loungers, many of whom he had promoted to Senatorial rank immediately after receiving the diadem and sceptre of his office. And many of whom were now seated at the end of table, utterly ignoring Scylitzes’s endless discourse as they played with their food, knives and a wooden court ball that they casually lobbed across the table in curious concert to the rhythm of Scylitzes’s sentences.
‘Does that man ever shut up?’ asked Hord in disbelief.
‘Senator Scylitzes has received a suitable reward for his remarkable adaptability,’ said Halldor. ‘He succeeded in rescuing his fortune from the mob, in which he was more fortunate than many of his Dhynatoi comrades. But Scylitzes, who once would not have deigned to walk on the same side of the street as an honest merchant, must now acknowledge as his colleagues some of the foremost rascals of the lower Mese. Notice how they appreciate the Senator’s Attic eloquence.’
A group of masons walked by, pallets of thin clay bricks loaded on their backs. ‘Does the Emperor usually go to these lengths to inspect a building project?’ asked Hord.
Halldor laughed. The table at which they sat had been set up in a large open yard behind a fairly modest town house just northeast of the Forum of Constantine. The busy masons were laying a foundation for a considerable annex to the house, an expansion twice as big as the original structure. ‘For this particular building he does,’ said Halldor. ‘The Emperor is particularly interested in inspecting some equipment in the existing house.’
Hord understood. ‘Who is she?’
‘Her name is Sclerena. She is the niece of the Emperor’s first wife. They have a touchingly intimate relationship.’
Hord shook his head. ‘So he goes to all this trouble, telling us that he is inspecting this highly important construction project, and sets this table and serves us whatever we wish so we won’t grumble while he ploughs his niece. And he has only been married for three months.’
The chamberlain appeared at the head of the table and cleared his throat. ‘Sirs, Mistress Sclerena sends you a small token of her esteem for her Emperor’s guardsmen and Senators.’ A dozen young women in diaphanous white tunics pranced into the yard and began a sensuous, whirling dance. ‘This Sclerena is apparently a very clumsy builder,’ said Halldor. ‘I am beginning to think that this construction here will require frequent inspection and supervision.’
Hord and Ulfr laughed and joined the newly minted Senators in pounding a rhythm on the table. Some of the dancers had already begun to leap onto the table when Haraldr appeared and stood at his place setting. He was dressed in the robe of the Hetairarch, the office he had agreed to assume temporarily for Zoe’s new husband. Beside Haraldr, resting
on the tabletop at the level of his hip, was a pudgy, apparently disembodied head. The head made a few ridiculous faces and then sprang onto the table, propelled by the suddenly revealed, squat body of a dwarf. The dwarf sprinted the length of the table, pausing along the way to swat the rumps of two dancers. He halted dramatically in front of Scylitzes and made motions, as if drawing out his own tongue. He turned his rear end to the Senator and made loud farting sounds, then sped off, as if propelled by his feigned flatulence. He lay beneath the legs of one of the dancers and stuck his tongue out obscenely. Finally the dwarf leapt off the table and ran into Sclerena’s house.
‘Who was that?’ asked a stunned Ulfr.
‘That is Theodocranus the Dwarf,’ said Haraldr. ‘He was a famous buffoon in Adrianopolis and promises to succeed here as well.’
Halldor looked down at the Senators, who were still in hysterics over the diminutive clown and were already emulating a few of his more vulgar gestures with the dancers. ‘I believe he already has,’ said Halldor wryly. ‘This Theodocranus the Dwarf is likely to be our next Senator. How do you know him? He doesn’t seem like one of Maria’s friends.’
‘He is my petitioner.’ Haradlr folded his arms and smiled smugly.
‘What?’ Ulfr groaned. ‘Now we will be forced to stay here, but in the Numera Prison instead of the Numera barracks.’
‘So you think,’ said Haraldr confidently. ‘I believe the Emperor will find Theodocranus a man of exceptional eloquence.’ This statement was greeted with incredulous head shaking, and Haraldr sat down to share his insight. ‘I have observed that the Emperor hates dealing with anyone who reveals any kind of serious intent. If a minister comes to him with a well-conceived plan to drive the Seljuks out of Taron theme, the Monomach will scowl and throw that minister out before he can finish the introduction to his discourse. But send a one-legged comic in there to stutter the latest banter from the market-place, and the Monomach is all ears. I believe Theodocranus will get the Monomach’s attention in a way that I never could.’
