TLV - 01 - The Golden Horn (19 page)

"Oh
..."
The Greek would not meet his gaze.

"What?" Harald seized the fellow's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Demetrios winced at the grasp. "Best see my master, despotes," he mumbled.

Harald flung him aside, ran over the path and up the peristyle stairway. He had not been able to meet her for days. If she lay in fever or . . . There were so many ways for folk to die. Sometimes they coughed their lungs out for five years, sometimes they screamed and clutched their bellies and were corpses next morning. O almighty God, surely You love her too much for that!

Nicephorus met him just inside the porch. The man's face was bleak. "Maria!" yelled Harald. "Where is she? What's the matter?"

"She is well," said Nicephorus hastily. "But she . . . she isn't here." His wiry fingers caught the Norseman's wrist with their ever astonishing strength; they felt cold. "Come in and sit with me. I have wine already poured."

Harald knotted his fists. He felt sweat prickle under his arms. But he forced himself to be calm. "Tell me the news."

Nicephorus waited until they were alone before he raised a cup and said, "Well, Araltes, I am afraid your wedding may have to be postponed. You see, yesterday the Empress Zoe ordered Maria back to court. She also withdrew permission for her marriage to you."

Harald took up the other goblet. Wine slopped on the floor. "Why?" he asked after a time. His voice felt strange in his ears.

"The order merel
y said something about . . . un
suitability
...
it was vague." Nicephorus looked steadily into the blind blue eyes. "We have no cause for despair, Araltes. You know how flighty the Empress is. This is a question of
...
of time, and diplomacy. Not something to be settled with an ax."

"By St. Olaf, if it were!" Blood trickled into Harald's short beard from the lip he had bitten.

Nicephorus poured him a fresh beaker, which he drank at a gulp. "Let us discuss coolly what can be done," said the Greek.

Harald threw himself into a chair. The silver cup began to be distorted by his fingers. Nicephorus took a couch.

"This isn't final, Araltes, never forget that," he said. "I know not what the Empress' motives are. Perhaps some of this religion she has been feeling so much of late. After all, you are from a Catholic country, and we are ever more at odds with the Pope. Perhaps she, or Theodora, who has more real power—but surely Zoe would do the very opposite of anything Theodora suggested. . . . Well, perhaps she is piqued that you fought so well on behalf of Michael Calaphates. Or perhaps this is only a means of keeping you, a soldier of proven value, here. No doubt many reasons at once lie behind her act."

'"Mother of the people! Fit mother of
those!"

"Our riddle is not answered with curses," said Nicephorus gently. "I think your best chance is to petition the Empress in person. Win back her favor."

"And if she still refuses, how long must I wait?" Harald shouted. "God's teeth, it's nigh twelve years since I left home!"

"Araltes, you cannot fight the Empire. The day is long past, here in the South, when a man could be a man. Think: Saracens and Bulgars you mowed, but the mob of Constantinople defeated you. Only two kinds of men in the Empire have any real freedom. Those like me, who withdraw into their own shadow world; and those who can outwit and outwait their masters."

"Am I to own Zoe and her rabble masters?" asked Harald thickly.

"You must try. And
...
it grieves me to say this . . . you must stay away from this house. Your case will be prejudiced if you continue to see Maria, she herself may be endangered, and Zoe has spies everywhere. Araltes, are you man enough to abide your chance?"

2

Harald's request for a private audience with Zoe was acknowledged and he was told to wait. He waited a month.

And meanwhile he must be on duty. Day after day he must be in the throne room, leading the double circle of guards who stood with lowered eyes while two old women received ambassadors, gave judgment and ruled the state. He was part of their statuary. The great ax which could hack them to Hell was another decoration. Buttered voices fell on his ears, the organ thundered, the eunuchs pattered to and fro, and he stood motionless.

Once only did he see Maria, during a court procession: she was robed and veiled, but her light tread turned his heart over within him. For the barest moment their eyes crossed, then broke away again; it was forbidden.

A few times she sent him a letter by some furtive messenger. Though he wrestled with the words till sweat stood out on his skin, in the end he had to take them to a priest. The old man was friendly, but he read in a nasal monotone.

"...
each day without you is another death, and yet I can find you each moment. Morning light has the hue of your hair; noontime overhead is colored like your eyes; rain and wind are you hurrying across the world; night and the stars are filled with you. Now and again the gods are—kind? cruel? I know not, but I glimpse you from some high window, and then for a while I am in a darkness that burns. I have not yet learned why this must be, the Empress has never deigned to say and a serving maid may not ask. Were this the ancient days, I would think the gods were envious of us; we were too happy. But then you would have ridden up Olympus, broken down the gates and compelled Zeus himself to do as you bid. Were the saints, then, angered that I made your name a prayer? Well, I shall endure knowing you are too strong to be broken. . . ."

Thereafter Harald set himself to learn book skills.

He slept badly and, lacking appetite, had to force food down his gullet. The Varangians were patient under his harshness, being aware of the truth. Finally they sent Ulf to speak for them.

He found Harald slumped in a chair at home, more than half drunk. He took another seat and some wine of his own.

"I have a word for you," he said at length.

""Yes?" Harald remained sprawling, chin on breast, hands dangling empty.

"From your lads. They say that if you can't brook this any longer, they'll do whatever you like. Not all, of course, but those who've been with us longest. We could fight our way out and march to Russia. With good plunder, too," Ulf added thoughtfully.

