The Pope's Assassin by Tim Severin

Author:Tim Severin [Severin, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781447262220
Publisher: Pan Macmillan UK

Chapter Twelve

FARANAK AND I cowered like hunted foxes in their earth for those three days. They seemed like an age. We lived in semi-darkness and increasing stench. We ate cold food, fearing that the smoke from a cooking fire would attract attention. Four cupfuls each day was our water ration and whenever we visited the privy, we trod softly, fearing to make the slightest sound. Faranak slept for much of the time while I positioned myself close to the door, straining to hear what was going on outside. Cooped up in the darkness, it was the only way of knowing what was going on. The near-silence was unsettling. Even the children and dogs were subdued, and at times it was as if the settlement had been abandoned and the people had moved away. With little else to occupy my mind, I puzzled why Beorthric had given me the guarded signal just before the tudun drew his knife. It was clear to me that the Saxon had been actively involved in the murder plot, for he had been topping up the golden skull with wine, ensuring that the Kaiam had the opportunity to get drunk. But why he had chosen to warn me when previously he had ignored my presence, remained a mystery.

I had fallen asleep, seated on the steps leading down into the room when a loud, insistent rapping on the door woke me. My head was lolling back against the door so the knocking seemed to go right through my skull. Startled and groggy, I got up, narrowly avoiding falling down the steps. Daylight filtered through the cracks around the door frame. My mouth felt dry and foul. It was long after sunrise on the third day in hiding.

‘Sigwulf, are you in there?’ It was Beorthric’s voice.

I glanced over my shoulder. Faranak was still asleep, too deaf to have heard the knocking.

I eased back the bar and cautiously pushed open the door, uncertain what to expect. I had to hold an arm to shield my eyes, the sunshine was blinding after so long in the darkened house. Beorthric was standing in the laneway, as well dressed as I had seen him last. He was on his own.

‘I’ve come to collect you,’ he announced.

I scanned his face for some indication of how he felt about having abandoned me six months earlier. There was no sign of remorse. He looked relaxed and self-assured.

‘Where are you taking me?’ I was aware that I sounded petulant and resentful. ‘To a burial,’ he said.

‘There’s an old lady in there. I’m meant to look after her,’ I said, indicating the room behind me.

‘She’s no longer your worry,’ he answered bluntly.

I was finding it difficult to place any trust in him. I was unsure just how deeply the Saxon was mixed up in Avar tribal rivalries, and whether he had turned his coat yet again, and become one of the murderous tudun’s new henchmen. For a moment I considered ignoring him altogether, but this was my

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