Vicious Page 4

  The idea of bloodline accounting oneself worthy of rule was laughable to Gathelaus and but for the ever present Varangian guard, he wondered if he could slaughter the entire room of sycophants and proclaim himself emperor. Such had happened in the north when Harald Fairhair was slain by Egil the Skullsplitter. The Skullsplitter took control of the Upplands for a full cold year and no one cared; the Skullsplitter was an able king until the sons of Fairhair slew him in turn. Kings must be able to hold their kingdom, otherwise what use to call yourself a king?

  “Beloved Alexious the Fourth, benefactor of heaven and earth, supreme force of the east, here are the men sent by the Kentsians and Tolburnians,” lauded the browed captain. “They have come with word to share with you.”

  The emperor, looked disdainfully upon Gathelaus and Niels, lifting his nose and then said, “Depart from our shores barbarians. We have no use for you or your cohorts. We shall not deign to meet and discuss terms with ignorant savages, such as you, away with you both.” He spoke all of this in old Dyzan rather than the more commonly used languages of the Gallinese peninsula.

  Eschenbach who did not speak Dyzan understood the tone and stepped back.

  “I was sent for. I came,” said Gathelaus in flawless Dyzan. “I am not to be insulted.”

  This grabbed the attention of the entire court. The Varangian guards were ready to draw weapons and looked to Alexious. Several courtiers backed away, but the flame-haired woman moved a few steps closer to get a better look at these curious yet dangerous guests.

  The unibrowed captain barked indiscriminate orders and the greater majority of the sycophants were ushered from the room.

  Gathelaus stood expecting an attack. Experience had burned into his soul hard enough to break iron, there was no taking chances. He flexed his fingers and made mental note of which Varangian he ought to slay first. The tall burly one with the Totensrune or death-rune upon his helm or the dark-bearded lean one with a long tapered sword. He looked like he would be quick and deadly.

  The Varangian returned the stare, long and cold at Gathelaus as well.

  With the auditorium doors closed, Alexious laughed. “I am glad that our friend’s agent was not so easily dissuaded. Come,” he beckoned, going out to the balcony. Four Varangian guards followed as did the thick browed captain. “I apologize for the theatrics but my court is not to be trusted and I did not know when you would arrive. I had to make a show for them so they would not think me weak,” explained Alexious with a casual grin. “You seem an educated barbarian. Were you with the Varangian guard under my father? Before the usurper blinded him and forced my exile? You speak passable Dyzan, so I am intrigued.”

  Gathelaus returned a cold stare. Such false pretensions were for backbiting women, not rulers. “I learned from my father and he from his grandfather.”

  Visibly bothered that Gathelaus did not elaborate Alexious said, “Well then, shall we begin? I expected someone else, not a Northman and a shabby red knight, but I surmise you will do?” asked Alexious, grinning like a fool. “Speak your terms.”

  “We are supposed to demand full payment of those silver marks promised for your placement upon the Dyzantine throne,” said Niels. “And the possibility of some other gift if the silver marks are not available.”

  “As you were no doubt told, I owe the Kentsians thirty thousand more silver marks. And I cannot pay,” said Alexious, glancing at the browed captain, who nodded.

  Gathelaus reached to produce the letter Boniface had given him.

  “No need for that, it’s all a formality. I know what it says. I have been told that an agreement can be reached. If I can give some priceless relic of the Church to you, or rather have you retrieve them, because even I wouldn’t dare touch the relic myself,” he said, gesturing toward himself in what Gathelaus thought was an especially feminine gesture. “Thusly we can settle up the score. For the sake of diplomacy, I must however be antagonistic toward you and your commanders, understood? Good, I shall have nothing more to do with you now and my good Protovestarius Murzuphlus here,” he said, gesturing to the unibrowed captain, “will tell you everything you need to know to accomplish this task. I now must bid you good evening for tonight’s entertainment awaits.” The emperor then strode away, followed by the four Varangian guards.

  Once Alexious was well out of earshot the captain, Murzuphlus, spoke, “What know you of history? Of the gods and demons and their earthly vessels?”

