Hereward 05 - The Immortals (8 page)

Hereward sipped his wine. It had a sweetness to it, far finer than the bitter swill they served in the tavern near the English hovel.

‘This last night, you saved the life of my son.’

‘The young swordsman, the one Sabas Apion tried to kill? That is why you saved my neck?’

‘To give my thanks, yes.’

‘If you can keep my head upon my shoulders, you still wield some power.’

‘Some.’ She fluttered fingers in the air, pretending to dismiss the words. ‘In Constantinople, all men – and all women – need allies. Here, enemies lurk everywhere. There are few who can be trusted. But you rushed to Alexios’ aid with no thought for your own safety. You fought for a stranger, because you saw one man threatened by four cut-throats, and knew there was no justice there.’ Stepping closer, she peered deep into his eyes. Her stare was unflinching. Hereward thought he had never seen eyes filled with such confidence, such power, since he had stood before William the Bastard in Wincestre. ‘A man of honour,’ she added quietly, ‘and they are rarer than hen’s teeth in Constantinople.’

‘Why did the man I killed want your son dead?’

‘Many want Alexios dead. As many would see my blood spilled too. There is a war within Constantinople. A quiet one, but no less a war. You must know that.’

Hereward nodded. ‘The emperor is not well liked. Some think the empire would fare better with a stronger man on the throne. Some covet the power that goes with the crown.’

‘And there are those who believe I still covet the throne, for one of my sons.’

‘Do you?’

‘We have an emperor, a young one. I would not see him harmed.’

‘A good answer, but not to the question I asked.’

Swigging back her wine, Anna set the goblet aside. Her eyes flashed. ‘It matters not whether I see a path to the throne, merely that others think I desire it. For many a day, I could not set foot in Constantinople. The emperor’s uncle, the Caesar, John Doukas, feared my claim to the throne. I have little love for him …’ Anna caught herself. Hereward could see from her sour face that in truth they were bitter enemies. ‘He branded me a traitor, saw me banished, to a monastery on Prinkipos. All to make sure I would be no threat to him. But power waxes and wanes, as we all know, and John Doukas no longer wields any at the court. Perhaps he no longer has aught to his name,’ she added with an enigmatic smile. ‘And so I am back.’

‘But still you have enemies on every side.’

A cold smile. Anna poured herself more wine. ‘I need a good man … a warrior … a trusted, honourable man who can watch over my son and keep him safe from the knives in the dark.’

‘I am a soldier now. I aided your son in his hour of need, but I would not see out my days wiping the spittle from his chin.’

Anna’s eyes narrowed. Hereward saw steel there. Here was a woman not accustomed to being questioned or denied. ‘A soldier? The man who challenged a king? Who could have taken the crown of England for himself if he had not been betrayed? A lowly soldier?’ Her words boiled with scorn. ‘Wulfrun,’ she called. ‘Take him back to the cells.’

‘Wait,’ Hereward growled as the door ground open.

Anna waved the guardsman back out.

‘So,’ the Mercian said, holding out his arms to the chamber, ‘this is no reward for an act of kindness. I must earn my life.’

Gliding across the room, Anna perched upon the stone of the window. A halo of sunlight glowed around her head. ‘I need you, Hereward of the English. What you witnessed last night is only the beginning. My son’s life hangs by a thread, and I would do anything … drive any bargain … to keep him alive. I can trust no one else in Constantinople. So, yes, if you would see another dawn, you must agree to my terms. It may yet cost you your life. But if you accept this offer, I will use what influence I have with the emperor to have your sentence lifted. The emperor will have his own terms, of course. He cannot ignore the murder of a man like Sabas Apion. But at least here is a chance for life. Do not turn your back upon it.’

Hereward stifled his simmering anger. He should have known that nothing in Constantinople came without a price. But as his thoughts raced, a flame flickered to life deep in his head. Smiling, he said, ‘I will watch over your son, but let us haggle some more. I have a mind to strike a bigger deal by far.’

THE GULLS WHEELED
across the face of the sun. Brassy light glinted off the swell below as the line of men stood in the sweltering heat at the front of the Boukoleon palace, their heads bowed. Ahead of them, a salty breeze stirred the banner on the sea wall. It offered little respite. The dull yells of the men working on the quayside to the east fell away, the shriek of the birds ebbed. A stillness descended on the waterfront.

