Hereward 04 - Wolves of New Rome (29 page)

‘Even you will have to crack that stone face with a grin, eh?’ Guthrinc said, nudging his friend as they stood at the waterside.

Kraki snorted. ‘I never doubted for a moment that we would reach this place.’ But he had, they all had. For too long it had seemed that fate was conspiring to drag them off course then dash them upon the rocks of the cold, hard world.

Guthrinc nodded, a smile playing on his lips. The strong man had always been able to see through him, Kraki thought. ‘We needed this,’ Guthrinc added, turning his attention to the great dome shimmering in the distant heat haze. ‘A fresh start. A new dawn. A chance to forget what we have lost, all that we have left behind.’ He eyed his friend. ‘Even you.’

The Viking showed no emotion, but he wondered if he would ever forget Acha. She had changed him, and he was still not quite sure how. All his life, he had cared for nothing but gold and mead and battle. It mattered not where he called home, whose coin he took. But Acha had shown him something more, and now he felt as if he had misplaced his axe and would never find it again.

Guthrinc was right. They all needed Constantinople. They had to forget their losses, and learn once again how to look forward to days yet to come. If there was a chance for him, it would be here.

Of all of them there, only one man seemed untouched by joy that they had finally reached their heart’s desire. Hereward stood over the monk’s unmoving form while the harbour’s dance whirled around him. Whether Alric would live or die, none could yet say. But that he needed good care, and healing, was certain.

Kraki strode over and stood before the Mercian. They had been enemies and they had been rivals and they had been friends, but respect had always lain between them. Awkward, the Viking struggled to find the words to express his gratitude. ‘You said you would bring us here and you have,’ he grunted. ‘No warrior could ask for a better leader … in battle or in life.’

Hereward seemed touched by the words. ‘We reached this place together, as brothers,’ he replied. He looked around the harbour and then his gaze drifted down to his friend. ‘We thought we had lost everything when we were forced to leave our home behind. But there has been a high price to pay to achieve this prize. Friends who set sail with us. Alric’s hand. If all that had been for naught … if we had failed to reach Constantinople … that price would have been too terrible to bear. But know this: I will not lose any more. I will not give up on this new life we have earned.’

‘Worry not,’ Kraki replied. ‘We are here now. Gold and glory. All will be well.’

Maximos marched up. The Viking thought how tense the Roman looked. Normally he was braying and bragging like a fool, even in the heat of battle. He seemed torn. His home held no attraction for him, he had said that often enough on the journey. But there was no mistaking his desire to find the woman.

‘There is a monastery not far from here where your friend will be well cared for,’ Maximos said. ‘If anyone can save the monk’s life, it is my cousin, Neophytos. He knows the herbs and potions and pastes as well as any leech.’ The Roman pointed to a cart waiting by a row of stone urns. ‘My name means something in Constantinople. The owner of that cart will deliver your friend to the monastery. I will pay him later once I have coin in my purse. But forgive me, I cannot tarry. If we are to find Meghigda, I must first find Victor Verinus.’ His mouth jerked into a snarl as he hurried away into the throng.

When Hengist and Salih ibn Ziyad set off with Alric for the monastery, Kraki spied Sighard sitting alone on a bale. The shadow that had seemed to hang over his features since the death of his brother had been replaced by the ghost of a smile. The Viking sat beside him, searching once again for the right words. ‘Death walks at our shoulders. That is the curse of the warrior,’ he said after a moment. ‘We know him like a friend. We learn to know his moods and his habits. You are young. You are still not on good terms with him. But trust me when I tell you his shadow will fade, with time.’

Sighard nodded. ‘I believe you. Finally, we are here. Finally, we can find the peace that we all have sought. I will miss Madulf, but now I feel there is hope in my life, for the first time since we sent him into the arms of God.’

Kraki grunted, relieved by what he had heard. Loss was like a canker, he knew. Too much of it doomed a man. But now they could give thanks that they had escaped the dark days. They were safe. He clapped a hand on the young warrior’s shoulder. ‘You are a spear-brother. Never again do you have to fight alone. Do not forget that.’

He had reached his limit of this kind of talk, but he hoped his words had done some good. Heaving himself up, he wandered back to where the rest of the English gathered in a mood of barely contained excitement.