  Gathelaus shrugged, “I have heard a number of tales but what of it?”

  “Forces upon the earth, sometimes don’t like their plans being interrupted and tampered with. When events are set in motion, sometimes it is best to walk away and let the course of things fall where they may. Small men that fall into such devices may find it best to just walk away with whatever they are offered,” said Murzuphlus. He dangled a pouch, that drooped heavy with coin to Niels. “Just walk away Paladin, and perhaps you Northman, you might join your brothers in the Varangian guard and serve us here,” he said to Gathelaus. “I could use a man like you.”

  Gathelaus stared a frozen moment, then knocked Murzuphlus in the mouth and forced him back against the balcony railing. With a broad hand clamped over his mouth, the heavy browed captain was near to being pushed over the edge.

  “You think me an errand boy?” snarled Gathelaus. He could feel the man’s heartbeat racing under the pressure of his arm.

  “Please, I was wrong,” pleaded Murzuphlus through his teeth. “Forgive my trespass. I beg you!” He fearfully eyed the forum cobblestones several stories far below. Such a fall would go beyond killing a man, it would shatter him.

  Pulling Murzuphlus straight, Gathelaus shoved him away. “That’s two insults you have carelessly given me tonight. If it becomes three...”

  “It won’t,” stammered Murzuphlus. “There is no relic to bargain with. Alexious makes excuses and ruins us. You had best leave before the city riots with word of your coming attack. Please go before things get out of hand.”

  Niels interjected with a wave of his hand, “We came because we were told there would be something to bargain with. A magical holy relic, don’t try and con us that there isn’t one.”

  “It’s all lies, a trick to stave off the doge. Now go, before his plan to use you as hostages comes to pass,” said Murzuphlus.

  “The jokes on him, we are not of worth enough to be hostages,” chuckled Niels.

  Gathelaus growled an oath, still glaring at Murzuphlus.

  “Trust me, I was supposed to lure you to the hippodrome and take you hostage and then throw you to the crowds for their amusement and to vent their frustrations upon. Trust me, you must leave immediately. Alexious has gone mad with power and will ruin our nation.”

  “Why not tell us this when we met you at the gate?” demanded Gathelaus.

  “I too, was under orders and hoped things could be negotiated. I didn’t know you would demand the debt be paid immediately and that Alexious would lie about a non-existent holy relic,” assured Murzuphlus.

  “Never mind what I trust,” said Niels, in Vjornish, hopefully so that Gathelaus alone would understand him. “This is a knot of lies, we had best go. We will accomplish nothing here.”

  Murzuphlus looked on expectantly.

  Gathelaus did not care for the protovestarius’s dark beady eyes almost hidden beneath bushy brows, this Murzuphlus’s manners bled liar in the Northman’s mind. “We’ll leave. This was all a fool’s errand.”

  11. A Womans Wiles

  They were escorted to the grand hallway and out the palace gates toward the forum. As they went down the flight of steps at the foot of the palace, crowds gathering murmured bleak sentiments.

  Murzuphlus looked down upon Gathelaus and Niels and waited until the two crusaders were in the midst of the crowd, then shouted to the desperate people, “Here are the dogs that come to steal our scraps! They are the ones who demand more from our emperor and from you! They steal your bread and your children’s milk from their mot
her’s breast! Teach them the folly of tyranny and greed! Tear them apart!”

  If he said more and continued his rhetorical tirade none could tell because the crowd became a seething mass of angry dogs fueled on pain and terror. Niels was struck across the face with a club then nearly cut to ribbons by a knife wielding woman at his side. His red plate armor saved him from her wild slashes, but his Paladin tunic was instant rags. As she went for a deadly thrust, furious hands yanked him backward and out of her reach, only to pummel him again.

  At Murzuphlus’s first inflammatory words, Gathelaus had drawn his sword and ax and became the wheeling agent of death, striking limbs from any who approached him. Arms lay strewn at his feet as he backed away and toward the only direction free of the blood maddened crowd. Gathelaus then charged up the stairs dodging rocks, trash and offal.

