Hereward 04 - Wolves of New Rome (41 page)

‘I came to tell you of our good fortune,’ Juliana gushed, her eyes sparkling. ‘Victor Verinus is dead. Have you heard? We no longer live under his shadow. And all that he stole from us is now ours once more, and all that was his too. The Verini are dead or scattered and there is no one here in Constantinople to lay claim to it. Is that not wonderful?’

‘We can speak of these matters later,’ Wulfrun said, easing her hands off him.

Juliana giggled. ‘You are always so serious. The Varangian Guard are here, my love. They have joined forces with the English, and Victor Verinus’ men have been put to the axe. This plot is no more. Rejoice. All is well.’

The plot is no more, and the Nepotes have failed … this time
, Hereward thought. After all that Rowena had whispered to him before they left the Boukoleon palace, the Mercian felt astonished by the depth of the young woman’s cunning. He could see not even a hint of deceit in her innocent face. How much did Wulfrun suspect, he wondered? How much of what he guessed was he denying to maintain the play that this was the sweet woman who had won his heart?

‘Maximos, you must come with me,’ Wulfrun commanded. ‘There is more to this plot than Victor Verinus intended. I would know what part you played.’

‘My love.’ Juliana breathed the words and smiled, but the flint in her features was finally clear. ‘Oaths are a grave matter, are they not? You would never betray your oath to your emperor, would you?’

The Mercian frowned, trying to read the truth among those sly words.

‘You would never betray any oath,’ the young woman continued. ‘Those words bind you to a course, for all time. You would never make an oath lightly and recant when you realized the burden it placed on you?’ Shaking her head, she raised her eyes and her hands up to the vaulted roof. ‘Here, in the eyes of God, in his place? No. I know you would never do such a thing.’

Wulfrun’s shoulders sagged. Hereward realized Juliana was speaking of the oath the commander had sworn to her, no doubt in a moment of weakness. She had him fast.

The commander turned to Maximos. They held each other’s gaze, and, for a moment, an understanding seemed to pass between them. Hereward saw the same haunted look in both faces. ‘You speak truly – you have committed no crime,’ Wulfrun said in a flat tone. ‘Go now. Return to the house of the Nepotes and enjoy your good fortune.’

Maximos nodded, but showed no sign of relief or joy. As he left, Simonis slipped an arm around his sagging shoulders. But when she whispered some words in his ear – no doubt ones she intended as comfort – he only became more hunched. Still smiling, Juliana blew her love a kiss and skipped after her kin.

For a long moment after the Nepotes had gone, Wulfrun faced the door, his head bowed. Hereward left him there, knowing that no words could ever console him.

29 August 1072

THE DRUMS POUNDED
a steady beat. Grinning figures plucked a stirring melody from stringed instruments as women whirled in dance around them. Chunks of lamb sizzled on glowing charcoal, the mouth-watering scent wafting on the breeze. On the slopes of the seventh hill, carousing folk thronged through the streets around the Golden Gate. The celebration was in full flight. Another plot had been crushed. Constantinople endured.

High on the polished marble walls, the spear-brothers looked down upon the festivities. Barely more than half remained of the exiled war-band that had set sail from Yernemuth months before. But though they had plumbed dark depths, they were the stronger for it.

Hereward shook his head, barely comprehending what he was seeing. ‘Only yesterday these very same men and women were bemoaning their ruler’s weakness.’

Guthrinc nodded. ‘Aye, fill a man’s goblet with wine and put meat in his belly and he will cheer the Devil on his throne.’

The Mercian’s brow furrowed as he peered into the heart of the crowd. The Nepotes dispensed good cheer to any and all. Kalamdios sat upon his wooden chair, a lopsided smile twitching on his lips. While Simonis and Juliana hung wreaths of pink mullein flowers round the necks of easily flattered men, and Neophytos the monk folded his chubby hands together and beamed, the boy Leo showed off his newly learned swordplay to the other lads. Only Maximos watched the proceedings with a face that looked as if it had been carved from stone.

All of their hands were stained with blood, Hereward thought. He imagined Juliana, Simonis and Neophytos coming together after Victor Verinus had inflicted his vengeance upon them, each one of them filled with bitterness and loathing, each one of them helping to build the plot that would bring down first the Verini and then an emperor.

