Free Hereward 04 - Wolves of New Rome by James Wilde

were ringing as he walked through the empty, echoing halls. The house was a mausoleum, a
memento mori
to the once great Nepotes. Every piece of gold, every possession of any value, had been looted by the Verini, the day Victor had sealed the defeat of his rival.
    For a moment, he thought the house deserted. But then he caught a glimpse of flickering candlelight. Turning a corner, he stiffened. Wreathed in shadow, a figure sat silently near to the wall to his left.
    After a moment, Wulfrun realized it was Kalamdios. The head of the Nepotes sat upon his chair, alone. Not even the slaves who carried him everywhere were with him. Wulfrun felt a pang of pity. How terrible it must be to fall from such great heights to this.
    The captain bowed his head in deference. ‘Forgive me. I did not realize you were here. I have come to visit your daughter, but I cannot find …’ He clamped down on his words, realizing he was babbling because he knew the other man was not able to fill the gaps in the conversation. ‘Forgive me,’ he repeated.
    A long trail of drool glistened from Kalamdios’ lower lip. Wulfrun wondered what thoughts flickered in that frozen body. Bitterness? Regret? Hatred? Surely there could be no joy or hope. Yet there must have been a great fire burning in his heart for him to survive such a grievous wound. The commander had seen men die from less upon the battlefield. As the notion crossed his mind, his gaze fell upon Kalamdios’ hands, the one part of his body where there was some semblance of life. They twitched and turned, the fingers flexing as if he were distressed. As Wulfrun watched, puzzled, the ringing silence of the room was broken by a reedy mewling, whining higher by the moment. Kalamdios was trying to communicate with him.
    ‘What is amiss?’ he asked, concerned. When he took a step forward, he saw that the man’s swivelling eyes were snapping towards a door to his right.
He wishes me gone
, Wulfrun thought. Bowing, he muttered a farewell and walked in the direction the crippled man had indicated. Barely had he passed into a small chamber when he heard the slam of the great door, and voices. The captain gritted his teeth. One of them rang with Victor’s deep, mocking tones. The other, he guessed, was Juliana’s mother, Simonis, who must have allowed their tormentor into the house. Wulfrun felt a slow-burning anger. How could the Nepotes live that way, with the man who had destroyed their lives coming and going as if he were king?
    Now he understood. Kalamdios did not want his humiliation witnessed. And who could blame him?
    Wulfrun eased across the marble floor, taking care that his boots did not even whisper. But before he reached the other side of the chamber, he paused. Victor was booming, ‘Kalamdios! Your graven face fills my heart with joy. How is life within your prison? Do you yearn to feel the grass beneath your toes, or swim in the warm sea? Alas, that it will never be!’
    The captain stiffened at Victor’s cruelty. He took a step towards the door, then stopped, his breath catching in his throat.
    ‘Where is your daughter?’ Victor was asking.
    ‘She walks in the forum with her brother, Leo, enjoying the night air,’ Simonis replied. Her voice had a sing-song quality. Wulfrun knew she was trying to placate their visitor.
    ‘A pity. I would have seen her fair face this even.’ Victor’s words rumbled with a sickening slyness.
    His fingers closing around his sword hilt, Wulfrun fought to contain his anger. But he felt all his deepest fears stirred by the mention of Juliana. After a moment’s hesitation, he crept back across the chamber. He decided it would be wise to spy on Victor. Here, where he felt in control, his tongue would be looser.
    Standing in the shadows at the edge of the door, he peeked out into the candlelit hall. He could see Kalamdios, his face like stone, but his eyes filled with hate. Victor towered over him, caring little. His jewelled
dalmatica
sparkled in the