"God! "Harald sat bolt upright. He lifted one fist. "To burn this whole snake's nest of a city! No." The fist dropped. "Let me first speak to the old slut. But tell the men . . . thanks."

There was another silence. "How goes it with you?" asked Harald finally, not caring much.

"Good. This noblewoman, Anna Danielis, is madly in love. She presses a Fafnir's hoard of gifts on me." Ulf's grin died. "But it's no life for a man. I'll be glad when we go home."

"If ever we do. Oftimes I feel like a netted bird.

Those birds in Sicily, that burned the castle for us," said Harald somewhat wildly. "I've remembered them of late. Poor birds, it wasn't their war, was it?"

Ulf cocked his head. "You need a woman," he decided.

"Not the sort you have in mind." Harald got out a smile.

"Well," said Ulf awkwardly, "good luck to you." He departed.

The days passed. Harald hearkened to the court gossip, hoping for any clue. Zoe was openly in search of a third husband, despite the Orthodox Church frowning on such marriages. It was her best escape from Theodora's prim reign. After much intrigue, which led to at least one poisoning, her fancy approached a former lover, Constantine Monomachos, a dashing courtier whom Michael IV had been ungracious enough to exile. Zoe had already appointed him governor of Greece, and the court gossip flowed with rumors of still higher honors for him. Her advisors approved; Constantine Monomachos was not one to take an unfriendly view of their amusements.

Then the summons came for Harald.

At the appointed hour, an obsequious eunuch guided him to a room of rich hangings and soft colors. The air was sickly with perfumes. But no maids were in attendance, only a rank of guardsmen. Maria might not learn today's outcome for hours. Harald made obeisance with his heartbeat thick in his throat.

"Rise, Spatharo
kandidatos," said Zoe. "You may look at us."

Harald hoped that the hate and scorn in him did not show. The Empress seemed fatter each day, she bulged around her girdle. Small help to her were her thin silken garments, or jewels or the wig of some blonde girl's hair which covered her bristly gray pate. She stroked her chins, simpered, and let him wait a bit before she spoke.

"You desired
an interview with us, Spatharo
kandidatos."

'That is right, despoina," said Harald with great care. "I have served the Imperium faithfully for many years. Now I throw myself on the well-known mercy of Her Sacred Majesty, and beg one small favor."

"We understand that you wish to leave us," said Zoe coldly.

"Despoina, I have been long away from home. A crown awaits me there."

"Our finance ministers have been studying your accounts, Sp
atharo
kandidatos. It seems there are irregularities. They have even intimated misappropriation of Imperial property."

Harald's jaws ached with pressure. Somehow he was able to say quietly: "Despoina, not only am I a stranger to clerkly crafts, but in time of war a leader cannot stop to record everything. Perhaps my treasurers were not always honest. I have never heard that a successful leader was questioned about such things."

"Let us hear your petition," said Zoe with an impatient gesture.

"Surely Her Sacred Majesty knows. In view of my services to the Empire, I beg that the lady Maria
Skleraina get leave to wed me and accompany me home."

"Services on behalf of Paphlagonian Constantine?" Zoe sneered.

So that still rankled, Harald thought. "Guardsmen must obey their superiors, despoina. We are but instruments. We did strive to save the palace from being looted."

Zoe reached for a sweetmeat and nibbled. The stillness waxed. Finally her lashes fluttered. Perhaps, under the powder, she colored a little. "F
or a self-styled king, Spatharo
kandidatos, you plan a humble marriage. Maria belongs to no wealthy or powerful branch of her family. Surely you could do better."

"I hardly think so, Your Sacred Majesty."

"Indeed?" Zoe leaned forward, drooping her lids, until he looked down the cleft
of her great udders. "Spatharo
kandidatos," she murmured, "whatever ill you may have done, you are certainly a strong man. You could make a very fine alliance."

It thundered in Harald's skull.

"Oh, leap not to conclusions," said Zoe archly. "A foreigner cannot wear purple—at least in name.
^m
But in these evil times
...
a strong man to uphold the throne . . . and friendly
..."
She giggled.

Harald fought to steady his rocking mind. "Despoina, I am a barbarian. I do not wish anything unsuitable."

Zoe wagged her finger at him. "We told you not to be hasty. But still, we think you have sometimes been discourteously blind."

So, thought Harald. She wanted to keep him here as a support, almost the only unrotted one in the Empire. And she might like to have him in bed, for a night or two; in any event, a seven-foot doll dancing attendance upon her.

She had been penned in so long. This power over warriors and kings must feel like drunkenness.

"Most Sacred Majesty," he said, "foolish though I may be, my heart is set on Maria Skleraina and on going home."

She gasped so sharply that he heard it. For a space she sat and stared at him, as if unbelieving, until she broke the silence in a strangled voice. "We shall take your petition under advisement. You may go."

Harald made obeisance and backed out.

3

When he returned to his house, he picked up a chair and pulled it asunder. Slowly and carefully he went through the rooms, smashing glass, crumpling gold and silver, stamping furniture into kindling. His slaves peered terrified from around the corners.

When he was done, he bellowed for wine, emptied a cup at a draught and shattered it against the wall. Then he could sit down and think.

If he had played the Empress' game . . . No. He was not an actor. He would have let something slip that would have cost him his eyes at the very least.