Lord of Slaughter

38

The dark again and the damp again and the sounds of torment and the stink of men rotting alive in their shackles.

The Numera had multiplied its horrors since Loys last visited. The messenger service had filled the prison with anyone at all who was suspected of sorcery, anyone who had ever had a seditious thought and anyone with whom they had a score to settle, which was a multitude.

So many had been crammed in they had run out of manacles, and on the bottom level men had even ventured — or blundered — into the lower caves in search of space to uncoil their cramped limbs. They did not go far down. The tunnels were too tight, too jagged and dark for anyone to risk going into them without a light, a rope and pegs to mark the way out.

Loys and the Varangians had to shove, push, bully and threaten their way to the caves. Vandrad and his fellows cracked a few heads, and though the prisoners vastly outnumbered the northerners, no one attacked them. These men, thought Loys, had lost their will. The party pressed through the last of the prisoners and clambered up a rockfall. From here it was a belly crawl into the bigger caverns beyond, Loys knew.

‘You can’t keep people like this,’ said Vandrad. ‘Kill them as a man kills his enemies or let them go. There can be no glory in this death.’

Loys knew the messenger service wasn’t seeking glory. They wanted power, to terrify their enemies.

‘It’s a sacrifice,’ said Loys, ‘made by fear to fear.’

‘I know that I hung on that wind-racked tree, pledged to Odin, myself to myself,’ said Vandrad.

‘I was talking about human evil, not your pagan idol,’ said Loys.

‘Odin is human evil. Odin is fear,’ said another Varangian, ‘and he sacrificed himself to himself as your god Christ did.’

Loys couldn’t be bothered to argue with the man. He was too keen to get into the tunnels and away from the mob of dying men at his back.

‘Let’s press on,’ said Loys. ‘I want this wolfman taken alive.’

‘Might not be possible,’ said Mauger.

‘I pay double for a living wildman,’ said Loys.

‘You mean you will show me the fountains of the palace twice?’ said Mauger.

Loys almost laughed. He had forgotten that Ragnar — as he knew the northerner — was alone in not working for pay.

‘If you catch him I’ll bath you myself in one,’ said Loys.

Loys led the way, holding the lamp before him. He knew it was important to appear brave to the northerners. The first section was incredibly tight and he had to wriggle his way in. He was glad he had employed smaller men.

He emerged on top of another pile of rubble, looking out on the broad cave where Azemar had taken on the messengers. Things had moved so quickly since then he hardly had time to think about how strange it was that his friend had struck down so many enemies after his long ordeal. Perhaps Azemar feared being sent back to the prison. Men could fight like wolves when they were afraid, Loys had often heard it said.

Loys’ mouth was already dry with dust as he lowered himself onto the cavern floor. He took up his lamp. The bodies of the Greeks Azemar had killed were still there. He tried not to look at them.

Vandrad came bumping down and then the rest behind him. Six men now in the cave. Loys couldn’t help thinking eight men had already died in there, to his knowledge. Never mind, he had to go on. The wolfman had the answers he wanted, Loys was sure.

Here the passage was tall enough for them to walk without stooping. They went on, their progress somewhat hampered by the uneven floor, but in the next cavern great slabs of rock protruded precariously from the ceiling. Loys and his men had to sidle around them. No one dared touch them for fear of triggering a collapse. The way was obvious at first, but as they descended other possible routes emerged. A black crack in the floor made Mauger pause and wet his finger to detect the movement of air. Another fissure, halfway up a wall, bore signs of dried blood just inside it. Mauger again licked his finger but this time rubbed it on the rock and tasted it. He climbed a little way up inside but came back to report the route was blocked by a decayed corpse. No one had been up there in years.

They went further down the biggest tunnel until a rockfall barred their progress. ‘What now?’ said Loys. ‘There were other tunnels — should we try them?’

Mauger glanced at him to silence him. The northerner spent a long time padding about on the rocks. Then he climbed the rockfall and began clawing away rocks at the top.

‘Careful,’ said Vandrad. ‘You don’t want this down on us.’

‘No chance of that,’ said Mauger. ‘These rocks are loose.’

