The Walls of Byzantium tmc-1

by James Heneage

  ‘Luke, you’ve done enough,’ she said. ‘He’s my brother.’

  ‘And it’s my empire,’ said Luke quietly. ‘I’m a Varangian, Anna.’ He leant forward. ‘If Alexis was shot, he was shot for a reason. I want to know why.’

  He turned Eskalon and crested the hill, Anna behind him.

  Richard Mamonas heard them before he saw them. He was talking to the wagon-driver when he heard a cry and the sound of hooves approaching fast from the hill to his left.

  He pulled his horse to a halt and drew his sword. He could see two shapes galloping towards him, both with long hair strung out in the moonlight. One was a woman.

  ‘Why are you moving him?’ the woman screamed.

  Mamonas cursed. She was supposed to be imprisoned in the palace. He didn’t recognise the man that rode beside her.

  Anna had reined in her horse. ‘Why have you moved my brother from Geraki?’

  ‘We are taking him to Monemvasia,’ Mamonas said. ‘To a surgeon.’

  ‘But you’ll kill him!’ Anna spurred her horse over to the wagon and leapt to the ground. She ran to the back of the cart and climbed, as gently as she could, into it, kneeling in the straw beside her brother and taking his head in her hands with infinite care.

  Richard Mamonas made a move to follow her but found himself looking at the tip of Luke’s sword.

  ‘Who did it?’

  Mamonas glanced around. His men were too far away to intervene. He shook his head. ‘It was an accident,’ he said. ‘A simple mistake.’

  ‘Not so simple,’ said Luke.

  He backed over to the wagon, his sword raking the air to left and right. He looked over its side.

  Anna was sitting with Alexis’s head in her lap. The moon had re-emerged to bathe everything in a wash of grey and Alexis’s skin was as candle wax. Anna bent forward to kiss his cold brow. ‘What have they done to you?’ she murmured, tears rolling down her cheeks as she smoothed the hair at his temple. ‘My darling, what have they done to you?’

  Alexis could hear her, but only just. The arrow was still in his neck and the sway of the cart had caused such searing agony that he had slipped in and out of consciousness until he no longer knew where he was.

  But he knew that voice.

  ‘Anna …’ he murmured. ‘Can you … get me some … water?’

  Anna looked up and found Luke. He swung his sword round to the wagon driver.

  ‘Water this instant or I’ll put this through you.’

  The man hurried to find his pigskin sack. Luke passed it to Anna. She pulled out the stopper and brought it to Alexis’s lips, tilting his head forward to help him drink. She looked down into the face she loved more than anything on earth.

  Alexis was drenched in sweat, his face shining in the moonlight. There were dark shadows around his eyes and he was feverish, his body shaking in spasms. His breathing was coming in rasps. Anna saw a clumsy bandage wrapped around his neck, its cotton black with congealed blood. She dared not remove it, yet she feared infection would set in if she didn’t.

  ‘Luke, we need a surgeon.’

  Luke nodded. He turned to the wagon-driver. ‘Tell your officer to come here. Now!’

  A moment later, Richard Mamonas was standing next to the cart.

  ‘We can’t move him any further. It’s killing him,’ Luke said. ‘Is there anywhere nearby that we can take him?’

  Richard Mamonas thought quickly. This was unexpected and the man looked as if he knew how to use his sword.

  ‘I believe there is a barn where they store hay up ahead, perhaps half a mile,’ he said.

  ‘Good,’ said Luke. ‘We’ll take him there.’ He turned to Anna. ‘I know of a surgeon. I’ll ride back and get him.’

  For a moment Richard Mamonas thought about stopping him, but Luke lifted his sword. There was an unmistakable challenge in his eyes.

  ‘I will go,’ he said quietly.

  Mamonas stepped aside.

  Then Anna reached over the side of the cart and took his arm. ‘Ride fast, Luke.’

  An hour later, Anna lay on straw next to her brother with her head on his chest. Her eyes were screwed shut to prevent her tears from washing down her cheeks and on to his body. She was holding her breath so she could hear every pulse of the precious heart that beat beneath her.

