Hereward 04 - Wolves of New Rome (40 page)

Hereward darted along the corridor to catch up with him. Consumed by his need for vengeance, the other man could not be trusted to take care. But barely had he rounded the corner when the Mercian realized his fears had become redundant.

Deep in the monastery, a bell tolled. The first of Herrig’s victims had no doubt been discovered. And as the sound of running feet echoed on all sides, he knew the time for subterfuge had passed.

Catching Deda’s wrist, he hissed, ‘Keep the monk safe. Take him away from the fighting.’ The Norman nodded, putting one hand in the middle of Alric’s back and urging him through a doorway. For a moment, Hereward and the churchman held each other’s eyes, and then the English warriors swept into a tight knot, their shields locking into place. The Mercian barely had time to realize that Salih ibn Ziyad had disappeared before Victor Verinus’ men began to rush towards them from both ends of the corridor.

Hereward scowled. ‘Once the plotters hear this din, they may well throw caution to the wind and strike the emperor down.’

‘Then you should go, now,’ Kraki growled beside him. ‘Leave us to fight these dogs.’

‘Abandon my brothers? Never.’

The Viking peered over the lip of his shield and snorted with derision. ‘Look at them. They may be savage … cut-throats and thieves … but they are not fighting men. They run like children at play. Do they think they will knock us flat on our backs with one blow? Where is the skill, eh? Where is the battle-plan?’ He eyed the Mercian through the holes in his dented helm. ‘No. We will rid ourselves of these jolt-headed fowl in no time. When you see your chance, run.’

Hereward knew that Kraki was putting on a brave face. Their enemies might not be seasoned warriors, but by sheer numbers alone they could discourage any resistance. Victor Verinus must have known this. If he had amassed his own army of axes-for-hire, suspicions would soon have been raised. But a few coins pressed in the palms of low men in the inns and markets bought him all he needed: enough fodder to slow any resistance until the emperor was dead. ‘Very well,’ he grunted. ‘But I know you only want the glory for yourself.’

‘Glory? I want to show these bastards they should never spit upon the English again.’

On every side, the wave broke upon the shield wall. Swords and axes rained down. Lit by the ruddy glare of the torches, snarling faces hove into view. The Mercian’s ears rang from the tumult of yells and curses, but soon he began to hear shrieks and screams too.

‘Stay your hands,’ he called to his men. ‘Keep a calm head.’ Bracing his shoulder against the shield, he decided to let these disorganized fools exhaust themselves a little before the battle proper began. When he was sick of the crash of steel on wood, he bellowed, ‘Now.’

Reaching up, he stabbed Brainbiter over the lip of the shield and into the furious face of the man hacking wildly at him. The attacker spun back, trailing a stream of blood. Another stepped into his place, but this time Hereward glimpsed a shadow of unease on his opponent’s face. He attacked with caution, leaping back whenever the Mercian lunged. Hereward grinned. Kraki was right – these curs had no plan. They were not brave. They feared too much for their own lives. Perhaps they could be held at bay.

Spears thrust through the gaps in the shield walls. More shrieks rang out as the iron tips rammed into unprotected bellies and groins.

With a roar, Kraki cleaved a man’s head in two. ‘That is why I wear a helm,’ he bellowed.

The stone floor became slick with blood. But still more of Victor’s men ran to join the fight. ‘Let them come,’ Sighard cried. ‘The sooner they get here, the sooner they die.’

Kraki snorted back a laugh. ‘What is this I hear? A warrior, not a mewling babe? I will ask the monk later if this is a miracle.’

Peering through the swirling bodies, Hereward caught sight of Wulfrun and Ricbert. They were fighting back to back, in silence, their faces like stone. No effort was wasted as they cut down those who came at them. For a moment the Mercian was puzzled by the space they had carved around them until he realized that few of the Verini men were attacking them directly. Their crimson cloaks were unmissable, and no doubt designed to be so, a clear sign that here were members of the fearsome Varangian Guard whose reputation was unparalleled across Constantinople.

One day these city curs will fear us the same way, he silently vowed.

‘Now I have done all the hard work, I will leave you to clean up,’ he said to Kraki. ‘Be ready to close the wall.’ The Viking only grunted.

