Hereward 04 - Wolves of New Rome (35 page)

Without another word, he turned and walked along the passage. In his eyes, she was not worthy of any farewell. She heard him rooting in one of the passages for whatever had brought him to that place, and then his footsteps, and the light, receded.

The dark closed around her once more.

For a while, Meghigda sat against the cool stone, letting the ringing in her head subside. When she felt strong once more, she said in a clear voice, ‘Who are you?’

No response came back for a moment, and then a woman’s voice said, ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘You have been before. Many times.’

The queen heard her visitor walk into the passage. The sound of a struck flint cracked out and a soft light shimmered. Meghigda furrowed her brow in surprise when she saw a girl of perhaps seventeen summers. Greasy red hair hung around a gaunt face dappled with bruises. Her dress was worn and filthy, the body beneath it little more than bones. She looked like a beggar-child. ‘Why are you here?’ the queen asked, baffled.

‘Because my father deems you worth his attention.’

After a moment, Meghigda grasped the meaning of the words. She scowled. ‘You are Victor’s child?’

‘By blood. By name.’ The girl paused as though she were unused to being questioned. ‘I am Ariadne.’

‘And you are here to gloat?’

Sitting cross-legged in the corner, the girl shook her head as if this was unthinkable. ‘Why do you resist him? He will only hurt you more.’

The queen looked down her nose at her visitor, weighing her. ‘I am al-Kahina, slayer of devils, ghost of the desert, priestess, soothsayer, warrior, and I will bow to no one.’

‘Even though he hits you?’

‘Even though he breaks my bones, cuts my flesh, rips out my heart, ends my days. At the final reckoning, all we have is that smallest part of us. That knowledge of who we truly are. We do not trade that away for any price, any gold, any suffering.’

Ariadne plucked at the hem of her dress, letting the words settle on her. Meghigda thought how sad the slight figure looked. There seemed little of Victor Verinus in her. ‘What is it that you seek here?’ she asked gently.

The girl looked up, her face determined. ‘I saw you did not cry, even when the rats crawled around you. I saw that the dark and the hunger did not gnaw at you. I saw you hold your head high, even when there was little hope.’

‘Even in the dark you see these things?’ Meghigda said with a faint smile.

‘I see better in the dark than all others because I have lived my life in it. I sleep in the dark. I eat my scraps off the floor in the dark. Whenever I have done wrong, and those times are many, I am punished by the dark. And sometimes … sometimes I choose the dark.’ She blinked away hot tears. Meghigda was shocked by the passion she saw in the girl’s face. Wiping the snot from her nose with the back of her hand, Ariadne steadied herself. ‘I saw you kill the guard with your bare hands. I saw you defy my father. Now, I would know all that has shaped you. Tell me what it is to be the slayer of devils, the ghost of the desert. Tell me of the road that has brought you to this cold place, of your life, of your battles, of your pain, and most of all of your fears, so that I might know your heart. For in truth, I cannot understand you. Tell me all that, and I promise I will tell you what I seek here.’

And Meghigda did tell her, everything, from the slaughter of her mother and father to the hardship she endured to become the leader her people demanded. She told her because her heart went out to this fragile girl. And she told her because it reminded her of who she was, in that smallest part of her, that part that would never be extinguished.

When she was done, Meghigda took a deep breath. Her words rustled away into the gloom, and for a while there was only silence. Then Ariadne looked up from her deep reflection and said in a voice as hard and bare as a desert rock, ‘Every third night, my father uses me like a wife.’

The queen did not know what to say.

‘If I could only be you, I would,’ the girl said, standing. ‘I will help you. If you have friends here in Constantinople, I will tell them of your plight, and they will come and save you.’

Meghigda grimaced. ‘I have no friends here.’ Desperate, she racked her brain. ‘Wait … I know of someone … of … a family. The Nepotes.’

Ariadne frowned. ‘You know them?’

‘I know of Maximos Nepos.’

The girl pursed her lips. ‘Maximos has returned to Constantinople.’

Meghigda’s heart leapt and she hated herself for it. He was the last person in the world she would choose to put her faith in, but she had no choice. ‘Tell him of my plight. Tell him he owes me, and if he has any honour he will do all he can to save me.’

