Hereward 05 - The Immortals (10 page)

‘Come,’ he said, turning to his men. ‘Let us choose our mounts. We shall show these Romans how fortunate they are to have the English fighting alongside them.’

But as the spear-brothers strode towards the horses, Guthrinc caught his leader’s arm and pointed to the door to the palace. A straggler had emerged, a new recruit, grinning as if he were the lord of all he surveyed. It was Maximos Nepos.

JEWELS OF LIGHT
glittered on the swell. The ship ploughed a furrow through the wide river, the creaking hull flexing against the current as the oarsmen droned their song. Amid the stink of horse dung wafting from the beasts in the pen, Hereward leaned on the ship’s side and contemplated the line of vessels transporting the Immortals and their horses to the eastern shore. It was not the greatest army he had ever seen, but Nikephoritzes had assembled enough warriors to make Roussel de Bailleul think twice about keeping the Caesar captive.

‘Word has reached the emperor from the scouts sent out to the east. The Norman has been paying good gold for more axes-for-hire.’ Alexios balanced on the rolling deck, the breeze stirring his dark hair.

‘Save us from little men with big plans,’ Kraki growled. ‘He is holding out for more gold for his coffers. He will send the Caesar back once he thinks he is rich enough.’

‘We shall see,’ Hereward replied. ‘He has his own land now, and he is the king of it. A man will not give up that power lightly. And the emperor will not let him keep it. A threat in the east is not what he needs now as his empire crumbles around him.’

‘What do you say, Little General? Have you a plan to win this coming fight?’ Maximos stepped over the oarsmen’s benches and wandered to the aft deck. His teeth were white in his broad grin and his dark eyes sparkled.

Alexios’ cheeks flushed, but he did not rise to the bait.

Maximos clapped an arm round the younger Roman’s shoulders, refusing to relent. ‘Did you know his mother sent him out to prove himself in battle when he was barely big enough to hold a sword? And the general sent him home the same day because he did not want babes in his army?’

Pushing up his chin, Alexios stepped aside from the other man’s grasp. He would not let this mockery wound him; Hereward admired him for it. ‘I have proved myself in battle a hundred times since then,’ he said in a calm voice.

‘Aye, what stories they tell about you now, eh? You have polished up your name like a fine gold plate.’ Maximos’ easy grin grew harder, his gaze colder. ‘The bravest warrior in all Constantinople, they say, and yet still barely more than a boy. A wit as sharp as a blade. Skills upon the field of battle that dwarf those of seasoned fighting men. Why, soon you will command your own warriors. And then … the army itself? And then … the empire?’

‘I am a loyal—’

Maximos snorted. ‘You? You have no say in these matters. Your mother rules you, and her ambition is as hot as a furnace.’

Alexios flinched, his hand twitching towards the hilt of his sword.

‘You do not like to hear of your mother?’ Maximos pressed, feigning innocence.

‘It seems all you Romans know your duty to your kin,’ Hereward interjected.

For a moment, Maximos looked out across the waves. The words had stung, as the Mercian had known they would. Maximos had danced to the tune of his own mother and father for too long. He had murdered his best friend, the man he loved, and then betrayed the woman who loved him, Meghigda, all in pursuit of the Nepotes’ lust for the crown. Plots within plots. Maximos’ life had known little else.

The young man found his grin soon enough. ‘I mean nothing by it,’ he said, clapping Alexios on the arm. ‘We will be brothers in this battle, and we will sing songs about it in the taverns when we return.’

Alexios held the other man’s eyes for a moment and then walked away.

‘He is a rival,’ Hereward said.

Maximos shrugged. ‘You will find men grasping for the throne on every street in Constantinople. The emperor is weak. Power ebbs away. The people starve. Enemies march towards our walls by the day. Sooner or later the crown will slip into new hands. Every man and woman in the city knows that.’

‘And you would rather it were you,’ Hereward said.

‘I have no trust left in my heart for you,’ Kraki snarled, glaring at the Roman. ‘I have never known such a lust for power. It hollows a man out.’ He strode away, following Alexios towards the pen where the horses snorted.

