Hereward 05 - The Immortals

by James Wilde

  ‘You think they will let you walk away? You are key to all their plots.’

  Maximos gripped his cup so tightly Hereward thought it might shatter. ‘I will make amends.’

  The Mercian peered into the other man’s face. For all his protestations, he still could not wholly trust him. The Nepotes were masters of deception, and Maximos had shown time and again that he was skilled in twisting words to his own ends.

  ‘I know I must earn your trust. Time will show you I am a changed man.’

  As Maximos held up his cup for more wine, cries of alarm rang through the tunnel outside the tavern. Armed men rushed past the doorway.

  ‘Come,’ Hereward said, jumping to his feet. ‘I smell Normans.’

  The throb of anxious voices swelled. Hereward and Maximos raced past worried mothers pressing their children into their skirts and uneasy men with twitching hands. Word of some troubling discovery was rushing back through the tunnels, though no one seemed to know exactly what.

  As the two warriors reached the entrance hall, they spied guards jostling for space, their faces drawn. Their worried eyes darted towards Clovos as the old man pushed his way into their midst.

  ‘Stand aside,’ he croaked, his voice hardening. ‘Stand aside.’

  As Hereward and Maximos edged in behind the elder, Alexios and Zeno ran up behind.

  ‘What is amiss?’ Zeno asked. ‘Are we under attack?’

  For the first time, Hereward saw that a slit had been cut in the rock wall beside the entrance, invisible in the dark when they arrived. Clovos peered through it. When he turned back, his face was drained of blood.

  ‘Open it,’ he commanded. ‘Now.’

  The eight strong guards pressed their shoulders against the boulder and heaved. The grinding of the rock reverberated. In rushed a blast of warm night air scented with vegetation. As Clovos pushed his way through to the threshold, the Mercian stepped behind him. It was dark outside. All sense of night and day disappeared in that underground world.

  ‘What do you see?’ Hereward asked.

  The old man raised a trembling arm and pointed to the edge of the half-circle of light. ‘Our scout,’ Clovos said in a creaking voice.

  On a flat rock, stained and dripping, stared a human head.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  ‘YOU HAVE UNTIL dawn to deliver your four guests into our hands or worse will follow.’ The voice cracked through the night.

  As Hereward watched, Drogo Vavasour emerged from the dark on the edge of the semicircle of light. His hands were dark with blood – he had performed that foul deed himself. His face brooked no dissent. The ghostly outlines of his men appeared at his back, their weapons raised and ready.

  The guards of Malakopea stepped forward, spears bristling. They were ready to defend their city to the last. But the Mercian knew Drogo would not attack such an overwhelming force. He did not need to.

  Once one of the defenders had reclaimed the head of the scout, Clovos ordered the boulder to be dragged back into place. Hereward felt the stares of all the men there turn towards him and the Romans. They were being weighed, measured, the coming days mapped out.

  ‘We have other scouts outside this place,’ the elder said, the implication heavy in his voice.

  ‘If you force us to leave, you are sending us to our deaths,’ Hereward replied. ‘Our blood will be on your hands.’

  ‘And if another of our scouts is murdered, his blood will be on your hands.’ Clovos’ stare was cold, all sign of hospitality gone.

  ‘You cannot deliver us into the hands of our enemies,’ Alexios insisted. ‘Not in the name of God.’

  The old man hesitated. ‘This requires some reflection,’ he said, frowning. ‘I must seek guidance.’ He pushed away through the throng, disappearing into the network of tunnels. The four warriors looked at each other, feeling the simmering suspicion on their backs.

  ‘Come,’ Hereward murmured, ‘we must find somewhere away from these watchful eyes.’

  Down into the depths they hurried until they found one of the deserted chambers. With a single guttering candle for light, they huddled in a corner where they could not be overheard.

  ‘This is not good,’ Maximos whispered. ‘We are trapped like rats here. Enemies without, and if Clovos turns against us a city filled with enemies within.’

  ‘There is a secret tunnel to escape this place if needs must,’ Alexios said, looking around the anxious faces. ‘One of the churchmen told me. It winds up to a hidden doorway in Malakopea-above. If we can find it—’

  ‘Have your wits gone?’ Zeno spat. ‘No one will tell us where it is. It is hidden for a reason. And Clovos will not risk our escaping if we are to buy the safety of their scouts.’