Hereward eyed his spear-brothers as he stumbled out of the palace gate after more long hours locked in his cell. He felt a dull anger that his men had been rounded up. Sullen, the warriors peered out from under heavy brows, the looks of men seething at yet another unjustified indignation heaped upon them.

‘You thought your freedom could be so easily bought?’ Wulfrun whispered in his ear with barely concealed satisfaction.

The Varangian Guard flanked the captives, hands upon axes. Though they outnumbered the English two to one, they did not underestimate their prisoners. Hereward nodded. That was good. To one side, Alric, Deda and Rowena watched his approach. They could not hide the worry etched in their faces.

‘You are no longer the lone beast running wild among the fields of Barholme,’ Wulfrun continued. ‘Now every action you take affects others. Every word you speak in anger. Every drop of blood you spill.’

‘These are good men. They do not deserve to be punished for my crimes.’

‘Yet they will be. And in this way, perhaps, there is a chance to hold you to account. Your life and theirs are now entwined. Remember this the next time you would draw your sword.’

Hereward’s gaze flickered to a small knot of nobles watching the scene, and to a short man with greying black hair standing a spear’s length in front of the group, who appeared to command their respect. He showed a smile that did not seem to fit the moment as he looked out across the English warriors.

‘You are dead men all, though your legs do not yet know it. It is for the emperor and the emperor alone to decide when you go to your graves,’ he said in a lilting voice.

‘Who is that?’ Hereward asked.

Wulfrun grunted. ‘His name is Falkon Cephalas. The strong right arm of Nikephoritzes. Look on him. He would not stand there if you had not murdered Sabas Apion. You may well live to regret raising this one to high station.’

In the group of nobles, Hereward glimpsed Anna Dalassene, her chin raised, with studied indifference. One other familiar face leapt out, Simonis Nepa, tall and slender and cold. She cast a gaze at Hereward that barely disguised its murderous intent. Her kin, the Nepotes, had offered a seeming hand of friendship when the English had first arrived in Constantinople, but all they had truly wanted was to use the spear-brothers in their plot to steal the throne. They had never forgiven Hereward for the part he had played in its failure.

‘Stay strong, brothers,’ Hereward said as Wulfrun steered him along the line towards the watching nobles. The Guard commander gave him a shove to silence him.

‘Your life already hangs by a thread,’ he hissed. ‘A wise man would take care not to give any more offence.’

When they came to a halt, Falkon stepped forward, still smiling. Hereward wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of flower-infused water that the women often used on their skin in the summer’s heat. ‘By rights, your blood should already be draining into the dust,’ the Roman said with the faintest sibilance. ‘Sabas Apion was a valuable servant. His counsel will be much missed by the emperor. And his kin are demanding justice. You have made many enemies.’

‘Enemies I am not short of.’ Hereward sensed Wulfrun flinch beside him.

‘You saved the emperor’s life. He will not forget it. But this crime is too great to be ignored.’ Falkon glanced past Hereward’s shoulder to the line of spear-brothers. ‘The third one,’ he said, counting heads with his index finger. ‘Kill him.’

Stunned, Hereward whirled. Falkon had identified Turold. The Roman was clever: Turold wore his gentleness for all to see, in his easy smile, his open face. The death of such a man would undoubtedly be a blow to his brothers in battle.

Turold gaped in shock, not understanding what was happening. Grabbing his arms, the guardsmen hurled him to the ground. ‘I have done no wrong,’ the captive said, looking up in disbelief.

‘Stay your hand!’ Hereward demanded as a tumult of angry cries rang out from his men. Turning back to Falkon, he pleaded, ‘He is no warrior. He has made plans to give up his spear … to marry a Roman girl …’

Falkon nodded to one of the guardsmen. Hereward jerked at the sound of steel upon flesh and bone. Anguished cries erupted from his men.

Hereward felt only cold horror. When he turned, he was gripped by the sight of Turold’s head rolling to a gentle halt upon the flagstones. A growing pool of blood spread around the fallen body.

The spear-brothers threw themselves into a frenzy. In an instant, they were swallowed by the Varangian Guard, who rained blows down upon them.

‘Hold!’ Hereward yelled, fearing that more of his men would be slaughtered. ‘Harm no more.’ Turning back to Falkon, he felt his anger boil and it was all he could do to contain it. ‘Turold did not deserve to die,’ he croaked. ‘He had a gentle heart, quick to show kindness to all he met.’

