Hereward 05 - The Immortals (21 page)

‘But you are not like the rest of your kin,’ Leo murmured. ‘I see kindness in you. You pleaded for my life. You have even tried to help the Nepotes this night.’

‘We do not have to be ruled by our blood, or by days long gone,’ Ariadne said, passion igniting in her voice. ‘I can see that clearly now.’ Her thoughts flew back to when she crept through the catacombs and discovered the cell where her father had imprisoned Meghigda. ‘My eyes were opened by a woman … a wanderer from Afrique, a queen, a warrior—’

‘A warrior?’ Leo’s brow furrowed. ‘A woman?’

‘Yes! She was filled with fire and fury, and filled with hope too. She led her people in battle, and cared for them as a mother, and taught them that they should never bow their heads to any man. They called her al-Kahina, slayer of devils.’ Her voice hardened, her eyes flashed. ‘And now that she is dead, I am al-Kahina, and all that she believed lives on in me. You must trust me.’ She closed her eyes, feeling herself become the woman who had showed her a light in this miserable life. ‘We will survive this night.’ She heard her voice echo as if from the depths of a well, the voice of another. It was as if she were standing in the dark at the back of her head, observing herself. ‘Falkon’s men are dogs who smell blood, and like dogs they can be easily deceived. We will let the shadows of the city cloak us. We will move through it like ghosts. And if they dare confront us, they will know our wrath.’ She felt the blood pulse in her temple. Fire swept through her, the fire of al-Kahina.

Leo let these words settle on him, giving no sign that he believed them. ‘And what of this strange man who follows you everywhere?’

Ariadne opened her eyes. For a moment, the fire dampened. ‘Salih ibn Ziyad is a great man, a wise man, and he has a heart bigger than a lion. He teaches me everything that he taught al-Kahina, so I can grow to be like her—’

‘A good story, little mouse. But now you are dead.’ The shadow loomed over them both and Ariadne jerked in shock. One of Falkon’s rogues leered down at them. He must have chanced upon them while searching the alley.

The short-bladed knife leapt into her fingers and she rammed it upwards without a moment’s thought, under the chin of the rogue and into his throat. Twisting the weapon as Salih had taught her, she ripped it to one side. Hot blood gushed down on her. As the man staggered back, gurgling, Ariadne fell upon him like a wolf. He tumbled back on to the heap of fish guts, and she crashed down on him, plunging the knife over and over again into his chest, lost to the frenzy, seeing only her father’s face.

When the fury finally ebbed, she swayed back. Trembling, she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Leo was gaping at her, in horror or dismay, she could not tell. But there was no longer time to talk. In the growing light, two silhouettes lurched into the end of the alley and a cry of alarm rang out.

‘Come,’ she said, wrenching Leo to his feet. ‘There is a place near here where we can hide. But we must be quick.’

Through the shadows they weaved, with the shouts of pursuit echoing at their backs. Ariadne gritted her teeth. For years, she had been like a rat fleeing the light, unnoticed by all. She knew Constantinople better than anyone: the alleys, the drains, the empty houses, the filthy holes where no one ventured, the secret places. Clambering over a midden, she dragged Leo to a door in a mildew-streaked wall. Inside it was dark and reeked of piss and sweat.

‘Where are we?’ the boy whispered.

‘The place where my father stored the wares he looted from those who fell before him.’ She fumbled by the door until she found a candle and a flint. Once the flame leapt up, Leo gasped. Across the mud floor, a multitude of children lay under blankets of rags. Most of them were girls. Some still slumbered, but others stirred, pushing themselves up to stare with sleepy eyes. The pale faces were streaked with dirt, the cheeks hollow from hunger. Ariadne felt her heart ache. It was the same every time she ventured here.

‘They have no homes, no kin,’ she said, swallowing. ‘They had been beaten, raped, left to die, but I brought them here, gave them shelter, and what food I could steal. Now they have some hope, thin though it may be. And together they will help each other survive.’

‘Al-Kahina,’ one of the girls near the front murmured, her eyes welling with tears of gratitude. She lowered her head in respect.

A figure loomed at Ariadne’s shoulder and she whirled, the knife flying to her fingers once more. Only at the last did she catch herself. It was Rowena, her features shifting from worry to annoyance.

