Hereward 04 - Wolves of New Rome (31 page)

‘We have one friend here,’ Hereward said. ‘We risked our own necks when Maximos stood before Victor Verinus and now we have a price on our heads. Let us see if he will come to our aid in return.’

‘Our last hope,’ Sighard muttered from somewhere behind them.

Kraki whirled, shaking his axe at the young warrior. ‘Have we taught you nothing, you jolt-headed rabbit? While there is a breath left in you, there is always hope.’

Chastened, Sighard looked down. But Guthrinc threw a huge arm across his shoulders and crushed him against his side. ‘What do we say, eh?’

‘We have seen worse,’ the younger man murmured.

The street-sellers directed them to the house of the Nepotes. They found Maximos squatting against the wall outside. He had not yet found the strength to return to the responsibilities and demands placed upon him by his kin. Jumping to his feet, he flashed a grin to hide his troubled thoughts. ‘Your lives are darker without me in them,’ he boomed. ‘You could not bear to live without the wit of Maximos Nepos.’

Hereward held up a hand to silence Kraki before the Viking’s bubbling curses reached fever pitch. ‘Our plans have changed,’ he said. ‘For now we need a place to rest, something to fill our bellies, and a way to earn coin.’

The Roman grinned. ‘My family does not have much, but we will do what we can. And our army always needs good fighting men. But the work is hard, the pay is poor, and the risks are great. Constantinople is beset by enemies on all sides. The empire is close to crumbling, some say. You will be welcomed there, if that is what you want. But for now, come. Enjoy the kindness of House Nepotes.’

With a cry of surprise, the slave admitted Maximos, Hereward, Kraki and Guthrinc while the other English waited in the busy street. Soon Maximos was surrounded by people Hereward presumed were his mother, sister and young brother. The older woman held her head high and walked with the poise of a noble; the sister bounded around, barely able to contain her emotion as she smothered Maximos with hugs and shrieked with delight. And the boy showed a quiet strength that belied his years as he beamed at his brother, his eyes moist. So excited were they they paid no heed to their guests, and dragged the Roman away to see his father.

‘Can this be?’

Hereward turned at the familiar voice. In an archway leading to a shady courtyard stood Deda, a wry smile playing on his lips. The Mercian could scarcely believe his eyes. The last time he had seen him was in a forest in England as the knight led Acha, Kraki’s woman, to safety. Hereward was surprised at how pleased he was to see a friendly face. Deda was the only Norman Hereward had encountered who had acted with honour in his dealings with everyone, not just his fellow knights. He clapped the other man on the arm, roaring, ‘Are you a ghost, here to haunt me with memories of my darkest days?’

‘Not yet. Though I would have been if William had his way.’

‘A Norman and an English rebel, still talking,’ Guthrinc said drily. ‘Fate confounds us with strange choices.’

Deda must have glimpsed something in Kraki’s face, for he quickly turned to the Viking and said, ‘Acha is well, or was when we parted company. I left her with the Cymri, who vowed to protect her from William’s wrath.’ He paused, then added, ‘She said if I were ever to see you again, I should tell you that you remain in her heart.’

Nodding, Kraki looked away. Leaving him alone with his thoughts, Hereward and Guthrinc pulled Deda to one side. They listened as he told them of his adventures: how he had taken Rowena as his wife and the two of them had fled England; how Rowena had saved him from thieves upon the road; how they had almost died a hundred times, from hunger and thirst and wild beasts and rogues. The Mercian saw the deep affection in the other man’s face when he spoke of his wife, and the resolve there. The world was a better place with men like Deda in it.

‘And England?’ Hereward asked finally, his face darkening.

‘Is no better. Without you there to lead the fight, the English have no choice but to bow their heads to their king,’ Deda replied. ‘He is a hard man, but I think, given time, he will be a fair one, if there is no more rebellion. But for now he collects his taxes with a cold face and there is hardship in many places. And the women complain that he takes away their right to speak.’

Bowing his head, Hereward reflected on how different things might have been if he had not been betrayed before that final battle in the east.

From the street, a tumult of cries and angry shouts rang out. An instant later the door crashed open and Sighard burst in. Blood streaked his face and turned his tunic black.