Picking up the lantern, the girl nodded. ‘Very well. But I must be quick. My father has made up his mind to end your days, and he is always swift in his judgement. Your time is short, he told you that.’ She stepped towards the passage.

‘Wait. You promised you would tell me what you seek here.’

When Ariadne glanced back, her eyes were ablaze. She lifted the lantern to her lips, blew out the flame, and the dark swept in. ‘Hope,’ she said, the word ringing out clear.

And then she was gone.

‘
HEREWARD! SHOW YOURSELF!
’ The voice boomed through the house of the Nepotes.

In the courtyard, the Mercian jumped to his feet from a shaded bench. His hand flew to his sword. The threat in that tone was undeniable.

Maximos was beside him in an instant, his eyes narrowing. ‘That is not Victor Verinus.’

‘One of his men, then. The Stallion will not have taken kindly to a head laid upon his doorstep. And he will know it was a gift from me.’

The Roman grinned. ‘Was that not the point? Prod him until he rears up and shows his soft underbelly?’

As the two men swept into the cool of the entrance hall, a cry of fury rang out. Hereward had time only to glimpse the accoutrements of one of the Varangian Guard before the warrior drew his sword and rushed at him.

Brainbiter sang as it whisked from its sheath. As the guard’s sword flashed down, Hereward met it. His ears rang from the clash of iron upon iron. Sparks glittered. With a heave of his blade, he threw the other man back.

But this warrior seemed to be caught up in a battle-rage. Back he came in an instant, hacking high, then low, thrusting, slashing. Every move was fluid and powerful. The Mercian had no doubt that he was in the presence of a master swordsman, one who could match him in strength and resolve.

And yet for all his fury, the warrior was as silent as the grave. He remained as calm as deep water and just as dangerous.

Around the hall they danced, evenly matched. Their swords clanged, jarring bones. But the warrior had the advantage of his shield while Hereward had only his feet and his natural skill to evade the edge of his foe’s weapon.

Finally the warrior put his shoulder behind his shield and charged. The Mercian slammed into the wall, his sword pinned between him and the hard wood. The guardsman rammed the tip of his blade against Hereward’s neck.

‘Now I will have your head,’ he snarled.

‘There will be no weapons raised in my house!’ The voice cracked with anger. Simonis Nepa was standing in the doorway, her eyes blazing with the fire of the woman she no doubt once used to be.

The girl, Juliana, appeared at her back. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the scene and she pushed past her mother. ‘Wulfrun,’ she demanded. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

Hereward could feel the other man trembling with passion. As he stared into those cold eyes, he sensed the warrior fighting against his instinct to drive his sword into flesh, as he had fought against his own urges so many times. But this Wulfrun was capable of winning that battle.

Juliana stepped into his line of vision. Her stare was unwavering and Hereward sensed a strength there that had, until now, been well hidden. ‘No blood will be spilled in the house of the Nepotes,’ she said in a clear voice. Though she smiled and the tone was pleasant there was an edge to it that brooked no dissent.

Wulfrun wavered. Then, with a flicker of regret, he took a step back. ‘I demand vengeance,’ he said. ‘My father would be alive this day if not for this dog.’

The Mercian’s brow furrowed. If he had seen this man before, he could not recall it.

Anger flared in the warrior’s eyes. ‘You do not remember me?’

‘Your voice crackles with the sound of the fens, but—’

‘Aye,’ Wulfrun snapped, almost driving his sword forward, ‘we share a past, you dog. And that you cannot recall who suffered at your hand only adds to your crime.’

Juliana pushed her way between the two men, her eyes holding Wulfrun fast. The guardsman had no choice but to let his sword fall away. Her smile became flirtatious and she rested both hands on his chest. A lover’s touch, Hereward thought, and yet, at the same time, both a barrier and a warning. She would not be defied. ‘You are a man of honour, a strong man, who knows full well when to take a life and when to rise above killing,’ she said, her voice honeyed. ‘That man captured my heart. I know you would not disappoint me.’

Wulfrun winced, torn. He seemed incapable of seeing the subtle manipulations in his love’s words, Hereward noted.

Juliana knew she had the advantage. Pressing her hands forward gently, she eased Wulfrun back another step. Her smile never wavered. ‘This man is our friend, as you are the friend of the Nepotes, and more than friend to me,’ she breathed. ‘And he is an ally. My family needs his help. Would you see Victor Verinus truly triumphant? You know what he wants more than anything.’