  ‘Then we sit here and wait for our fate to be decided by others?’ Alexios leaned forward so that the candlelight pooled shadows in his eyes. ‘That is not my way.’

  ‘Nor mine,’ Maximos agreed.

  Hereward peered into the dark. ‘Damn this place. Who can tell the hour? How long do we have till dawn?’ He sensed the tension rising in the other men. They all knew time was fast running out. ‘We search for the escape tunnel,’ he said. ‘We have no other choice. Pray we find it.’

  ‘We will cover more ground if we go our separate ways,’ Zeno said, standing.

  From under his brow, Hereward eyed Maximos. If the Roman was to murder Alexios, this would be as good a time as any. A knife across the throat, the corpse hidden, then a rapid escape with no time to look back. ‘Let us make haste,’ the Mercian said. ‘We will meet at the tavern through the night to tell what we have found. May God go with us.’

  As the Romans returned to the thronging parts of the city, Hereward hung back, watching which way each went. Alexios disappeared into the mass with Zeno behind him, but Maximos struck off in a different direction, and Hereward followed in his wake. He kept his head down so he would not be seen, but after some time he began to think his quarry had no intention of attacking the Little General. He seemed too engrossed in his task, too aware of the gravity of the threat facing them all. Hereward was about to fall back and begin to search on his own account when he saw a youth of about twelve summers stagger out of a tunnel, his face like a winter field. Pressing his back against the stone, the lad looked this way and that as if he expected to be beset by enemies at any moment.

  ‘What ails you?’ Hereward growled, not wishing to alert Maximos to his presence, but the Roman’s hearing was good and he turned round, surprised.

  ‘M-murder,’ the lad croaked.

  Maximos hurried over. ‘Does the boy know something?’ he asked.

  Hereward crouched so he could look the youth in the eye. ‘Murder, you say? Show me.’

  The boy led them back through the maze of tunnels to a chamber away from the main throng. At the entrance, he pointed inside with a wavering hand. What looked like a bundle of rags in a growing dark pool lay in one corner. Nodding to Maximos to stay with the lad, Hereward darted in and lifted the head. It was Clovos.

  Now the Mercian began to see a shape to these events. Glancing over his shoulder, he called to the boy, ‘Tell no one of this, do you hear? Whoever murdered this man will come for you if you speak out. Leave this business to us.’

  Terrified, the boy nodded furiously. A moment later he was racing away.

  ‘The lad will hold his tongue for a little while, but not long enough,’ Hereward murmured to Maximos. He lifted the head once more so the other man could see the identity of the victim.

  Squatting, Maximos leaned in to examine the remains. The throat had been slashed, but that was not what interested the Roman the most. He traced his finger along the edge of other cuts on Clovos’ face. ‘Tortured,’ he said. ‘This was no robbery, no murder in a fit of anger.’

  Hereward bowed his head, seeing only one solution. ‘Tortured to reveal where the escape tunnel is hidden. Alexios would not be capable of this.’ He held the other man’s gaze for a moment, but he could see immediately
that they had an understanding.

  ‘If this murder is uncovered, we will all be blamed. Our time will be done,’ Maximos breathed.

  ‘Agreed. Then the body must not be found until we are away from here.’

  They searched the chamber for a large cloth in which to wrap the remains, and then Maximos kept watch while Hereward carried the corpse to a deserted store. Maximos was simmering. ‘Zeno has risked everything,’ he murmured as they raced back to the tavern.

  But neither Zeno nor Alexios waited there. ‘Clovos must have known where to find the escape tunnel,’ the Roman hissed. ‘Why is Zeno not here to tell us?’

  Hereward felt the hairs on his neck prickle. ‘Zeno does not wish us to join him on the way out of Malakopea-below,’ he said quietly. ‘Come. We must find him, quickly.’

  Once the way had been pointed by someone who had seen Zeno only a short time before, Hereward and Maximos leapt down the stone steps to the lower levels. When they neared their destination, Hereward pressed his finger to his lips.