‘My sins are great, I know that,’ Maximos said to Hereward, looking back to watch the glowing dome of the Hagia Sophia as it retreated behind them. ‘And you well know that I have been haunted by all that has been demanded of me by my kin. I am sick of the plots.’

‘Then turn your back upon them.’

Maximos laughed without humour. ‘Were it only so simple. And if only I were stronger.’

Hereward studied the Roman. His troubles had carved hollows under his eyes. There could be no doubt that he hated the road his kin were forcing him to walk, but still he could not be trusted, Hereward felt sure. For these nobles, plots and power were a way of life. It was all they thought of, aye, and likely all they dreamed of every night.

‘You will understand, then, if I watch my own back while you are around,’ the Mercian said.

His eyes fixed on the city, Maximos nodded. ‘No man would blame you.’ Pausing, he glanced around to make sure he would not be overheard. ‘Take care in the days to come. I am the least of your worries. I have heard whispers … it has been made plain to some who ride with the Athanatoi that it would be good if the English did not return from this journey into the east.’

‘Made plain by whom?’

‘I can say no more. Watch your backs, that’s all.’ With a nod, Maximos walked away.

Hereward could not tell if the Roman was trying to buy trust, and if so whether with lie or truth. But that the English had powerful enemies in Constantinople there could be no doubt. His knuckles whitening, he gripped the rail and peered into the swell. He was sick of smiles that hid murder, and lies, and deceit and plots. But if death waited for them in the east, they would give a good account of themselves.

Once they had landed, the English made their way to the Roman’s camp where, privately, Hereward passed on Maximos’ warning. He was pleased to see his men meet it with defiance. As dusk fell, the spear-brothers wandered among the tents, ignoring the mocking stares. A gloom had descended upon them after the murder of Turold. The Mercian glimpsed an anger there too, one directed at the Romans, and at the world. They needed a victory, soon.

The Immortals sat around their campfires deep into the night, singing songs of battle and women and feasting. They laughed and drank as if the war had already been fought and won. Hereward watched them, frowning. If he was commander here, the mood would be different. War needed to be respected, as did Death. If not, a price would be paid, there was no doubt of that.

He slept fitfully, haunted by dreams of his dead wife Turfrida, and, once again, the son he had left behind in England. Before the morn of his execution, he had not thought of that lad in many a season. He prayed the boy would have a good life.

When dawn came, the Athanatoi broke camp. Hereward gathered his spear-brothers and soon they were trailing away from Constantinople at the heart of the army. Ahead lay an unknown land, and threats on every side. Ahead lay victory or defeat, death or glory.

THE WIND HAD
fallen and the smothering heat crushed down upon the ridge. Only the music of chirruping insects sang out. Lying on his belly in the long grass, Hereward felt thankful for the shade of the trees hanging over him. How he yearned to slake his thirst from the waterskin on his horse, but that was far behind him, where most of the war-band waited.

Peering down the slope, he watched a trail of blue smoke rise up from the rough huts of logs and turf. The dwellings reminded him of those deep in the fens, each one carved from the land by poor folk who made do with only the flimsiest shelter from the elements.

Beside him, Kraki swept aside the grass and thrust his scowling face forward. ‘Why is it always us crawling like worms? Those Roman bastards will never sully their fine tunics.’

‘Let them laugh at us filthy with dust; I would rather see the dangers ahead with my own eyes.’ He did not trust the raw Romans one bit, not their skills, nor their battle-senses, and certainly not their sense of brotherhood. All warriors who raised an axe knew that you watched out for every man who trod the bone road with you. But he suspected these Immortals would send the English to hell if it would save their own necks.

It had been four days now since they had left Constantinople. Hereward recalled the Romans’ curses as the English showed little skill on horseback, keeping the pace slow. As they moved east the land had turned wilder, the golden crops giving way to woods and grassland, rock and dust. The bustling villages grew sparser, and further apart, and eventually the army reached one that was abandoned. Doors hung open, the shacks empty of all possessions, the livestock gone. In that part of the empire, the fear was so strong Hereward could almost smell it. The Turks smelled it too, and so they inched westwards day by day, taking whatever they found.

Squinting in the bright sunlight, he watched a dark shape flicker across the grassy slope beyond the shacks. It could have been the shadow of a bird, but he knew it was Herrig the Rat creeping closer to the huts than any other man would dare.