After some time only Mauger’s feet were visible, and he had to wriggle to pass out the rocks he was removing. Then his feet disappeared.

‘Pass me through a lamp,’ said his voice.

Loys climbed up with a lamp and squeezed in himself. Mauger took the lamp and Loys crawled through. He was in a cavern quite unlike the ones above. This was damp, the walls shiny with moisture. The floor was more even too, with fewer loose rocks, and smooth, the rock rippled in layers as if it had lain on the bed of a river.

The Vikings came through to join them.

‘Those men above would dearly love to know this place existed,’ said Vandrad. ‘You could live licking the water off these walls.’

‘It would be impossible to find in the dark,’ said Mauger.

‘How did you know the rocks were loose?’ said Loys.

‘I didn’t know,’ said Mauger; ‘they just looked wrong. The ones that had fallen lay differently. The ones on top had been placed there.’

‘Someone’s trying to cover his trail,’ said a Varangian.

‘Let’s hope so,’ said Mauger. ‘Nothing makes a man easier to follow.’

‘I’ll leave a mark on the rock to help us on our return,’ said Vandrad. He scratched at the wall with his knife.

‘What’s that?’ said Loys.

‘Thor’s hammer.’

‘You don’t need a sky god down here,’ said Mauger. ‘Best call on Odin — he finds people’s way in the dark.’

Loys glanced at the Norseman. He wore a rough wooden cross at his neck but here, underground, in the old dark earth, he reverted to his heathen ways.

‘Then Odin,’ said Vandrad. He carved a strange symbol of three interlocking triangles on the wall. Loys was too concerned to get in and out of the tunnels to reproach him for his idolatry, but the symbol sparked his scholar’s curiosity, despite his unease.

‘What is that?’

‘The dead god’s necklace,’ said Vandrad. ‘A hanging knot.’

‘Three in one,’ said Mauger.

‘Three what?’ said Loys.

‘Never bothered to ask,’ said Mauger. The Vikings seemed to think this was a great joke. Mauger saw he had embarrassed the scholar and said, ‘It is a way of showing he is not a straightforward god. He’s many things to many men.’

‘Most gods are,’ said Loys, surprising himself with his cynicism. He offered an inward prayer as an apology.

‘Not Thor,’ said a Varangian. ‘He’s a smack round the head to many men.’

‘Well,’ said Vandrad, ‘let’s find old wolfboy and honour him in a way that god would like.’

Mauger held up his hand. ‘Silence from now on in,’ he said. ‘If he’s anywhere he’s down here. He’ll know we’re coming no matter what we do — the lamps will give us away — but let’s try to keep the warning to a minimum. When we find him we’ll try to take him alive. That might be possible — he’s been a long time down here with no food so he could be weak. However, I’ve encountered sorcerers like this before. They’re tricky bastards and hard ones too, some of them. If it gets too tough let’s make sure it’s him who dies and not one of us.’

Grim nods, a couple of muttered words of agreement and the men went on, Mauger first. The passage quickly became very steep and then narrower and steeper still. It split into two tunnels, both dropping. Mauger threw a pebble into one. A long pause and then a splash. In the other tunnel the pebble rattled down. That one then.

The descent was precipitous and there was no way to hold a lamp. Instead Vandrad waited at the top of the shaft with a light. When all the others were down, Mauger lit a lamp at the bottom, then Vandrad extinguished his and climbed down. A long low tunnel stretched away in front of them. They crawled along it until what Loys had feared happened — the tunnel dipped into water.

Mauger tapped Loys on the shoulder and beckoned him forward. Loys crawled around the Viking.

‘Someone has been through here,’ said Mauger in a low voice, ‘both ways. Look.’

In the flickering light Loys saw a muddy hand print on a rock near the water.

‘So?’

‘We can go through. Or try,’ said Mauger.

‘It’s a brave man who will go first,’ said Loys.

‘That’s you,’ said Mauger. ‘You are the one who most needs this wolfman. You can take this risk.’

‘The crawl could be any length,’ said Loys.

‘We will tie a rope about you. If you fear you’re starting to drown give three sharp tugs on it and we’ll pull you back.’