The Roman held out both hands, his voice too light for the weight of the command he had just given. ‘Someone had to pay for Sabas Apion’s death. Now his kin will feel that justice has been done.’

Hereward swallowed, knowing that if his hands were free he would have choked the life from Nikephoritzes’ counsel there and then, though it would cost him his life. He could hear the lamentations of his men, voices cracking with fury as they cried for vengeance.

‘Still, it is not a fair balance,’ Falkon continued, speaking as if to an old friend in the forum. ‘One English cut-throat for a man like Sabas Apion. There yet may be other deaths among your men. You have been warned.’

‘Is the hippodrome not enough for you Romans now?’ Hereward spat. ‘You must find your joy in tormenting good men who have done no wrong?’

Falkon levelled his implacable gaze on the Mercian. ‘I have learned much about you this day, Hereward of the English. It would seem you are not merely a barbarian with a sharp blade, as I first thought. I have heard how you and your men fought against the Norman king who conquered your land, and how you came within a hair’s breadth of defeating him. A great warrior, they say. A man who could be of some use to the empire in these difficult times.’

Hereward’s eyes flickered towards Anna Dalassene, but she was looking dreamily out to sea, as if she were paying no heed to the confrontation.

‘I have been moved to set aside your punishment. For now, at least,’ Falkon continued. ‘I have been told you have been axes-for-hire in the employ of our army. But now you will fight for your life, and that of your men. Succeed and you will live, as will your brothers, and I will consider the account of Sabas Apion closed with the death we have witnessed this day. Fail us, and all of you will pay the price for the murder you committed.’

‘Is that just?’ Hereward snapped.

‘It is what it is,’ the Roman replied, holding out one hand, palm up. ‘We do not allow a citizen, and a great one at that, to be slain with impunity. What say you?’

Hereward could barely hear the words for the thunder of blood in his head. Deep inside, he could feel his devil yearning to be set free. But there would be a time for revenge. For now, he had his men’s lives to save. ‘What do you demand of us?’

Falkon nodded slowly, a smile flickering on the edges of his lips. ‘There may be wisdom in you yet.’ He looked past Hereward to Wulfrun and called, ‘Tell him what we demand of him in return for his life and the lives of his men.’ Turning, the Roman walked back into the huddle of nobles and led them away. Hereward sneered. The man thought himself above giving orders to fighting dogs.

At the edge of the Boukoleon palace, Anna glanced back. She had kept her word. He was free. But had she also agreed with Falkon that one of his men should die to balance the account? Hereward knew he could not trust her, could not trust any of the Romans in this city of deceit.

‘Know that I would not have seen one of your men killed.’ Wulfrun had appeared beside him. The commander glanced at the headless body with a look of distaste.

‘This will not be forgotten.’

Wulfrun nodded, understanding. ‘Take the body away. And see it is treated well,’ he barked to his men. ‘I cannot put this right. But your man will get a good Christian burial, I will see to that.’

‘Is this how things are done in Constantinople?’

‘This is not England.’ The commander spun Hereward round and slit his bonds. ‘And there are some who say the days will get darker before the sun shines again.’

Hereward watched his men seething with passion. Faces turned towards him, demanding retribution for their fallen friend, their murdered friend, but he could only answer them with a look. ‘I have already made one deal with the Devil,’ he growled, ‘in Wincestre, with William the Bastard, to save the lives of many. That cost us our home, our kin, our friends. Tell me what price is demanded this time.’

As he began to lead the Mercian back towards the Boukoleon palace, Wulfrun’s face darkened. ‘Constantinople is beset by enemies on all sides. Only the emperor and those close to him seem unaware of the axe that hangs over all our heads. One day the Turks will overrun this place, you heed my words, and then this city will be awash with blood. But now there is a new enemy in the east, one who is familiar to the emperor, and Nikephoritzes. A Norman. A seasoned warrior who styles himself upon William the Bastard.’

Hereward flinched. Even now the name made his stomach clench with disgust.

‘Roussel de Bailleul sees himself as a conqueror, too. He has carved out a kingdom and built an army of Norman warriors and axes-for-hire. And now he has taken the Caesar himself, John Doukas, captive. Roussel may wish to ransom him for gold, to pay for his fighting men. But Nikephoritzes is afrit that there will be blood. That Roussel will take the Caesar’s head. That he may even raise a challenge to the emperor’s power.’