘Emperors must not be afraid to release rivers of blood,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘Strength is all. This is the lesson we must learn.’
The general watched Justin and felt a pang of doubt. Even after all he had said, he knew his charge would be a devil to herd away from trouble. But the Verini were destined to rule the empire. He had been told so by his father after the third beating of that summer’s day. His father had thrashed him to teach him what strength would be needed for the great battle ahead.
‘The guards will be here soon. You must be away,’ he grunted.
Ragener clambered on to the back of his horse and steered it out through the narrow gap where the gate had been left ajar. Karas watched him sway along the long road that would soon be swarming with the filthy and bedraggled, fleeing from the fighting in the west or hungry for the gold they foolishly believed Constantinople would rain down on them. His disgust edged towards despair. Once he had commanded mighty armies and now look at him. His success was in the hands of a half-man who had never fought in a single battle.
Not for the first time, he felt the weight of his years start to press down upon his shoulders. Here lay a fear that he could not easily defeat, that his best days lay behind him and all that waited on the road ahead was weakness, infirmity and death.
As he always did, Karas fanned the flames of anger in his heart to burn those sour thoughts away. Striding across the road, he snarled one hand in the back of Justin’s tunic and spun the startled youth round. In a flash, he hammered his huge fist into the young man’s face, again, and again, driving his nephew down into the dust. He felt the blood seep under his knuckles.
Leaning down, he glared into Justin’s swollen eyes. ‘You will not give in to your weaknesses,’ he growled. ‘You will not murder, or rape, or drink blood, or whatever other foul tastes your father instilled in you. You will do nothing to cause the throne to be snatched away from me, not at this late hour. Do you hear me?’
Justin’s bewildered gaze slowly hardened as he peered back at his uncle. With the back of his hand he smeared the blood, still holding Karas’ stare. For a moment, the general thought the younger man was about to challenge him there and then, and Karas would have had no choice but to break his neck. But then Justin nodded.
‘Good,’ Karas snapped. ‘We are in agreement. Today we begin our march upon the throne. The road is short. Walk with me, and soon you will have all the power your heart desires.’
He strode off along the street towards the heart of Constantinople, but with each step he could feel Justin’s baleful stare upon his back. The youth was a danger to all who walked with him. Karas narrowed his eyes as he watched those gulls swirling around the church’s great dome. He was no fool. He had no friends, and from now on he
would have to watch his back too.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
HIS MOTHER’S FACE loomed over him in the dark. Hereward could still feel his father’s blows and the heat of his anger as he waited for her soothing words. Her assurance that he could survive these agonies if only he could keep strong, keep the fire burning in his chest. But this time her face darkened.
Beware the wolf in the night, she told him. Beware. The whisper rustled around his head. Death is coming for you, Hereward. Death waits in silence. It is coming. It is here!
The Mercian found himself rushing up through a world as black as pitch. A moment later he jerked into the dawn chill of his chamber. Kraki was shaking him roughly.
‘Gather your axe and your shield,’ the Viking growled. ‘It is war.’
Hereward squinted as he stepped out into the grey light of the Vlanga. All around the ancient quarter, his fellow guardsmen flooded from the small, whitewashed houses they had been given when they joined the emperor’s elite band. Some were bleary-eyed, still carrying the weight of wine-addled heads, slipping on helms and fastening cloaks as they hurried. Others strode purposefully, their freshly painted shields bright with their sigils, ready for battle as though they had not just been roused from their beds.
Kraki waited with Guthrinc on the other side of the street. The two men were grinning and pointing at Sighard, who was still trying to dress himself as he stumbled up. He looked bewildered from lack of sleep.
‘What is this?’ Hereward asked as he joined them.
‘At first light some messenger from the emperor was racing up and down as if he had a snake in his breeches,’ Kraki grumbled. ‘You were sleeping like the dead.’
‘The Normans are coming.’ Guthrinc scrubbed fingers through his thatch of hair. ‘It is time to fight or die, it seems.’
Hereward shook away the last remnants of his troubling dream. ‘The decision had been made,’ he complained. ‘To attack the Normans with this feeble army is madness. The emperor has barely had time to scrape together more gold to pay for new fighting men.’
‘Be that as it may,’ Kraki said. ‘The order has been given. They have probably found false courage in the depths of their wine, or they have been driven mad. But we are paid to do as we are told.’
As he watched the flow of guardsmen, the Mercian simmered. Karas had found some path that led to his getting his own way. ‘I will not send you out to die for no reason.’
‘Disobey the emperor and we will die here,’ Kraki replied, ‘and our heads will sit on poles. And what will that little black-haired girl think then, eh?’ he said, turning to Sighard and giving a gap-toothed grin. ‘No kisses when the crows have feasted on your face.’
Sighard’s cheeks coloured. He made a show of ramming his helm on his head so he did not have to continue with this line of conversation. ‘War will be good for you,’ he grumbled instead. ‘You have so little to do with your hours that you dwell on my comings and goings.’
‘We never tire of it,’ Guthrinc said with a grin and a wink at Hereward. ‘Like watching a deer walk on a frozen lake.’
Beneath his helmet brow, Sighard glowered.
The other spear-brothers trundled up. Derman and Hiroc walked in pensive silence, fastening their armour. Mad Hengist and Herrig the Rat gambolled around each other like children at play, laughing. Hereward led his men into the flow of guardsmen. The warriors – English and Danes and Rus – drew themselves up as sleep sloughed off them. By the time they reached the Vlanga Cross, the force once more looked as fearsome as their reputation suggested.