When he saw a gap in the line of enemies, Hereward put his shoulder to his shield and rammed his way forward. On either side, men fell away from the force of his charge. Yanking aside his shield, he thrust his blade into the stomach of the startled rogue standing in front of him. With a wrench, he tore open the belly and then ducked down to let the cascade of guts and gore splash over him. Slicked in blood from head to toe, he knew it would make it harder for his enemies to tell if he were friend or foe. In the thick of battle, that momentary confusion was often the difference between victory and defeat.

His horrific appearance seemed to terrify his attackers. From their wild eyes, he guessed they thought him mad, and perhaps they were right. Slashing right and left, he cut a path easily through the ranks to Wulfrun and Ricbert. They too looked at him as if he were some wild beast.

Hereward grinned. ‘To the church. Let us see which of these dogs are brave enough to give chase to a devil and two of the emperor’s Guard.’

If Wulfrun was pleased by this alliance, he did not show it. He swung his axe down into a man’s neck, almost cutting through to the breastbone, then stepped aside as the blood spurted. When his foe fell away, a clear path along the corridor appeared.

The three men raced away from the churning battle, praying they were not too late.

THE EMPEROR KNELT
in front of the altar. Head bowed, tears streaming down his cheeks, he was mewling like a child. The blade of the axe bit into his bare neck. One drop of blood trickled down his pale skin and spattered on the cold stone floor.

Like all of Victor Verinus’ men, the one standing over Michael was a rogue. Filthy-clothed, with lank, dirty hair, his eyes were bovine, his jaw was slack and he was missing an ear. A ragged scar ran from his forehead across his left eye and down to his jawline, no doubt the result of some drunken brawl. He moistened his lips. This man had killed many times before, but never an emperor, Hereward could tell. The magnitude of the crime troubled him.

A halo glimmered around the executioner, as if he were an angel sent from God, not some devil. The church was suffused with the glow of a hundred flickering candle-flames, the light reflecting off the sea of gold that seemed to cover every surface. The sweet aroma of incense hung in the air. The service to honour those who died at Manzikert must have been well under way when the assassin revealed himself.

Around the altar, the finance minister Nikephoritzes and the emperor’s closest advisers cowered. The abbot and a few of the senior monks whimpered in prayer, but no man was close enough – or brave enough – to move.

As he scanned the nave, Hereward saw one other, a hooded man watching from beside a pillar against one wall. He did not move, did not show even the slightest hint of dismay at the slaughter that was to come.

Raising his sword, Hereward took a step forward. Wulfrun’s hand fell upon his arm. ‘Hold,’ the commander whispered. ‘Do not provoke him.’

‘If we stay here, the emperor dies,’ the Mercian hissed. He watched the rogue twitch, gathering his nerve. One blow of the axe would be enough and then he could make his escape through the door behind the altar.

The assassin seemed to reach an accommodation with himself. He swung the axe up high. Nikephoritzes cried out.

At the rear of the altar, the heavy oaken door creaked open. As Deda and Alric eased in, the rogue jerked round. His weapon trembled above his head. Wulfrun and Ricbert seemed gripped by the shimmering blade, but Hereward saw his moment.

As the Mercian raced along the nave, the Norman sized up the situation in an instant. Levelling his sword, he commanded, ‘Do not move,’ and then repeated the order in the Roman tongue.

The assassin hesitated, his dull wits turning slowly. By the time his decision had alighted upon him, Hereward was already leaping up the steps to the altar. In mid-flight, he swung his sword in an arc. So powerful was his blow that the blade cleaved through sinew, gristle and bone. The axe tumbled to the floor. The head flew up, turned once, and came down upon God’s table. For a moment it rolled from side to side, and then came to a halt, looking blankly over the fools who had been led such a dance by Victor Verinus.

The emperor shrieked as blood cascaded upon him. When he staggered to his feet, he found himself staring into the crimson-stained face of the man who had saved him. Whatever he saw there, he all but shrieked again. But then Nikephoritzes and the other advisers were at his side, babbling with relief that Michael yet lived.

‘Do not tarry,’ Wulfrun boomed as he strode along the nave. ‘There are many enemies abroad in this monastery. Take our emperor to a safe place and guard him well until I can come to you.’

A circle of greying men folded around the callow youth and swept him past Deda and Alric and out of the door.

