Lord of Slaughter

30

Loys helped Azemar up the stairs of the Numera, his mind numb with shock.

‘For pity,’ Azemar kept saying, ‘help some of the others too. Use your authority to spare them the dark.’

‘It will be a close call getting you out of the prison,’ said Loys. ‘I can’t risk any others.’

‘God does not see here,’ said Azemar. ‘He does not see. He is a blind thing fumbling through the night. Can’t you smell him? He’s here. I can smell him; I can hear him breathing in the tunnels.’

Loys said nothing, just helped his friend on. He was convinced Azemar had become deranged by his ordeal. He had to get him back to a calm and clean place. The palace was ideal, but he had been frightened by the assassins in the tunnels. Who had sent them? The chamberlain? Styliane? The Office of Barbarians? Who knew?

He felt very vulnerable. Loys’ discovery of the presence of the wolfman had triggered the attack. There had been threats before but no move against his life. The wolfman sorcerer was the key to whatever was going on, Loys was sure. Beatrice was in the palace; rest and food for Azemar were there. He had to enter the den of his enemies.

What to do? The emperor had insisted on the study. He had initiated the whole thing so he must be interested in seeing it done well, accurately and effectively. He was Loys’ only certain ally but he had no way to contact him. He couldn’t just run off to find him in the field and put all his suspicions in front of him. Loys was aware he was implicating great men, allies of the emperor. The proof would need to be undeniable before he acted.

Azemar looked around the Numera with terror in his eyes.

‘He’s here,’ he said.

‘Who is here, Azemar?’

‘The pale fellow, the one who led me to the abomination.’

‘Come on, come on.’

Loys had got Azemar as far as the door now. Two guards stared at the men, one holding up his hand. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ said one, a tall man with a scrappy black beard.

‘Out,’ said Loys.

‘Who is this?’

‘A prisoner of the chamberlain. I am the chamberlain’s lieutenant and I am removing him.’

‘No, you’re not, son,’ said the tall guard. ‘No one leaves here but by the say-so of Meletios.’

Loys swallowed. Meletios was dead in the caves — one of the assassins had done for him. The noise would not have carried to here, past the groans and the screams of the prisoners.

‘Your Meletios is under investigation by the chamberlain’s office. This man is part of that investigation. Do you want me to report that you are obstructing the chamberlain?’

‘He can’t leave without official sanction.’

‘What is that?’

Loys pointed to a cheap medallion made from a coin on the man’s neck.

‘Just a necklace.’

‘Worn to what purpose?’

The man took a pace back.

‘No purpose at all, sir.’

‘Because it looks very much like an amulet to me, soldier. It looks to me as though you might have drilled that coin and uttered charms over it in order to protect you from this black sky.’

‘Men need some protection,’ said the guard.

‘That is devilry. And I am the man appointed to root devils out of this city. We will return the prisoner.’

‘No!’ said Azemar.

‘We will return the prisoner but you will report for interrogation to my rooms at the palace tomorrow. What is your name?’

The guard went pale.

‘Let him go,’ said the other one. ‘He’s a quaestor appointed by the chamberlain. That gives him a lot of clout.’

The guard with the beard lowered his eyes. ‘Go on then,’ he said.

‘No,’ said Loys, ‘you come with me. You can lead us out.’

‘If I must.’

‘You must.’

They passed through the building. The presence of the guard removed further questions and soon a patch of weak daylight appeared at the end of the corridor. Freedom.

‘You need to wait for the formalities,’ said the guard as he approached the little office at the side of the corridor.

‘Handle them yourself,’ said Loys and led Azemar out into the courtyard.

The guards there looked twice at his dirty official robes and dithered before the gate.

‘Open it,’ said Loys. ‘Now.’

The guards did as they were told and Loys took Azemar’s hand and led him out of the prison. Loys’ two palace guards came trotting to meet him with expressions of broad relief.

