The Viking Saga Page 25

  As she spoke, Constantine began to howl with terror, trying again and again to grasp the fringe at the edge of her robe.

  ‘Great Mother, Dear One, Sweetest One,’ he cried, ‘do not hurt me, I beg you! I will do anything, anything, if you will not let them hurt me!’

  Irene looked down on her son in immense contempt, her cruel eyes narrowed, her cruel lips smiling wickedly. ‘So,’ she said in her deep voice, ‘this is the little puppet that thought itself an Emperor of the Roman World! This is the man who would lead an army to glory, is it?’

  Harald bit his lip and whispered savagely, ‘If I had a little bird bow here now I could rid Byzantium of a devil, a she-devil!

  Haro shook his head sadly, ‘Constantine is not worth it, my friend,’ he said. ‘He is as cruel as his mother and would give you no thanks. Consider, had it not been for good Kristion, we should still be rotting in prison because of this coward, Constantine.’

  They stopped whispering then, because Irene’s voice had begun once more.

  ‘Very well, my little one,’ she said, ‘perhaps I will forget your wickedness to me this once. Soon I will send the paper to you to sign. You shall declare that you have named me to act as your Regent, and a number of other small things … Including your solemn oath not to marry this Muslim wench. Now that I come to consider it, you shall also sign that she is to be put to death, without delay, for inciting you to break the settled peace of your great City. I will have that drawn up tomorrow. Do you promise to sign it?’

  Constantine flung himself face downwards in a spasm of relief. ‘Yes, dear mother,’ he almost shouted, ‘I will sign it a thousand times, if you will set me free.’

  Irene gazed upon him again and said, ‘There, you are overwrought, little one. Perhaps you are a good boy, after all! Wait patiently until tomorrow when I can get the scribe to make out such a paper, and then, when you have put your mark on it, you shall go free. Or at least, almost free, for I cannot have you wandering outside the Palace, getting into trouble again.’

  Harald turned from the window suddenly. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘it seems that we must act tonight, before that paper may become the law.’

  They ran down the lower staircase, and across the courtyard. From the Officers’ Mess, they saw the amber light streaming, and heard the sound of merry voices singing a camp song; Kristion’s voice was loud and clear, ringing high above all other voices. The three soldiers ran on and passed through the gateway and into the darkness, just as the sentry finished his circuit of the wall and came once more into view.

  As they went, keeping to the lonelier streets, Harald said, ‘So Constantine is a new enemy! The coward, so to sign away the life of one who loves him, however silly she may be in giving her heart to such a little monster!’

  Haro said grimly, ‘Perhaps we can get even with him, before our stay in this den of wild beasts is finished.’

  Then they came to the place where the avenue of cypresses met the white tower, and Harald suddenly stopped and drew his companions back into the shadow of a column. His eyes were wide open in surprise and bewilderment. ‘Look,’ he said hoarsely ‘we are forestalled!’

  The others followed the pointing finger and saw the glitter of breastplates and shields in the light which strayed from the many windows of the square.

  All along the narrow street, and across the archway which led to Marriba’s lodging, soldiers were posted, men of Irene’s own Company, there was no mistaking their helmet plumes and breastplate insignia …

  Haro struck himself hard upon the chest, as though angry with the part he had played. ‘If only we had got here more quickly …’ he groaned.

  But Harald shook his head, ‘Irene is making sure,’ he whispered. ‘She is not one to take chances, my friend. I have no doubt that these men have been stationed here all day long. We must not reproach ourselves. Now there is nothing we can do, except go back to the Palace. Perhaps tomorrow, we may think of something.’

  Haro said sharply, ‘It will be a bad thing for Marriba if we do not act more quickly than we have done tonight.’

  They turned then and walked quickly back along the street, keeping in the shadow of the high houses. Grummoch followed his comrades like an immense shadow, keeping watch that they were not attacked from behind.

