by James Wilde
Silence fell across the spear-brothers. Then, after a moment, all eyes settled upon Kraki.
‘It is too soon to decide that,’ the Viking muttered, though he could hear Hereward’s words echoing in his head. He did not want this responsibility. His anger hardened in his chest and he pushed himself up, looking to Wulfrun. ‘Tabor witnessed all. Varin the Blood Eagle murdered Hereward. I demand justice.’
‘There will be justice,’ the commander of the Guard replied. ‘But we must be sure. Tabor is slow-witted. He cannot be certain what he saw.’
Kraki felt his rage surge, a better feeling than the paralysing grief. He stormed across the hall, stabbing a finger at Wulfrun. ‘You are trying to protect the Nepotes. That woman of yours. If Varin killed Hereward, he did so by order of that bastard kin. There is no honour in you.’ He spat on the boards at the other man’s feet.
Wulfrun raised his axe, Kraki a fist.
Alexios stepped between them. ‘We do not turn on each other,’ he commanded. Grabbing Kraki by the shoulders, he added, ‘Hereward was my friend too. I will make sure there is justice.’
Kraki fought against the seething rage within him, and after a moment he nodded. Turning away, he cast a sullen look at Wulfrun and pointed. ‘But do not trust a word he says.’
‘His grief eats away at him,’ Alexios said to Wulfrun. ‘You must give him this day.’
Wulfrun nodded, spun on his heel and strode out, with Ricbert close behind.
Sitting back at his bench, Kraki bowed his head over his goblet, calming himself. ‘Someone needs to tell the monk,’ he murmured.
‘I will tell him,’ Alexios said. ‘Perhaps he will have some words of comfort for you.’
Kraki snorted. Once Alexios had left, he tugged a leather pouch out of his furs and tossed it into the middle of the table.
‘What is that?’ Sighard asked.
‘Gold. All that I have saved since I joined the Guard.’ The Viking looked around the faces of the spear-brothers. ‘It is a reward, for anyone who can tell me where Hereward lies.’
‘You are a fool. You waste your hard-earned gold,’ Hiroc the Three-fingered grumbled.
Rising, Kraki hammered a fist upon the table. ‘I cannot rest until I find his body. I will bring it home for a hero’s funeral and we will sing it into Valhalla.’
Mad Hengist began to dance, laughing. ‘He is the bear-killer, the giant-killer. In England, they whispered Hereward could never die.’ Pausing, he stared at the Viking, then pointed. ‘The sword must be brought back.’
Kraki could feel the eyes of the others upon him. Some were pitying, he knew that. But he had spoken truly: he could not rest until he had achieved his aim. He owed it to his friend. ‘The word will go out from this hall. A fortune to the man or woman who leads me to him.’
‘And what then?’ Guthrinc asked in a quiet voice. ‘We wail and mourn and tear at our hair?’
Kraki pulled his axe up from the bench and laid it on the table. ‘Then we will have our vengeance.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ALRIC LIMPED FROM the palace chapel. Long hours of prayer had driven spikes of pain into his knees and his throat felt like the sands of Afrique from the incense that had swathed him all day. But he felt at peace, and that was good. No one could begrudge a man in mourning some time away from the stifling chamber of the prophet. It was the emperor himself who had given him permission to petition the Lord for Hereward’s soul. If truth be told, he felt that one more hour with Megistus, overseeing the constant procession of nobles looking for salvation, would have driven him mad.
Though only two days had passed, the news of Hereward’s death had spread far and wide. Alric was surprised by how many had been saddened, not only his spear-brothers but all the Varangians who had fought alongside him on the field of battle, and the members of the government who were grateful for his wise counsel. Even Nikephoros, who, for all his weaknesses, still had the heart of a warrior and recognized the courage of one of his own.
Fighting men knew things that other mortals did not, Hereward had always told him. And they saw things hidden to most eyes. At times, Hereward had seemed to despise himself more than his enemies. Alric grinned. What he would have given to see his friend told he was held in such high regard by both high-born and low.