Azemar stopped, gazing up in wonder at the black skies. ‘The world is a prison,’ he said, ‘with prisons within it. Boxes of darkness, one inside another.’

‘Come on.’

They went to the palace, around the back curtain wall to the courtiers’ entrance rather than the public reception area of the Room of Nineteen Couches.

Loys was very aware of how dirty his robes had become and of the terrible state of Azemar. He put his cloak around his friend and bundled him on, telling the guard on the palace door to mind his own business when he asked who the beggar was. The man was cowed by the force of Loys’ rebuttal and immediately let them through.

Loys had succeeded in his aim of acquiring a terrifying reputation and commanding respect. He hated what he was becoming — a barking, snarling dog who could not even trust his own master.

They made their way through the corridors of the palace to Loys’ room. He strode in.

‘Servant, bring food and water for our guest. Get them now!’

Only then did he focus on who was in the room. There was the servant; there was Beatrice drinking from a cup, but opposite her on the couch reserved for guests sat a very strange figure. A boy, but not quite a boy. His skin was smooth and his muscles undefined. Despite this he wore an iron breastplate and an empty scabbard on his belt. Odd. Weapons had to be handed to the palace guards on entering but most people gave over their swords and scabbards complete. Not this boy. It seemed he was keen to emphasise he normally wore a sword.

‘Loys, what’s happened? Who is this?’ Beatrice was full of concern.

‘A friend,’ he said, ‘my friend Azemar, from home.’

‘What’s happened to him?’

‘Never mind. Bring him a drink, servant, bring him a drink.’

The servant rushed to scoop water from a bowl and Azemar’s eyes roamed the room.

‘There are snakes here,’ he said.

‘Only paintings, my friend, only paintings.’ Loys had not taken his eyes from the figure on the couch.

‘Who is this?’ said Loys.

‘One of the emperor’s men,’ said Beatrice. Azemar gulped at the water.

Snake in the Eye stood and bowed. ‘Is it the scholar Loys I have the honour of addressing?’

‘This is not the right time,’ said Loys, gesturing to Azemar.

‘I have an important question.’ He produced the medal the emperor had given him.

‘I’ve had enough of charms for today,’ said Loys.

‘It is the emperor’s badge of responsibility. It’s only given to those he trusts very deeply.’

‘Well, good for you,’ said Loys, ‘but…’ A thought struck him. He was looking for access to the emperor. This boy might be useful.

‘I’d be pleased to see you later, or tomorrow,’ said Loys, ‘but for the moment…’ He gestured to his filthy clothes and then to Azemar.

‘I would be seen now,’ said Snake in the Eye.

Loys had encountered some odd behaviour in his time in the palace but this was truly strange. The boy seemed almost deranged. Azemar had collapsed on the floor; Beatrice and the servant were bending over him, but the boy acted as though nothing at all was out of the ordinary. His stood with a stiff formality, waiting for Loys’ response.

‘Let’s get Azemar to the bed,’ said Loys.

Between them they lifted Azemar up and carried him across the room and into the bedroom at the rear while the boy stood watching them with an expression of intense concentration. He stared at Loys, making him feel uncomfortable.

‘The lady must leave the room before we can strip him, sir,’ said the servant.

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ said Loys. ‘Our families are only one generation out of the longhouse. Do you think she’s never seen a man naked before?’

‘People will talk.’

‘Not if you don’t. Now let’s get these rags off him. And send for a doctor — can’t you see he’s wounded?’

The servant bowed and left the room while Loys pulled the filthy clothes from Azemar and Beatrice went to fetch clean water and a towel with which to wash him. He threw the clothes to the floor and they hit it with a wet smack — blood soaked into every fibre. Azemar’s whole body too was stained dark red, but he wasn’t hurt. Loys found no cuts.

‘When can I expect my audience?’ said Snake in the Eye. ‘I would like to carry report of your fame and skill to our emperor.’

