The bone fields, p.19
The Bone Fields, page 19
The gloom was mustering by the time they had finished and Zephyr, Spyro and Philemon returned to the farmhouse to crack open wine and prepare food. Lenore and Heph shook out the final hay nets and reattached them to the walls in each stall.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked quietly and she took so long answering that he thought she had not heard.
‘Frightened,’ she said simply.
‘It feels unnervingly empty without our beloved beasts.’
‘It certainly does.’
‘Do you wish you’d never joined this Cavalry?’
‘I sometimes wish you’d never plunged a sword into Sveinn’s belly.’
He stopped fiddling with the final net and looked at her. The quiet hung as he waited for her to elaborate. She placed the last excess tack into a crate and sealed it, then turned to him.
‘Like you, I’ve only been in the Pantheon for two Seasons, but I got to understand the Horde as my foe. They were a clever and dangerous enemy, but I studied their city haunts, I understood their methods and my fellow Titans were experienced in how to counter them. I guess I found the risks acceptable.’ She brushed strands of straw from her tunic. ‘Because that’s what this is all about at the end of the day, isn’t it? The equilibrium between the rewards we receive and the risks we’re prepared to face. Once that balance is blown apart, the Pantheon stops functioning.’
Heph closed the stall door and leaned against it, but did not interrupt her.
‘Now everything feels so utterly incomprehensible. I can’t begin to imagine what faces us out there. I’ve never been to Hungary. The other Palatinates are little more than stories to me. And I’ve no idea how anyone even begins to fight a three-way Battle.’
Heph sighed in understanding. ‘I hear you and I feel the same. I’ve spent sleepless hours on that farmhouse floor, but I’ve tried to tell myself that it’s the unknown which I fear the most. We can’t picture the foe in our heads. We can’t visualise the landscape or imagine how the Battle will play out. We can’t even get our heads around the journey. But, like today, when the carriers turned up unexpectedly, when events happen, we adapt to them and they will be far less frightening than our imaginations have led us to believe. Hungary’s not so exotic. The Field will look like any other Field – a green space with grass and trees, probably in the middle of nowhere. And when we see the other Palatinates for the first time, we’ll have the rest of the Titan Companies around us. Remember, with Valhalla joining us and the new Blood Credits that were spent, we will number upwards of four hundred.’
Lenore looked as though she wanted to say more, but thought better of it. ‘Come on. Let’s get back before those boys have scoffed everything.’
They put out the lights and locked the door, but when they were halfway across the grass, she lingered in the dusk. ‘I guess fear is a natural part of this game we play.’
‘The Pantheon thrives on fear.’
‘But this is different and you know it.’ His response had irritated her. ‘We’re eleven riders, Heph. Eleven. Luck was on our side at Knoydart, but it won’t be a second time.’
‘You don’t know that,’ he said gravely. ‘Anything can happen. The future is a mystery.’
‘For god’s sake, the future’s always a mystery. By definition, the future is nothing more than our imaginations. But this particular future holds one undeniable truth and it’s a truth that terrifies me.’ Her tone was so bereft that it held him. ‘We are now the most notorious unit in the Pantheon and you are the infamous King Killer. When those six hundred Huns sweep towards us, they won’t care about the other Titan Companies; they’ll have eyes only for the eleven of us. The Rules of this Battle dictate that a King must die, but there’s also glory to be won when the Companion Cavalry is destroyed and the King Killer has fallen to their blades.’
XXI
Heph shared a disgruntled meal in the warmth of the farmhouse kitchen. He tried to maintain a relaxed exterior, but Lenore’s words had upset him. When they had eaten their fill, he made a surreptitious call to Stanek and then helped clean the crockery while he awaited the arrival of his driver.
‘I’m heading into the city,’ he said when headlights shone through the windows.
They sensed his black mood and accepted the announcement without comment. Once he was enveloped in the darkness of the back of the car and the countryside of Perthshire was shooting invisibly past, he found his hands were balled into fists and his heart was pounding. Was Lenore right? Did he really have such a reputation? If so, then he was undoubtedly leading his ten Companion riders to their deaths.
