The Bloody Crown

by James Wilde

  ‘You are mistress of an army of beggars and thieves now.’ Leo turned up his nose as he watched a boy and girl dart away in the confusion. They were both filthy, as thin as blades, but they were laughing as if this were the greatest game of all.

  ‘If I did not aid them, they would be dead. These are the abandoned. Those without mothers and fathers, who have crawled to Constantinople in search of a better life. Those thrown out to breathe their last by kin who can no longer afford to feed them. The stolen ones, the beaten ones, the unloved.’

  ‘What do you see in these street-rats?’

  ‘I see myself. And you too, if you had not been high-born.’ Ariadne pushed up her chin. ‘Al-Kahina cared for children. And I am al-Kahina now.’ She felt a pang of regret that there were so few places they could meet. She pushed Leo deeper into the reeking alley, away from prying eyes. ‘Tell me your thoughts,’ she said.

  ‘One day, when I rule the empire, you will be my empress. Augusta.’ Leo let the word lie upon his tongue, enjoying the feel of it.

  Yet he looked so serious, Ariadne thought. Always so serious. Even the faintest of smiles was like a gift these days.

  ‘You know your kin will never agree to that.’ She reached out a comforting hand, but he felt like stone under her fingers. ‘One of the Verini, the most hated of all God’s creatures, sitting aside one of the Nepotes at the head of the empire?’ She laughed sadly. ‘My throat would be slit the moment my back was turned.’

  ‘I will be emperor. I will wear that crown upon my brow.’ His eyes glittered with defiance. ‘My sister and mother will do as I say.’

  Ariadne looked into his eyes. He truly believed his words. She could not bring herself to shatter his conviction. Letting her fingers slip to his hand, she squeezed tightly. ‘You are not like your kin, Leo. I have known that ever since I laid eyes upon you,’ she murmured. ‘Your blood is not your destiny. You do not have to walk this path to the throne . . .’

  Leo flashed such a fierce glare that her words died in her throat. ‘And what would I be then? Nothing. I may as well run with your street-rats.’

  Ariadne bowed her head. She could see the weight of his mother’s and sister’s hand upon his shoulder in everything he did. ‘Your family are making you something you are not—’

  ‘My family are everything.’

  ‘In search of power, they will force you to commit some act that will taint your soul. This hunger for the crown, Leo, I am afraid it will doom you.’

  ‘I am already doomed.’ His voice was hollow, his eyes haunted. He bowed his head. ‘My soul is already stained. No, the crown is the only thing I have left. Mother . . . Father . . . Juliana . . . they cannot deny me then. I will have given them the thing they desire most.’

  His voice was so brittle, Ariadne felt her heart rush out to him. But she could see now that words alone would not move him.

  ‘Gods, you make me sweat keeping up with you.’

  They both started as the voice rumbled through the gloom. Ariadne watched the Blood Eagle emerge into the half-light.

  ‘You are not my keeper.’ Leo’s eyes blazed.

  ‘Aye, I am now,’ Varin said.

  Behind him, blonde hair glowed in the shadows. Juliana followed, her nose turned up in disgust as she held her skirt up above the filth. Before she was seen, Ariadne scrambled back along the alley to crouch behind a cluster of broken amphorae.

  ‘Heed me, for I will say this only once,’ Juliana said when she reached Leo. ‘The Blood Eagle will stay by your side at all times. We have enemies aplenty in this city.’

  ‘I have a sword—’

  Juliana cuffed Leo around the ear. He scowled back at her, but dropped his head in deference none the less. ‘Are you still a child? Folk carry on with their lives, but while they look away and think themselves safe, death circles, drawing closer with each day. One does not see death coming.’

  ‘I will watch over you,’ Varin said. ‘Death is an old friend of mine.’

  Ariadne watched Leo cast a sullen glance along the alley, searching for her. She sighed, frustrated. She could not risk letting him know where she hid.

