King's Man (20 page)

'I think the handover will work,' I reassured him with a confidence that I did not feel, 'though whether the emir will find so much money is another matter.'

As it turned out, the handover of the ransom went exactly as I had hoped, except for one flaw which, if I had foreseen it, might have prevented me from setting up the plan.

Shortly before noon on the third day, as our galley lay out in the bay, a file of fifteen mules approached over the sand dunes. I was seated on the far end of the beach with the young Saracen boy, who had not said a word all the time he had been with us. He was still in a state of shock. When he saw the approaching mules, his face lit up with hope, for he must have known what was going on. If I had been sensible, I should have tied his arms and legs so he could not run away when I went to examine the panniers that the muleteers dumped on the beach before they withdrew, but I did not have the heart to do so. Instead, after he had stood up and waved to his tutor, who was watching from a distance, I gestured for the boy to sit down and wait quietly, which he did. Then I walked along the sand to the pile of mule bags, unfastened the thongs that tied one or two of them, and lifted up the flaps. I had never seen so much gold coin in one place in all my life. Certainly not when I had worked for the king's moneyer in London, for he had minted silver coin, nor even when the Basileus had flung gold bounty to his courtiers in the audience hall of the Great Palace. Here were riches that were beyond my comprehension. Surprisingly, the entire payment was in coin, mostly Arab dinars, but also nomisma from the imperial mint. I could not see a single item like a gold necklace or a jewelled band whose value would have to be assessed. I had no idea what a hundred thousand dinars looked like, and there was no time to count, so I turned round and waved to the boy, gesturing for him to go. The last I saw of him he was racing up across the sand dunes to join his father's deputation.

'Thorgils, you are a genius!' exulted Harald as he came ashore, opened one of the panniers and scooped up a handful of coins. I had never seen him look so pleased. His normally harsh expression was replaced with a look of utter pleasure.

'You have the Gods to thank,' I said, seizing my chance. 'They clearly favour you.'

'Yes, the Gods,' he said. 'Freya must have wept for many nights and days.'

For a moment I did not know what he was talking about, as I had been away from my homeland for so long that my Old Beliefs were growing dim. Then I remembered that Freya, goddess of wealth, had cried tears of gold when she lost her husband.

'There's only one detail you have overlooked,' said Harald. His cautionary tone brought a sudden chill to our conversation. 'The Greek sailor who identified the emir's son for us. My own men will keep their mouths shut about this treasure when we get back to Syracuse, because they will get their share. But Greeks never hold their tongues. Even if the fisherman were handsomely rewarded, he would boast if he got back home, and Maniakes would get to hear what happened. Thorgils, I tidied up your plan a little. The Greek is dead.'

SEVEN

Maniakes never learned
the truth. As our vessel entered Syracuse harbour, we passed an imperial dromon beating out to sea. Twenty-four hours earlier she had arrived with an order signed in purple ink, stripping Maniakes of his command. Now the dromon was carrying the former autokrator to Constantinople to face the Basileus and his eunuch brother John. Maniakes had made the error of shaming the
ir brother-in-law, Stephen, com
mander of the imperial fleet, by accusing him of allowing the emir to escape by sea. The rebuke had been made in public, Maniakes once again losing his temper and shouting at Stephen that he was useless and effeminate while he beat him about the head with a whip. Stephen had reacted like the true palace politician he was: he secretly sent word to the Orphanotrophus that Maniakes had grown overbearing with his military success and was plotting to seize the throne. Nothing was c
alculated to arouse the Orphano
trophus's hostility more, because John the Eunuch would do anything to maintain his family's grip on power.

We could scarcely believe our good fortune. With Stephen censured for allowing the emir's escape, our own treason was unlikely to be discovered, and Maniakes's disgrace gave Harald his excuse to declare that he too was withdrawing from the Sicilian expedition. Our flotilla, as soon as it reassembled, also set sail for

Constantinople, and from there three of our vessels continued onward for the Pontic Sea, and eventually for Kiev. In their bilges lay hidden the bulk of the emir's ransom: their crews were returning home as rich as they had dreamed of. Their departure suited Harald, as it left fewer men to let slip the truth about our faithlessness. Only a hundred of his original war band remained, and the army secretariat in Constantinople judged the number insufficient for an independent unit. So, in recognition of our contribution to the Sicilian campaign, they removed us from the Varangians-without-the-walls and attached us directly to the imperial Life Guard. To add to the irony, Harald was decorated for his services to the empire, and elevated to the rank of spatharokandidatos. This entitled him to wear a cloak of white silk and carry a jewelled court sword at ceremonials. I, of course, found myself once again an imperial guardsman.

Pelagia was dismissive of my military career. I returned to find her just as energetic and self-confident, and even more successful. She now had commercial interests in shipping and olive production as well as owning an entire chain of bakeries and bread stalls. With her newly acquired wealth she had bought a brand new substantial villa in a pleasant suburb on the Galata side of the Golden Horn, with its own garden and overlooking the straits. It was there that I found her in the main reception room, reading through bills and documents relating to her business.

'Thorgils, you come back from Sicily with a suntan but little else,' she said after I had briefly sketched in the details of my time on campaign. 'You're looking thinner, and you've got several grey hairs, but no promotion. Fortunately I've been investing your salary for you, and you'll find that you've returned to a nest
^e
gg-'

I decided it would be wiser not to tell Pelagia that I would eventually be receiving a portion of the emir's ransom money, nor that I had placed my share from the salvage from the pirate ship with Halldor to look after.