He had no idea why he was going to Edinburgh or what he was planning to do. He simply needed the space. When they reached Princes Street, he asked Stanek to stop the car and alighted. ‘I’m okay for the rest of the night. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
He paced past the lights of the big stores. It was ten twenty-five, but the pavements were still busy and traffic trundled along the street. He cut across Waverley Bridge and then began the climb up Cockburn into the Old Town. Rain started to spot onto his face and he grumbled as it became heavier. He was a Titan officer. He could have sought shelter in the rooftop gardens of Ephesus or the spa of Persepolis, but instead he was drawn to deeper haunts. He switched direction and jogged up the long steps of Warriston Close to the rusted metal door that had once been the North Gate of Valhalla. He stared through the rain at a camera in the wall and heard the buzz of acknowledgement.
The new Gatekeeper team had their databases sorted and this time there were no fumbled attempts to identify him.
‘Welcome, Captain,’ the lead man said and it was strange to see no beards or long hair.
‘Who’s in tonight?’
‘The Colonel has companies one to three of the Hellenes in the Hall of Zeus.’
‘The Colonel?’
‘Menes, sir.’
Of course. Scum always floats to the top.
Heph headed along North Tunnel, oblivious to the new Macedonian tapestries bedecking the walls. He stripped in the changing rooms and pulled on a clean tunic from the lockers, then followed the sounds of human exertion and wood on bronze. As he approached the steps down to the main Hall, he stopped and beheld the sight before him. Over a hundred hoplites, helmeted and clad in bronze, were stretched out in parallel lines, stepping forward in unison and thrusting short wooden blades at the air in front of them. Then they repositioned and did it again. Bareheaded Titans patrolled the edges of the Hall, pointing out mistakes, shouting advice and sometimes striding into the mass and physically forcing someone to rethink their movements. On the dais sat Menes with a flagon of wine, speaking with one of his senior Dekarchos.
Heph folded his arms, leaned against the wall at the top of the steps and pondered the display, trying to imagine these lines standing firm against the Janissaries and the Black Cloaks. He was so absorbed that he did not notice heads beginning to turn his way and murmurs swelling. Someone called and pointed at him and more Hellenic helmets twisted. Gradually it dawned on him that the angry eyes in the recesses of the bronze were those of his former Viking compatriots.
He cursed himself. He knew, of course, that the Horde had been forcibly transformed into the new Hellenic regiment. He had been present at the Council of Commanders when it had been decided. But his mind had been far away, locked on Lenore’s words, and he had not considered the situation. The troops beneath him not only saw the King Killer idly observing their shame, they also saw the Wolf traitor, the man who had run from their lines on the blood beach and surrendered to Agape. The resentment swelled and the Titan instructors cajoled them from the edges and waded in with their clubs. On the dais, Menes stood and peered imperiously at the insubordination.
Before the instructors could react, a helmeted hoplite detached from the formation and snaked through the lines towards Heph. He recognised the slim, muscled figure, the curve of the hips and the rope of blonde hair over one armoured shoulder, and his breath caught.
She was on the steps before he could do more than straighten and unfold his arms.
‘You fool!’ she said furiously, but quiet enough that it was only for his ears. ‘What stupidity brings you here?’
‘Calder, please, I didn’t mean any offence.’
‘Offence? You think it’s fitting that you should come and watch our disgrace? Well take a look!’ She waved her wooden blade back at the crowd. ‘Have a good long look. See what you’ve done to us.’
He stared into her eyes and held her gaze for a heartbeat. ‘I apologise. I was stupid. Please forgive me.’
‘Get that bloody woman back in line!’ shouted Menes.
‘Ignore the bastard,’ Heph implored, even as burly Titans came for her. Then, a spontaneous, almost mad, idea. ‘Midday tomorrow.’
‘What?’
‘Noon tomorrow. Outside the Galleries. Meet me.’
‘You’re crazy.’
‘I beg you, meet me. Please.’
