Byzantium

obeisance was repeated three times. Then the eunuchs raised Haraldr to his feet. He looked for the throne and moaned with awe. The entire gold edifice floated high overhead, the purple canopy seemingly grazing the gold- flecked dome. Kristr – He could be no other – looked down on him from his rightful position above all mortals.

His head craned back, dully gaping, Haraldr tried to focus his entire will on reason’s moribund whispers, and for a moment he found a certain mental equilibrium. Metal dragons and lions and birds and fire that burns on water and now this. The rest are the creations of men, and so this must be as well.

He clung to that thought even as his terrified awe rushed him off, as savagely as the currents of the Dnieper, on the dark river of ignorance and superstition. No, no, reason struggled, all the works of men. But if this is the Emperor, does it matter that he is not immortal Kristr? He is a man made a god, with the power of the gods.

An elderly eunuch in a gold-hemmed robe approached slowly and deliberately; age spots covered his bald head. He looked directly at Haraldr, his steady gaze a startling contrast to the condescending evasion practised by the lesser officials. The eunuch’s pale grey eyes were sad, weary and ancient, as if he had seen the cares of a dozen lives. He motioned Haraldr to bring his head down.

‘Your father, the Lord of the Entire World, Emperor, Basileus and Autocrator of the Romans, greets you, his son,’ the eunuch whispered next to Haraldr’s ear; his Norse was fluent. ‘His Imperial Majesty has taken a personal interest in the matter of the death of the Manglavite.’ Haraldr’s entire body quaked as if he were bewitched. ‘After ordering officers of the court to take depositions in the matter, and advised of their findings, he has instructed the Logothete of the Praetorium to release his files concerning the incident of the third of June, fifth year of the indication, year of the Creation six thousand five hundred and thirty-three. Your father the Emperor offers you probationary conditions, subject to summary revocation. You may remain past the winter, but you are not to be readmitted to the palace, nor will you or your men be offered service under the Imperial standards until your files have been readmitted to the Logothete of the Praetorium.’ The eunuch paused and furrowed the thin, veined skin of his brow. That will be in approximately eight months, before the spring campaigns. You may re-enter the city during this period only under conditions of private employ approved by the Logothete of the Symponus.’

Reason quickly revived under the comforting aegis of relief. I have been partially exonerated, thought Haraldr, his newly unburdened mind more supple than it had been all day. But for obvious reasons the Emperor still questions the loyalty of myself and my men. Private employ? Could that be what this mysterious Nicepkorus Argyrus is about?

The aged eunuch tugged at Haraldr’s sleeve and brought him even closer. ‘That is his Imperial Majesty’s position of record.’ The eunuch’s pale eyes roamed for a moment, and then his voice dropped to the barest audible level. ‘Privately, his Imperial Majesty asks that you be advised to leave the Queen of Cities, and the Roman Empire for that matter, altogether.’ The old eunuch paused and looked up at Haraldr. ‘Immediately.’

The eunuch released Haraldr’s silken sleeve and the two stout eunuchs spun him about and led him from the throne of the Emperor, Basileus and Autocrator of the Romans out into the lesser light of day.

‘Throw him out?’ asked Halldor. ‘No, you don’t have to worry that I did that. I’ve been trying to get information from him for an hour. He chatters like a rodent, but not much gets said. These Griks just aren’t very forthcoming with foreigners. He claims that his master, this Nicephorus Argyrus, knows quite a bit, however. He even says that you’ve seen the Emperor and been granted what he calls a “conditional amnesty”. He says that we are free to accept private employment. And that’s why he’s here. He says that Nicephorus Argyrus invites you to dine with him tonight and discuss his proposal.’

Haraldr looked at Ulfr – his relief at Haraldr’s return was as obvious as Halldor’s was deceptively concealed – then at Halldor and nodded. Nicephorus Argyrus did indeed know. Haraldr had left the presence of the Emperor only several hours ago; he had been detained for a while in several parchment-piled offices full of fluttering eunuchs and pale clerks and scribes. Apparently Nicephorus Argyrus had somehow received word of the ruling and had dispatched his emissary almost immediately.

‘Well, let’s hope the rest of his information is as good,’ said Halldor. He grabbed Haraldr’s arm and led him and Ulfr into what must once have been a supply room – the wooden shelves were now barren – and shut the door.