'You'll find little changed in the palace when you get back to
the guardroom,' Pelagia went on. 'John is still running the government, and Michael has less and less to do with affairs of state. He's become more pious than ever. A couple of soothsayers — charlatans the pair of them — managed to convince him that he sold his soul to the devil before he married the empress Zoe in return for a glorious future, and now he punishes himself for this lapse. I'm beginning to feel sorry for the poor man. His suffering comes in waves. When it is at its worst the pain nearly drives him out of his mind, and he makes matters worse by humiliating himself.'

My colleagues in the guardroom confirmed Pelagia's sombre description.

'You'll need a strong stomach for guard duty outside the royal apartment nowadays,' I was warned by my company commander, the same Halfdan who had taken charge of the detail when the Basileus Romanus drowned. 'Y
ou should see the diseased crea
tures who are brought up to the imperial bedchamber — tramps picked up from the street by the nightwatch, or invalids from the hospitals. It's said Michael washes their clothes, cleans their wounds, even kisses their open sores, in emulation of his own God. He insists that they sleep in the royal bed while he lies down on the cold marble floor with a stone as a pillow so he suffers mortification. I looked in the bedchamber one morning when the Basileus and his attendants had left, and there was a stinking pile of old rags by the bed. Looked like a beggars' nest.'

My summons to the office of John the Orphanotrophus was not long in arriving, and as usual the eunuch came straight to the point.

'What's your impression of Araltes now?' he demanded. 'After two years in his company, I trust that you have won his confidence as I required.'

'I believe so, your excellency,' I replied. I was as wary of the Orphanotrophus as on the first day he had sent me to spy on Harald, but I was bold enough to add, 'He has served the Basileus well. He has been created spatharokandidatos.'

'I know, I know. But the administration of the empire rests on two pillars: honours and cash,' retorted the Orphanotrophus irritably. 'Your Araltes benefits from the honours, but what about the cash? I've been told he is gold-hungry.'

'I know nothing about that, your excellency,' I answered evasively.

'Strange that he hasn't complained about the division of booty after the fall of Syracuse, like those Frankoi mercenaries who made such an issue of it. Over a horse, I believe.'

I began to wonder if there was any limit to the eunuch's network of spies. Careful to avoid an outright lie, I told him, 'Araltes gives the impression of being content with his booty from Sicily.'

The Orphanotrophus's next words made me feel as if I had fallen through the ice of a frozen lake.

'I'm hearing that certain bull
ion transactions are going unre
ported to the city archon. One of the money changers seems to be making unusually high profits. What's his name . . .' and the eunuch made a pretence of looking down at the note on his desk, though I was sure he had no need to refresh his memory. 'A certain argyroprates named Simeon. Mention has been made that he is dealing with Varangians.'

'It could be any of the Varangian units, your excellency,' I said, trying to keep panic out of my voice, 'not necessarily those who serve Araltes.'

'Guardsman,' said the eunuch slowly and deliberately, 'if anything is going on, I want to know it.'

Harald had been
living in his own quarters away from the Life Guard's barracks, and after the interview with John I had to restrain myself from going straight there to warn him. I suspected that I was being watched by the Orphanotrophus's agents, so I went instead to seek Pelagia's advice, and she was not reassuring. 'Simeon has been looking particularly smug these past few months. He dresses in the latest fashions, wears expensive jewellery, and generally likes to show off how well he's doing.'

'Can't he be persuaded to be less conspicuous? If he keeps this up, sooner or later John's people will call him in for questioning.'

'I doubt it. Simeon thinks too highly of himself.'

'Couldn't Harald switch to using someone else on the Mese, a more discreet money changer, to handle the booty?'

'Simeon's the only man who would take the risk of Harald's monetary affairs.'

'What about those shifty-looking characters I sometimes see walking up and down the Mese in the financial zone, offering better rates for foreign exchange.'

Pelagia snorted with derision. 'I wouldn't advise Harald to deal with them. They're unlicensed traders. They're likely to run off with any valuables entrusted to them, or give back dud coins. And they don't have the resources to deal in the amounts that Harald brings in. Their working capital is in those grubby bags they carry about. At least Simeon has the iron table. That's what it symbolises: a metal surface on which you can bang suspect coins to hear whether they ring true. You had better tell your tall friend with the lopsided eyebrows to be very, very discreet whenever he brings any valuables to Simeon for exchanging into cash.'

My daily life, now that I was back with the Hetaira, reverted to its former pattern. There were the familiar drills and kit inspections, the regular rotation of guard duty — one week inside the Great Palace, the next week in barracks — and of course the endless parades. I found it truly tedious to spend hour after hour solemnly marching out from the palace to some great church, waiting outside for the service to finish, going back along the same route, and then having to clean up my equipment and prepare for the next ceremonial outing, which could be the next day.

Harald avoided most of this mind-numbing routine because he, Halldor and a few of his immediate followers were assigned
to assist the exaktors. These were, as their name implies, the tax gatherers. How Harald got in with them is something I never learned, but later I came to realise that it was part of his own grand plan. There was certainly nothing unusual about a detachment of guards accompanying the exaktors. In fact it was a necessity. When the tax collectors set out from the capital to visit some area in the countryside that had been assessed, naturally the local inhabitants would be reluctant to pay up, so the exaktors took along an armed escort to bully the taxpayers into compliance. Few things were more terrifying to a local farmer than the menacing sight of foreign barbarians who were prepared to smash up his property if he did not pay his dues to the emperor — the arrival of a squad of Varangians was usually sufficient to loosen the purse strings. Harald, with his ferocious appearance, must have been particularly daunting, nor was he reluctant to resort to force, and that may be why he and his men were picked for the work.