Hereward 05 - The Immortals (32 page)

‘The walls of Constantinople have stood for years beyond measure.’ Nikephoritzes glowered at the burning crosses. ‘However large Roussel de Bailleul’s army, they will not fall now. We can afford to bide our time.’

A lazy smile danced on Anna Dalassene’s lips. Her eyes looked hazy from all the wine she had swallowed – she rarely seemed to be without a goblet in her hand, Alric noted – but her wits were always sharp. ‘And you think the Norman will not have considered the strength of our defences when he decided to bring his army across the miles to our door? Do not be overconfident, Nikephoritzes.’

The eunuch grunted. He did not like being lectured on strategy by a woman. ‘You have been absent from the court for many a day, Anna. Why have you decided to appear now, when our enemies threaten us?’

Anna flashed a look at the two women who accompanied her, Rowena and Ariadne, posing as her servants. ‘There is little joy at court these days. Not when it is the hunting ground of Falkon Cephalas, who sees every man, woman and child as a threat against the emperor.’

Nikephoritzes flinched. Anna’s voice was honeyed, but Alric knew the emperor’s adviser took her words as a strike against his authority. He had appointed Falkon Cephalas. He approved the reign of terror that was being inflicted upon the city.

‘Constantinople has always been a boiling cauldron, but there has never been such peace here,’ Nikephoritzes said. ‘Falkon does good work.’

‘Falkon Cephalas is a stain upon the godly nature of this city,’ Alric snapped, unable to contain himself any longer. Never had he felt such anger. He remembered his despair as he watched the bodies of those too young to fight swinging on the gibbets that had sprouted everywhere in Constantinople like the spring growth. ‘We have heard much talk of Roussel de Bailleul believing himself to be the new King William, but Falkon is the Bastard’s true heir. A murderer of children.’

Anna laughed silently, amused by this outburst. The eunuch was not used to hearing sharp words.

Nikephoritzes’ eyes burned with rage. ‘Who are you to speak so, monk?’ he spat.

‘Why, he is a man of God,’ Anna said, her voice light but her words like knives. ‘Every day he prays for the safe homecoming of my son Alexios, in return for a small payment to his monastery. I have found much strength in his devotions. When he sees men who defy the Lord’s plan, he must speak out.’

‘You will be the first monk to do so, I wager,’ the eunuch grumbled. He turned back to the shimmering crosses. They seemed to be burning even brighter now that dusk was falling.

Alric felt that Anna had understated the case. The more he had seen of the miseries Falkon had inflicted, the more he felt that God was revealing Alric’s own path. He must take a stand, even if it cost him his life. And once Nikephoritzes reported his comments back to Falkon that was a likely outcome. The cold-hearted dog would not tolerate such an outspoken enemy.

The monk knew his patron had brought him along as moral weight for her argument. Now he had spoken, she drew herself up, her moment chosen. ‘Falkon is not God. He makes mistakes like any man. And he has made one that could cost us dear – the arrest of Wulfrun of the Varangian Guard.’

‘Wulfrun is dead,’ Nikephoritzes said without care.

‘All Constantinople would know if that were true.’

‘As good as. His execution is planned for dawn. There is nothing I can do for him.’

Anna’s smile hardened. ‘You have no power over your own dog.’

The eunuch’s face became like stone. He would not meet the woman’s eyes.

Sucking in a deep breath of the smoke-tinged air, Anna continued, ‘You know I am loyal to the emperor, and like you I wish only for our empire to be as strong as it was in the days of our ancestors. I seek no personal gain here. But I fear for us all, for the emperor most of all, if Falkon has, as I believe, made a great error. Roussel de Bailleul has not yet revealed his plan, but there will be war, of that there can be no doubt. The Varangian Guard will be at the forefront of that battle, and now they are without a leader. We cannot afford to lose a warrior of Wulfrun’s skill. We need him, Nikephoritzes. You know that.’

The eunuch’s lips tightened. ‘Falkon Cephalas believes Wulfrun is a danger to the emperor. Until I learn otherwise, I choose to play no part in this.’

Alric could see that though the eunuch had his doubts, he would not lose face by wavering in front of strangers.