‘We are wasting our time here,’ Kraki rumbled. ‘These Turks are no threat. They are
farmers
.’ He spat the word. ‘We will question them about the Norman dogs, find out all we need to know about numbers, and be on our way.’

Before he could voice his agreement, Hereward heard the sound of running feet at his back. Maximos Nepos crashed into the grass beside him, grinning as if he had just bedded the most beautiful woman in Constantinople. The Mercian wondered if that grin was the last thing Maximos’ best friend had seen before the Roman plunged a knife into his side.

Maximos must have glimpsed Hereward’s unguarded expression for he furrowed his brow in a rueful look. ‘You do not trust me. I understand that. How could I not? But I will not forget that you set me free in Afrique, perhaps saved my life, and I will earn that trust back.’

‘I hear a dog farting,’ Kraki muttered from somewhere in the long grass.

Undeterred, Maximos grinned once more. ‘My brothers grow restless. They wish to question these dogs.’

As if from nowhere, Herrig the Rat rose up from the long grass. All three men started. Through his gap-toothed grin, Herrig said, ‘Only women and children are here. The men are away at their work.’

Hereward studied the village. His gut still advised caution, but he had no time to give voice to his doubts. Maximos jumped to his feet and exclaimed, ‘Then let us be at it. A glorious battle awaits, and we have no time to tarry here.’ He pushed his fingers into his mouth and let out a piercing whistle.

The thunder of hooves boomed through the still air. Cresting the ridge along the narrow track leading to the village, the Immortals swept down on the cluster of huts. As one, the doors crashed open and women and children flooded out across the baked mud, eyes wide with fear.

When the Romans had surrounded the entire village, Tiberius Gabras urged his mount forward. The Turks cowered back, babbling in their strange tongue as they plucked at the cloth of their plain dresses.

‘Our leader likes to show he is a strong warrior,’ Kraki sneered, as Hereward led the war-band down the slope. ‘Frightening women and children.’

Looking down his hawkish nose at the women, Tiberius boomed a question in the Roman tongue. When the women only gaped, the commander snapped round to his men and barked an order. Sullenly, Lysas the Snake slipped down from his horse and began to converse haltingly with one of them in her own tongue. She replied in a hesitating, reedy voice, her gaze never straying far from the knight’s blade.

While Lysas relayed the information to Tiberius, Guthrinc leaned in and whispered, ‘What are they saying?’

‘Our Norman foe is known to these Turks,’ Hereward replied. ‘He has paid them off with much gold so he can build his kingdom in the north. But since he has captured a powerful man … the Caesar … he sends out scouts and war-bands to smite down any who would try to free him.’ As he spoke, he watched Roman heads rise and eyes search the hills and woods, their bravado fading.

‘If this Norman dog is anything like William the Bastard, he will carve these Romans like hot meat, and us with it,’ Hiroc hissed. He was a dour man, always scowling at some imagined misery or other, but few could doubt his words.

Sighard stuck out his chin in defiance. ‘Did they think Roussel would let us ride up to the borders of his kingdom without any challenge? What manner of warriors do we follow?’

English heads turned towards Hereward, questioning, hoping, as always, that he could save them from the fate they now all saw darkening the horizon. But the Mercian found his attention caught by Alexios, who sat upright on his steed with a grim expression. Even he sensed the failings of the men around him, and the threat that came with it.

Shouts rang out from the shadows among the trees further along the ridge. Hereward whirled to see Turkish men spewing from the wood. Their heads were covered with felt
boerks
, the bowls intricately embroidered with the brims turned up to protect their eyes from the sun. Woollen
yalmas
were pulled tightly across their chests and fastened with loops under the arms, and straight-legged trousers were held up by belts from which hung bow-cases and quivers. Some whirled their swords over their heads; others brandished sticks and rocks. Though they roared ferociously, the Mercian could see there were not enough of them to challenge a large, armed war-band.

He raised a hand to hold his men back. The Turks’ faces were contorted with fear for their women and children. Any man would have felt the same to see his village surrounded by such a force. This was a show of defiance, an honourable outcry to warn the Romans away from their kin, nothing more.