‘And if I make the other side?’

‘Just draw the rope through. Can you find a way to keep your tinder dry?’

‘I have a box,’ said Loys.

It was his one valuable possession — a small box in worked pearwood, so tight-fitting it was proof against damp weather. Would it keep the tinder dry underwater? Perhaps.

‘Go through, and if you can light your lamp then give five tugs on the rope,’ said Mauger. ‘If you can’t we’ll need to turn back.’

Loys prepared himself, checking his bag — his bread and cheese were going to get soaked so he quickly ate the bread. His lamp and the spare would likely be all right — their wicks were soaked in oil. The tinderbox was in God’s care. He put his knife in his belt.

‘Are you ready?’

Loys shrugged. He tied the rope around one leg — Mauger said he would get stuck if he put it around his waist. Then he took three big breaths and crawled down into the water. It was horribly cold and drove all the breath from him as he went in. He floundered and gasped, gulping in water. In four heartbeats he had returned to the surface, spluttering and coughing.

The Vikings greeted him with contempt in their stares. He lay panting on the floor, the men silent around him. When he had recovered, he tried again. This time he went under properly. Panic gripped him once more but he fought it down and clawed his way on. He floated up. White light flashed in his eyes as he banged his head on the ceiling. He flipped onto his back, pulling himself along by gripping the uneven rock above him. He desperately needed to breathe. He couldn’t go on. Panic was overwhelming him. He gave three sharp pulls on the rope with his foot but it was slack. He had to continue. Finally he could feel no ceiling above him and he kicked up, not knowing if he had reached the end of the tunnel or just some drowned chimney of rock that led nowhere. He didn’t know if he had reached air but he had no choice: he had to breathe in.

He gulped air into his lungs, casting about with his arms for dry land. Then the rope tightened and he was pulled back under. The Vikings clearly thought they had detected a signal and were pulling him back. He plunged back under the water, thrashing and scrambling to get purchase on the bank but it was no good, they were hauling him backwards. Horror made him find his knife and he slashed himself free of the rope.

He surfaced again and his hand hit something. He kicked towards it and felt around. Yes, dry rock. He carefully pulled himself out of the pool, wary of hitting his head if the ceiling was low. It wasn’t.

The dark was terrifying. Loys imagined the massive weight of rock above him, bearing down like a giant’s hand ready to crush him. He breathed in deeply, trying to summon up his courage. He reached into his bag. He had to be careful not to soak the tinder, so he put the box down carefully. Then he squeezed dry the wick of the lamp and made sure it was soaked in oil. He found his flint and tinder, struck — and screamed.

No more than an arm’s length away crouched the cadaverous figure of the wolfman. Even in the brief instant of the flint flash he saw he was filthy and nearly starved, indeed like a wolf, or a corpse come back to life to answer a sorcerer’s call. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes dark pits and his body sinewy, terribly lean.

‘You’ve returned.’

The words were in Norse. Loys heard only the voice. Once again he could see nothing. He backed into the wall, desperate to hide from that horrible man.

‘You were with my brother.’ The voice was just as near.

Loys held his knife out, praying his eyes would adjust to the dark. They did not. There was no light, none at all.

‘Calm yourself,’ said the wolfman. ‘I have no reason to kill you. Why are you here? I took steps to make sure I was not followed.’

‘I’m looking for you,’ said Loys. No profit in lying.

‘For what reason?’

‘This sky, the deaths, the emperor’s affliction…’

‘What deaths?’

‘In the streets above people are dying all at one time, falling to lie cold on the ground where a moment before they stood living as you and I live.’

‘He is coming,’ said the wolfman.

‘Who? Christ?’

‘Does it matter to give the god a name? He who hung on the tree, wounded by the spear, chilled by the stars and blinded by the moon. The god who is three, he is coming here.’

‘A demon then?’

‘Who is the one who killed the guards, the one you took from here?’

‘He is a monk of the Norman lands, as am I.’

‘How do you know him?’

‘He was my friend. He came here to save me.’

‘From what?”

‘Assassins sent to kill me.’

‘And why are you so important?’