At the door of the chamber that had become his new home, he felt his mood darken once more. ‘They have fed you well, I hope,’ he called as he stepped inside. ‘Sometimes the slaves are so in awe, they forget you need to eat like other men.’
Megistus roamed along the far wall of the chamber, tugging at his greasy grey locks. His eyes burned under his wild brows. Alric flinched. He thought he saw a glimmer of madness there.
They had underestimated the toll that would be taken on the old man, that was certain. No one could have guessed how the demands on him would spiral once the great fear had gripped Constantinople. Too many begging hands, too many whining pleas and prayers.
Hurrying over, the monk caught Megistus’ shoulders, easing him back to his stool. ‘You must rest,’ he murmured.
‘Let me return to my home,’ the old man whined. ‘I have done no wrong.’
‘Do you not remember how long we spoke beside your hearth, and all that was said? You agreed you would see this business through to the end. And then you would be well rewarded. You swore an oath, Megistus.’
‘No,’ the old man moaned. ‘No.’ His eyes rolled, and when he looked up Alric felt as if he was not recognized. ‘I can take no more. My bones are old and weary. I will die here, I know, never again to see the sun. I will die.’ His crackling voice rose to a shriek.
Alric shook the old man to calm him, and then, when he realized this was only making things worse, he dropped to his knees and leaned in so their faces were only a finger’s width apart. He flinched at the old man’s foetid breath.
Megistus’ gaze swam and then settled on the man in front of him.
‘What did I tell you?’ Alric whispered, pushing the frustration out of his voice. ‘If you raise the guards’ ire, they will take you from here and put your neck on the block.’
The old man’s eyes widened in terror.
‘All will be well,’ the monk whispered. He pressed a finger to Megistus’ lips. ‘But your tongue must remain still. As quiet as a mouse, until you are spoken to.’
The old man nodded, too fast. Alric felt a pang of guilt for making him afraid.
Heavy footsteps echoed along the corridor and came to a stop outside the cell. The monk stood and stepped calmly away from Megistus as the door opened. Looking up, he saw the face of Karas Verinus and felt the chill flood through him. In all the time Megistus had offered up his prophecies, Karas had never asked one question of him. Perhaps he feared that God would reveal the secrets he kept hidden in his heart. Whatever his reason for seeking a private audience now, his timing could not have been worse. Alric swallowed.
‘The prophet is resting,’ he said.
‘The prophet is a liar.’
Alric’s heart thumped when he saw that Karas was now standing with his back to the door. The general had one hand upon the hilt of his sword, his icy stare seemingly weighing whether to use the blade on Alric.
‘What is this?’ Alric tried to keep the waver out of his voice.
‘I know the truth, monk.’
Alric backed towards Megistus. ‘I will call the guards.’
‘There are no guards.’ Karas looked Megistus up and down. ‘A filthy beggar.’
‘God has chosen him—’
‘Do you not fear the judgement of the Lord, monk? Blasphemy slips so easily from your lips.’
Alric felt a chill run deep into his bones. ‘’Twas you outside the door the other night. You heard—’
‘I heard, monk,’ Karas replied, ‘but I am no fool. It only gave substance to what I already believed. I had long wondered who stood to gain from this deceit. And still I wonder. Was this the plan of Hereward, or Alexios Comnenos?’
&
nbsp; Alric sagged. There was no point in denying it.
Karas took a step closer. ‘Who gains, monk? It is not God who speaks through this beggar’s mouth, but a man who knows he can twist even an emperor to his will.’
‘What can you do?’ Alric said, his face hardening. ‘Who will believe you if you speak this way beyond this chamber? All of Constantinople knows that God speaks here.’
‘You speak true,’ Karas said. ‘And I bow to your wisdom.’
With the speed of a striking viper, he lashed out. The hilt of his sword crashed across Alric’s forehead and the monk spun to the flagstones. Blinking away the blood and the tears that clouded his vision, he saw the tip of the blade flash towards his throat. A warning.
