The Bloody Crown

by James Wilde

  His two allies gaped stupidly, their thoughts lumbering like a drunken man’s. One of them gargled something, a curse, a prayer, and spat a gobbet of blood as he pitched forward. A pool formed around him where he lay.

  The surviving rogue looked from the two bodies to Hereward, still unable to comprehend, even when the two knives swept towards him from the dark.

  ‘You are cunning and you are wise,’ Salih ibn Ziyad said, a pool of shadow in his black robes. He emerged from the night and crouched to wipe his curved blade upon the tunic of one of the dead men. ‘Wise to call upon us to be your defenders.’

  Dipping down to clean her own weapon, Ariadne added, ‘You would have us watch you day and night for all time?’

  ‘Not even the two of you could do that.’ Hereward placed a boot on one of the fallen men and rocked the body gently. ‘They will come now like the waves upon the shore. They will not rest until I am dead. You will buy me time, that is all.’

  ‘Time for what?’ Ariadne asked. ‘To flee?’

  ‘I cannot leave. If I go, your uncle will take out his wrath upon my men.’

  ‘Then kill him before he kills you.’

  Hereward smiled as Ariadne stood up. In that moment, he thought he truly could see Meghigda inside her, instead of the madness born of suffering that afflicted her. ‘I have been known to be good with a sword, true. But even I could not battle my way through the army that surrounds Karas Verinus now.’

  Salih sheathed his dagger, his eyes continually searching the night. ‘Death waits in silence, that is your proclamation, yes? And I have been known to be good at cloaking myself in silence. Even Karas Verinus could not escape me.’

  ‘I do not doubt it. But the general is a clever man and he has sown his seeds well. If he dies, you can be sure the emperor will soon find reason to blame me, or Alexios, or both of us, and we will follow Karas into hell.’

  ‘You must keep hope,’ Ariadne said, clutching his arm. Her eyes were wide, her voice thick with emotion. ‘Heed the words of al-Kahina. In the end, hope is all we have.’

  ‘You read the words in the heavens, and in the winds, and in the voice of birds. What does your wisdom tell you, Salih ibn Ziyad?’

  ‘Death is close.’

  ‘Death is always close.’

  ‘You do not fear it,’ Salih stated.

  Hereward peered across the dark street, into the night, into years gone by. ‘I have seen enough of it. I have dealt more than my fair share. There comes a time for every warrior when that cup overflows. You make friends with the end. You yearn for the ones you have lost along the road, and sometimes you wish too much to see them again.’

  ‘What of the living? Would you abandon them?’

  Hereward laughed without humour. ‘Do not misjudge me. I am not ready to rush into the grave. There is much still to achieve. If nothing else, I would not hand my enemies victory. There is little honour among any of them; they are not deserving of success. And my spear-brothers, the men who have followed me for so long . . . I would see them rewarded for their loyalty.’ He started to say more, but then he let the soughing of the wind snatch his words away. After a moment’s stillness, he added, ‘But my heart tells me you speak true. Death is out there, I smell it. The rot on the wind. It fills my dreams, aye, and my waking visions too. It may be that it is already too late, and victory is no longer in my hands. If I am taken before my plans have ripened, I ask one thing.’

  ‘Speak.’

  ‘Do not mourn me. Tell my spear-brothers not to grieve for me. By rights, I should have died when England fell, at Ely, and the days since have been a gift.’ He nodded, recalling Anna’s words. ‘I am at peace with that. But you must fight on in my stead. You must find the reward that my brothers deserve. Do you swear?’

  ‘You have my word,’ Salih replied without hesitation. ‘You have earned that at least.’

  So much lay between them that would always remain unspoken. They had been enemies and they had been allies, but through it all they had recognized that they spoke the common tongue of honour. A shared moment of silence fell upon them.

  Hereward looked down at Ariadne and into her wide, haunted eyes. ‘I hear your words and what lies at the heart of them,’ she said. ‘And I am afraid.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ALRIC PACED THE chamber that had been his home for the better part of three weeks. The dry air reeked of vinegar-sweat and his stomach rumbled. Why had the night’s meal not yet been delivered, he thought bitterly? That was the only moment in each day to which he could look forward.