  ‘Then let us have no more of this.’ Juliana shoved Leo back towards the street. She turned to the Blood Eagle, smiling. ‘The Nepotes have been blessed by your service, Varin. We could not have wished for a better warrior to guide us through danger. Hereward will come to regret saving your life and bringing you back to Constantinople.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  LIGHTNING DANCED ALONG the eastern horizon. As the night sky turned white, a distant storm rolled across the hills of Bithynia.

  Hereward leaned on the ledge of the window, watching the play of light and dark. Below him, orange-tiled rooftops stretched out to the sea wall and the Bosphorus beyond. His neck was prickling, a sensation that usually only came to him on the eve of battle. There was an odd mood to the city this night, like the one seasoned sailors shared just before a mighty wave struck their vessel.

  ‘On nights like this, I think of my husband.’

  In the shadows on the edge of a circle of moonlight, Anna Dalassene lay on a long, low bed-seat. After England’s clime, Hereward found the night warm, but she had furs heaped across her legs. The wine had got the better of her, as it seemed to do so often these days. She was a hard woman. But when she was deep in her cups, he saw a different Anna. A well of sadness was buried beneath that flinty surface, one dug during a life of struggle for those she held close.

  ‘I have heard only good of John Comnenos. A brave warrior on the field of battle, and a strong leader.’

  ‘Aye, you are much alike in that respect. But you show me a kindness, and there is no need. You know as well as I that John was not brave when it was most needed.’

  Hereward shrugged. ‘I have heard the tales. But like all tales in this city, there are many sides and the truth is hard to see.’

  ‘There is only one truth that matters. John refused to take the throne when his brother Isaac set the crown aside because . . .’ she turned up her nose, ‘God was looking on him unfavourably.’

  ‘To be emperor . . . that is a great burden.’

  ‘And would you have turned away when the throne was offered to you? Would you have thought the burden too great?’ Anna narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Would you, Hereward, have denied the power that could have brought safety and joy in this hard life to your kin, to your friends? To your spear-brothers?’

  Hereward did not answer.

  ‘No, John was weak, and he sacrificed all of us to his cowardice. He became a monk, did you know that? And he died kneeling before God.’ Anna slopped wine from her goblet. Hereward could see her hand shaking. ‘I am despised here, I know that. Folk think me consumed by a hunger for power. The woman who will do aught to sit her son upon the throne. But Constantinople is as much a field of battle as any you have fought upon. You must know that?’

  ‘I learned that lesson soon enough. The moment I set foot upon the quay after crossing the Marmara Sea. But here the weapons are tongues and poison and a knife in the dark. You do not see death until you are halfway to heaven.’

  Anna sucked in a deep breath. ‘Then you do know. In Constantinople you are victorious or you are defeated. Walk away from the throne and you show your back to your enemies. I have enemies everywhere. Men who would gladly slit my throat while I sleep, and the throats of all my children, and my friends, and anyone who showed me any kindness. I care little for myself. I have no hunger for power. But I would see my children safe. And if the only way to do that is to set Alexios upon the throne, then I will make that happen.’ In those last five words, her voice became like stone.

  Across the water, thunder rumbled and the sky turned white again. ‘Winning is only the first step. Keeping a grip upon the throne, that will be the hardest fight.’

  Throwing off the furs, Anna eased herself up and glided across the floor to his side. When she settled on the other side of the ledge, Hereward could smell her scent: honey
, and lime, and some unfamiliar spice.

  ‘You have heard my tale of woe, yet I know little about the days gone by that forged you,’ she said.

  ‘They are best left where they are.’

  ‘Your spear-brothers rut like stags in the Vlanga, but I have never seen you with a woman, or a boy,’ she said, watching the storm. ‘They say you live only for battle. That seems, to me, only part of a man. Are you then a half-formed thing?’

  Hereward could feel Anna’s probing eyes upon him. Inside, he clenched. These were things he rarely spoke of, yet were rarely out of his thoughts. He felt warmth towards Anna, and God knows she could still turn a man’s head. But he had only truly loved one woman, and she still lived in his heart. ‘I had a wife, once.’

  ‘You left her behind in England?’

  ‘She is dead.’

  ‘Oh.’ Anna looked out to sea. ‘And did she give you a child?’