Megistus threw himself from his stool and scrabbled towards the door. He was too slow. Karas snarled one huge hand in the neck of the old man’s tunic and hauled him clear of the ground. Mewling like a babe, the old man flailed, but he was too weak to break free. With his other hand, the general raised his sword until the tip rested against that scrawny neck.
Karas smiled, cold and cruel. ‘Whoever controls God, controls the empire.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
‘CAN NO ONE be trusted?’ Nikephoros ranged around the chamber, flexing his fingers as if choking a small child. ‘I am surrounded by bastards. You are sure of this?’
Karas held the emperor’s gaze. ‘I heard it from the lips of Tabor of the Varangian Guard. Hereward was slain by the Blood Eagle, at the behest of the Nepotes.’ He shrugged. ‘Some grudge, long in the making.’
‘A plot, no doubt. Against me,’ Nikephoros raged.
‘There are plots and there are plots,’ Karas continued in a calm voice. ‘Most will never amount to anything.’
‘I want the Nepotes punished. All of them. I want their heads.’ Spittle flew from Nikephoros’ lips.
‘We must take great care,’ Falkon said, stepping forward. ‘The city rumbles on the edge of open rebellion. Not against your rule, no,’ he added quickly as Nikephoros’ eyes blazed. ‘But out of fear. We are beset by enemies, great and powerful ones with armies that could crush us. Bread is in short supply. Our own army is weakened. And the prophet’s words have fanned these flames into a fire that could burn down all Constantinople.’
Nikephoros leaned against the wall and rested one hand across his eyes. Karas considered for a moment that he might be about to faint at this litany of misery.
‘All your people want is to feel safe within these walls . . . these walls that they have been told will keep out any threat,’ Falkon continued, one arm outstretched. ‘But if they see noble head after noble head rolling, if they feel there is a sickness of revolt in the court itself, they will lose all faith in the ones who lead them. And then they will know there is no safe place anywhere. That road can lead to one place only.’
‘What, then?’ the emperor asked in desperation. ‘For God’s sake, find me a path through this wilderness.’
‘There is one way,’ Karas ventured. He kept his voice measured, but this was the moment for which he had waited. ‘Falkon Cephalas, your eyes and ears in the city tell you the Nepotes are no threat?’
‘This is true. They are weakened, and afraid they cannot command the support of the court, or the church, not with the prophet speaking out so boldly. They will not move against the crown.’
‘Then only one true threat remains,’ Karas said. ‘The Comnenoi.’
The emperor narrowed his eyes at the general. ‘You have proof that they plot against me?’
‘You know as well as I that Anna Dalassene has always coveted the throne.’
‘Wanting is not reason enough to act.’
‘Only treachery could have allowed Alexios Comnenos to escape from the Normans. He denies it, and his running dogs bark at his command, but there can be no other explanation. Whatever the prophet said.’ Karas folded his hands behind his back. He was sick too, sick of these politics. A sword in his hand, that would solve all his problems, but he could afford to bide his time now he was so close. ‘But if that is not enough, my own eyes and ears in the city have found evidence that the Comnenoi are preparing to make a move against you. And now the prophet has said the same.’
Nikephoros recoiled as if he had been burned. ‘Is this true?’
‘This very morn,’ Karas said. ‘I heard it with my own ears. God has spoken.’
‘I must hear it for myself,’ the emperor gasped, hurrying towards the door.
‘It is too late.’
Hearing the weight in Karas’ words, Nikephoros whirled.
‘A sickness has come over Megistus. He is close to death.’
The emperor blanched.
‘The monks care for him even as we speak. But I fear the worst.’
Stumbling across the chamber, Nikephoros sagged into a chair. Karas saw his shoulders crumple with despair. The emperor was a man on the edge, his mood swinging by the moment. ‘God is abandoning us.’
Karas strode in front of him, peering down at the bag of bones. ‘Are we not the centre of all Christendom? No, God’s work here is done, that is all. The prophet has offered up his final account, and now he can return to the grave. The Comnenoi must be destroyed.’
The emperor nodded slowly. ‘It is God’s plan.’