  Within the gibbering mass an especially brutal vortex twisted about an invisible point. Gathelaus could not deny his friend despite the hundred to one odds. He pressed down into the fray, hacking limbs and singing his death song like it was his personal Ragnarok. Death was a poor excuse to losing honor by the Northman’s code.

  Gathelaus sent those beating the crushed man into the afterlife, a swift mercy compared to those that had openly barred his way. The screams of terror and angst tore open the night, threatening to bring down the moon with a gnashing of grinding teeth, and howls of the dying.

  “Get up! Damn your hide!” snarled Gathelaus, still swinging. He held back the malevolent tide with crimson steel and unintelligible oaths.

  The Hawkish knight struggled to stand and wobbled to his feet and stalked a few feet from the rioters. “I’m grateful you didn’t leave me,” Niels coughed, “But now we may both be slain and for what?”

  “Better to die for something than of something.”

  They each backed away up the stairs toward the palace gates, only because this was the only direction they could still move. With the height of the stairs and the Northman’s raging whirling blades the crowd stood back now to throw stones and names.

  “Murzuphlus planned this from the beginning, where is the dog?”

  “Dogs run when you chase them back,” said Niels.

  With nowhere else to turn, Gathelaus and Niels backed up to the palace gates and the watchful eyes of the Varangian guard. Expecting an arrow in the back as much as anything, each was surprised when a soothing female voice called to them.

  “Heroes, come hither and I will help you away from the citizens,” urged the soft voice. “Hurry now.”

  They saw only a pale hand with a large topaz ring beckon them to pass through a side entrance near the official palace doors.

  Without a word they hurried through and shut the thick oaken door behind them. Two Varangian guards stood and gestured them to go down the gloom filled hall after the retreating shadow of a woman. Worming deeper into the palace they each wondered at the strange turn of events.

  “We should be dead,” said Niels.

  “Well you should be,” said Gathelaus.

  “But why would they let us in after taunting the crowds to attack us?”

  “There is deception throughout all palaces, this one is no different. Mark my words poet, that Murzuphlus means to overthrow Alexious and make himself emperor,” said Gathelaus. “Perhaps the plan for us to steal the holy relic was true and these intrigues are because other factions wish to keep such treasures and eliminate this feeble ruler. I have seen these plots before.”

  “Then who is now on our side?”

  “No one. We are simply more useful alive then dead to someone.”

  They came to the end of the hall and to their right a torch was lit and a shadow arced across the wall. “This way,” she breathed. Passing through yet another heavy doorway that was heavily bolted after their passage by yet another pair of Varangian’s. “These escape tunnels must also be carefully guarded, what can get out, can get in,” she said.

  Niels shrugged and followed the woman on. Gathelaus was questioned by one of the Varangian’s.

  “Do I know you?” asked the dark-bearded guard.

  “I am Gathelaus Thorgrimson, from Uppsala and raised there until I was old enough to go Viking.” Gathelaus recognized the dark-bearded guard as the same from the auditorium, the swift-looking dangerous one.

  “Go Viking? You must be mad, no one has gone Viking in a generation,” said the first, shifting his ax to his other hand.

  “Wait, there were those who sailed with Snori and Egil, but he would have to have been a boy,” said the second. “And they were all lost on a voyage beyond Vinland.”

  “Perhaps I was a boy, but I grew to be a man with that crew,” said Gathelaus. “And I returned from Vinland.”

  The first sneered at him for the remark but as Gathelaus turned to face him with his piercing blue eyes, wild blond hair and blood-stained hands the guards went silent. Niels whistled for Gathelaus to catch up and he walked backwards to his friend never taking his eyes of the Varangian’s until darkness made them melt away.

  In a darkened alcove the auburn-haired shadow woman smiled and stopped. “In here, wait and I will fetch mother.” She then passed through the doorway and disappeared. Her face was serene, and an air of confidence surrounded her so unlike most of the palace men.

  “How long must we wait? Already I tire of these intrigues,” said Gathelaus slamming his hand against the cold stone wall.

  “Even now she comes,” said Niels gesturing at the returning woman and her mother. They carried oil lamps like holy pilgrims.