  ‘She did. A boy.’ The Mercian hesitated. It seemed that he dwelled upon his son more and more with each passing season. And yet with each thought came an ache that he could not dispel. When he saw the lad in his head, the child had no face. He did not have a name. ‘When he was a babe, I sent him to be raised by monks.’

  ‘For his safety?’

  ‘Aye. The Normans would have ended his days if they knew the leader of the rebels had a child who could carry on that fight once his father had been defeated. And . . .’ He hesitated, but he was already swimming in the dark ocean of memory and what might have been. For that moment, Anna, Constantinople, everything was forgotten, and he was back walking through the rain-soaked fens, thinking of the road he would have travelled if the English had won. ‘To be safe from me.’

  ‘You?’ The voice floated to him across the waves.

  ‘Aye. I should never have become a father. I have a devil inside me. Bloody deeds, those are my legacy. Even when I was a boy. The ravens have always followed me.’

  ‘But now you are wiser.’

  Hereward looked at the woman. Her eyes gleamed in pools of shadow. ‘That devil is with me always, I know that now. I cannot shackle him. I am still the same monster I was as a boy. But I have made my peace with him.’

  Anna smiled. ‘We all have our devils.’

  ‘Alric has taught me that we cannot see God’s plan. If I can bend my devil to do some good, then that may well be my path. But make no mistake, I am still a devil. I will still do terrible things.’

  Anna’s smile faded at whatever she saw in his face. He was well used to that by now. ‘Then we will walk this road together, both of us, whipping our devils before us.’

  ‘Let us hope that our devils have enough of hell about them to keep us alive until we have gained what we desire.’

  Down at the waterside loud voices echoed, drunken sailors returning to their berth. Even as the city simmered, life went on. ‘These are dangerous waters. None of us can tell which way the currents will drag us,’ Anna said. ‘I look into days yet to come, and wonder. Do we make the right choices, even now? Will this road lead us straight to our doom?’ She eyed Hereward over the lip of her goblet. ‘For all our striving, fate may already have decided our ending.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘You are not afraid?’

  ‘No. I have faith.’

  ‘In God.’

  ‘In my wits, and my sword. And my spear-brothers.’

  ‘I would hope that is enough.’ Anna slurred her words, and her eyes were wine-misted. ‘And yet none of us can see God’s plan, as you say. What if you were saved in Ely only to be brought here to the heart of Christendom to answer for your crimes? What if death was laughing at you that day? While you thought you had escaped, to find new hope in the east, death was taunting you with a false promise while bringing you to the doom that had been set aside. The hand of hope snatched away causes even greater pain. What if that is the punishment God has decreed for the crimes you say you have committed?’ Anna shuddered and wrapped her arms around her.

  ‘If God says that is to be my fate, so be it.’ How many times had this crossed his mind? And yet there was nothing to gain from being racked with doubt. A warrior made his plans for victory, and when they went awry, he made new ones.

  ‘I am cold,’ Anna murmured, talking to herself. ‘Cold in my heart.’

  Hereward strode across the chamber and returned with one of the furs. He laid it across her legs.

  Smiling as if she was unused to such a kindness, she pulled the fur tight around her. ‘We are alike, you and I, in so many ways.’ Her voice was low, barely a whisper. Weighing her thoughts, she watched him from beneath heavy lids and then reached out to rest her cool hand on the back of his. ‘Come to my bed,’ she said. ‘For a night, if that is what you wish. For longer, if you will.’

  Hereward let her hand rest upon his skin as he chose his words. ‘I met my wife when I was little more than a youth, in Flanders, when I had been driven out of England for the first time. Her name was Turfrida. My devil was alive in me in those days, but even so she found a place for me in her heart. When I sailed away from Flanders she came with me, and left her kin behind. When I fought for the English she stood by me, and she had more fire in her heart than any warrior. Would that I had had a thousand of her upon those walls in Ely. She is dead . . .’ slowly he withdrew his hand and placed it upon his breast, ‘but she lives on. Turfrida was my wife then, and she is my wife now. There will be no other woman for me.’