But as he neared, he glimpsed Maximos forcing his way back through the crowd, his face like thunder. ‘I have found that dog,’ the Roman spat. ‘Come … there may still be time before he passes his judgement upon Meghigda.’

THE CROWD ROARED
to the heavens. Feet thundered on stone and fists punched the air, thousand upon thousand of them, a multitude. As Hereward burst out of the dark stairwell high up on the eastern rank of the towering stone circus, he reeled from the spectacle that confronted him.

The sun blasted down into the baked centre of the hippodrome where soon the horses would race. All around him, tiers of benches were filled to the brim by more people than he had ever seen in one place. His head rang from the din, so loud that a man would have to bellow to make himself heard. Nothing he had ever encountered in England had prepared him for this sight. His home seemed so small in comparison, a place of winds whistling through the trees in the desolate fens, and knots of folk huddled around hearth-fires against the encroaching dark.

Kraki, Guthrinc and Sighard lurched to a halt beside him. All three gaped. In awe, the Viking surveyed the mass of bodies and yelled, ‘What is this place?’ It was yet another wonder on top of the many they had witnessed as they ran through the streets from the harbour. After an England built of wood and thatch, they could only marvel at the vast stone bulk of the Great Palace and the soaring dome of the Hagia Sophia, the towers of the churches and the great walls of the basilica and government halls.

Jerked from his stupor, Hereward searched the teeming benches. Maximos had only been a few paces ahead of him as they raced up the steps above the Black Gate. Yet he had seemed so consumed by terror that Meghigda might be harmed that he had lost all thought for the men who had accompanied him.

This man who had set such a high bounty on Meghigda’s head, this Victor Verinus, was a great man, it seemed, for almost everyone in the harbour seemed to know his whereabouts. Aye, and a man who wielded his power with a hard hand. The Mercian had recognized the uneasy looks in the eyes of those who spoke his name.

The crowd’s roar grew louder still as the riders led their steeds out into the circus. Amid the ocean of waving arms he glimpsed Maximos, the only one facing away from the day’s event. One fist was raised, his face contorted with fury. He was shouting at a glowering man with skin like leather and hair the colour of a sword blade. Though Maximos was tall, the man he was confronting loomed over him.

‘We want no fight here,’ the Mercian shouted to his men as he pushed his way into the throng. ‘If this crowd turns on us we shall be torn limb from limb.’

The two men were arguing in their own tongue, but when Victor saw Hereward approaching he called out, ‘I see English dogs.’ Aloof, he turned back to Maximos. ‘And once again I will tell you, I know of no woman, nor of any sea wolf.’

The Roman could barely contain his rage. ‘They are here, I know it.’

‘If you have been told that is true, then it must be so. But they have not darkened my door. Why would they? I no longer wish to pay good coin for the woman who killed my son. My grief lies heavy on me, but I do not need vengeance to assuage it.’ Victor looked down his long nose, his cold eyes daring the other man to challenge him.

Maximos held that gaze for a long moment, and Hereward thought much more than Meghigda’s disappearance raced between them. Unable to control himself any longer, the younger man lunged, snarling. As he whipped back his right fist to throw a punch, Victor lashed out like a snake. With one huge hand, the older man caught the wrist, while the other snapped round Maximos’ throat. He began to squeeze.

‘Why have you survived, while Arcadius lies dead in some foreign land?’ the general shouted above the thunder of the crowd. ‘There is no justice in this world.’

All around, men and women scattered from their benches to avoid the fight. Victor seemed oblivious. Showing no emotion, he began to crush his fingers tighter. With time Maximos’ youth might have given him the edge to break free. But long before then, Victor would have choked the life from him, Hereward could see.

The Mercian threw himself into the fray. He wrenched the two Romans apart, the heel of his hand thumping into Victor’s breastbone to drive him back. The older man’s face blazed at this audacity. But before he could speak, men leapt to their feet on every side, encircling the English warriors.

‘Victor’s guard,’ Maximos called. ‘Beware!’

Whirling, Kraki threw up his axe with a roar. As Hereward whipped Brainbiter up to Victor’s throat, the other spear-brothers snatched out their own weapons and faced their enemies.

