off. Mar did not disagree with Haraldr’s prognosis of the Emperor’s health, but he wanted to confront the Emperor when the coup against Joannes had already been virtually completed. But of course they had no plans for this coup, because their accomplices so far consisted of only a few disgruntled minor officials. To strike at Joannes now would mean that a thousand Varangians would have to go to war with virtually the entire Roman Empire.
Haraldr looked around and lowered his voice. ‘I don’t think it is wise to be discussing your discontent with the Dhynatoi and their accomplices in a public square. Why draw attention--’
Mar stuck his finger in Haraldr’s chest. ‘I don’t want you to think I am threatening you,’ he hissed, ‘but you are Haraldr Sigurdarson, rightful heir to Norway. You should be sitting on a throne instead of polishing someone else’s. But now you seem only too happy to be Joannes’s servant. You urge caution at every turn. “Let us see if the Emperor recovers.” Now it is “Let us see if this Caesar turns out to be as pliable as Joannes would hope.” You always have a reason to hold back.’
‘What alliances have you brought us? You yourself said this Caesar interests you.’
‘That was before Joannes bought him with a crown. And I am working on the most important alliance we could possibly have, and when I have enlisted this confederate, you are going to have to prove that your bluster is backed up by Hunland steel.’
‘Well, I certainly intend to wait and see what this miracle alliance is. I hope it is someone more important than that clerk in the Magnara, who is able to tell us when Joannes arrives in the morning and little else.’ Haraldr looked around again. ‘But I don’t think this is the place to discuss this.’
‘And when will we discuss it, since you are always off ploughing your woman? Your value as an ally has become virtually nil since you took up with Maria.’
This was another theme Mar had begun to carp on, with constant jests and cryptic allusions about Haraldr’s lover. Was he jealous? ‘Maria has encouraged me to pursue . . . our cause. If you will remember, that was once the source of a considerable misunderstanding between us.’
‘Well, now she is taking the opposite tack. A month ago you were cautious. Since you started fucking her, you are submissive. When she changes her mind again, will you rush over to the Magnara and try to assassinate Joannes and get us all killed? That woman is dangerous to you and to me.’ Mar poked his finger in Haraldr’s chest again. ‘You argue with Joannes’ – Mar lowered his voice – ‘over Maria, and he sends you to the Studion. You are fortunate he permitted you to leave Neorion. Now, with the entire Middle Hetairia stuck in the Studion, we have no chance of a joint defence if Joannes orders the Imperial Taghmata to move against us. And you are going to lose men in there trying to police those miserable swine. A lot more than you think. The Studion is going to swallow you up. And Joannes knows that.’
‘I think I can advance our purpose in the Studion.’ This was another area of disagreement; Haraldr was convinced that the city’s wretched poor were valuable allies, and Mar completely discounted them.
Mar looked skywards for assistance. ‘Yes. Out among the people. That has become your special folly. That and Maria. You are a fool for that woman. And you are only beginning to dance the fool’s ditty. She will break you. Do you think you are the first?’
Haraldr glared, but not with righteous denial. He had heard many of the stories, and she had never denied the substance of any of them. Nor had she apologized for them. ‘I know about her. Why bring that up?’
‘Because the crow shit she drops on your head is going to get in my hair as well. I have known her much longer than you have. You are merely a lull in the tempest. Has she ever told you about us?’
‘Yes.’ But he didn’t know, really, and the thought sickened him far more than any of the others. ‘She said she has known you for some time. You were close once. I did not ask--’
‘Don’t worry, I didn’t fuck her. To be truthful with you, I thought she was mad. She was even wilder then. She had such rage. Real rage, in a way that Odin would understand. She wanted me to punish her. Really. I do not mind admitting that I often enjoy punishing men. But not women. I have never struck a lover.’
‘You have never had a lover that I have seen,’ said Haraldr. Before he had time to regret the words, Mar’s hand was on his throat. The force was so great and immediate that Haraldr thought his windpipe would instantly collapse. Almost as quickly, Mar took his hand away and looked around to see if anyone had been watching. His eyes were a murderous glacier blue.