‘I am a scholar. Loys of the Abbey of Rouen. I ran away with the lord’s daughter.’

‘He is not coming to help or to kill you,’ said the wolfman; ‘he comes for a purpose that he might hide even from himself.’

‘What purpose?’

‘He is instrumental in everything you see, the sky, the deaths. He is a killer.’

‘Who would he kill?’

‘A god, the one who is here now. Odin, present in the three tiers of runes, Odin, king of the dead.’

‘How do you know this? It’s superstition, it’s…’

‘There is a woman.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You must have had a woman with you. The Norns have said he will come to find her.’

‘There are many women in the palace.’

‘She will be haunted by dreams. She will have seen him. Seen me. On a path by a river under moonlight, she will have seen us.’

Loys crossed himself.

‘There is such a woman. Why does he seek her?’

‘He comes for her blood too. He is murder, he is massacre and obliteration. He is the slaughter beast.’

‘This is my friend. I know him. He would not kill anyone.’

‘Your friend, what is his name?’

‘Azemar.’

‘This monk tore apart four guards in the tunnel. Explain that.’

‘He was afraid for his life. Men gain great strength in such circumstances.’

‘Some more than others. I stood next to him while he crawled to the corpses, like my brothers the wolves. I saw how the flesh filled him and made him new. He broke his manacles to be free.’

‘This is not true.’

‘How else does a man who has been locked under the earth for a month find the strength to perform such feats? I recognised him.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘I have sweated and frozen in dark places. I have walked to the edge of the lands of the gods and looked within, and I have stood while those who know more than me have suffered and screamed for lore.’

‘You are a sorcerer.’

‘No. I am a man, but a man the gods notice and sometimes reward.’

‘What is to happen to the woman, the one who sees the wolf?’

‘She draws him to her, and she is drawn to the god. She finds the god; the wolf finds her.’

‘And then?’

‘The god has his reward. Death in this life so he may live in the realms eternal.’

‘What happens to the woman?’

‘She dies.’

Loys’ silence told the wolfman what he needed to know.

‘She is dear to you?’

‘She is my wife.’

‘Then you have a part in this too.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘The wolf is my brother.’

Loys remembered the story Snake in the Eye had told him — how two brothers were caught in the destiny of the gods, how one would kill the other and take on the power to kill a god. But still he didn’t believe the wolfman.

‘No.’

‘You have your flint?’

‘Yes.’

‘Strike.’

Loys struck, and in the flash he saw the tinderbox and the lamp. A couple more strikes and he had them in his hand. He lit the lamp. The wolfman’s face was haggard, scarred and gaunt, but it was also, unmistakably, that of Azemar. He remembered what his friend had said: I found my double down there in the dark. The lamp shook in his hand.

‘How can I protect my wife?’ said Loys.

‘By helping me,’ said the wolfman. ‘I have no great desire to die by the hand of my brother. I want to thwart the god’s aims.’

‘How can you do that?’

‘I need to go behind the water, to the well of wisdom, where I can drink to discover what needs to be done. I had thought my own death would be enough.’ The wolfman gestured behind him to an expanse of water, glittering golden in the light of the lamp. ‘The well is beyond that.’

Loys looked into the wolfman’s face, the face of his friend Azemar. He was inclined to believe him. The wolfman’s eerie resemblance to Azemar gave credence to the idea that he was his brother. Beatrice, Beatrice. The idea that she was ensnared by these magical afflictions, that she might even be a target of dark powers, made him want to throw off the weight of rock above him and take her in his arms. He’d seen what Azemar had done to those men down there in the dark, his killing and his feeding. He could believe him to be a wolf. And Loys had brought him to the palace, put him next to Beatrice in her own chamber.

‘Can he be saved too?’ said Loys.

‘I don’t know. The answer is at the well.’

Loys felt desperation like a knife in his belly — he would do anything to remove it.

‘I will help you,’ said Loys. A gasp behind him and the white head of Mauger appeared from the water. ‘And so will my men. What is your name?’

‘Call me Elifr,’ said the wolfman

‘I am Loys.’

Mauger hauled himself into the tunnel.