A faint whistle rang out from deep in the shadows. Few would have paid it any heed, but Alric knew it came from Salih ibn Ziyad, who had remained on watch in case any of Falkon’s brown-cloaked soldiers approached. At Anna’s nod, he eased back into the dark next to one of the towers. Night was coming down hard and the Keeper of the Flame had not yet lit the torches. Cloaked in the gloom, he watched as four figures appeared at the top of the stone steps. One he did not recognize, but this one had been badly beaten not so long ago. The second was a great oak of a man with broad shoulders and arms that could snap a spine. His skin was dark and leathery and his long hair the colour of steel. The monk thought he could see the mark of the Verini in his features, a fact confirmed when Ariadne’s eyes widened and she backed away. She seemed as afraid of this man as of her own father. The boy, Justin Verinus, was there too, his face as blank as always, his eyes dead.

When he saw the fourth man, Alric felt rage burn in his chest. It was Ragener, the sea wolf who had tortured him. Unable to help himself, he lurched out of the shadows. When the ruined man recognized the monk, his eyes lit up with cruel glee.

Seeing Alric’s rage, Anna held up a hand to command him to hold back. Fighting back his anger, he came to a halt, simmering with hatred.

‘Karas Verinus. It is long since I have seen you in Constantinople,’ Anna said. ‘What brings you from your eastern home?’

When Karas ignored her, Alric saw a cold light flare in her eyes, but she held her tongue. ‘I have risked all to bring news of great danger,’ the tall man said, fixing his stare on the eunuch, ‘aye, risked my life itself. The threat from that dog Roussel de Bailleul is greater than you could ever have imagined. Doom is coming, Nikephoritzes, for you, for the emperor, for all of us, and Constantinople itself. We must make ready before it is too late.’ He shoved the beaten man forward so hard he almost fell to his knees. ‘Speak, you.’

Through split lips, the man blurted, ‘A new emperor has been proclaimed by Roussel de Bailleul. The Caesar, John Doukas. He stands now with our enemy’s army, ready to seize the throne.’

‘This cannot be!’ Nikephoritzes blanched.

‘I saw it with my own eyes.’

‘He speaks the truth,’ Karas growled. ‘Roussel set us free to bring this message to you.’

The eunuch stared at him for a moment, his thoughts racing. Gripping the wall, he peered over the edge as if he were afraid he would plunge into an abyss. ‘John Doukas did this of his own free will, or with a blade at his neck?’

‘What matters it?’ Karas snarled. ‘There is now a rival emperor with a powerful claim to the throne. You know the dangers as well as I, Nikephoritzes – that unhappy citizens will rally to his call, that axes-for-hire will sweep in to swell the rebel army. That we will find other enemies joining with him … the Turks, perhaps.’

So pale was the eunuch that Alric thought he might faint dead away. ‘We have no army of any note to defend us,’ he breathed. ‘What is left will be crushed in an instant.’

‘We cannot waste another moment,’ Karas urged. His voice was a low growl. ‘I will tell all that I know of the enemy and his forces, and give what aid I can. But we must hurry to the emperor. Plans must be made. Now.’

‘Yes, yes, you are right,’ Nikephoritzes gabbled. He all but ran along the wall towards the steps. As the new arrivals followed, Ragener flashed a sly glance back at Alric.

Once they had gone, Anna glared towards the burning crosses. ‘Then the Athanatoi failed. Now we must pray that they survived their encounter with Roussel.’

‘The people have suffered too many miseries,’ Rowena said. ‘Can we be certain they will support Michael?’

Anna shook her head. ‘But it will be worse for all of us with John Doukas upon the throne, Roussel de Bailleul whispering in his ear, and Karas Verinus now worming his way into the rotten heart of it all.’

‘My uncle would not be content to be the new emperor’s general.’ Ariadne looked close to tears. ‘He has a plan in place, make no mistake, and he is more savage than my father.’

‘Come,’ Anna said, leading the way along the wall. ‘There is much here to think on.’ For the first time, Alric thought he heard a note of worry in her voice.

Salih was waiting for them at the foot of the steps, his face a mask. Ariadne slipped to his side. But barely had they plunged into the shadowed streets leading away from the wall when Alric noticed a hooded figure waiting ahead. As they neared, she pulled back her cowl. Salih hissed, his hand flying to the silver knife at his waist.

Juliana Nepa showed a brazen face, though Alric thought he glimpsed a spark of fear in her eyes. ‘Take my life if you must,’ she said, her voice defiant. ‘I came here knowing full well that you might be quick to use your blade upon me. I am not afraid. But know this – if you do you will doom your friends.’

Anna reached out to stay Salih’s hand. ‘Speak,’ she said.