  He thought that Anna might fly into a rage at being rejected. He did not want to lose the most powerful ally he had, but he could say no other. Yet when he peered into her face he saw that her eyes were glistening. With the back of her hand, she wiped her cheek. ‘Would that all my sons grow to be as you.’

  Baffled by her words, the Mercian frowned. ‘You wish them to be devils?’

  Anna shook her head sadly. ‘Do you not desire comfort as old age turns your hair white and your muscles weak? Do you not wish to stave off the loneliness of those last years?’

  ‘A good warrior does not die old.’

  Before Anna could respond, the door swung open. The Mercian heard a girlish exclamation. ‘Oh.’

  Here was Alexios’ wife, Irene: slight, hair long and gleaming black, eyes huge and dark. She was barely more than a girl, and if not for her fine dress would not have looked out of place among Ariadne Verina’s lost children. Her face was creased with worry. Irene was one of the Doukai, Hereward knew. The marriage had been arranged to ease the tensions that always simmered between that family and the Comnenoi, not least to placate the brooding presence of the Caesar John Doukas. Even hidden away on his estate in the east, he still kept a close eye on his family’s fortunes, and still plotted.

  ‘I . . . I would not have troubled you if I had known you were here,’ she said, her voice tremulous. ‘But I was told Alexios was here. Do you know where I might find him?’

  Now Hereward understood the concern he saw in the girl’s face. As with so many of these arranged alliances among the empire’s aristocrats, there was little love between husband and wife in this case. But in the few times he had seen Irene at court, she had always worked hard to pretend theirs was a true marriage. Alexios could barely bring himself to look at her. Irene was a proud girl, as one would expect of one of the Doukai. Every cold look or silent dismissal from her husband in public must come like a slap to the cheek.

  Anna put on a honeyed smile. ‘I have not seen my son all even. But he has risen high, as you know, and in this time when the empire faces war his wits and his words are needed more than ever. I would wager that even now he advises Nikephoros on the path ahead.’

  ‘He is not with the emperor,’ Irene snapped. ‘I have been to the palace . . .’ She caught herself, seeing Anna’s eyes flash and recognizing she had been too forceful. ‘You must speak true. I will search the palace again.’

  Her words had barely died away when voices echoed from the corridor outside. Hereward could hear that one of them was Alexios, arguing with an o
lder man. Irene’s expression brightened. But when Alexios swept into the chamber, herding Anna’s aged adviser Genesios ahead of him, her face fell. Behind her husband walked Maria of Alania, the emperor’s wife.

  Hereward watched the flickering emotions on Irene’s face, quick loathing becoming hurt, then a smile that had clearly been well practised over time. She knew full well what lay between her husband and this older woman, though it had never been given voice. She knew as all wives would know.

  Maria shifted with discomfort.

  For a moment, Hereward feared the uneasy silence would never be broken. But then Irene bowed her head and muttered a greeting to the emperor’s wife. Hereward felt sorry that she had to endure such a confrontation. But she was strong, standing her ground and hiding her feelings well, apart from a faint flush to her cheeks.

  ‘Irene. Your beauty never fades,’ Maria said.

  ‘We have important business,’ Alexios interjected, resting a hand on his wife’s arm. He glanced at Maria and added, ‘The emperor’s business. But I will come to you as soon as we are done here.’

  Irene gritted her teeth, but then found another smile and nodded. Slipping away, she paused briefly as the door closed and glanced back. Hereward caught sight of a face like thunder before she was gone.

  ‘What is this?’ Anna said, trying to keep her voice steady. She looked from Alexios to Maria and then to Genesios. The old man’s face was crumpled with distress.

  ‘We had no choice,’ Alexios said. ‘You know we would not have taken such a risk . . . coming here . . . if not . . .’ He glared at the adviser.

  ‘He found us,’ Maria said. ‘Together.’ Though her face had become like stone, Hereward saw the fear in her eyes.

  ‘I will never tell,’ Genesios cried.

  ‘We can take no risks,’ Maria protested. ‘If Nikephoros discovers my betrayal, our heads will be gone by dawn.’

  ‘Mother, tell her,’ Alexios said. ‘There is no man more loyal than Genesios.’