‘Don’t overestimate your usefulness, Prince of Norway,’ he hissed, then turned and stumped off.
Joannes stroked the neck of his snorting black stallion. ‘I hope it pleases you, Nephew,’ he shouted to Michael Kalaphates. Michael craned his head to look up at the peristyle entrance of his new palace. ‘It is magnificent, Uncle. So … Hellenic. What do you think, Uncle?’
Constantine’s horse clambered over the marble porch. ‘It is indeed magnificent, sir. It reminds me of Antioch. Out here you can open the entrance up with a freedom that is not afforded in the city. Well done, brother! It is a palace fit for a Caesar!’
Michael reined his gleaming white Arabian round and looked east towards the Golden Horn, the natural harbour that flanked Constantinople on the north. The great buildings of the surrounding cities were sparkling miniatures from this vantage, and the ships that crowded the narrow waterway seemed like expertly painted little toys. His new residence, which looked much like an ancient pagan temple with its two-storey peristyle and clean, rectangular shape, was surrounded with beautiful cypress groves and a vast woodland park for hunting; the closest building, other than his own stables and servants’ complex, was another ivory-white palace set on a gentle green promontory about twenty stades away. And although the Caesar did not know it, not considerably farther away was the country palace of the Augusta Theodora.
The three men dismounted. Joannes signalled to the retinue waiting on a paved road that ascended the hill in gradual loops. The hundreds of grooms, chamberlains, guards, cooks, wardrobe masters, huntsmen and priests filed past in yet another procession to the glory of the new Caesar. Grooms arrived to take the horses, but Joannes waved off the boy assigned to his stallion and continued to hold the jittery horse’s bit. ‘I must return to the palace, as you know how much of the burden now falls on my shoulders. I simply wanted to see you settled, and know that you will be happy here.’
‘Uncle, I am delirious,’ said Michael, doffing his scarlet bonnet in respect. ‘I only wish that your solicitude for my comfort had not inspired you to place me so far from the arduous toils and manifold concerns of the Imperial Palace. For to help you heft the burdens of our beloved Empire would in some small way relieve the enormous incumbency of gratitude your copious generosity has placed within my breast. As surpassingly splendid as these comforts are, it would equally gladden my heart to know that I could be immediately – yea, instantaneously – at my uncle’s summon should he need even the merest assistance.’
‘This is where I need you, Nephew, resting, contemplating, building the reservoirs of strength and wisdom that you will need for the sake of all Rome should you ever be required to wear the Imperial buskins. Like the worthy stylite perched atop his column who praises the Lord with his utter immobility, your service is in your patience and sedentary devotion, as precious to the Pantocrator as the bustling about of all the Imperial Taghmata. Now, Nephew, brother, I must bid you farewell, and leave you to the pleasures your Father and I have long sought for you.’
Michael and Constantine watched Joannes pound off on his powerful stallion, then walked through the bronze doors of the residence, admired the fountains in the inner courtyard, and found a small reception room that had only one door. Constantine looked about in the hall before he quietly shut the door behind him.
‘Can you trust any of the servants?’ asked Constantine in a low voice.
‘Yes,’ said Michael. His scarlet boot distractedly nudged a ram-shaped bronze lamp set on the small marble hearth. ‘I brought my old cook, Ergodotes, and made him a vestitore. I am certain he is reliable.’
‘Good. You have someone who can get information in and out.’
‘Have I not you as well?’ Michael seemed surprised.
Constantine cleared his throat. ‘I had rather hoped you might ask me to live here with you.’
‘Uncle!’ Michael beamed and embraced his uncle. ‘Of course! I had not even dared to suggest you join my luxurious exile. You will make this elegant incarceration not only tolerable but also amusing!’
‘And perhaps productive.’
The shadow crossed Michael’s face again. ‘Yes. What concerns me now is that our “Father” might recover sufficiently, if only temporarily, to regret his acquiescence to Joannes’s scheme. Then’ – Michael looked at Constantine with vulnerable, pleading eyes – ‘this situation is more dangerous than I had expected. I am a decoration, so to speak, that could quickly become unfashionable.’ Michael erupted and viciously kicked the head