Halldor lowered his voice cautiously. ‘When we were recruited by Hakon, he led us to believe that after a short training period those of us who qualified would be initiated into the Emperor’s Varangian Guard. According to Marmot-Man, that would have been impossible. Not only do members of the Guard have to complete a period of service outside the Great City, but also to enter the Guard they have to pay an entrance fee. Well, I asked how much that might be, and since I don’t know how Grik money works, I opened up Hakon’s chest and took out one of his gold coins and held it up. Marmot-Man just laughed. Then he reached in the chest and pulled Hakon’s belt, the one entirely covered with hundreds of gold coins, and said, “About this much.” I said, “You mean for all five hundred?” He just laughed again and said no, that all the gold in Hakon’s belt was probably enough to pay the entrance fee for one man.’

Haraldr blinked incredulously. There was enough money in Hakon’s belt to purchase several counties in Norway. And this was what one man paid to serve the Emperor?

‘According to Marmot-Man,’ continued Halldor, ‘Hakon never intended us to enter the Guard. His plan was to contract our services for the Emperor’s campaigns, pay us a few pieces of silver, and keep the rest for himself. And this on top of a substantial bonus for recruiting us in the first place. If we had started to grumble about our wages, he would have seen to it that we were sent on an expedition far into Serkland or some such place, from which few if any of us would return. Marmot-Man says that he’s already done this with two smaller groups of recruits in previous years.’

‘The Emperor permits this?’ asked Haraldr. ‘I’d hardly pay a cheat to guard my back.’

‘Perhaps the Emperor does not know,’ offered Ulfr.

Perhaps, thought Haraldr. And what else might be beyond the Emperor’s knowledge, and perhaps also beyond his control? I could not tell whether the ‘advice’ the Emperor presented me with today was a threat or a warning. And if it is a warning, is it possible that the Emperor and I share the same enemy?

‘Could you discover what role Mar Hunrodarson plays in all this?’ asked Haraldr.

Halldor shook his head. ‘I just mentioned the name Mar Hunrodarson to Marmot-Man and I thought he was going to scurry out of the room. You might have thought I had offered to conjure a demon.’

‘My feeling,’ said Ulfr, ‘is that by Grik standards Hakon was just a sand-kicker. Mar Hunrodarson, on the other hand, is playing a game with the gods.’

‘You may be right about that, Ulfr.’ Haraldr went on to describe the message he had received in the presence of the Emperor. ‘If the Griks love a ruse, what ruse could be more fitting than for this man-god that I saw today to have a personal guard he cannot trust? Consider that the Emperor had the power to swat me like a bug today, and who would have protested, or for that matter even have known? Instead he pardoned me for the slaying of a high Imperial official, yet in the next breath he made it quite clear that my life was in jeopardy here. And who more than Mar would want me dead?’

‘But what you are saying is that the Norseman is playing the ruse on the Griks,’ said Ulfr.

‘No,’ said Haraldr. ‘What I mean is that there may be a hidden power that Mar and his Varangians really serve, and that the Imperial Throne itself is a ruse, or at least a sort of illusion.’ The thought, even as speculative as it was, made Haraldr shudder. What power could be greater than the man-god Emperor, except the power of the gods themselves?

Haraldr looked at Ulfr and Halldor. ‘It’s time I greeted our visitor. And get one of Hakon’s best robes ready for me. Tonight I’m meeting Nicephorus Argyrus.’

Maria placed her palms flat on Alexandros’s powerful chest and waited until he had stilled. She did not look at his face. She raised herself slightly, and his slick, now flaccid, penis fell out of her. She swung her leg over his body and padded to the floor. She walked naked into her ante-chamber; her breast was still rouged with passion, her hair tousled. Giorgios sat at the small ivory-topped table, staring morosely at his long, artistic fingers. Maria sat beside him and took his hand; it was lifeless, unable to respond to her caress. ‘I love you,’ she whispered.

Alexandros came in, also naked, his ample manhood flapping like a banner of his virility. Maria stood and flexed her back; Alexandros came round behind her and kissed her neck and raised her nipples with his fingers. After a moment Maria pulled loose. ‘We are going to have the most extraordinary evening,’ she said. ‘We are going to Nicephorus Argyrus’s.’ Everyone in Constantinople knew the name; Argyrus was a former provincial army