The stone cross was well worn by the elements, raised on a platform where wandering preachers could spread the word of God to the heathen warriors of the Vlanga in days long gone. Beyond it was the stump of a ruined tower that hailed from the earliest days of Constantinople, so the legends told. Worn steps ran around the outside of the shattered heap of stones, and here the men of the Vlanga would hang their dying enemies as sacrifices to the blood-and-fire gods of the northern wastes, the stories said. Now it was the place where the Varangian Guard gathered whenever they were called to arms.
Under the silver vault of the heavens the warriors waited, wintry eyes and fierce beards revealing their true wild nature. Silence lay across them.
Wulfrun climbed on to the tower’s stone steps so he could be seen by every man there. Hereward could read nothing from the commander’s face – it was as grim as always. But a few steps down, Ricbert crouched, watching over the men, and the sly grin that he usually sported was nowhere to be seen.
‘This is not good news,’ Guthrinc grunted, seeing the same signs.
‘The Normans,’ Hiroc muttered. ‘It must be.’
‘Or the Turks,’ Derman said in his whispery voice. ‘They have closed off the trade routes to the east. We few must ride off to face the barbarian horde or the empire will fall to its knees in starvation.’ He shrugged. ‘That is the end of us, then.’
‘Dismal bastard,’ Kraki grunted.
Wulfrun looked out over the raised heads. ‘Our axes are needed once more. The Duke of Apulia, Robert Guiscard, has ventured across the whale road to the edge of the empire. This is no invasion. He has brought only a small army with him, enough to test our courage. It is a warning we must heed. Once he has set up camp upon our land, it is only a matter of time before he marches upon Constantinople with every man under his command.’
For a moment, Wulfrun let his words settle upon the men. The shrieks of the gulls filled the dawn.
‘We have one chance within our grasp. To ride hard, this day, while the Normans stake their tents and sharpen their axes. To catch them before they are prepared. To annihilate them while they are still few. To let their blood stain our land – aye, and Robert Guiscard’s too if we can get our hands upon him – so that they will know never to challenge us again. One chance to turn this tide. Do we seize it? I say we do.’
A rumble of approval ran through the Varangian Guard. Axes and spears were raised up, their sharpened blades glinting in the dawn light.
Kraki nodded at this news. ‘I will take a small band of Normans over the other choice.’
Wulfrun let their mutterings ebb away. ‘Know that the Normans call Robert Guiscard Viscardus,’ he continued. ‘The cunning. The fox. He is no fool. He knows news of his arrival would reach us like the wind. This may be a trap to lure our fiercest warriors out from behind the city walls where we can be destroyed. We will not know the truth until we look our enemy in the eye.’
‘Ah,’ Guthrinc said, dropping a hand on Kraki’s shoulder. ‘Fate gives, fate takes away.’ The Viking scowled.
Hereward studied Wulfrun’s demeanour. His words made sense. Attacking the Normans now would also buy time to build the army up to the strength necessary to take a stand when the city came under siege. But the risks were great.
Wulfrun reached out one hand to where a hook-nosed man stood watching. ‘Tiberius Grabas will lead the Athanatoi into battle, but you Varangians will be in the forefront of the fighting, as you always are.’
That was good, Hereward thought. The Athanatoi were no longer raw, or arrogant. In the seasons since the Mercian had first ridden with them, the Immortals had become seasoned through battle. Their skill on horseback, their tactics under Tiberius’ command, both were unmatched. If only the Romans had a whole army to equal this elite force.
Wulfrun looked across his men, proud of what he saw. ‘Death waits in silence,’ he boomed.
Hereward shuddered, hearing his mother’s words spoken to him by a man who would happily see him dead. His neck prickled as he felt a premonition of his own end.
It is coming. It is here!
‘Death waits everywhere,’ the Guard roared back.
Once the echoes had died away, the guardsmen checked their weapons and adjusted their armour. Some muttered prayers and crossed themselves as they waited for their orders. Wulfrun jumped down from the steps and marched over.
‘You will lead the Varangian
Guard into battle,’ he told Hereward. ‘I must stay here at the emperor’s side. Take your spear-brothers. You have a bond even stronger than the one which joins all who serve in the Guard, and you will need all the help you can get in the coming fight.’
‘You spoke truth. If we are swift enough, we can strike before the Norman scouts return with news of our coming. Surprise will be on our side.’
For the first time, Wulfrun’s mask fell away to reveal a glimmer of worry beneath. ‘Let us pray it is enough. God knows, our army is far from ready for war with the Normans. And the Turks are cunning. I am fearful that if they learn we are fighting in the west with all we have, they will seize the moment to attack Constantinople. We put one of their war-bands to the axe only two days gone. There were only twenty of them, but they were on the banks of the Bosphorus, ready to cross. They are getting bolder by the day.’
As Wulfrun turned back to his men, a murmur rose up among the gathered warriors. Hereward watched Alexios pushing his way through the crowd, encouraging every man he passed. He was a good leader, knew the right words for the right time. The fighting men liked him.
When he reached Hereward, he announced, ‘I will ride with you.’
‘Good. The men will fight harder still if they know you are beneath the standard.’ The Mercian could already see relief on the faces of his spear-brothers. Alexios’ skill in battle had become almost legendary. He would give them a much-needed advantage over the Normans.
‘The emperor’s war council has been meeting through the night.’ Alexios lowered his voice so only Hereward could hear. ‘Karas Verinus feels his hand has been made stronger by this Norman advance. He argued for this war-band to ride out and the emperor agreed.’
‘I would wager that he found much joy in the knowledge that the two men who fought against him were now riding into battle, while he sits safely behind the walls at the emperor’s right hand.’
‘Karas spoke with passion to make sure only the best men were sent.’ Alexios paused. ‘The best men. The greatest threat to his plans.’