Loys ran his fingers over Azemar’s torso and arms, then his legs, searching for wounds. Nothing. His friend had suffered no obvious injury at all.

‘Shall I say the emperor’s man was rudely received? The wolfman in the emperor’s tent received better welcome than I here.’

Now it was Loys’ turn to stare.

‘You know about the wolfman?’

‘I was there when he entered the emperor’s tent. I defended the emperor, not like these weakling Greeks.’

Beatrice returned with the servant and the court physician. She was careful not to approach the bed out of respect for the sensibilities of the Greeks.

‘Can you handle this?’ said Loys. ‘I do need to speak to this young man.’

‘Yes, Loys,’ she said. ‘What’s going on?’

‘This is Azemar. You know, the one I told you about. My friend from the monastery. He’s a brilliant man and he has risked a lot to come here for me, I think. We owe it to him to do whatever we can.’

‘I’ll stay with him.’

‘I’ll be back as quick as I can.’ Loys turned to Snake in the Eye. ‘We’ll walk,’ he said.

‘As you wish,’ said Snake in the Eye.

They went out of the room and down the corridor to where the window to the garden should have been. It had been boarded up as if for winter owing to the unseasonal weather.

‘Do you mind the cold?’ said Loys. After his time in the suffocating prison he needed the air.

‘I am a mighty man and can endure anything,’ said Snake in the Eye.

Loys was beginning to believe he was dealing with a lunatic or at least someone from a very alien culture. But the boy spoke Greek with a harsh, northern edge to it. He was a Viking, he was sure, as Loys’ own father had been.

‘Good, then we’ll go to the garden.’

They went out into a cloister which looked out on a statue of a satyr. A light rain fell and he imagined the satyr trying to run off. It had more chance of escape than he did.

‘You are a northern man?’ said Loys in Norse.

‘A Varangian, true,’ said Snake in the Eye ‘We are noted for our fierceness.’

‘Indeed,’ said Loys. ‘I have questions for you, but as you came to me, you clearly have something you want to tell me.’

‘You are an expert in removing curses?’

‘Yes.’ Loys saw no need to correct him. Reputation was everything in the court and epithets such as ‘expert’ and ‘famous’ were highly valued.

‘The emperor has a curse.’

‘That is treason,’ said Loys.

‘No, it is true,’ said Snake in the Eye. ‘I heard him say as much.’

‘What did he say?’

‘That he was cursed. That demons were trying to trick him.’

‘This wolfman was one of them?’

‘I think so. He tried to trick the emperor, for sure.’

‘How?’

‘He gave him a sword and told him to kill him.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘The wildmen know many things about the gods. He said a wolf was coming for the emperor. It’s part of a great magic. I think he must be the wolf because he threatened to kill the emperor if the emperor didn’t strike him down.’

‘He wanted to die?’

‘He said it was the only way to avert what was coming.’

‘What was coming?’

‘Death in his glory.’ Snake in the Eye gave a big smile, like another man might wear on his face hearing he had a favourite meal for dinner.

‘And what did the emperor do?’

‘He ordered him confined and questioned. He ordered the chamberlain to tell the best scholars to question the wolfman and find out what was happening. I carried the message myself.’

Loys swallowed. He was the newest scholar in the Magnaura, a foreigner, untested and raw. Not the greatest scholar, though the master had named him so. The chamberlain had carried out the letter of the order.

‘Do you believe what the wolfman said?’

‘We have many stories. Some of them are true and some are not. I have many stories in my family. They are not dissimilar. Perhaps he believes them too much. The holy men spend so long alone their brains curdle.’

‘What stories?’

‘I only tell my tales in the hope or expectation of reward.’

‘What reward do you want?’

‘A service from you.’

‘I am always ready to help the emperor’s men.’

‘Then I’ll tell you my story.’