Karas held Falkon’s gaze, smiling. ‘And if we are wise, we will not anger the people. Punish the Comnenoi and all other plotters will be too afraid to act. One example is all that is needed, only one, and when folk hear it is the man who has betrayed us to our enemies, they will cheer us. We are keeping them safe, as they wish above all else.’
Falkon bowed his head in deference. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘We do not need to execute anyone,’ Karas replied. ‘Arrest Alexios and his brother Isaac, and then blind them. And send his mother back to the convent at Petrion. That will suffice.’
‘What of my wife?’ Nikephoros eased his shaking body out of the chair as he eyed the other two men uneasily. ‘Now she has made Alexios her own son—’
‘This may be for the best.’ Karas let the words hang. He looked deep into the emperor’s eyes and held his gaze, a silent communication flowing between them.
Nikephoros understood. His cheeks coloured and his face hardened. ‘Yes,’ he all but spat. ‘It is God’s plan. Seize Alexios, and blind him.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
‘IS THIS TRUE?’ Anna’s eyes blazed, but behind her mask of anger Deda glimpsed true terror.
‘The word has gone out from the palace. From the emperor himself. I sought you out as soon as I heard.’ The knight glanced from his wife Rowena, who had first heard the news, to Alexios and Isaac. The younger of the Comnenos brothers looked dazed at this rapid turn of events. Alexios, though, drew himself up, ready.
Through the windows, gulls wheeled across a blue sky. But their shrieks faded behind shouts of alarm and the clatter of boots and steel rising up from the thronging streets.
Anna whirled, panic breaking through her forced composure. ‘Leave!’ she all but screamed at her sons.
‘But where should we go—’ Isaac began.
Anna threw herself across the chamber, dragging her sons towards the door. ‘Run! Alexios! Isaac! Run!’
As the shouts drew nearer, the two men shook themselves into action. Darting to the door, Alexios peered out into the corridor and gave a nod that all was clear.
‘We will take horses at the gate of Rhesios and ride west,’ he said, glancing back at his mother. He flashed a smile, hoping to soothe her.
‘I will help them.’ Even in that sun-drenched chamber, Salih ibn Ziyad seemed to be cloaked in shadow. He had been standing in a corner, so silent and still Deda had almost forgotten the wise man was there. Ariadne crouched at his feet, like a dog about to attack. ‘Take the Great West Road and you will have to fight every step of the way. I will show you a quicker route, away from prying eyes.’
Alexios and Isaac turned back and hugged their mother goodbye. �
�We will return. All will be well,’ Alexios murmured.
Deda watched Anna raise her head and clear her face of any emotion. But her eyes flooded with tears, betraying her.
‘Come with us,’ Isaac urged.
His mother shook her head. ‘There is work for me here,’ she replied, her voice now commanding. She was hoping to buy her sons time to escape, a mother’s sacrifice, Deda thought as he studied her face. If Alexios and Isaac knew what she intended, they would not be able to leave, and then all would be lost. He felt a wave of concern.
‘Hurry,’ the knight urged before they could read the truth in Anna’s words. ‘You have no time to waste.’
Once the others had gone, Anna fell back into a chair and held her head in her hands. ‘This has come too soon. We are not ready.’
‘We knew Karas Verinus would not wait until the stars were aligned for the Comnenoi.’
Anna nodded slowly. ‘If only . . . A week more. A day. Our plans have been long in the making, yet they have come to naught,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘Now all we can hope is that the Comnenoi can live until dawn.’
For a long moment, the words hung in the air. No one could deny them. Feeling uncomfortable, Rowena brushed the flour from her apron and said, ‘I must return to the kitchens before I am missed.’ The knight nodded to his wife, pleased that she would be away from danger.
Anna nodded. ‘You may well have saved my sons. I will always be in your debt.’ Turning to Deda, she added, ‘It would be wise if you were not seen with me. My presence will taint even the purest soul in the eyes of the emperor and his allies.’
‘It would not be honourable to abandon you in your time of need,’ the knight replied with a bow. ‘You should have a sword to protect you.’ Still bowing, he unsheathed his blade and balanced it on the palms of his hand, offering his service to her.