‘Come,’ he cried. ‘It is Germund.’

Outside, a crowd had gathered. Hereward shouldered his way through the onlookers and knelt beside a body. More blood soaked into the dust. Germund had been one of the last to join the rebel band in Ely, a quiet man who liked to catch eels, but had been a fierce fighter none the less. His throat had been slashed from ear to ear.

Sighard barged his way to the Mercian. ‘I saw,’ he began, gulping for air. ‘Germund was just wandering along the street, exploring. A man stepped out … he was wearing a hood. And then he …’ Sighard slashed his hand across his throat.

‘Here?’ Kraki roared. ‘This is not the wildwood! In the clear light of the sun? And they called us barbarians!’

‘It was one of Victor Verinus’ men.’

Hereward looked up into the face of Maximos’ sister, a sweet blonde woman who seemed untroubled by the sight of all the blood. She pointed at two slash marks forming a V on Germund’s cheek. ‘See – he has sent you a warning. This is a sign, from the Verini. They have marked you, English. This is the start of it, and they will not stop until you are all dead.’

The Mercian gaped at the bleeding mark. ‘All because we stood up to him at the hippodrome?’

‘Who knows the mind of Victor Verinus?’ Maximos crouched beside the body. ‘A wrong word there, perhaps. Or he has some larger plan that we cannot yet see. But for whatever reason, you have made a powerful enemy, and if he wishes you gone he will make his word good. Victor will not rest until you are all dead.’

His eyes narrowing, Kraki looked around. ‘We are powerless here. Nowhere to hide. We do not know this city. He does. We are like rabbits to be hunted.’

‘What, then?’ Sighard demanded. ‘We run? As we have been running ever since we left England?’

Hereward hunched over the dead man, feeling the guilt for this death weigh down on him as if he had thrust the blade himself. He thought of his father, who beat his mother to death. And he thought of King William who choked the life out of all England, slaughtering men, women and children to achieve his end. This Victor Verinus was no different. He felt his blood throb, his devil whisper. Maximos was right – one of them must die.

‘We have been driven out of our home. We have had everything we value stolen from us. We will not be forced from here too. We are done with running.’ Raising his head, he looked around his men and said, ‘This is war.’

THE DARK WAS
everything. The drip of water echoed through the gulf, accompanied every now and then by the frenzied scratching of rat claws. Pressed against the chill stone, Meghigda shivered. The dank scent of great age filled her nose. Under her heels, filthy straw crackled as she stretched out her aching legs. The space was too cramped, barely more than an arm’s length from the rear wall to the cold iron bars.

How long had she been drifting there in the void? All sense of time had ebbed away. She recalled the moment Victor Verinus raised his fist, but little beyond that. Voices had come to her through the dull haze of pain as she had been dragged to this place, though speaking in a tongue she did not know. And then she had finally come to her senses in this cell, with nothing but the echoes and the gloom for companionship. Once a day a guard brought her a bowl of thin, foul-smelling gruel and a knob of dry bread. Not a word ever left his lips.

Sometimes faces seemed to float away in the dark, ghosts sent to haunt her. She had glimpsed her mother, as she lay dying, before they cut off her head. And Maximos, that night beneath the stars with the dunes rolling behind him, when he had professed his love and promised to stand beside her while she fought for her people. How quickly those words had turned to mist, she thought with bitterness. Perhaps the very moment she had opened her legs.

And she remembered Salih, loyal Salih, raising her up when she was at her lowest ebb and telling her the spirit of al-Kahina lived in her breast. Meghigda allowed herself a smile. She owed him everything. This hardship would not deter her from her path. She would find a way to escape, that she vowed. She would not let Salih ibn Ziyad down, nor her people.

Far off in the dark, a light was flickering. At first she thought it was in her head, another memory returning of the hardships that had forged her. But then the light danced closer, and she heard the shuffle of feet upon stone. Pushing her back up against the wall, she showed a defiant face.

The candle flame painted a shimmering glow on the wet walls of the passage. The footsteps echoed, closer. An odd gait. Not her guard, she decided.

And then the visitor came to a halt by the iron bars and raised his candle. Shadows flew across a face that seemed to belong to a devil. Only when the wavering illumination settled did she realize she was looking into the ravaged features of Ragener.