  ‘I have had my fill of this,’ Megistus moaned from the corner. His tunic was wet. He had pissed himself again.

  ‘You know full well we reached an agreement.’

  The old man looked up with his rheumy eyes. ‘You lied to me.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘You did not tell me how much would be demanded of me!’ His voice rose to a cry.

  Glancing round, Alric waved his hands frantically to silence him. At that time of night, voices carried far along the empty corridors. ‘Hush.’

  Megistus began to mewl, rocking from side to side as he plucked at the filthy wool of his tunic. His anxiety mounting, the monk grabbed the man’s shoulders and shook him a little too hard. ‘Have you lost your wits? Think, think. What if the guards hear your cries? The emperor?’ He leaned in and hissed, ‘If they find they have been so deceived, what then, for you?’ And me, he thought. ‘No gold for you. It will be the grave, and in truth this time.’

  The old man’s head flopped forward and he began to shake with juddering sobs. Weariness had taken its toll. He had barely been allowed to sleep since Palladius had brought him into the monastery, coated from head to foot in what they had said was the clay of the grave. At times, it had seemed that every noble in Constantinople was insisting upon an audience with the prophet to hear the Lord’s plans for them, and for the empire. They had not even been allowed to leave the stifling chamber, almost as if they were captives, not God’s instruments. Eating there, sleeping there, day after day of questions and pleas and tears.

  Crouching, Alric eased his grip on Megistus’ shoulders until it felt comforting. ‘You have done your work well,’ he whispered. ‘Never in our wildest dreams did any of us expect so much would be demanded of you.’

  His words did little to soothe the old man. Megistus sucked in a deep breath and croaked, ‘I am sick to my belly. So weary my thoughts tumble and turn and I no longer know what I say. What if the wrong words fall out? What if I reveal the lie? They will kill me!’

  ‘You will be well rewarded, better even than we promised,’ Alric assured him.

  ‘I would be done with this. I beg of you. Give me what you owe me now and I will ask for no more. I want to go back to my life, and my home. I was filled with greed before . . . I did not know . . .’ He began to babble.

  ‘Come.’ Alric helped him to his feet. ‘You will feel better when you have slept a little. We will talk more of this at first light.’

  He led the old man on a meandering path to the bed that had been set up for him in the corner of the chamber. He understood the toll that had been taken on this ‘prophet’; had feared it would be this way from the very start. ‘We are almost done here,’ he murmured. ‘Hold firm for a while longer and you can rest as much as you want, and live like a king.’

  Megistus’ eyes were fluttering and his breath was shallow. So tired was he, it seemed he would sleep where he fell, Alric thought. He laid the old man down on the low wooden bed, and within a moment rumbling snores echoed around the bare stone chamber. Stepping back, the monk gave a sigh of relief, but he knew this would not be the end of it. He had bought himself only a little time. Megistus had reached the end of his tether; all the signs were there. His complaints would only grow louder.

  But Alric could not risk the old man’s fraying so much that he could not contain his protests. Too much was at stake. All of their lives, for one.

  Stepping awa
y, he closed his eyes and pressed his face into his hands. He had been afraid from the moment he had set out on this road. Now not a moment passed when he did not feel sick with worry that he would be discovered.

  Shaking the wool from his head, he tried to imagine what he would do if things got worse on the morrow. Should he flee? But then he would have to leave Megistus to his fate and his conscience would never allow that. No, his only hope was to use the tongue that God had given him to persuade the old man to carry on, and he would pray that that would be enough.

  As he trudged to his own bed on the other side of the chamber, he jerked round at a long, low creak, like the moan of a grieving widow. He had heard it enough times to know what it was: the sound of a door being quickly closed.

  His heart began to pound. Had someone overheard their conversation?