‘Fortune has smiled on us,’ Ricbert gushed as he raced to his master’s side. ‘Though I would not have wagered a single coin of my own upon this outcome, the emperor has survived.’

‘We are not done here yet.’ Hereward looked along the nave. Head lowered to hide his features, the hooded man was walking towards the door. ‘Hold.’ The Mercian levelled his sword. ‘Reveal yourself, Maximos.’

The hooded figure paused, his back still to the altar. But he knew, as all there knew, that he could no longer hide his identity. Turning, the Roman stripped off his hood.

Hereward felt his anger glow like hot coals. He had called this man friend. They had walked the hard road together, and fought shoulder to shoulder. And all of it had been built on lies. ‘Did a word of truth ever pass your lips?’ he asked in a cold voice.

‘Do not judge me.’ Maximos’ voice cracked.

The Mercian was surprised to see emotion twist the other man’s face. For a moment, he looked as if he had been stabbed through the heart.

‘When you found me, I was a prisoner,’ the Roman continued, ‘but in truth I have been shackled since I was born. A captive of my blood … a captive of days long gone. All I have done … all I have been instructed to do … has been leading to this night.’ He spat on the flagstones. ‘You cannot begin to understand what it means to be Nepotes. No man can.’

‘We are all bound to what has gone,’ Hereward said, unmoved. ‘But those chains only imprison us if we let them.’

‘Do not judge me!’ Maximos raged.

Wulfrun jabbed his sword towards the Roman, his face like stone. ‘You would have watched our emperor die. And then you would have seized the crown.’

‘I have committed no crime.’ Maximos raised his chin in defiance, but after a moment a tremor ran through him. ‘No crime,’ he repeated in a hollow voice, ‘this night.’ Tears stung his eyes. Hereward could see that months – years – of long-submerged feelings were bubbling to the surface in the heat of that night’s events. ‘My friend, Arcadius … No, we were more than friends. I loved him as I had loved no other. And I killed him. Stabbed him in the side and watched his lifeblood flow into the sand as he pleaded for mercy. And I loved Meghigda too, and I betrayed her. And now she is dead. But my blood demands I be the man you see before you. I tried to run … with Arcadius … but though miles lay between me and Constantinople, still I could feel the weight of those shackles. I will never be free of them. For if I were, I would not be Nepotes. I would have betrayed my father, and his father, and all the fathers before him. And I am a good man! I betray no one … except myself.’ He gripped his forehead as if he were on the brink of madness.

‘The death of your friend and the woman you loved,’ Hereward began, ‘was a price worth paying to earn … what? A crown. And more enemies than you could ever imagine.’

‘I had no choice,’ Maximos replied in a small voice. ‘I was born to achieve this. I was shaped to achieve this. I have no other life, though God knows I searched for one.’ He winced at the self-pity in his voice, and his eyes blazed. ‘You think me proud to stand here? I have destroyed myself by degrees. I care not if you run that blade through me now.’

‘This plot was your doing?’ Wulfrun demanded.

Maximos spat. ‘I am nothing. A tool. I do what I am told. That is the Nepotes way.’

‘You have been plotting for a long time,’ Hereward said. ‘Is that not so? Before your father was wounded. And after your mother …’

‘The Nepotes stand or fall together.’ Maximos’ voice was like winter.

‘We shall see if you are guilty of any crime,’ Wulfrun said. ‘I have many questions—’

‘No.’

The commander whirled at the voice. Juliana stood in the doorway at the foot of the nave. There was steel in her smile, no longer sweet. The candle-flames made her blonde hair shine, as though she were filled with light. Behind her, Simonis was the night to her daughter’s moon, her face dark with disappointment. This day had not turned out as planned.

‘Juliana, this is not the place for you.’ Wulfrun strode along the nave. The young woman skipped to meet him, clasping her hands on his arms. Hereward watched Wulfrun flinch at the unseemly display, but he seemed incapable of resisting. And in that moment, the Mercian knew that Maximos was right – the Nepotes stood together. Kalamdios, Simonis, Neophytos, aye, and Juliana too, this plot had been shaped by all of them. There could be no other explanation. He studied the younger woman’s face, seeing the hardness there. How well she had worn her mask. How easily the lies and the manipulations had slipped from her tongue. Only Maximos had resisted that hunger for power. But in the final reckoning, he had been too weak.