  From somewhere nearby, Alexios’ voice floated back. ‘I see nothing here. We should tell the others …’

  The Mercian did not wait for the response. Following the echo of the words, he snatched out his sword and looked into the chamber from which it had come. Alexios stood with his back to him, tracing his fingers over the stone wall.

  From the corner of his eye, Hereward glimpsed rapid movement. Zeno was lunging to cut Alexios down.

  Maximos barged into the chamber. With one fluid movement, he thrust his own blade into Zeno’s belly. Howling, Zeno crashed on to his back, clutching at his wound with both hands. The other men there could see he would never live after such a blow.

  Zeno looked down at the blood bubbling through his fingers and laughed coldly. He could see it too. The Roman did not plead, though, or wail like a child. He took his fate like a warrior.

  But as Maximos knelt beside the dying man, Hereward was surprised to see the look of contempt upon Zeno’s face. ‘Your kin said you would fail them,’ he sneered, a bubble of blood floating on his lips. ‘They sent me to do what they knew you could never do. Your own sister called you coward.’ His eyes gleamed with a faraway look and he murmured ‘Juliana …’ with the tenderness of a man who had lost his heart.

  ‘My sister never loved you,’ Maximos snapped, his face icy. ‘She is the greatest whore in Constantinople. But the reward she seeks is power, not gold.’

  The words struck home as sharply as his blade. Zeno’s eyes widened as the warrior suddenly feared that he had sacrificed his life for nothing but his own weakness.

  Standing, Maximos turned his back on his victim, not even offering Zeno the respect of watching him die. When he heard the rattle of the last breath, he spat on the floor and said only, ‘It is done.’

  And yet in Maximos’ drawn features Hereward could see the pain of Zeno’s taunt, and fear too. If the Nepotes had lost faith, they would turn their backs on him. The Mercian clapped a hand of comfort on the other man’s shoulder.

  ‘You saved my life,’ Alexios said, humbled.

  Maximos shrugged. ‘It may not be enough.’

  ‘Our time is nearly done,’ Hereward said. ‘And Zeno took the secret of the escape tunnel with him into the Grim Lands.’

  The words had barely left his lips when cries of alarm began to ring through the city. Maximos grinned without humour. ‘And that is the sound of our last hope fading away.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  THE KEENING CRY carved through even the boulder that closed off Malakopea-below. The throat-rending sound carried with it agonies untold for most of the silent, ashen-faced men gathered in the entrance hall. But Hereward had heard its like before. He had brought that very shriek from a man’s throat.

  ‘They are flaying him alive,’ he said.

  The heads of the guards jerked towards him. He had given voice to the fears they had tried to push aside when they had first heard that terrible noise.

  ‘You must save him!’ A black-haired woman thrust her tear-streaked face through the men who had gathered by the entrance. Whirling from one to another, she held out her hands, desperate. ‘Save my husband.’

  ‘Where is Clovos?’ someone asked. ‘He will know what to do.’

  Hereward glanced at Maximos and Alexios. Having followed the cries of alarm, they had found the guards talking about another scout who had fallen into the hands of the Norman war-band. Drogo Vavasour had clearly decided he could not wait until dawn. He wanted his prey tossed out to him now, so his wolves could fall upon them.

  When the woman caught sight of the three strangers, she reached out an accusing finger. ‘You brought this hell to our door,’ she snarled. ‘Why should my husband suffer, for you?’ She turned back to the guards. ‘Send them out so Kostas will be freed.’

  In the absence of Clovos to keep the peace, the guards began to shift uncomfortably. Hereward watched hands waver over swords and axes. Eyes darted. Choices were weighed.

  ‘Let us be away from here,’ Maximos breathed in his ear. ‘This business will only get worse.’

  Before the guards could reach a decision, the three men hurried back into the tunnels, hoping to lose themselves. But they could hear the voices growing louder behind them. Debate was turning to anger. As they thrust their way through the crowds, the shouts rang out. ‘Seize them.’ ‘Take them to Clovos.’

  ‘I am sure Clovos will have little to say on this matter,’ Maximos murmured.

  Alexios glanced over his shoulder. Heads were bobbing. Bodies pressed their way. ‘Where do we hide?’ he whispered.