  They were alone in a barn that had holes in its roof through which the stars winked. There were stalls in shadow at one end, the single candle casting a very local light. The scene might have been one of nativity were it not for the blood.

  Alexis had not spoken since they’d laid him there. He was deep within an ocean of sleep, and when he rose to its surface, his mouth would open and he’d cry out. His blood was all around him, pooled between the islands of straw. It was still oozing from the sides of the soldier’s shirt from which Anna had fashioned a bandage. The arrow was still inside him and she dared not remove it.

  When will the surgeon come?

  She heard a groan and lifted her face to his. His breath was hot and his tongue quivered between open lips. His eyes were open but unseeing.

  ‘Water.’

  The flask was already in her hand and she brought it to his mouth, gently tilting it so that the water washed against his tongue. A trickle escaped and ran through the stubble of his chin.

  How long has that been there? You are barely a man.

  The groan again and an intake of breath. Alexis’s head moved. Was he trying to speak?

  Anna raised herself to kneel beside him. She put her palm to his brow. ‘Alexis, what do you want to tell me?’

  His head moved again and his face widened into grimace as his shoulder moved. He was looking at the arrow.

  ‘The surgeon is coming,’ Anna whispered. ‘He’s on his way. Luke went for him.’

  He doesn’t know who Luke is.

  ‘Do you want to speak?’

  ‘Cannon,’ he said.

  ‘Cannon?’

  ‘They have … cannon. At Geraki.’

  ‘Don’t speak. Let me speak. Just move your head to reply.’ She frowned. Why was this important? Unless … ‘Are they for the Turk?’

  It was a meagre movement, a fractional move of the head. Then he was asleep again.

  Anna watched him for a long time, watched the sheen of life evaporating from his brow, watched the uneven, stuttered breathing that seemed to be slowing to a standstill. She moved with infinite care to lie beside him again. This time the heartbeat seemed fainter.

  When will the surgeon come?

  Three hours later, as the first hint of dawn began to creep over the horizon, he was there and Anna was praying.

  Please God, don’t let him die.

  She heard a cock crow somewhere in the distance and her stomach gave a lurch. She prayed with greater urgency.

  Lord, he has ever been your good and obedient servant. If you wish for some reflection of your goodness here on earth, let him live.

  But Alexis was so still. The only sign of life within him was the feeble rise of his chest and the rattle that had arrived in his throat. Was this the sound of death?

  She looked at the surgeon kneeling at her side, washing the blood from his hands in a little bowl. Luke was sitting in the shadows and hadn’t spoken since he’d arrived with the man. They were the only ones in the barn.

  ‘Will he live?’ she asked, dreading the answer.

  The surgeon was an Arab in his forties with kind eyes and the same long white hair as her father. She could see he was good at what he did and had tried his best. He didn’t answer but studied his hands as he rubbed them dry on the towel.

  Anna looked at her brother. He was lying on a linen sheet that had once been white but was now drenched in his blood. Around him had been placed new candles so that he looked like a sacrifice. His head rested on a pillow and his mouth was slightly open, revealing teeth broken when he’d clenched them as the arrow was withdrawn. A clean white bandage was now wrapped around his neck and shoulder. His fever seemed to ha
ve subsided and, with his eyes closed, he looked almost at peace.

  ‘Will he live?’ repeated Anna.

  ‘Lady …’ he began.

  ‘Please, be honest.’

  ‘Lady,’ he began again, ‘you should know that the arrow has done great damage. Not only is his lung pierced but it has severed the cord at his spine. If he does live, it will not be for long. And it will not be a life.’

  Anna rocked back on her haunches as his meaning tore through her mind. Her brother, who lived for the adventure of living, unable to move.

  She heard movement behind her and Luke knelt down beside her. For one so tall, he made little noise.

  But the surgeon hadn’t finished. ‘Some believe it is better to die than to live in such a state.’

  Anna turned on him, sick with horror at what he was saying. ‘No!’ she whispered. ‘I will not kill my brother!’