  20. Unexpected Ally

  The day which followed passed on leaden wings. The two Vikings and giant Grummoch were unable to settle down to do anything as it should be done. First they were reprimanded for not making up their beds in the official manner; then they were reported by the head cook for not sweeping out the hall properly, after the morning meal; and before midday, they were threatened with twenty lashes for not burnishing their breastplates so that a man’s face could be seen in them clearly, as was the custom among the Imperial Guard.

  The sergeant who threatened them glared fiercely down as they sat cross-legged in the shadow of a bathhouse.

  ‘You Northmen,’ he stormed, ‘are fit for nothing but shovelling cattle fodder! Why I have to train such fools as you, I cannot tell; I must have committed some great sin in a former life and this is my punishment.’

  Giant Grummoch lazily took up a javelin and, holding it in his two hands, suddenly snapped the ash shaft with a quick movement. Then, just as lazily, he said in his shrill voice, ‘I am sorry the little spear broke, sergeant. I am used to stronger weapons.’

  Then he rose to his feet, as heavily as a laden ox, and turned towards the sergeant, his great hands outstretched. The man backed from him, his dark eyes starting in sudden fear.

  But Grummoch only smiled, the corners of his broad mouth turning up slightly, and said, ‘If you will give me another spear, sergeant, I will see that it does not happen again.’

  The sergeant mopped his brow with relief, and trying to regain some of his former composure, said, ‘Very well, Guardsman, you shall have another spear. But do not let that accident happen to the new one. You may dismiss!’

  Grummoch sat down again, smiling, and pretending to fit the two broken pieces together again.

  Haro grinned and said, ‘I have not seen a man so frightened for a long time.’

  Harald said, ‘You saw one last night, when his mother was threatening him with torture.’

  But Haro shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, ‘that was not a man – just a small and treacherous beast.’

  It was at this moment that a Guard staggered in from the town where he had been on patrol in the big open market, keeping order among the swarming traders. His face was white and fearful. They saw the sweat glistening on his forehead, beneath the peak of his bronze helmet.

  ‘Have you any water, comrades?’ he said, suddenly slumping down beside them on the stone pavement. Grummoch flung his water-bottle to the man, who drank greedily.

  ‘What is the matter, friend?’ asked Harald.

  The man turned towards him, his mouth quivering. ‘Something is wrong,’ he said. ‘It is as though the scent of death hangs over the city today. Three times I have seen a man stop in the midst of his bargaining and fall to the ground, with the white froth on his lips. It is not good, my friend.’

  As he spoke, the bright sky seemed suddenly to cloud, with a heavy sulphurous lowering. The man wiped the sweat from his face and got up slowly.

  ‘It seems that you have a fever, comrade,’ said Grummoch. ‘You should report to your Captain.’

  The man nodded and staggered away, dragging his long javelin on the stones behind him.

  When he had gone, Harald said, ‘I do not like the look of that. No Guard I have ever seen trailed his javelin in that manner.’

  Grummoch said quietly, ‘I do not think that we shall ever go on parade with that one again, my friend. He had a strange look about the eyes which I have seen before – but never twice in the eyes of the same man.’

  They were about to speak more on this matter when the high snarling trumpet called out that they were to assemble for a surprise inspection in the great courtyard. Instantly me
n came running from all directions, buckling on their equipment as they ran. The three friends rose and joined their ranks.

  Then Irene appeared, strolling slowly through the high arched doorway of the Palace, her painted face set in a grim smile. The Guardsmen stood as straight and as motionless as though they had been carved from stone, though in the intense heat the strain was immense.

  Irene moved between the ranks with a painful slowness, as though she meant to test the endurance of her soldiers to the utmost. One young lad in the rear rank suddenly gave a groan and fell face downwards, his shield and spear clattering on to the paved courtyard beside him. His comrades on either side instantly leapt forward to raise him, but Irene’s voice cut harshly through the heavy air.

  ‘Let the dog lie,’ she said. ‘He must suffer for his weakness. My Guards must be men of iron or must die in their weakness.’