‘I knew I would find you here,’ she snapped.

‘How?’ Ariadne exclaimed, incredulous. This place had been her secret and hers alone.

‘I have followed you here time and again. You think only Salih watches over you?’

The girl felt shocked that anyone would care enough to be her guardian. ‘You should not be here. It is too dangerous.’

Rowena laughed bitterly. ‘Once I was like you. Filled with so much anger at the hardships the world had thrown at me. I cared so little for my own life, I risked it all for vengeance.’ In the candlelight, her eyes gleamed and Ariadne thought how haunted they looked. She had never seen this side of the woman in the time they had spent together in the house of Anna Dalassene. Rowena had always seemed distant, even cold. ‘The price I paid was high,’ the woman continued. ‘I would not see you suffer so. You are just a girl. Do not throw away what joy awaits you.’

‘I will come and go as I please,’ Ariadne said, her voice growing flinty.

Rowena hardened. ‘You do not realize the danger—’

‘Nor do you,’ the girl snapped. ‘Falkon Cephalas has more spies abroad than we all feared. And tonight we learned how far he plans to go. Those he accuses will be executed, swiftly, their bodies hanged in the public places. And thus his message will be made clear to everyone in this city.’

‘The emperor will never allow it.’

‘He will look the other way as long as Falkon ends the plots that have besieged the throne for so long. He is coming for all of us now, anyone who has spoken out, anyone he decides is a traitor. If I were just a girl, we would never have been forewarned—’

The door thundered open. The candle guttered and went out. There was enough thin light outside to see that three of Falkon’s men had forced their way in. Once the rogues saw that they had found what they were looking for, they drew their swords. Ariadne stiffened. She could see from their faces that no one would be allowed to leave this place alive.

‘Why did you come here, Rowena?’ Gripping her knife, Ariadne readied herself to fight to the last. ‘You will die now, and all because of me—’

‘No one dies here unless I command it.’ The voice rang out of the dark.

Ariadne felt her heart swell, even as the first rogue fell with blood gushing from his neck. The second cut-throat wrenched around, flailing, but the assailant was invisible in the shadows, his blade too swift. In an instant, all the soldiers lay dead in their own life-blood.

Salih ibn Ziyad stepped into the shaft of wan light breaking through the doorway. Ariadne watched his glittering eyes fall upon Leo and feared what was to come. But then he looked at Rowena as if he had seen nothing at all. ‘Rest easy. No harm will come to this girl while I yet live.’

Ariadne felt a rush of warmth. Her teacher, her friend, always there, always protecting her. She had been in darkness so long, but now she was blessed.

‘There is more to you than meets the eye, Salih ibn Ziyad,’ Rowena replied, relief edging her words.

‘For too long we have been lambs,’ Salih said, looking from one face to the other. ‘We thought if we hid away, the wolf would never find us. But now we know he will never relent until he hunts us down. It is time to put aside our differences and find our own teeth.’

ACROSS THE PLAIN
where a wall of dust marched, thunder rolled. But this was a storm of horses and steel. The ground throbbed as Roussel de Bailleul’s army raced towards where the lines of Athanatoi waited. Their silvery armour glowed like embers in the ruddy light. Reflected barbs glinted off their helmets, but not from their weapons. Swords were sheathed, lances resting in their hoods.

The hot wind was rising. The air reeked of fire and iron. The world trembled.

On his horse, Guthrinc shielded his eyes against the glare of the dawn and watched the force loom out of the misty distance. So many of them, he thought, but still not the numbers of which they had been warned. Tiberius had been right. If the Immortals wished to take a stand, they might yet carve out a victory, though it would be a bloody one, with many losses.

But that was not the plan.

Beside him, Mad Hengist began to laugh as if he had seen the most wondrous sight. ‘’Pon the wings of angels we will be carried away,’ he gasped, and laughed some more.

Beyond him, Tiberius leaned along the neck of his horse and watched the cloud of dust eat its way across the plain. Now the time had come, the unease that had knotted his features had ebbed away. He was calm, ready.