Deda followed his friend’s gaze. ‘I have seen cunning and cleverness in my days, but never as much as this. If their plot had gone as planned, they would be raising their goblets over the emperor’s dead body. Now they have paid for a feast in his honour.’

Deep in his throat, Kraki growled. ‘Putting smiles on the faces of any who might suspect them, while they sharpen their daggers for another day.’ He spat over the edge. ‘The fens were a dismal, rainy place, but at least we could tell who our enemies were there. Life was simple. You fought, you feasted, you fucked, and then a new day dawned. Now I waste my hours trying to tell friend from foe, and sniffing my food for poison.’

Along the wall, Hengist was dancing around a statue of some old emperor riding in a chariot pulled by an elephant. Beside him, Sighard marvelled at the magnificence of the defences, the triumphal arch, the large, square towers that seemed to soar up to the azure sky.

‘If we had these walls at Ely, we could still be pissing on King William from the top,’ Kraki muttered as he peered down the vertiginous drop.

‘They keep the enemies out,’ Guthrinc said with a nod, ‘and they keep the enemies in.’

For all the soaring music Hereward could only hear those drums. They sounded to him like the thrum of a thousand feet marching to war. ‘New enemies, new rules, new weapons, new battlefields,’ he said as he looked across the rooftops to the magnificence at the heart of the city. ‘We have been beaten down, but we have not been broken. We have faced threats we could never have dreamed of back home in the fens, and we have prevailed. There is gold and glory here as we always thought, and it is still within our grasp.’

Flushed from the heat, Alric clambered up the stone steps.

Kraki cupped his hand to his mouth and bellowed, ‘Do you want me to give you a hand?’

The spear-brothers threw their heads back and laughed at that.

When he emerged on to the wall, the monk wiped the sweat from his brow and called, ‘I may have only one hand, but I at least have the wits to use it.’

Guthrinc guffawed, slapping the Viking on the back. Kraki scowled, but Hereward could see it was only a play. The Mercian nodded. There were worse places to be.

‘He comes,’ Alric said when he had hurried over. His smile faded. ‘Are you sure you can trust him?’

Hereward shook his head. ‘But I have faith, monk, as you taught me.’

A moment later, Wulfrun stepped on to the wall. Under the brim of his helm, his eyes were as cold as ever. Ricbert was a step behind, and five other members of the Varangian Guard followed, their hands resting upon the shafts of their axes.

Around him, the Mercian sensed a darkening of the mood. Kraki and Guthrinc stepped in close to his shoulders, their fingers clenching around their weapons.

Coming to a halt, Wulfrun searched Hereward’s face for a long moment, weighing him. Seeming to reach some kind of conclusion, he removed his helm and tucked it under his arm.

‘The emperor is pleased,’ the commander said.

‘Pleased,’ Guthrinc repeated. ‘For saving his life. He is not a man given to wild joys.’

Wulfrun kept his gaze fixed on Hereward. ‘When you had the chance, why did you not flee Constantinople?’

‘I made an oath to my brothers that we would find a new life here, glory and gold. We cannot return home – there is no future for us there.’

‘So you will risk your own neck to carve out a life here?’

‘We will earn our life here, as we earned it in England – with a blade and a strong right arm. And I will lead my men to that goal.’

Wulfrun nodded, seemingly turning over each and every word. He was a hard man to read, Hereward thought, but the hatred that had burned in him before seemed to have ebbed. Perhaps that was even respect he saw in the commander’s eyes.

‘And would the emperor reward us with places among the Varangian Guard?’ he asked.

Wulfrun thought for a moment and then shook his head. Hereward simmered. Even now, after all they had done, they were being denied. But then the commander added, ‘It would mean nothing if any man could join our ranks. You must prove yourselves first.’ He looked around the faces of the spear-brothers. A faint smile played on his lips. He seemed pleased by what he saw there.

‘What would you have us do?’ the Mercian asked.

‘Doom is drawing towards this city,’ Wulfrun replied, his voice clear. ‘Few believe that to be so, for Constantinople abides.’ He swept his hand along the defences. ‘These walls are strong. They will never fall. But when death stands at the Golden Gate, then they will believe. News has reached me of the Turks building their army in the east. Great battles lie ahead. Rivers of blood will be spilled. Are you ready?’