  There was a slight movement below them and they all looked down at Alexis. He had turned his head a fraction in her direction. His eyes were open and tears glistened on his pale cheeks. There was love in his eyes, love and entreaty.

  ‘Please.’ His voice was barely audible.

  Anna gazed down at him through a film of tears. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Please, Anna,’ he pleaded, his voice a croak. ‘I want … to die.’

  Anna leant forward to move aside the candles down one side of his body. Then she lay down gently beside him and stroked his cheek. ‘I love you more than anyone in the world, Alexis. I cannot kill you.’

  There was a gentle cough above her and the surgeon spoke. ‘Lady, it is not for you. It is for him.’

  She glanced up at him, his face a blur through her tears, before looking back at Alexis, who had closed his eyes again, his face resigned. He had fallen back into unconsciousness. She stared at him for a long, long time. Then she raised herself to her knees and pressed her lips together.

  Luke was watching her intently. Then, without thinking, he put his arm around her shoulder and drew her towards him so that her head was resting on his shoulder. His strength passed through her body.

  ‘How would you do it?’ she whispered.

  ‘I have a potion,’ said the Arab. ‘It will be quick and it will be painless. I promise you.’

  Anna looked down at the body of her brother. She stared into his face, smoothing back his hair. Then she leant forward and kissed him on his forehead.

  ‘Goodbye, Alexis,’ she said.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MONEMVASIA, SUMMER 1394

  Anna awoke from her nightmare drenched in sweat and curled like a fetus on the stone floor. In the light of the oil lamp she could see that her bed was a mass of twisted sheets, some as damp as her nightdress. In her dream, she’d been in the hole again; whatever it was that was trying to get to her through the roots had come terrifyingly close this time. She realised that every time it was getting closer. And these days the dream came to her every night. She got to her feet unsteadily.

  She heard the key turn in the lock and a guard stood in the doorway.

  ‘I heard a cry, lady. Are you hurt?’

  It was taking Anna a moment to remember where she was. She looked around the room that had once been a cistern and vaguely wondered whether the shadows of its arched ceiling were part of her dream. The room was cold and the lamp only served to darken the room beyond its reach. She looked at the guard. He was an older man with short grey hair and a beard, her father’s age perhaps. He had kind eyes.

  ‘Can I have more light? It’s very dark in here. I have only one lantern.’

  The soldier looked uncomfortable. He felt sorry for this strange, silent girl but he had his orders. ‘I’ll see what I can do, lady,’ he said. ‘Shall I empty your pot?’

  Anna was embarrassed but too weak to really care. ‘Yes, please,’ she said and stepped aside to let him pass. The guard walked over to it and then stopped, looking bewildered.

  ‘There’s nothing in here, lady.’

  ‘Oh, I thought … thank you anyway.’ She sat down on the bed, suddenly exhausted.

  ‘I’ll go now, lady, if there’s nothing else.’

  ‘No … no,’ she replied. She heard the door lock.

  What she wanted to dream about was Alexis.

  Alexis.

  In that final, searching look into his face, she’d tried to stitch every thread of his young beauty into the fabric of her memory. She wanted to dress her soul in its precious cloth, holding it in there forever. And she wanted to tear off little bits nightly to wrap around her dreams. But all she could remember was the look of fear in those eyes when he knew he was going to die. And when this horror arose before her, she knew that her heart was broken and would never be whole again.

  I killed him. I killed Alexis.

  She closed her eyes, forcing them shut so that her neck strained with the effort. She rocked back and forth on the bed, her shoulders hunched, hugging herself. Hating herself. She wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. With Alexis.

  How can I die?

  She hadn’t eaten for days, the time she’d been in this room. Could she starve herself to death? She looked down at her emaciated body and saw that she’d drawn blood above her elbows with her fingernails. What if she never ate again?

  How long does it take to die?

  She lifted the nightdress and looked at her legs. She still had scratches from the straw of the barn and she was filthy. It wasn’t that she’d been denied a bath; she’d refused it. In fact she’d been denied very little. The food had looked good and there’d been wine. She had books and they’d even provided a rug for the floor. Her bed had sheets and her clothes were neatly arranged in a cupboard. She was imprisoned, but not with any hardship.

