destroy his power by removing his loyal Hetaereia and replacing them with foreigners. It would have been obvious to the chamberlain had he not been so preoccupied with magic. The threat spurred him to action.
‘Get me messengers here now,’ he said to his servant, ‘and send in the new master of post.’ The servant left the room, leaving the chamberlain alone. He put his head into his hands and said, into nothing, ‘This is not the end time. I will endure. Whatever it takes, I will endure.’
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