‘Come on then, you dogs,’ Kraki growled as he looked around the circle of cold faces. ‘Though there are a thousand thousand of you here, I will take on every one of you.’

For a second, silence hung over that corner of the hippodrome, and then laughter rang out, growing louder by the moment. All around, the crowd stood on their benches and pointed, throwing their heads back and jeering. Kraki’s cheeks coloured at the mockery. The English warriors’ eyes darted around, uncertain. Never before had they experienced such a reaction.

Victor stepped on to a bench and threw his arms wide, playing to the crowd. ‘Barbarians!’ he cried, to more ringing laughter.

Hereward watched his men’s discomfort as their weapons wavered. They deserved better than this. Sheathing his blade, he ordered, ‘Lay down your arms.’

Maximos pulled his way to the Mercian’s side, seemingly embarrassed by the display. ‘This is Constantinople,’ he hissed. ‘Not some mud-spattered village in Thule.’

Hereward silenced the other man with a stare. ‘No, we are not in England,’ he said. ‘Would that we were. But it seems we have new rules to learn.’

The crowd’s mockery died down as their attention swung back to the circus, where the riders were bringing their mounts to the starting line.

‘We must be away,’ Maximos urged, his voice low. ‘I lost my temper. I was a fool. But Victor will not take kindly to this insult. He has had men killed for less.’

The leather-faced general was still making a play of humour, laughing silently at the
barbarians
. But his eyes were like nail-heads. He leaned in to the Mercian and whispered, ‘My guard will hunt you down like the dogs you are, you and all your men. Your days are done.’ Pulling back, he announced in a loud voice, ‘Now, leave my sight. The race will soon begin.’

A lull settled on the hippodrome as the horses lined up. But with the starting cry and the first rumble of hooves, the full-throated roar soared up to even greater heights. Back on his bench, Victor watched the race. But Hereward could sense the general’s eyes upon his back as he walked away and he knew he had made an enemy that day.

Outside in the shade of the street, where the crowd’s exultations had become a distant drone, Maximos hung his head.

‘Do you believe him?’ Hereward asked.

‘Victor Verinus keeps his plans and his plots to himself,’ Maximos said, ‘and if he believes there is an advantage for him, his tongue will lie easily.’

The Mercian felt puzzled. For all his words, the Roman’s fear for the queen had ebbed, and if anything he seemed to be filled with relief.

‘You must forgive me,’ Maximos continued. ‘In my passion to find Meghigda, I acted too rashly. I have led you all into danger.’

Kraki turned up his nose. ‘Let him come. My axe will be ready.’

Maximos held his hands out in weary despair. ‘Your axe will only lead you to a cell. There are laws. And you do not know Victor Verinus. He always finds a way to destroy anything that offends him.’

Guthrinc looked up at the towering walls of the hippodrome. ‘I would think in a city this big there are plenty of places for rats like us to hide, until we decide on a plan.’

‘It might be better to leave this place,’ Maximos began.

Hereward silenced him with a cold stare.

‘Then hide well,’ the Roman went on, ‘because if Victor takes against you, he will leave no stone unturned. For myself, I must find Meghigda before …’ He let the words die in his throat, his cheeks flushing as if he had caught himself on the brink of speaking too boldly. Hereward tried to read his face. Did he fear the queen was already dead? Or was it something more that was preying on his mind?

‘Find the woman. Stay alive,’ Kraki snorted. ‘Good. Now I know what I am doing.’

Hereward felt fire burn in his breast. He would not let the promise of Constantinople be snatched away from them. They could not bear any more loss. He would fight even a man as powerful and dangerous as Victor Verinus to win the new life they so desperately needed. He would fight as never before.

RAVEN WINGS THRASHED
the air. Beady black eyes and rending beaks, a sound like thunder. Amid that storm of sable feathers, a watcher. A man, with bone-white face and eyes dark from lid to lid shining in the holes of his helm. He wore a mail-shirt rusted and crusted with blood, and furs, and the bones of small creatures swinging on leather thongs. An axe hung in his hand, the blade notched from too many battles. Grim was its name, Alric remembered. Grim.