  Rushing to the chamber door, he peered out into the ink-black corridor. At the far end, the flame in a lamp guttered as the last of its oil was consumed. Nothing moved. But a ghost of a presence hung in the air. His senses prickled. It lingered for just a moment, and then the light winked out and darkness swallowed everything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  THE TWO NAKED women glided through the baths. Heads turned towards them, stares drawn, no doubt, by the confidence they exuded. Few there could believe they were mother and daughter, for Simonis’ beauty was undimmed by age. Juliana smiled, pleased by the attention. Soon all eyes would be upon them wherever they went.

  ‘Look,’ she whispered to her mother behind her hand. ‘There is some filth that not even the waters of the baths can wash away.’

  Soaking in the warm waters were Anna Dalassene and Maria, the emperor’s wife, or Alexios’ whore, depending upon which rumour was circulating. Their laughter tinkled out among the echoes.

  The air was warm and sweetly scented with sandalwood and lime, wisps of steam drifting through shafts of sunlight breaking through the high windows. As the women passed the alabaster statues, Juliana swayed her hips, revelling in those stares too – Virgil, Julius Caesar, Demosthenes, Plato and more, men who had made their mark on history. She liked to feel their eyes upon her naked body. Long ago these monuments to the great had been rescued from the grand baths of Zeuxippus when that place had been turned into a prison. But still they thrived, silent and unyielding, still their power was known.

  Juliana and Simonis waited until their procession caught the eyes of Anna and Maria and then they walked over and came to a halt beside the bath, each with one hand upon a shapely hip. Juliana choked down a giggle when she saw the sour looks flash across the other women’s faces. Oh, how they hate us, she thought. And with good reason.

  ‘We are honoured to see you here,’ Simonis said. ‘Such a rare sight.’ She was smiling, but Juliana knew her mother used that look as a dagger and the other women knew it too. ‘And how is your son, Alexios?’ She extended a long finger to Anna, then moved it to Maria, then back and forth. ‘Your son? Your son? One son, two mothers! Do you fight to kiss his cheek at night?’ She let her heavy-lashed eyes fall upon Maria for just a moment too long.

  Maria blushed.

  ‘How lonely you must be,’ Juliana said to Anna with a sad pout, knowing full well her innocent expression only added poison to her words. ‘No husband in your cold bed, and now all your sons are gone too. What is left for you? Sewing with the old wives?’

  ‘I am good with needles, ’tis true,’ Anna replied, smiling back, ‘and I never prick myself. But it is said you have had pricks aplenty, perhaps more than any woman in the city – nay, in the empire. You must take care.’

  Juliana bowed her head, her smile fixed, but as she turned away her face hardened. ‘In a few short days I would happily loose her blood myself,’ she hissed as she and her mother swayed on their way.

  Her eyes sparkling, Simonis whispered, ‘Why sully your fair hand? Leave her to Varin. He will give her the wings of an angel to fly her to the lofty heights of which she has always dreamed.’

  They both laughed at that.

  Once they had dried themselves and had the slaves rub scented oils into their skin, they left the baths and walked to the Augustaion to buy spices from the portico of Achilles. The merchants laughed and flirted with them, showing their white teeth in their dark faces, but Juliana heard barely a word. She felt her blood throb with excitement. As the days grew warmer and the mullein flowers bloomed with the first sweet scent of spring, the hours seemed to be rushing towards her.

  When they returned to the house to find Wulfrun waiting, she threw her arms around his neck, barely able to contain herself. He looked taken aback by this unseemly display, but she made him take off his helm and led him to the court at the back to sit under their tree. She was surprised to feel the stiffness in his shoulders, and glanced back into the house. Simonis flashed a knowing look before disappearing towards the cookhouse.

  ‘Why did you wish to see me?’ Wulfrun asked.

  Juliana bowed her head, choosing her words carefully. The time of leading him by the nose had long since passed. ‘You love me?’

  ‘You know that I do.’ But the sag of his shoulders that punctuated his admission seemed to suggest this was a burden beyond all others. She nodded, understanding his unspoken thoughts.