Haraldr watched the dancers for a while, hoping that Theodocranus was having a successful interview. After a quarter hour of waiting, the Imperial Chamberlain approached. ‘Hetairarch, His Majesty would like to see you.’
Haraldr was escorted into the modest hall of the house, then to a dressing chamber where the Monomach stood in his purple scaramangium and smoothed his luxuriant silver hair. Theodocranus stood on a chair placed directly in front of the Emperor and held up a bronze mirror for his sovereign. He had just begun a ribald jest about the Emperor’s notorious sexual appetite. ‘The Emperor visited the Imperial stables,’ prattled Theodocranus in his warbling voice. ‘He saw that one of his prize stallions couldn’t hump the mare he had been penned to stud. The Emperor asked the stallion what was wrong and the stallion said, “I am afraid of losing it in there.” The Emperor pulled his out to show the stallion and said, “I’ve put this in many a mare of my own, and look, it is still here.” The stallion’s eyes grew wide when he saw how the Pantocrator had endowed the Monomach, and he said to the Emperor, “Well, if mine was that big, I certainly wouldn’t be worried about losing it, either!” ‘ Theodocranus clapped his stubby hands and Haraldr winced. The Monomach clutched his stomach in a paroxysm of mirth, finally tumbling to the floor in comic rapture.
Haraldr waited until His Majesty had recovered his breath; however, the Emperor seemed in no hurry to get to his feet again. Finally Haraldr said, ‘Majesty, has Theodocranus mentioned to you the matter--’
The Monomach held up a powerful, squarish hand. ‘Yes, yes, Hetairarch, my dear little friend here has presented the matter with a delicacy and subtlety you would do well to emulate. And therefore I have agreed to consider the matter.’ Haraldr waited while the Emperor wiped the tears from his eyes; His Majesty remained on his haunches. ‘Oh, well, quite,’ said the Monomach, suddenly remembering what he had just said. ‘I am amenable to the matter if your Mother Zoe is. You know how devoted I am to her happiness. Yes, I fear you are becoming too sober-minded here, Hetairarch. Perhaps you do need a winter in Thule to help you appreciate the delights of the Imperial Court.’ The Emperor held out his arms to Theodocranus, who bounded into the Imperial embrace like a small, cuddly child. The Monomach covered the dwarf’s squat face with friendly kisses. ‘Now, my little friend!’ The Emperor chortled with renewed enthusiasm. ‘Tell what I did when a dozen naked whores awakened me in the middle of the night!’
Maria’s hand felt like a dry, warm cloud in his. She led him up the gently rolling slope towards the back porch of her villa. Along the narrow path, grapevines grew in neat, perpendicular rows, and she paused and stooped to examine a cluster of dark, heavy grapes polished like agates by the bright late-afternoon sun. Maria plucked one and popped it in her mouth. ‘I will drink from this vine again,’ she said. ‘I know I will.’ She clutched Haraldr and gave him a kiss, wet and sweet with the juice of the grape. ‘When we visit from Norway.’
Haraldr held her and stroked her thick, silky black braids. He had not even brought her Argyrus’s uncharacteristic offer of a good price for her villa; he knew that she would need this place as a symbol and a hope when she was so far from home. ‘We have not been given leave yet,’ he told her. ‘We may yet drink this harvest. This winter.’
She tilted her chin up against his chest. Her eyes were more perfectly azure than the sky. ‘I am not melancholy about leaving,’ she said defensively. ‘You do not need to lift my spirits with such doubts. Zoe has already given her permission once. And I am ready to sail. I would like to give you a child before I am an old woman.’
Haraldr kissed her forehead and shared that vision. They held each other tightly and rocked in the breeze. After a while Maria turned her chin up again. ‘I can hear your troubles pounding away in your chest, King Haraldr. Are you thinking about the lifetime of cares I will bring you?’
‘I am worrying about beginning that lifetime. I am . . .’ He squinted into the sun. ‘I am worried about the
