Lord of Slaughter

27

Loys walked over to the Numera. It was dusk, or the time that should have been dusk, but the sky was black, and the only light was from the lamp carried by the two guards who accompanied him and from those of the citizens who moved around the streets.

The fog was almost choking and he could see very little. The prison was invisible from the palace, not eighty paces away. Loys followed the palace wall and then took off at the diagonal across the square. A few steps into the filthy air and the prison loomed like a menacing rock seen from a ship.

As he walked, he kept one hand on the short knife stuffed into his belt. Loys came to the gate of the prison. A group of four women strained at the bars of the gate, shoving through loaves and wine, money and even clothing to the guards. The only way of surviving the Numera was to have friends or relatives on the outside working for you, agitating for your release, bringing in supplies and offering bribes to the guards to take them in. Loys wondered how much of what was intended for the prisoners ever made its way to them.

The gate guarded the front of a small compound leading to the entrance to the prison itself, a black doorway no wider than two men. He went to the gate and leaned through the bars. A guard was relaying news of prisoners to those outside He caught the man’s attention with a quick ‘Hey,’ and he came strolling over.

‘Meletios,’ said Loys, ‘get him here now.’

‘Your manners aren’t up to much, are they?’

Loys withdrew his cloak to expose the blue silk beneath. The man gave a little whistle of surprise and went back into the prison. Loys stood tapping at the gate with his shoe. Then the fat form of Meletios came out of the dark doorway with two guards, their swords drawn.

Meletios gestured to the gate with his eyes and one of the guards unlocked it.

‘Quick!’ said Meletios as the gate opened.

His own guards went to come through, along with an old woman who tried to shove in front of them. One of the guards brought her a smart whack with the flat of his sword and she stepped back for a second, allowing him to close the gate.

‘We need to come with the quaestor,’ said one of Loys’ guards.

‘No one but Numeri in here, chief, you know the rules,’ said Meletios.

Loys’ guards protested uselessly. Already Meletios was guiding Loys towards the entrance of the prison. Loys smiled to himself. He’d anticipated having to jolly his guards along in the Numera. Now he wouldn’t face that problem.

‘If we left that open we’d be overrun,’ said Meletios.

‘Don’t people normally try to get out of prison?’ said Loys.

‘Plebian idiots,’ said Meletios. ‘They think they can just walk in here and take their friends out with them. I don’t know what they think we’re running here.’

‘What are you running here? Looks more like an extortion operation than a prison to me,’ said Loys.

Meletios bowed his head. ‘I have everything ready for you to descend,’ he said. ‘Mark that I have exerted myself for you.’

Loys swallowed down a ‘thank you’. The chamberlain’s men expected such indulgences as a right.

He followed Meletios to the dark doorway. Heat and a terrible stench breathed from it. Loys was reminded of a rotten mouth in an ugly face.

They entered through a short corridor. Ahead of him Loys heard music, a high nasal pipe and a drum. Meletios opened an inner door.

It opened into a large vaulted room lit by reed torches, ropes of incense smoke curling in the stale air. A band of musicians played in one corner and a girl danced across the floor. She was very beautiful, dark-haired and dark-eyed, and she wore long scarves of bright silks tied about her body. A man lay in chains on a rich couch of green velvet watching her. She bent backwards and writhed in front of him, casting herself to the floor, rising again and discarding a scarf.

‘Can you believe this?’ said Meletios. ‘Even in here some people need to demonstrate their wealth. This is supposed to be some sort of ceremony.’

‘It’s the dance of the seven veils, or a version of it,’ said Loys.

‘What’s that?’

‘A pagan myth. The goddess Ishtar goes to the underworld to seek wisdom. As she passes through each of the seven gates that lead there she is forced by the gatekeeper to discard an item of clothing until she is naked. She bargains to escape the underworld, taking up her clothes as she goes. When she emerges she is free but must find someone to replace her. She chooses her brother, who has been drunk since she has been gone.’

‘Well, she wouldn’t be emerging from here if it wasn’t for those two,’ said Meletios. He nodded to two men who sat in the corner. Loys recognised them as Normans. Her guards, doubtless. He didn’t know them, so chances were they wouldn’t recognise him.

‘You allow prisoners to have private armed guards in here?’

Meletios shrugged. ‘We allow anything for the right price.’

‘Even to walk free?’

‘Depending on the quality of your enemies,’ said Meletios.

‘So this merchant must have high-quality enemies indeed.’

‘Very high.’

Four men came to join them — prison guards.

‘Do we need so many?’ said Loys.

‘Word gets around,’ said Meletios, ‘I don’t like it any more than you do but they were sent over from the palace under imperial seal. Someone doesn’t want anything unpleasant happening to you.’

Loys had felt clever losing his guards. He felt less clever now he realised that whoever was watching him was one step ahead.

‘Who sent them?’

‘Don’t know, emperor’s seal. Could have been anyone.’

Loys appraised the men. No uniform to speak of.

‘Who sent you?’

‘Army chief of staff, sir,’ said a man at the front, ‘we’re here for your protection.’

‘With four of you we should be all right if I’m attacked by a small nation in here. Let’s get it over with, shall we?’

They passed through two more sets of doors, down another tight corridor and out into a wider, darker, danker area, where the roof was supported by tall pillars. Here there was no dancing, just songs from the men who sat chained, calls to Christ and for loved ones.

Someone sang a kontakion in a high, clear voice: ‘Though thou didst descend into the grave, O immortal one, yet didst thou destroy the power of Hades, and didst arise as victory.’