  Each was beautiful but Gathelaus was especially impressed with the mother who appeared perhaps only a few years older than himself. She too had flowing red hair and voluptuous curves beneath her silken gown. A golden tiara and long earrings caught light and gave her a momentary halo, like the saints in the paintings from the palace entryway. Her eyes were green but there was blue powder encircling them, giving greater depth that pierced Gathelaus’s icy heart. She smiled and held out her hand.

  Not knowing what to do with it, Gathelaus reached out and shook it.

  “Charming,” she cooed. “Most men enjoy putting their lips upon me if given half the chance but this . . . Northman, from the Upplands . . . resists my charms.”

  Gathelaus glanced into her eyes. “You know my homeland?”

  “Of course, we have had many men from the north here serving us. Shouldn’t I recognize the subtle differences in stature and mood? The hair and chin, the teeth-please smile for me.”

  Gathelaus unconsciously obeyed giving a lopsided grin born of flattery.

  “Ah yes, the teeth. The Vjornish uplanders have good teeth,” she said turning to her daughter. “I am the lady Euphrosyne, this is my daughter Eudokia, and what is your name noble Northman?”

  “I am Gathelaus Thorgrimson.”

  She cocked her head and remembered, running her red nailed finger over her equally crimson lips. “Thorgrimson. There was a Thorgrim here when I was but a girl. Yes, you look like him, he was a strong handsome man. Your father I should think.”

  His heart beat faster but he made no sound or movement to betray such a thing.

  “He was an honorable man, my father. I owe him a blood debt.”

  “Of course, you do.” She nodded and turned to Niels. “And you good sir knight, what is your name?”

  “I am Niels von Eschenbach, late of Hawkton. I was being trained as a poet but decided I needed a life of adventure before I should sing tales of—”

  “Yes, yes,” said Euphrosyne, silencing him. “My cousin is in Hawkton, but then that’s a long story and partly why we are in this mess isn’t it?” She smiled and faced Gathelaus. “The Protovestarius Murzuphlus seeks to overthrow Alexious and become emperor himself, which is why he tried to have you done away with. The hot-headed fool didn’t want you to recover the sacred relic that rests in the Church of the Holy Apostles and pay Alexious’s debt. And we all know if the debt isn’t paid the Kentsians will be breaking down our door. I
can’t have that, we have enough problems here without the greedy doge sticking his infectious fingers in.”

  “So you want us to take it and have the debt paid?” asked Niels.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Why?” shot Gathelaus. “Why not have your own men retrieve it and pay the debt?”

  “Follow me,” she said, ignoring his question, leading them back inside the finer area of the palace and through yet another side door. “In here. There is a key that one of you must get first—you good sir knight from Hawkton. Eudokia will show you where it is, then both of you warriors shall meet at the Church of Holy Apostles and retrieve the relic.”

  Euphrosyne took them into a magnificent stately room with brilliant colored silks and frescoes all about. Marble statues were in every corner and a maroon divan was in the center. She pressed on an oddly shaped stone and a secret door swung inward revealing a tunnel.

  “You still haven’t answered me why we have to do this,” said Gathelaus. “Seems the simpler answer to save your kingdom could have been accomplished by yourselves long ago.”

  “Of course,” said Euphrosyne, directing Niels and Eudokia to the tunnel. “I will explain all. You both hurry through the tunnel system and get the key from Isaac. You remember the way don’t you daughter?” She again urged the couple away with a wave of her gold bedecked arm.

  “Of course, mother,” said Eudokia, as Euphrosyne shut the secret door on her.

  “I can tell you any number of things on why you must do this, but in the end it all comes back to you trusting me,” said Euphrosyne.

  “I think you can tell me something as simple as why,” said Gathelaus.

  “Let this tell you,” she said, reaching up to grip his face and kiss him with hot passion.

  He returned the favor. Hands groped over one another, feeling every curve. Her scent was intoxicating but he stopped just as he heard heavy boots coming down the tiled floor toward the boudoir.

  A timely knock and the door was opened on Gathelaus and Euphrosyne, with her in quite the state of undress. She stood nearly naked behind Gathelaus.