  At least the headaches had gone. They’d disappeared when she’d stopped eating.

  In her moments of lucidity, she worried about Luke. Had he been punished for helping her to escape? And what of her parents? Did they yet know of their son’s death? If they did, they would need her with them. They’d need her there now, to see in her some pale reflection of his goodness, of his greatness.

  Alexis.

  In the city of Mistra, her parents had just received the body of their son and her mother’s hair had, overnight, turned the same shade as her husband’s.

  The Laskaris family had enjoyed a life so far unblemished by tragedy. Now, Alexis was dead and it was too much for Maria to bear. Her agony had echoed through the city every second of the night and had continued through the morning. She had refused to leave her room and her husband had excused himself from all official duties to be with her.

  The body had been brought to them by the Kephale Nikolaos Eudamis, who had explained the dreadful accident at Geraki. But from the moment that Alexis had been laid out on the table, the terrible wound still open at his neck, they hadn’t really been listening. What did it matter how it had happened? What mattered was that their only son would never again breathe the air of Mistra. So the Kephale had quickly left for the Despot’s palace to repeat the story and assure his prince that the Archon would allow no further delay to the departure of the fleet and to present him with the keys of Geraki Castle. Then he’d left with as much speed as court protocol allowed.

  In Monemvasia, the Archon was sitting at a long table with his son and daughter. None of the three was speaking; the only sound came from the hiss and spit of a candle on the table before them. Damian was staring into its flame while Zoe watched the wax congeal down its sides. Damian stole occasional glances at the man at the head of the table.

  Their father was staring directly ahead. They’d never seen him like this before. He’d always been a man of decision but now he looked as if events were out-pacing him.

  ‘I should have gone.’

  Zoe looked at him. ‘Father?’

  ‘I should never have entrusted such an important mission to that fool Eudamis. I was a coward. I should have gone to speak to Laskaris myself, father to
father.’ The candle flared slightly and it was enough to break the Archon’s vacant gaze. He looked from one to other of his children and leant forward, bringing his hands together beneath his chin. ‘What happened out there? Was it really an accident?’

  Damian shrugged his shoulders. ‘It seems so,’ he said gloomily. ‘But we’ll never know for sure since our idiot cousin killed the archer who fired the shot.’

  ‘But isn’t that in itself suspicious?’ went on the Archon.

  ‘Well,’ answered Damian, ‘Richard says that he’d met Laskaris at my wedding and they’d become friends. He acted impulsively.’

  Zoe said, ‘I can’t see why it would suit Richard any more than the rest of us to go to war with the Despot. He just panicked, that is all.’

  His father nodded as he considered this. She went on.

  ‘Father, you were right not to go to Mistra. Your presence there might’ve enflamed things and you’d have had some difficult questions to answer about Anna.’ She glanced at Damian. ‘I’m not sure things are quite as bad as you think. We’ve given them back Geraki, and the cannon were removed as soon as Richard knew they’d been discovered. They are on their way to Suleyman so the fleet can sail now. And remember, it was an accident. Some stupid, over-eager archer with too much sweat on his thumb. It won’t be the first time it’s happened.’

  ‘But what about the cannon?’ he asked, looking anxiously at his daughter, who seemed entirely collected. ‘When they take possession of the castle, they’ll get their Albanians back. They’ll learn about the cannon.’

  ‘So bribe the Albanians. Give them money to disappear.’

  That might work. He turned to his son. ‘Where’s your wife?’

  Damian smirked. ‘I have her held in an empty cistern downstairs with no window. She won’t escape again.’

  His father looked up sharply. ‘See that she doesn’t, Damian. We don’t know what Alexis might have told her before he died.’ He paused. ‘How did she get to Geraki?’

  ‘I don’t know how she got out of the palace, Father,’ said Damian, ‘but I think I know how she got to Geraki. That stallion that you allowed Luke Magoris to keep? It had been ridden hard when we saw it the following morning.’