Arms came around her and began to drag her back into the lines. He wanted to launch himself at the men accosting her, but he knew it would be the spark that disintegrated any semblance of order. So he watched helplessly as she cursed and pushed them off her and shouldered her way back to her place in the formation without a backward glance.
‘Is Agape in tonight?’
The Titan Gatekeeper consulted his screen. ‘Says here she’s in Pella.’
Heph nodded, pushed through the Alexandrian Gate and continued up Warriston Steps to the Royal Mile. The rain had passed, but the pavements were slick now and the dwindling traffic splashed through puddles.
Pella was the most compact of the Titan strongholds. It had no Bladecraft Rooms or baths, no Council chambers or gardens. What it did contain on any given Conflict Night was the Sacred Band. As the most western stronghold – and therefore the highest on the slope of the Royal Mile – it was the best strategic location for the Band to sweep from the rooftops and descend fast in any direction they were required. The limited space also made the presence of other Titan companies impossible, and the Band valued this privacy.
Once past the cameras and the security doors, Heph presented himself at reception on the third floor above Brodie’s Close, but his status as a Titan commander did not automatically allow him further. Instead, he was made to wait until Agape had been contacted and she appeared in person.
‘Hephaestion. An unexpected visitor to my stronghold.’
She was wearing a scarlet tunic with black leggings and boots, and her hair had been freshly coloured blue and tied back into a knot.
‘Yeah, well, most of my unit and my horses are already halfway to Budapest.’
Her eyebrows raised at this. ‘So soon?’
‘My sentiments exactly.’
She eyed his jeans and street clothes. ‘Technically, I should get you to change before we go further, but it’s only me here tonight, so I guess your appearance will have to do.’
She led him up tight stairs which passed changing rooms, showers and lockers, then opened up into a wider loft space with scattered sofas and tables. Ladders reached for hatches in the ceiling.
‘Our exit points,’ she said. ‘We can be out of those in a flash when the call comes.’ She pointed vaguely at the other doors. ‘Map room. Armouries. Massage cubicles. Mess hall and refreshments. Security and IT. And BOC.’
‘BOC?’
She led him to the door and opened it. ‘Band Operations Command. It’s my space as senior officer. I don’t welcome visitors, but I guess I’ll have to make an exception.’
He followed her in and discovered a tiny room painted in deep aubergine, with two leather chairs, reading lamps and a mahogany desk. On a corner table was a bottle of Shiraz, a half-filled glass and a travel book about the ancient sites of Mesopotamia.
She saw his surprise. ‘On Conflict Nights, this is where I prepare for blood. At quieter times, I find it a more cerebral space.’
She reached into a cabinet above the desk and produced a second glass. ‘You wish to partake?’
‘I guess. Today seems to be full of surprises.’
She poured him a glass, then settled back and watched him as he perched in the other chair.
‘So what brings you to Pella?’
‘I don’t know. This afternoon I lost my Cavalry. By dinner, I was in such a foul mood, I had to be alone. In Valhalla— I mean, in Alexandria, I bumped slap bang into most of the Horde and nearly got lynched. So I pointed my feet west and they brought me here.’
‘Well, here’s to accidental visitors,’ she said and they clinked glasses.
He tasted his wine and murmured approval. ‘Actually, I do know why I’m here. I wanted to ask our greatest warrior how we prepare for a three-way Battle?’
Agape pursed her lips at this. ‘A foolish term. There’s no such thing as a three-way battle, because battle is always a thousand smaller ways. It’s the moments when you are eye to eye with your foe and one of you must die. Battle turns on those intimate contests and it doesn’t matter how many armies or Kings or banners are actually on the Field. Kill your foe; it’s as simple as that. Whatever flag they honour, whichever King commands them. Then kill the next one who gets in your face. And the next. And maybe when they stop coming, you will look up and realise it’s your army’s banner that flies victorious.’