Snake in the Eye told the story he had told on the steps of Hagia Sophia, the one the strange traveller had paid a wolf pelt to hear as he travelled with the Varangian army from Kiev. He told how the slave had two sons who were caught in the schemes of the gods, how she had hidden them away but how the woman who bore the howling rune had brought them back together, as she always did, as she always must.

The boys came back to kill and to die, one to be a wolf, one to feed the wolf and give him the sustenance he required to kill the old god Odin in his human form. Odin embraces this fate as it gives the Norns — who the Greeks call the fates — the death they demand in this realm so he might live on in his heaven. The boys were a sacrifice, an eternal sacrifice, part of a story that had played out through history and would play out again and again, until Ragnarok, the twilight of the gods. Then the boys would avoid their fates: brother would not kill brother, and the dread wolf Fenrir, whom the gods had bound, would break free and the old gods would die by his teeth.

‘A man told me this story would bring me luck,’ said Snake in the Eye.

‘Did it?’

‘I met a useful fellow through it.’

‘This story is common to your people.’

‘Parts of it. They know their gods must die. The part about the slave girl and her sons is told in our family. It is passed down from my grandfather, I think.’

Loys took this in. The wolfman may have approached the emperor believing this tale to be true, believing he was a part of that destiny in some way. The chamberlain’s concealment of the wolfman alone marked him as important.

But the sky, the death of the rebel. How did that fit in? He would dearly love to have interviewed this wolfman.

‘He can speak, the wolfman?’

‘Yes. He is a Varangian but not of our army.’

‘I would like to find him.’

‘Is he not in the prison?’

‘He has escaped to the lower tunnels.’

‘He could be found,’ said Snake in the Eye.

‘How?’

‘You need the right trackers. Our Vikings are rare wolf hunters. You should hire a few and take them down there. They’d flush him out.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘If you want to, send for me at the Varangian camp. I am a terror to my enemies and will gladly escort you to the depths. I have men I can bring with me. One of them is a mighty man indeed. Ragnar, of the far north, newly come to the camp, the one who fought Arnulf in holmgang. He would find your wolf.’

‘I’ll remember that,’ said Loys.

‘I have given you a service,’ said Snake in the Eye, ‘now will you repay it?’

‘What do you want?’

‘How do you remove an enchantment of…’ He couldn’t finish the sentence.

‘What? Impotence?’ Loys almost laughed. The boy had coloured to his boots.

‘Like that, yes. Not that, but like it.’

‘Of what then?’

The boy rocked back and forth, staring at the satyr as if he thought it might say what he could not.

‘It’s not manly for me to admit it.’

‘What are the effects of this enchantment?’

‘It is a battle fetter, so my father said, bestowed by Odin. The best and bravest warriors he wants for his own and afflicts them on the field of conflict so they cannot move, cannot fight or defend themselves. This is the fetter. I have a fetter on me.’

Loys smiled. ‘Not everything is an enchantment. Those who God made gentle cannot be unmade and reformed.’

‘I was not born gentle,’ said Snake in the Eye with a conviction that Loys found unpleasantly convincing. ‘I have a wolf inside me but he cannot get out.’

‘Perhaps he is content to stay where he is.’

Snake in the Eye clenched his fist and for a moment Loys thought the boy was going to hit him.

Loys put up his hands. ‘I cannot help you. I have never heard of this condition before.’

‘Then what of other afflictions? How do you remove a curse of the smallpox or of bad luck?’

‘The way to salvation of all sorts is through Christ,’ said Loys. ‘If you meddle with devils then devils will meddle with you. What is it you wear at your neck?’

‘A gift from my father, and to him from his father. It is a magical stone.’

‘What magic does it hold?’

‘Luck and defence from witches.’

‘To put your faith in such things is to put your faith in demons,’ said Loys.

‘It is a gift. A birthright. I cannot relinquish it.’

‘Then you have had my advice and rejected it,’ said Loys. ‘When you turn to Christ you will find all enchantments fall away. Magic, true magic, has no power against true faith.’