  ‘There is nothing to gain by hiding,’ Hereward replied. ‘These tunnels do not go on for ever. They will find us soon enough.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Ahead of them, more cries leapt from mouth to mouth. The Mercian heard a familiar name. Each time it was repeated it was louder still. ‘They have found Clovos’ remains.’ He cursed. He had hoped they would have more time to find a way out.

  ‘These are not choices I like,’ Maximos said. ‘Lose my head in here for a murder I did not commit, or be thrown out into the hands of a dog like Drogo Vavasour. Death or death?’

  ‘This is not over yet,’ Hereward said. His mind was racing.

  ‘You have a plan?’ Alexios asked. Maximos cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘I saw something when I came through this place …’ Hereward choked off his words when he saw guards surging towards him. Men began to clutch for his arms, hoping to restrain him. ‘Follow me,’ he snarled. Throwing off the hands, he barged his way through the throng.

  With every chamber they passed, it seemed another man or two leapt out to answer the guards’ call. Soon Hereward found himself battling through a sea of bodies. Hands snarled in his tunic. Women clawed at his bare skin.

  Finally he found a space to snatch out Brainbiter. ‘Away,’ he yelled, whisking the blade in an arc. Maximos and Alexios drew their own weapons, watching every side.

  The folk of Malakopea fell back, glowering at the enemy revealed in their midst. Hereward did not wait for them to recapture their bravery. Crashing through the line of bodies in front of him, he found a branching tunnel where they could run. A din of fury immediately swelled at their backs. It sounded as though the entire city was now hunting them.

  Knowing the crowd would probably rend them limb from limb for Clovos’ murder, they raced through tunnel after tunnel. Hurling their bodies down flights of steps they progressed deeper into the bowels of Malakopea, and after a while the roar of the crowd began to fall away. A brief respite, nothing more. As they stumbled on to the lowest level, Hereward slumped against a wall to catch his breath.

  ‘Thank God,’ Maximos gasped. ‘I thought you had decided to take us straight down to hell.’

  ‘Why have you brought us here?’ Alexios hurried back to the foot of the steps to listen for sounds of pursuit. ‘We will be trapped like rats.’

  ‘We were trapped like rats the moment we ste
pped into this place.’ Hereward grasped a torch from the wall and led the way into the dark ahead. ‘We have time here,’ he said, his voice echoing off the slick walls. ‘These depths are empty.’

  ‘Time for what?’ Alexios asked.

  Hereward came to a halt beneath the vast central air shaft that rose up through the darkness to, he hoped, the ground above. ‘Time to climb.’

  Alexios gaped. ‘Are you mad?’

  Maximos laughed. ‘Aye, he is mad. He thinks we have the wings of angels.’

  Stepping forward, Hereward pushed the torch towards the wall of the shaft. As the shadows flew away, the flickering light revealed footholds cut into the stone reaching up into the dark. ‘Made by the men who carved this out of the very earth.’

  Maximos craned his neck back so he could peer up, even though the top of the shaft was lost to him. ‘Mad,’ he said with a nod. ‘You believe we can climb that, all the way up to Malakopea-above?’ Forming his hand into a claw, he stared at his fingers. ‘Clinging on with only our nails and toes?’

  ‘I believe we have no other way of saving our necks.’

  The din swelled once more as the crowd began to make its way down to the lowest levels.

  ‘Those holes may stop there,’ Alexios said, pointing just beyond the circle of light. ‘Or halfway up. You cannot know—’ He caught himself, listening to the growing sounds of pursuit. ‘You speak truly. We have no choice,’ he said, his shoulders sagging. ‘Better to die fighting to the last than giving ourselves up to our enemies.’

  ‘I will go first.’ Handing the torch to Alexios, Hereward sunk his fingers into the lowest handholds, then scrabbled his feet up the tunnel wall to haul himself into the shaft. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he felt the next holes and began to climb.

  Below him, he could hear Maximos and Alexios bickering before the elder Roman clambered up next. The light winked out as Alexios tossed the torch away, and then Hereward found himself swimming in a sea of darkness. His fingers and his toes would have to be his eyes.