Heph scowled. ‘I hope there’s a more encompassing strategy than that. Zeus and Alexander better have their heads deep in planning, otherwise we’re going to be up the bloody creek with no paddle when that klaxon kicks off.’ He controlled himself and took a moment. ‘Someone close to me told me that she’s frightened. She painted my fame as a liability. Told me I have a massive target on my chest, and that means the troops around me will also be in the eye of the storm.’
‘Your Companion Cavalry are indeed now famed throughout the Pantheon.’
‘Just as your Sacred Band has been for years. So I’m asking you to tell me straight how I can look my unit in the face when the Huns and the Sultanate bring upwards of thirteen hundred troops onto the Field, and tell them I’m leading them into a fair fight.’
Agape made him wait. She topped up her glass and then considered him in the lamplight. ‘Here’s the truth of it. Kyzaghan and Ördög don’t really care about taking the head of Alexander. If a King must fall, they don’t want it to be him. We’re small-fry to them. The insects on the muzzles of the big cats. Those two have been locked in rivalry for over a decade, always bruising each other, always taking flesh wounds, but never landing a knockout blow. So they see us as the opportunity they’ve been waiting for.
‘Don’t get me wrong, they’ll tell Mehmed and Attila to attack us with fury, but they’ll save their real heavyweight lines for the moment they see a chink of weakness open up in the ranks of the other one. That will be the critical moment of the whole Battle. And it will also be our critical moment.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Our priority is to ensure we still have some semblance of a fighting force when that critical moment arrives, because what we do next may determine the outcome of the Battle. The foe will be locked in mortal combat. Their attentions will be averted from us. And in that moment, we have a chance to do something unexpected. To insert ourselves where they are weakest and land a blow they will remember forever.’
Heph’s face was intense as she spoke, but then a new thought clouded his expression. ‘Except we have a coward for a King. He’d rather we quake around his banner.’
Agape acknowledged this. ‘Kings like him are bystanders on a battlefield.’
‘Then why won’t you make a Challenge, Agape? There’s still time. Force him to fight. Zeus will support you, so too Nicanor and Parmenion. He will die on your blade and you will lead us onto the Field.’
‘That is not my destiny.’
‘He’s a liability! A weakling and a fool. He’s taken the might of Valhalla and degraded them to resentful Greek foot soldiers. He has to go.’
‘Then you make the Challenge.’
Her words caught him and he gaped at her in silence, searching for the sarcasm.
‘Me?’
‘Your stock is high. You are the King Killer. Our troops look to you. If you beat Alexander, they will acclaim you King in his stead.’
‘Are you serious?’
Her look was enigmatic. ‘Maybe I am.’
He took a breath and shook his head. ‘I can’t. I’ve been a Titan for less than a year. It’s not the way of the Pantheon.’
Agape laughed unexpectedly. ‘My dear Hephaestion, I don’t think there’s one thing you’ve done since the Venarii parties recruited you that could be described as the way of the Pantheon.’
He tried to smile too, but her suggestion troubled him and when he eventually bade her farewell and stalked back to a West End apartment he had not occupied for over six months, his mind was awhirl and his mood blacker than ever.
XXII
Marcella swam a lazy length of her cliff-edge pool and gazed at the yachts moored far below.
One of her attendants strode down the lawns and waited until she turned her head. ‘He’s here, ma’am.’
She did not respond and he left her in peace, while she swam another couple of lengths. Finally she stepped from the water, slipped on a robe and reached for her gin limoncello, but there was a fly in it. She scrunched her nose petulantly and flung both drink and glass over the cliff.
She made her way up the lawns, giving herself time to smoke a cigarette, then descended steps at the side of the villa to a series of whitewashed outbuildings. Two heavies stood by one of the doors.
‘Well?’
‘Nothing on him except a phone, ma’am, which he refuses to unlock until he’s spoken with you.’
Marcella dropped her cigarette and stubbed it out. One of the heavies held the door open for her, while the other retrieved the discarded butt. Inside the bare stone room was another guard and a metal table with two chairs. In one of the chairs sat a bound and blindfolded man with striking white hair. Marcella seated herself opposite and appraised him.