‘Then what of the emperor,’ said Snake in the Eye, ‘and the powerful men who fear this sky? What of this city under a curse of black heavens? It has built the greatest houses to your God the world has ever seen and yet it labours under this. Fimbulwinter. Fimbulwinter!’

‘What is Fimbulwinter?’

‘The barren and frozen time before Ragnarok, the twilight of the gods. The end of the gods is happening here, so the men say, and the city will fall when it does.’

Loys thought deeply. Enchantment could not touch the true man of faith. Christ drives out all demons. Yet the emperor was afflicted; the chamberlain had indicated he was suffering too. He tried to recall precedents of truly holy men who had been plagued by demons. Job, who God had set Satan upon? But demons always failed before the power of God. James 2:19 was the obvious reference: ‘Thou believest that there is one God; thou doest well: the devils also believe, and tremble.’

He considered the boy’s medallion, the one marking him as a servant of the emperor. This strange boy could be a useful source of information. It would not hurt for it to be known Loys had direct contact with the emperor’s man, though he couldn’t have too close an association with a pagan. That was permissible for the emperor because no one would question him. For Loys it was a more perilous course. If he brought the boy to Jesus it would look very good for him. He knew how to appeal to these people. The Norsemen in Rouen were impressed not by learning or cleverness but by gold, weapons and fine buildings.

‘You have a distressing and intriguing malady,’ said Loys. ‘It’s not right a warrior should suffer so. Boy, I tell you this. While you put your faith in idols, you will never be cured. Look at your people in their huts and their hovels. Even your greatest lords live less grandly than the merchants of the Middle Way here. Look at the church of Hagia Sofia. Did Odin ever raise something so magnificent? Look at the riches of our emperor and priests, the triumphs of our armies. When the rebel fell at Abydos it was God who struck him down, for God hates rebels — rebellion is Lucifer’s sin. Relinquish your idol and come to Christ.’

‘Bollason and his army do well enough following Odin.’

‘They will never be allowed into the city, never allowed to serve the emperor as they might, if they persist in idolatry. You are an ambitious man. Give up the stone and your troubles will end.’

Snake in the Eye put his hand up to the pendant. He tried to remove it, or rather his hand lifted the stone and then put it down again.

‘I have never taken it off,’ he said, ‘or only for a moment when the leather rots and the cord breaks. I think it bad luck to cut it away. It has been off my neck twice since I was a child and not for long. It is a blessing against magic, so all my kinsmen have said.’

‘Yet you consider yourself afflicted by a curse.’

Snake in the Eye cast down his head. The light in the garden was dropping, the quick dusk of the grey skies. Loys glanced back towards his chamber. He needed to get to Azemar.

‘I will cut it free — if you like,’ said Loys.

The boy said nothing, just stood with bowed head.

Loys drew the boy’s knife from his belt. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘I will set you free.’

The boy tensed for an instant, as if he would resist.

‘I’m tired,’ said Snake in the Eye. ‘I’m tired of the scorn and my own cowardice. I’m tired of not being a man. Why should other fellows get fame and glory while I stand fettered and mocked, unable to prove myself? If Jesus can give me release, if he can make me a killer, then I will follow him.’

Loys was tired too. It wasn’t important this man understood Christ; it was just important he honoured him. The messages of the Bible could be imparted by others with more patience and more time.

‘You must be baptised,’ said Loys. ‘And be sure to tell the emperor it was me who brought you to God. Here, you are free.’ He cut the cord at the boy’s neck and took the pebble.

Snake in the Eye stood tall and stretched out his arms like a man who had been a long time sitting. ‘I feel no different,’ he said.

‘Then go to the cathedral and pray,’ said Loys. ‘Ask for forgiveness for your pagan ways. Seek baptism there.’ Loys went to leave but Snake in the Eye took his arm.

‘What is baptism?’