‘You English are good warriors. You have earned your place at the front of this line,’ he said to Guthrinc. ‘I know you think most of my men are too raw for battle. Many have not yet been hardened by seeing a friend cut down, or feeling a sharp blade rip through their flesh. And you would be right. But they will learn.’ He glanced over at the English, no doubt seeing the nicks in their hauberks, the dents in their helmets, their greasy fur and tortured leather, the scars of too many bloody campaigns. And then he looked along the lines of his own men in their pristine armour, nary a scratch to be seen. ‘No, they are not yet good fighters,’ he continued, ‘but they are good horsemen. Can you say the same? For that is the skill you will need if you wish to see the sun set.’

‘We will give a good account of ourselves.’ Guthrinc forced a smile, but if he dared admit it to himself, he had his doubts. He had seen seven summers when he rode his first horse, but it had been a lumbering old beast, useful for pulling his father’s cart to market and little else. Only the wealthiest had been able to afford a horse in his village, but if truth be told there had been little use for them in the sodden fens. Oxen pulled ploughs. Legs were better for clambering past the watercourses and skirting the sucking bogs. No, his spear-brothers had only been forced to learn to ride when they had clawed their way into the Roman army, and it had been as if they were careering down a steep hill towards a lake of swords. ‘You will be watching our hooves disappearing over the horizon,’ he said with a confident nod.

Mocking laughter rumbled out. Isaac Balsamon, the Boar, jabbed a finger towards the English. ‘I would make a wager if I thought there would be someone left to pay the dues.’

‘Make the wager.’ Derman the Ghost’s voice was barely a whisper, almost lost beneath the pounding of approaching hooves. His face impassive, he sat upright upon his horse, his coal-dark eyes fixed on the wall of dust. ‘I will return to pick the coin from your pouch once the birds have picked the flesh from your bones.’

‘Silence,’ Tiberius commanded. ‘In camp you may be rivals. Here on the field of battle you are brothers.’

Chastened, the Boar looked away. Derman nodded his agreement.

Roussel de Bailleul’s army thundered closer still.

Tiberius stiffened. The moment had almost come. ‘They will have seen the sun upon our armour. They know that we are outnumbered. The battle-lust is upon them. Their blood will be up, the fires in their bellies burning hot. Reason has fled and they will not think to slow, or stop.’ Drawing himself up, he raised his right hand and boomed, ‘Upon my order.’

Along the shimmering lines, heads turned towards him.

For a moment, Tiberius waited, until he was sure the distance between the two armies was just right. His arm snapped down and he bellowed, ‘Ride!’

Guthrinc felt as if the world around him heaved into life with one great shrug. The air boomed with the sound of a multitude of hooves pounding as one, the clank of armour and the roar of full-throated battle-cries. He lurched forward. His eyes stung as grime billowed up. The din filled his head, driving all thought away. Ahead, the line of dust swept closer, and now he could see the dark shapes at the heart of it.

An age seemed to pass as the Immortals thundered towards near-certain doom. But then the riders on the right flank began to turn in a great, slow arc. Along the lines, the turn flowed in perfect timing. The Roman army began to change direction. Guthrinc waited, his knees gripping the powerful beast beneath him. He glimpsed Derman begin his turn, and then Hengist, and then he urged his steed to join the martial dance.

The Immortals turned, and turned. A vast cloud of dust swallowed them. Choking on the grit, Guthrinc screwed his watering eyes shut tight. His head spun from the deafening pounding, and the sensation of being swept along by a mighty river swelled by spring floodwater.

His thoughts whirled back to the long conversations around the campfire. ‘They will think us afrit. They will want to ride on, and on, desperate to bring down the cowards and put them to the sword. But we will be fresh, our mounts rested, and they will already have had a long ride from Amaseia. And so we will lure them on, far away from their fortress. Draw them out into the vast plain, to the edge of the forests, until their mounts are so weary it will take them an age to return to their home.’

And in that time, Hereward will lead his war-band away from Roussel’s palace, with the Caesar in one hand and a chest filled with gold in the other.

Guthrinc grinned. If God was smiling on them, they would snatch victory from what had seemed like certain defeat.

Opening his eyes, he blinked away the sweat. Now there was only the riding, as far and fast as they could manage.

Though his muscles ached from gripping on for dear life, he snatched a glance to one side. His spear-brothers all seemed to be commanding their steeds well. No man had fallen behind. The dust trailed behind them, and now there was only the clear plain ahead, sweltering under an arc of blue, and the black line of the forests in the distance.