‘No more,’ Wulfrun said, stung by whatever implication lay behind the words. His eyes flickered towards Hereward’s face, still glinting with murderous intent.

Juliana’s eyes flashed with a moment of pleasure at her victory and then she showed a concerned face. ‘What is wrong?’ she asked. Moving her hands to her love’s cheeks, she forced him to look into her eyes. ‘Why do you attack our guest? I have never seen you this way.’

‘Yes, speak,’ Hereward said. ‘If I have wronged you in some way, tell me, so I can make amends.’

‘Only your death will balance what you did,’ Wulfrun spat.

At some point, Deda had slipped into the hall. He frowned with dismay and addressed the commander. ‘You deceived me. You made me betray my friend. That is not honourable. It is you who should make amends. Speak. Tell us what has driven you to this.’

Wulfrun kept a cold eye on the Mercian. ‘The days of my youth were spent in Barholme, in the east of England, as were this man’s. But he was not my friend. He was no man’s friend. Hereward was a blight on all who knew him. He robbed from anyone whose path he crossed. The rich and the poor. The strong and the weak. I saw him beat another lad with his fists until the boy’s face was such a bloody mess his own mother would not have recognized him. And even then he kept beating until we felt sure the lad would be killed. Six of us dragged him off and paid for it with a whipping ourselves.’ He swallowed. His voice had grown hoarse. ‘There was not a man or woman in all Barholme who was not afraid of him. Others were wounded. Some died, so it was said. Bodies found in the waters. For too long, his father protected him – he was the son of a thegn, after all.’

Hereward felt his shame burning. All true.

Wulfrun’s sword hand began to waver from the emotion coursing through him. He sheathed his blade, but still he did not break his accusing stare. ‘One night after the harvests, he stole my father’s horse. Our barn was set on fire – on purpose or by accident, I do not know – and we lost everything. Our plough. All that we had brought in from the fields to see us through the cold months. And when my father tried to stop him, this snake broke his arm. He could not work. We faced starvation and death – my mother, my three brothers and my sister. My father was a good man. He cared for us all, never raised a hand against us. He laughed, yet worked until his fingers bled to keep us fed.’ He jabbed a finger at Hereward, barely able to contain all that seethed inside him. ‘And in one night, this dog stole it all from him. My father became like one with the dead. I never saw him smile again. He walked from village to village, begging for aid. And when he had scraped together enough to see us through the winter, he ended his own days. A rope round his neck in the woods near our home, where I had hunted fowl as a boy. My mother died soon after. She wanted to be with him, I am certain.’

Silence had fallen across the hall. Hereward could sense the eyes of the others upon him. ‘Now I remember,’ he said. And he did, but still only snatches. So many crimes there had been, as he fled from his own father’s cruelty, and they had become a blur. How terrible that was. He had cared for no one; had not given one thought to the people who fell before him.

‘Should a price not be paid for such crimes?’ Wulfrun implored as he looked around the hall. ‘Should this man walk free, and live, and laugh, and love, while my father lies in his grave? Where is the justice in that? They called him hero when he fought against William the Bastard at Ely, but he is no hero. He is a thief. He is a murderer. And he has never paid for all the crimes he committed.’

Hereward felt sickened. He could not argue with this man at all. His thoughts flew back to the desert night when Maximos had told him there was no escape from days long gone. Now he feared that was true. First there had been Drogo, then Ragener, now this. There was a price to pay for everything he had done, a trail of blood that led from his own actions to some poor soul or other. And though he had tried to make amends since those times, the ghost of the man he had been would haunt him until his dying day. How many other wounded souls waited to meet him?

Holding out his arms, he said, ‘There is nothing I can say that will ease your pain. I am not proud of what I was. Many suffered … many. I deserved to be killed as a wild dog would have been. But then I met a man of God upon the road and he tried to teach me all the things I had never learned – friendship, justice, care for the weak, sacrifice. Where I succeeded, it was because of him. Where I failed, it was my own weakness. There is nothing I would wish more than to wipe away the stain of those early days. All I can do is try to live my life now as I should have done then, and hope that when God judges me, he will not find me wanting.’