A chuckle crackled deep in his throat as he set the candle down on the floor. ‘Have you been alone enough yet for even my face to bring a warmth to your heart?’ he lisped through his ragged lips.

Meghigda spat, but that only seemed to drive the Hawk to greater laughter. He squatted on his haunches, gripping a bar with his remaining hand to balance himself. ‘Do you find comfort in your new home? You have earned this place with your actions.’

‘I should have throttled the life from you when I had the chance.’

‘But you showed mercy, as did Hereward before you,’ he replied with a sly grin, ‘because you did not fear me enough. Now you have learned your lesson.’

‘There will come another time when I have my hands round your throat, and then I will finish what I began,’ she replied in a calm voice.

Ragener pretended to look around the cell. ‘I could not leave you alone here without seeing how you fared, and bringing you news of the world you have left behind. You know you will never see the light again?’

‘If I am to die, why has your new master not yet ended my days?’ she sneered. ‘There is no gain to him to leave me down here in the dark, wasting food to keep me alive.’

‘Your time will come, be sure of that. Victor Verinus has plans for you, I am certain of it.’ The Hawk pressed his face between the bars, the skin stretching so that he became even more of a grotesque in the dancing light. ‘And I am proud to call him master. He holds great power in his grasp, and soon he will hold more still. And I will be there at his side.’

Meghigda laughed. ‘Of what use are you to a man like that?’

Ragener scowled. ‘Victor heeds my words. He sees value in me, whereas you and all your filthy kind saw me only as the dirt beneath your feet.’

‘We saw you as you are. Look into your own heart, sea wolf.’

His one good eye bulging, the pirate roared his fury. Meghigda knew that if he could reach her at that moment he would have killed her. But then he sucked in a calming draught of cold air and said through gritted teeth, ‘For bringing you to him, Victor has already made me rich beyond my dreams. I will not regret one moment of the agonies he is going to heap upon your head. But I am clever … more clever than you.’ He bumped his head against the bars. ‘That is why I am on this side. I see a chance here for great things. More than mere gold.’

‘And you think this Victor Verinus will give you that? I know men like him. He will use you for what he can, and when he has drained you and left you a husk, he will toss you out to the rats.’

‘No!’ Ragener shouted. ‘He heeds me! He heeds me! I told him of your Roman love, and the English bastards … all of them … all of them who thought me nothing …’

The sea wolf was babbling now. Meghigda could see that his grip upon his wits was thin.

‘And Victor will end all their days,’ he continued. ‘I will get my vengeance for the misery heaped upon me! Hear! And then he will raise me up with him, and all will see my true worth. I am wise … wise and clever … and he will heed my words … and you … and all of you will be forgotten—’

Meghigda rammed her heel against Ragener’s fingers where they curled around the iron bar. With a howl of pain, he threw himself back. She thought she might have broken bones. She hoped so. Crawling forward, she looked down upon him writhing on the stone and said, ‘Crawl back to your master, rat. Let him throw you a few crumbs. But know that when I am free from here, I will not rest until I have found you. And then I will take your other eye, and your hand, and your feet as well, and I will leave you in the filth of the street where you belong.’

Ragener hurled himself at the bars, but the queen was too quick for him. She slid back against the wall, letting the candle light her triumphant grin.

‘I will see all of you killed,’ the sea wolf yelled. ‘Mark my words. Soon all of your days will be done. And you will be the first!’

Snatching up the candle, he stalked back along the passage, muttering to himself. Meghigda felt warmed by her defiance. It was a thin victory, but still a victory.

But as the light disappeared into the distance, she crawled back to the bars. Cocking her head, she listened. She was sure she had heard other footsteps following Ragener out of her prison. Someone else had been there, watching from the dark, someone even the pirate had not realized was present.

DARKNESS ENGULFED THE
silent monastery. Holding his guttering candle in front of him, Alric brushed one shoulder along the cool stone wall to guide him in the gloom. Only the rasp of his breath and the whisper of his soles upon the flags rustled out in the stillness. He tried to smother his frustration. The other monks were in their cells, at prayer or asleep. But he was lost in the maze of corridors, and he was tired and his wrist felt as if it were on fire.