  She paused a moment and then said to Kristion, ‘Have those two who broke the ranks whipped before the sun goes down. Fifty lashes apiece. That should teach them to stand like soldiers when their Empress does them the honour of visiting them.’

  Kristion frowned, but could do nothing at that moment. He nodded to a sergeant who marched the two Guardsmen away to the barrack block.

  Then Irene was level with the three friends and they saw that she held a small roll of paper in her right hand, decorated with the Imperial seal. They had no doubt that this was the document which Constantine had signed, the death warrant of Marriba.

  Irene paused a little while in front of them, smiling as she surveyed them from head to toe. Grummoch felt his legs suddenly quivering, as though the muscles would stand this strain no longer than might make him run forward and strike this woman down.

  But she passed on then, and at last returned to the Palace.

  When she had gone, Kristion returned to his Company and said, ‘Guardsmen, you may dismiss; but hold yourselves in readiness should the Most High require your services before this day is out.’

  As the three friends were moving away, he called them and said, ‘You heard what the Most High said, about giving those Guardsmen fifty lashes apiece? Well, go and whip them.’

  Harald said, ‘Do you mean that, Captain?’

  Kristion turned a strangely humorous gaze upon the Viking and said, ‘I have given my order; but I did not say what you were to whip them with. Use your discretion, Guardsman.’

  So it was that the three Northmen surprised the prisoners greatly by tying them up gently and whipping them with a length of helmet ribbon, such as was worn on festive occasions, a thin silk braid. After which, they reported back to Kristion that the prisoners had been well whipped, with a few extra strokes for good measure.

  He smiled and said, ‘Good; now release them. They are two of my best soldiers – and no doubt, two of your best friends from this day on.’

  And so it turned out to be.

  Later that afternoon, a provisioner they all knew and trusted – an unusual situation as far as the city traders were concerned – trundled his empty fruit barrow into the courtyard, and spreading his hands in despair bewailed the loss of his goods.

  ‘My lords,’ he wailed, ‘my business is ruined! All my lovely fruits have been stolen! I was stopped in the street and robbed, I tell you!’

  A sergeant who was passing took the man by his arm and shook him, pretending to be angry.

  ‘You rogue,’ he said, ‘you know well enough that you have sold the fruit intended for us at twice the price to some unsuspecting trader from Khazaria!’

  The provisioner shook his head violently and almost wept.

  ‘No, lord, no!’ he said vehemently. ‘A crowd of ruffians knocked me down – look, here is the bruise – and took my fruit! They said that now the plague has come to the city, it is every man’s right to take what he can, while there is anything to take.’

  At these words, the chattering groups of soldiers fell silent. The sergeant’s smile faded from his sunburnt face.

  ‘Are you sure that the plague has truly come, old friend?’ he asked.

  The tradesman beat his thin breast in anguish.

  ‘Sure!’ he echoed, ‘Sure? I should think I am sure! Has not my own brother’s mother-in-law passed away with it this very day? Is not my third cousin’s youngest child sickening with it this very minute?’

  The sergeant flung the man a handful of coins and turned to the assembled soldiers.

  ‘Make ready,’ he said abruptly. ‘You may be needed in the city at any time now, for riots will break out and shops be broken into when the news spreads.’

  Then he marched off to inform the Chamberlain of the grave occasion.

  The late afternoon sun had sunk and the first twilight was creeping over the white city, when Kristion strode into the courtyard. His face was set and his eyes narrow. He walked among the men, who stood waiting for any order which he might give, and carefully chose five Guardsmen, telling them to stand to one side. They were the three friends and the two who had been whipped with helmet ribbons that morning. The other Guardsmen stood staring at them, wondering what duty had so suddenly been assigned to them. At that moment, no one envied them, for suddenly the city had become a place of danger, of ill-omen, almost of terror.

