Lord of Slaughter

13

Mauger and Azemar walked through the umber light beneath the great dome of Hagia Sophia. Its windows were bright despite the dim day outside. Shining archways ringed the base of the dome, and the scholar imagined for a second they were the windows of heaven, with God and the saints gazing down at him.

It was an incredible building, raised to the glory of God — whose commandments Azemar was obliged to break. He imagined his soul standing where he was standing, surrounded by those windows, with God on his throne on the final day, judging him for helping Mauger to murder his friend.

‘The scholars come here?’ said Mauger.

‘I think this is the best place to start,’ said Azemar. ‘It’s the church of Holy Wisdom. Where better to search for a scholar?’

‘You know about these things,’ said Mauger, ‘so I will trust you.’

Azemar eyed the long roll of thick cloth the knight wore on his back. It was his bedding but also contained his sword.

‘You don’t intend to chop off his head here on the cathedral flagstones?’

‘If you see him, identify him and leave the rest to me.’

‘You’ll need to follow him to find the lady.’

Mauger gave Azemar a look that suggested he’d thought of that already.

Azemar shivered. The sky had frightened him, the sun reducing to a pale yellow disc like a dog’s eye and then vanishing entirely. A half-hearted snow fell and the cobbled streets were slick and slippy, the unpaved ones muddy and filthy. The rich kept inside while the poor wailed and prayed, huddled beneath the porticoes or crammed into the churches.

The only good thing to come of it was that Loys was likely to stay indoors. The cathedral contained its share of the poor now and their voices echoed to the ceiling. One voice sang above the rabble, sounding a kontakion loud and clear: ‘Though thou didst descend into the grave, O Immortal One, yet didst thou destroy the power of Hades.’

Azemar crossed himself.

‘Ask.’ Mauger touched Azemar on the elbow.

‘What?’

‘Ask one of those scholars.’ A group of monks stood whispering by a pillar

Azemar swallowed. At least Mauger couldn’t speak Greek. He would never know what had been asked.

Azemar approached them.

‘Hello, dear friends in Christ. Foul weather we’re having, isn’t it?’

The monks ceased their conversation.

‘You are a foreigner,’ said one, a tall man with thin lips and nose like a big crab apple.

‘Yes.’

‘Then perhaps you can tell us where this weather has come from. Did you bring it with you?’

‘No. That is… no. We don’t have its like in my lands.’

‘And where are your lands?’

‘Normandy, near Francia.’

‘I hear that it is overrun by barbarians.’

‘There are many fierce northern men there, it is true, and our dukes-’

One of the monks held up his hand to interrupt him. ‘Then why don’t you go back to your fierce northern men and your dukes and take your weather with you?’

Azemar smiled. This response gladdened him and he hoped he would meet its like every time he asked anyone anything. The harder it was to find Loys the happier he would be.

He walked back to Mauger.

‘Well, I hope you saw that.’

‘What did you ask them?’

‘Just as you asked, Lord Mauger. For the whereabouts of our scholar Loys.’

‘I am not a fool, Azemar.’

‘Nor do I take you for one, but you note the response I got.’

Mauger stood close to Azemar. ‘I can find him without you. With you it will be easier by far, but I have money enough to hire a translator who will do my work honestly. Let me be clear, Azemar. If I do not have an idea where this scholar is staying by the end of the week then I’ll kill you and go on alone. You choose.’

Azemar felt the blood drain from his face. ‘I treat you honestly and fairly, Mauger; you do the same to me.’

‘So I shall. But I want to see you working hard for me.’

Azemar held up his hands. ‘You shall see it, you shall see it!’ he said.

For the next hour he busied himself in the cathedral, approaching people and asking them questions about everything but where Loys was staying. He tried to think of a way out of his predicament but he’d been trying that since Rouen and hadn’t come up with one yet. Eventually the subdued light of the church and the mingled odours of the poor sheltering from the weather, the incense and the reed lights began to make his head spin and he headed outside. Mauger followed five paces behind.

Even the beggars had deserted the area outside the great church and the ground was wet under the sleet. Sitting by the wall on a huge black wolfskin was a boy — or not quite a boy, a youth — huddled in a rich blue cloak trimmed with gold. He was talking, and as Azemar breathed in the fresh air he found himself listening. The boy spoke in Norse, a language Azemar knew well. His grandfather had been a Norseman and his parents had used the language at home.

‘In the time of the famed King Ingvar lived a slave who was a precious jewel to her masters. For this slave was mute, which is a rare gift to a master, and she had lived a long, long time — longer than anyone else, and yet she had never grown old. In this way she was like an heirloom to be passed from generation to generation. Now know that she came to travel east with the princess daughter of her master to be married to a Wendish king. All was easy in the travelling but, on arriving at a certain port, a rich traveller claimed the slave for his own, saying he had bought her many years before. But the princess would not give up the slave and took her east.

‘Coming to a certain river, they travelled down it, but a fever struck among the crew until none but the princess and the slave was alive. Fearing for her life, the princess asked what might be done. The slave, throwing off her silence, replied that there was nothing to be done and her master was coming for her.

‘Then the princess died and the fever stepped out of her and became a man, the rich traveller who had-’

‘A good enough tale, boy.’ Mauger cast a coin in his direction.

‘Thank you for your compliment but not your coin,’ said the boy. ‘I am seeking things other than alms.’

‘I apologise for not seeing that you are richly dressed. What do you seek?’ Azemar noticed that Mauger spoke formally to the boy, giving him respect.

The boy stood up. ‘The blessing of the gods. A man told me if I recited this story here then fortune would come to me.’

‘Has it?’

‘I haven’t finished the tale yet,’ said the boy.

‘You know this city?’ said Mauger.

‘Well enough.’

‘You speak Greek?’

‘Many languages.’

‘Then great fortune may have attended you. I want to keep my scholar friend here honest. I’d like your help.’

The boy glanced Mauger up and down. ‘To what purpose?’

Mauger seemed to think for a second. ‘I need to find someone.’

‘To what purpose?’

Again Mauger took his time. ‘Revenge on an enemy.’

‘Should not a monk pray to find forgiveness in his heart?’

Mauger said nothing, but the boy caught the meaning in his silence.

‘Since I have no better employment for the moment, I will help you.’ He stood and bowed to Mauger and Azemar.

‘You’ll be paid well,’ said Mauger.

‘I seek no pay,’ said the boy. ‘I am a warrior and a killer. To share the joy of your revenge will be enough.’

‘You speak like a warrior because our Norse tongue is the tongue of warriors,’ said Mauger. ‘I am Mauger and this Azemar.’

‘I am Snake in the Eye,’ said the boy. ‘Now, how shall we find your enemy?’