‘I seek to make a bargain,’ Juliana replied, her eyes looking from one face to the next. ‘There is no love lost between us, we all know that. But if we can put aside our hatreds, I offer you the chance to become allies—’

‘Never,’ Salih snarled.

‘And together,’ Juliana continued, ignoring him, ‘we may yet survive this dark dawn.

THE THREE BURNING
crosses glowed a dull red against the night sky. Now that the pitch had seared away, the wind whipped the smouldering wood into a shower of sparks. Even miles distant on the banks of the Bosphorus, ashes floated in the air and the reek of charring lingered. Beyond the lapping on the shore and the creak of boats straining at their mooring ropes, all was still. The waters were black and scattered with shards of silver as the war-band crept along the river’s edge.

Hereward cocked his head, listening. He nodded to Guthrinc, who passed the signal down the line of the English to where Maximos and Alexios took up the rear. A long glance over the muddy stretch told him they were alone. The fishermen had returned to their homes. None of the packs of Roussel de Bailleul’s warriors searching for enemy scouts roamed nearby. With relief, he squelched on across the sludge. Their trek had been long and circuitous, but it had been worthwhile.

When they had left the Athanatoi hiding in a deep, secluded valley, they had known there was no possibility that the Immortals could reach Constantinople without coming under attack. But the English were ghosts on the land. Many hard lessons had been learned in the long years they had spent crawling over the sodden fens and through surging waterways to avoid William the Bastard’s men. Of all the fighting men, only they had the skill to reach the city and bring back reinforcements. Yet still Hereward could not quite believe they had avoided all scrutiny. He had expected that at some point they would have to fight their way to the river. But here they were, swords still sheathed.

Where the fishing boats bobbed, Hereward splashed into the cold shallows. Guthrinc eased beside him. ‘Five boats should do it,’ the tall man murmured.

‘The currents are treacherous, so I have heard. But they can be no worse than the fens. We row ahead, and we will be warm and dry in the city before dawn.’

Guthrinc glanced across the wide river to where the torches were flickering along the city walls. ‘And then? What fighting men will the Romans bring together to save the Immortals now that they have let their army wither away? Will they doom Tiberius and his men?’

Hereward clenched his jaw. He feared the worst. The Immortals had borne their sacrifices like true warriors. They did not deserve to be abandoned.

‘We will do what we can for them,’ he replied, without yet knowing what. ‘That is my vow.’

Before he could clamber into the nearest boat, a cry rose from the river’s edge. Whirling, he saw Hengist dancing across the mudflats, his face chalky in the moonlight.

‘Hush,’ Guthrinc hissed, a finger to his lips.

But Hengist was too frightened to heed him. ‘We are haunted,’ he moaned. ‘Haunted.’

Hereward grabbed him by the shoulders to calm him, but the madman writhed free and pointed across the foreshore to the waist-high yellow grass. Silhouetted against the starry sky, a shape was wading towards them. Wild, it looked, and brutish.

As Hereward squinted, unsure what he was seeing, Guthrinc roared like a wounded bear and raced towards the stalking figure.

‘A ghost,’ Hengist cried, clutching at his head.

Guthrinc crashed into the grass and swept the intruder up in his arms, pressing him to his chest as if he were trying to snap his spine. His roar swelled to jubilant laughter.

‘Set me down, you jolt-headed bog-crawler,’ the captive boomed, writhing in the big man’s grip.

Hereward furrowed his brow at the familiar voice. ‘Kraki?’

Unable to contain their rejoicing, the English surged forward as one. Once Guthrinc had lowered his friend to the ground, the warriors crowded in, slapping the Viking’s back and cheering. Snarling, Kraki shook his fists in face after face, driving the exuberant men back.

‘Do not paw me. I am not some Frankish whore,’ he bawled.

‘We thought you dead,’ Sighard exclaimed.

‘Then you had no faith. You are curs, every last one of you.’ The Viking glowered, but Hereward knew him well enough to read the glimmer in his dark eyes.

The warriors parted as Hereward strode up. ‘You are like an old dog who does not know when to die,’ he said.

Kraki scowled. ‘All has not gone well. They took my axe.’

‘We will get you a new one, a sharper one. For now, we need to be away from here before our heads end up on Norman spikes.’

They clambered into the fishing boats and pushed off from the river bank, Hereward squatting in the prow to listen as Kraki told of his struggles since his capture by the Turks. As the tale settled on him, the Mercian felt a flame flicker deep in his head and he began to grin.