‘We are always ready,’ Kraki said with a shake of his axe.

‘Good,’ Wulfrun replied. ‘Then you will prove yourselves in the army, and you may yet earn a place in the Varangian Guard, and the gold and the glory that come with it.’

‘If we live,’ Hereward said.

‘If you live.’

When the Mercian looked around his spear-brothers, he could see the answer in their faces. ‘Show us a war and we will win it for you,’ he said.

‘Very well. Arrangements will be made.’ Wulfrun walked away a few paces and then turned back. ‘Nothing you have endured will compare to what lies ahead. May God smile upon you. You will need all his help.’

As Hereward watched Wulfrun leave, he felt a pang of pity. The commander was the real victim here. His misplaced love for Juliana would cause him much suffering in addition to the misery Hereward himself had inflicted upon him.

Once the Varangian Guard had left, the spear-brothers clapped their arms around each other, and laughed. They had purpose now, and battles to fight. After the long journey from England, when all had seemed lost, that was enough. As they made their way down the steps in search of mead, Hereward turned back to watching the crowds. Alric stepped beside him.

‘There is some justice in this city after all,’ the monk said.

Hereward watched the Nepotes finish dispensing their favours and begin to make their way back along the streets to the centre of their web. At first he thought to laugh at his friend’s statement, but then he glimpsed something that gave him pause. ‘Justice comes in many forms,’ he said, ‘and sometimes while you look towards the light, it waits in the dark.’

Alric eyed his friend, puzzled by this cryptic statement. But Hereward did not explain. He was too busy watching a shadow separate from the crowd and begin to follow the Nepotes, who smiled and chatted, oblivious of what lay at their backs. Death, it looked like, Hereward thought. Death, waiting in silence.

Swathed in black, Salih ibn Ziyad took slow steps but he did not deviate from his course.

Hereward watched the steady progression of the Nepotes and the shadow that followed them and nodded. No man could escape the fate he had forged by his own deeds. Judgement Day always came.

And so we leave England’s shores behind, for now, at least.

Over the past three books, we’ve had a taste of some of the hardship, conflict and upheaval that Hereward and the English probably experienced in the period following the Norman Conquest. Viewing events through that prism, it’s easy to forget that at the same time great things were happening elsewhere. The world was in a state of flux, with new powers rising, and old ones falling into shadow.

For me, the Byzantine Empire was one of the most interesting places to be in those waning years of the eleventh century. For hundreds of years, Byzantium had been a great world power with Constantinople its shining jewel. The city’s commanding position at the point where west meets east allowed huge wealth to flow into its coffers from the Mediterranean and Asia.

But catastrophe struck in 1071 and the fortunes of Byzantium began to turn. The Imperial Army was unexpectedly defeated by the Seljuk Turks at the battle of Manzikert in Armenia. The emperor, Romanus Diogenes, negotiated peace terms with the sultan Alp Arslan. But on his return to Constantinople he found that his enemies had replaced him with a new ruler, Michael, who refused to meet the terms of the peace treaty. And so the long period of wealth and stability ended. Inside Constantinople plotting was rife, with different factions battling to seize the crown. And outside the great walls, the snubbed Turks began to cross the unguarded frontier and flood into Anatolia. Soon they were within striking distance of Constantinople itself.

Intrigue and struggles for the future of an empire no doubt made Constantinople a dangerous place. But this didn’t seem to deter the English. A great many fled the rule of William the Bastard, certainly many of those who could afford to uproot themselves. We know from the historical record that a huge number of fighting men left England to work as mercenaries abroad. The warrior skills of the English and the Vikings were held in high regard across Europe.

And Constantinople was the destination of choice.

The emperor’s feared elite force, the Varangian Guard, commanded huge respect and were extremely well paid. In Constantinople itself, they were celebrated with a degree of adoration that warriors had never experienced elsewhere. In many eyes, they were the
X Factor
winners of their day, only with worse hair and more talent, albeit for killing. They were given their own district in the city, the Vlanga, with fine houses, and the gold they earned gave them a sumptuous lifestyle. Women crowded around their streets, trying to get a look, a touch, give a token, or more. The majority of the Guard were English or Vikings. If you had spent the last few years near-starving on the slopes of Ely, with King William’s army threatening to end your days, wouldn’t you want a shot at riches and fame?