‘They will wash you of your sins, wash you of all curses. Only then will you know if you are the victim of an enchantment or…’

Snake in the Eye pointed up into the filthy clouds.

‘You should wash the sky,’ he said.

‘I wish I could.’

‘I would wash the streets in blood,’ said Snake in the Eye.

‘Perhaps when you become a man you will feel differently,’ said Loys.

Snake in the Eye stared directly at him. ‘When I become a man, I will do it,’ he said.

Loys was suddenly scared by this odd young man. ‘I have to go back to my friends.’

‘Give me my stone.’

‘You abandon paganism, you abandon this,’ said Loys. ‘Don’t go forward to Christ looking back to Satan.’

Snake in the Eye rocked on his feet for a moment.

‘I would thank you, scholar. If my curse lifts then you may ask a service of me.’

‘I may do that,’ said Loys.

‘Come to the Varangian camp. I am Snake in the Eye. My fame is great there. I will find you your tracker.’

He leaned on the rail of the garden. The boy seemed about to faint.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I am not feeling well,’ said Snake in the Eye, ‘are there birds in the garden?’

‘There are no birds.’

‘Then what are those things floating up there. You’re mistaken, scholar, they are birds. You should look up from your books and see the world sometime.’

‘I’m going to leave you now,’ said Loys, ‘because I have the emperor’s work to do.’

Snake in the Eye seemed not to hear him.

At another time Loys might have laughed at the boy’s odd behaviour and gone back to Beatrice to tell her the emperor was employing lunatics. He was too concerned for Azemar. He headed inside, out of the garden. As he reached the door, the boy called after him.

‘I’ll go to the church!’

‘You do that.’

Loys found the physician gone, Azemar sleeping on the bed and Beatrice sitting on the couch watching him. Loys put the pebble down on his desk. It had a crude etched image of a wolf’s head on it. These people are obsessed with wolves.

‘How is he?’

‘He drank, though he wouldn’t eat.’ Beatrice pursed her lips, deeply troubled. Loys embraced her. He didn’t have to ask her what was wrong — the state of Azemar was enough to disturb anyone.

‘Well, he’s had a terrible ordeal. Maybe he just needs rest.’

‘Yes. And you need a wash. Get out of your clothes.’ Beatrice was talking to Loys but her eyes did not leave Azemar.

‘I only have the one set.’

‘I can send for some more, sir,’ said the servant.

‘That would be kind,’ said Loys.

Something made him look harder at his servant. For some reason he hadn’t quite registered what an odd fellow he was — extraordinarily tall with skin the colour of ivory and bright red hair that stood up in a shock. He had noticed these things before but they had seemed unremarkable. Now the true strangeness of the fellow struck him.

Then the feeling passed; the man was gone from the room, and Beatrice was at his side.

Loys went to his friend. He had certainly suffered badly. The starvation he’d endured in the Numera had shrunk the flesh of his face, leaving it bloodless and lean. His lips were drawn back as he slept and his teeth seemed very white and prominent.

‘He is so much changed,’ said Loys. ‘I hate to see him like this. He is a brother to me. You are the only secret I never shared with him.’

‘Why?’

‘He would have told me not to risk everything on a fancy.’

‘Am I a fancy?’

‘No. You are everything, and besides you the world is a fancy.’

‘I know him,’ said Beatrice.

‘Very likely. He worked the fields around your father’s hall. Though he is a scholar. His toil was a symbol of dedication rather than a full-time occupation.’

‘Fine ladies do not look too long at such men.’ She smiled, trying to keep her manner light. ‘Or so the Frankish maid my father bought to teach me manners told me.’

‘They do in my experience.’

‘Of course they do. That is not where I have seen him.’

‘Where have you seen him?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Beatrice, but she did. From the place where the moon made a silver road of the river, by the edge of the wood where unseen shapes snuffled and blundered, from the little wall that bore tiny lights upon it, lights that seemed so easily blown out, so in need of shielding and protection. He had come from her nightmares.