‘The wolfman’s hiding in here?’ Loys spoke quietly to Meletios.

‘No, in the tunnels below.’

Loys swallowed. This was clearly not the worst horror the prison had to offer. Another door, steps and a smell like a fist in the face.

Melietos took a torch off the wall, seemingly unbothered by the fetid air.

‘Down.’

‘Here?’

‘Still further.’

They descended the steps to a vision from a doom painting — the mouth of hell made real on earth — men lying wasting and dying in irons, too weak to call out, stewing in their own filth.

He was powerless to help these people and that made him angry. He could use his authority to get one released, maybe two, but he couldn’t order them all freed. Besides, they were there for a reason. The state would collapse if crimes went unpunished.

‘The tunnels are beyond, sir,’ said Meletios.

Every sinew in Loys’ body seemed to strain to return to the surface. A deep animal repugnance was in him, an instinctive need to withdraw from filth and disease. He steeled himself and followed Meletios over the bodies of the sick and the dead.

The room, an adapted natural cavern, was huge and it led away into denser darkness at its far end. As Meletios’s torch revealed more, Loys saw the roof dropped quite quickly. Only a narrow crack in the wall by the floor gave any indication it continued. The crack was nowhere near tall enough to walk through or even crawl. Anyone wanting to go within would have to writhe on their belly and trust they would not get stuck, or that the floor didn’t fall away into nothing beyond the limit of the torchlight. Loys picked his way among the bodies to examine it closer.

‘That’s the way down,’ said Meletios, ‘that’s where the sorcerer went.’

‘Why has this never been sealed?’ said Loys. ‘Can’t the prisoners escape this way?’

‘To what?’

‘To something other than this.’

‘They are chained,’ said Meletios, ‘as you can see. Even if they weren’t, that way offers only death. You can get lost, you can fall, or the ghosts of the passages can take you.’

‘All the more reason to seal it,’ said Loys.

‘It was sealed,’ said Meletios, ‘but God was angry and shook the earth to unblock it. It’s said it’s a path to hell and I have no wish to explore it.’

Loys had imagined the caves as tall and broad affairs, not like this. Was he going to pursue the wolfman into there?

Meletios saw his hesitation. ‘Would you like to go in, sir?’

‘Pass me your lamp.’

‘Or perhaps you’d like to interview the prisoners.’

‘Why?’

‘They were here; they may have seen something.’

Be careful. Beatrice’s words came back to him.

Meletios watched Loys with mocking eyes. He reckoned he didn’t have the stomach for it.

‘I will look within. You know the way — lead.’

‘I don’t know the way,’ said Meletios. ‘I don’t know the way at all. I’ve never been down there.’

‘Perhaps you should have. You’ve left a dangerous wolfman roaming in there.’

‘He’s no danger. We have two sets of strong doors between us and him.’

‘Go within.’

‘Six men died.’

‘So now you know they died. You said they might be lost.’

‘Lost, dead, it’s the same thing here. Will you not speak to the prisoners? One has seen him.’

‘Who?’

‘The scholar, the monk. Let me find him.’

Meletios raised his torch and peered around.

‘He was here, he was. Wait!’ Panic was in his voice.

He galumphed to the stairs, jumping over the bodies that obstructed his way, and went up. Very quickly he was back with a guard.

‘Where is he?’ Meletios was almost hysterical, shouting and gesturing as he pulled the man down the steps.

‘We have a number of monks in here.’

‘The special prisoner. The lady’s prisoner.’

‘The Norman Azemar?’ said the guard.

Loys felt all the breath leave him.

‘Yes, him.’

‘He should be here.’

The two men searched through the prisoners, turning them over where they lay, staring into wasted and pale faces.

‘What was that name?’ said Loys.

Meletios came to him and bent his knee.

‘On my life, sir, I speak honestly now and hope you will deal with me kindly. I understand there is a prisoner who you know here. I had hoped for you to discover him so I might win favour with you for bringing you to him and arranging his release. He has gone. That places me in grave danger.’

‘Who is this prisoner?’

‘Azemar, a Norman. He begged us to contact you when I admitted him. He says he is here to warn you. I-’

‘Why didn’t you?’ A cold fury rose up inside him. Azemar? His friend.

‘I was forbidden from doing so. An express order on high imperial authority.’

‘What was he doing here? Who…’ Loys was so shocked Azemar was in that awful place his thoughts failed him.

‘I am a servant and a jailer; I know nothing of these things.’

‘Are you a jailer? You seem scarcely capable of doing anything other than taking bribes. Why didn’t you come to me with this information?’

‘He remains here by the authority of the chamberlain. His sister put him here and she derives her right from him. I would be as good as dead if I told you about him. If you discovered him, however…’

Loys was convinced he had been played for a fool by someone. Why was Azemar in this prison? Unless he really had come to warn him about something and had been prevented from doing so. By whose hand? Was Beatrice in danger? No, Loys, think clearly. Whoever his enemies were they hadn’t struck at him yet. An assassination or an abduction in the emperor’s house would cause more trouble than it was worth.

He had to help his friend.

‘Forgive me.’ Meletios was actually on his knees.

‘So where do you think he has gone?’

‘There can be only one place, sir,’ said Meletios. ‘Down there, in the caves. He’s somehow slipped his bonds and tried to escape that way.’

Loys pushed Meletios in the chest and stared into his face.

‘That man was my mentor and my friend,’ he said, ‘and we are going to find him.’ He turned to the guards. ‘You lot,’ he said, ‘can at least make yourselves useful.’