  ‘I know I have asked much of you in the name of our love, and I will ask more before we are done. But these days of requests are almost over and then we can be at peace, together.’ Juliana took his hand. ‘You have seen the worst of me, and you know . . . you know more than you say. I understand. I am quick to deceive. But I do not lie when I say my feelings for you are true. I have never loved another, Wulfrun, and I love you with all my heart.’

  ‘Then do not ask of me what I know you are about to ask. Spare me.’

  ‘I cannot.’ She bit her lip. ‘All our work has been leading to this moment. All the strife, all the struggle and the misery and the hardship. Season upon season of it. But it will be worth it all once Leo has the crown upon his brow. We will want for nothing. Every man, woman and child in the empire will bow their heads to the Nepotes.’

  Wulfrun looked down at his hands. ‘It is time, then?’

  Juliana nodded.

  ‘What of Karas Verinus?’

  ‘Karas is brute strength, nothing more.’ She could feel her voice hardening as she spoke. For all the ruin that had been inflicted on her kin across the years, her feelings for the Verini had moved beyond hatred into something that burned like a furnace. She thought of her father when he was young and strong, before the blade had sliced into his head. She remembered the indignities to which both she and her mother had been forced to submit. She seethed at the aching hardship they had endured when all their wealth and power had been stolen. ‘But we are more cunning,’ she continued, once she had calmed herself. ‘We know all of Karas’ plans, as well as he knows them himself.’

  ‘How?’

  Juliana only smiled. ‘When Karas moves upon the throne, we will take him by surprise. He thinks us beaten, and that is good for he pays us no heed. But we have our force ready, hidden in the city. One word and they will rise up. All this time, we and not the Comnenoi have been his true enemy, if only he could see it.’

  Wulfrun leaned back against the tree. Juliana could see he was fighting with himself.

  ‘I hate to see you this way,’ she urged him. ‘You are an honourable man. But now it is time for you to make that choice I told you of before, between honour—’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Good times will soon be here, and we can put all this struggle and strife behind us. We can be together, Wulfrun, as we were always meant to be. You and I, with the empire at our feet.’

  ‘I never wanted the empire. Power, glory, gold, no. Only you. Only you.’

  ‘Hereward must be killed.’

  Wulfrun stared down at the patches of sunlight dappling the flagstones. Juliana felt puzzled. He seemed to sag like an emptied water-skin.

  ‘What is he to you?’ he asked.


  ‘I would have thought the notion would have set you alight! After all he did to you . . .’ Juliana exclaimed.

  ‘What is he to you?’

  Juliana sighed. ‘Hereward must die so you can order the Varangian Guard to support the Nepotes. He would never agree to that.’

  ‘Because he is more honourable than me?’

  Juliana caught her breath. When Wulfrun looked up, his expression was fierce. It was only a fleeting moment before he hid it again, but she had seen the torment there. ‘Because he does not see us . . . see me . . . as you see me. With Hereward gone, no one will stand in your way. The Varangian Guard will abandon Nikephoros and swear their allegiance to the Nepotes. This is my gift to you,’ she murmured, caressing his cheek. ‘Once Hereward is dead, your days gone by will no longer haunt you. You will be free of those shackles. Only days yet to come, Wulfrun, only days yet to come. Does that not fill your heart with joy?’

  ‘You ask too much of me.’

  Juliana grasped his hand. ‘You do not have to plunge a blade into Hereward yourself. Only look the other way.’

  ‘How will he die?’

  ‘We have made our plans well. And when we are ready, soon, we will tell you.’ Juliana reached out her other hand, pleading. ‘This is for the best, you know that is true. The empire is on its knees, dying by the day. This is the time to act, Wulfrun, to find a strong leader. If we fail, all will be lost.’

  Wulfrun bowed his head, crushed by the decision that had been forced upon him. After a moment, he croaked, ‘I have made my choice, and may God have mercy upon me. When you call me, I will be ready.’

  Juliana beamed, barely able to contain her excitement. ‘Only good days lie ahead. You will see.’

  She led him back to the courtyard entrance and kissed him once on the cheek, deliberately avoiding the haunted look that sat in his face. When he was gone, she could not resist a smile. She ran through the house to the chamber where her family waited.