  Then Kristion stood the five men to attention and addressed them, saying, ‘Men, you have been chosen to perform a task of some unpleasantness, but one which you must not shirk if you are loyal to the Most High, Irene, and to your Company. You will march as a squad to a house in the city, led by myself, and there you will do what you are commanded.’

  Harald looked him in the eye. ‘Captain,’ he said quietly, so that only his immediate companions heard his words, ‘is the unpleasant duty to do with a certain lady from Jebel Tarik?’

  For a moment, Kristion stared back at Harald as though he did not know whether to punish him or not. But at last he nodded slowly.

  ‘I have the Imperial warrant here,’ he said, touching the roll of paper with the seal, which they had last seen in Irene’s hand that morning.

  Then, before the three could frame another question, or even think of what they should do, Kristion formed them up and led them out of the main gate.

  The sentry sprang smartly to attention as they passed and raised his javelin, crying, ‘May good fortune ever smile on Her!’

  Kristion nodded curtly and said, as he returned the salute, ‘May She prosper!’

  But Harald, who marched nearest to the Captain, noticed that as he spoke those words, his thin lips curled in bitterness.

  As the squad marched on through the darkening streets, Harald stole a glance at Haro, who stared back and suddenly made a gesture of running his forefinger across his throat and nodding towards Kristion, who was gazing ahead. But Harald shook his head; Kristion had already been too good a friend to them.

  At the end of the first narrow street, they came out into a small square, surrounded by high white buildings and edged with dark trees. At the base of each tree, and huddled in every archway, figures lay wrapped in robes, shrouds, lengths of sacking, anything that could be put to that final and dreadful purpose. In the middle of the square, a great brazier smouldered, throwing off the thick smoke of sulphur and casting a low-lying cloud of yellow vapour, which hung head-high across that forlorn place.

  Kristion halted his squad and half-turned to them.

  ‘The plague has struck heavily here,’ he began. Then he gave a short gasp and put his hand to his forehead suddenly, knocking off his light ceremonial helmet. The Guardsmen gazed at him in bewilderment and saw the beads of sweat break out on his olive skin, the light froth which gathered at his lips of a sudden, flecking his dark beard. As they watched him, he swung round as though trying to avoid a blow, then staggered away from them and fell, breathing harshly, against the wall.

  Harald ran towards him, ‘Captain,’ he said, ‘what ails you?’

  Kristion looked at him as though he were a stranger, or as though he could hardly see. Then he shook his head and
tried to smile.

  ‘Viking,’ he gasped, ‘it is the wish of the Most High, Irene, that I strike off the head of the girl, Marriba, tonight. She commanded me to take a squad and see that this was done … That is why I chose you and your friends, and those two who owe you something and will obey you …’

  The Captain’s voice failed him for a moment, as Harald said, ‘But Kristion, I could never have helped you to do such a thing, you know that.’

  The Captain of the Imperial Guard slid down the wall until he rested on his knees on the pavement. He looked up at Harald and smiled.

  ‘I know that well enough, my friend. That is why you are here with me now,’ he said weakly.

  Then slowly and with fumbling fingers, he untied the purple sash which was his Captain’s emblem, and held it out towards Harald.

  ‘Viking,’ he said, ‘I am a sick man, I know that; I have seen too many smitten with this plague not to know the signs of death. Take this sash and put it on. Then go forward and do as you think is right in this matter.’

  Harald took the sash, wondering at the Captain’s courage, and slowly wrapped it about his waist.

  Kristion, the great Captain, watched him with a still smile, then, raising his right hand in salute he croaked, ‘Hail, Captain of the Guard in Byzantium!’

  As he finished his greeting, he fell forward on to the stones of the pavement and lay still. Haro ran to pick him up, but Harald waved him away and said, ‘There is nothing that we can do, my brother. It is the will of whatever God he prayed to. Let us go quickly and take advantage of this change in our fortune.’

  As the others moved away, Harald stooped and patted the Captain Kristion on the shoulder, as though he were alive again and knew what was happening.

  Then he hastened on after the four Guards.

  21. Marriba’s End