shoulders. ‘Our Komes Haraldr has beguiled you. Fear is the most powerful aphrodisiac; it not only arouses passion but also bonds souls. You were there when he killed that man, weren’t you?’
Maria nodded numbly. ‘Blood excites me. I wanted him to make love to me again.’
Zoe raised her eyebrows for a moment. ‘Well,’ she said conclusively, ‘we are each plagued with our passions. I am a slave to simple caresses and the merest devotions, while you, being rather more . . . cosmopolitan, have developed more . . . complex desires. We can never fully exhaust these passions, and yet we can acquire the wisdom to endure them. You are wise, my child, you will endure long after this Komes Haraldr has gone back to the frost-breasted maidens of distant Thule.’ Zoe kissed Maria’s forehead. ‘I rather think your unwarranted inquietude at our predicament has inflamed your memory of the golden giant. When we see him again, you will find him just another Tauro-Scythian curiosity.’
‘You are not afraid, Mother?’ Maria’s eyes were wide and incandescent.
‘Of course not. I am the most valuable being beneath our Lord’s sight. The ransom I can bring is worth far more than any goal that might be obtained by placing my soul before the judgement of God. No one clever enough to steal me would be fool enough to kill me.’
Zoe stroked Maria’s downy temple with her fingers. No, little daughter, I do not fear the hands I have fallen into, however rough and unwashed they may be. I do not fear a confinement that will probably be long, longer than I can permit your precious heart to suffer before it must. But now I know what must be done when we finally return to my city and my people. And when I think of that, I know fear.
The Mandator, chief intelligence-gathering officer of the Imperial Excubitores, spoke in Arabic to the squat, scruffy-bearded man, a petty merchant from the look of his uncalloused hands and his dirty linen robe. The merchant showed several blackened teeth as he jabbered in a singsong voice; as he spoke, he seemed to clutch frantically at the vague, ground-clinging, early-morning mist. The Mandator gestured to the man’s cup and ordered a batman to fill it with more wine. He bowed to the merchant and stepped back to talk with Blymmedes and Haraldr.
‘He’s an Arab from this place, not a Seljuk,’ said the Mandator, a wiry, spooky-eyed man who usually dressed just like the akrites he supervised. ‘He says they rebuilt the kastron for defence and they have no wish to invite quarrel with the Romans. According to him, the Seljuks have murdered the governor of the kastron and have sent out couriers to the east.’ The Mandator lowered his bristling, sun-bleached brows, for a moment fixing his usually wandering eyes. ‘He is telling the truth. I have no need to intensify his interrogation.’
Blymmedes nodded agreement. ‘See that the paymaster attends to him.’ He turned to Haraldr. ‘It appears the hireling has initiated his own scheme. Are you prepared to interrogate the Seljuk?’
Haraldr pulled his knife from his belt and nodded. Blymmedes’s akrites had chased down a contingent of the Seljuk rear guard and had succeeded in capturing a Seljuk warrior.
‘Good,’ said Blymmedes. ‘It is important that you do it. They think you fair-hairs are demons, Christ’s avengers.’
The Seljuk waited on his knees, his arms bound behind him. Haraldr forced his hands to steady. This was not his type of business, and it required a kind of courage that he had not considered before. But Blymmedes had convinced him how important this was. And he needed no convincing of the importance of the lives this wretch might save when his tongue was persuaded to glibness.
The Seljuk’s bright, feral eyes widened when he saw the golden giant approach. Then he remembered his own fierce father, and his big brothers who had swatted him, and he spat at the demon’s boots. Allah would soon embrace him.
Haraldr held the Seljuk’s eyes. He reached around and slit the rope that held the Seljuk’s hands, then raised him up. He signalled the batman to give him a bowl of steamed grain with bits of sliced lamb. The Seljuk looked at the bowl, sniffed, and barked something in his staccato tongue. An akrites who knew the Seljuk dialect – many of them did – spoke in Greek to Gregory, who then translated for Haraldr.
‘He says why should he poison himself? He – excuse me, Haraldr Nordbrikt – calls you a huge pig.’
Haraldr looked into the furious, curiously smug face. The man was not much older than Haraldr, with a dense black beard and a sharp handsome nose. He clearly prided himself as an indomitable warrior and was probably one of their officers. Haraldr took the bowl from the Seljuk’s hands, shovelled several handfuls of the food into his own mouth, chewed at length, and swallowed before handing the bowl back. The Seljuk snatched the bowl from Haraldr and devoured the rest of the dish like a ravenous dog.
‘Does he wish more?’ asked Haraldr. The Seljuk nodded and another bowl was brought, tested by Haraldr and served. And then another. Did their guest wish to drink? Watered wine was brought, tested and poured for him. Was their guest at last satiated? The Seljuk nodded, eyes gleaming, certain that Allah had bewitched his foes.
Haraldr gestured that he would relieve the Seljuk of the burden of his empty goblet. When he had given the cup to the batman, he turned suddenly, clamped his hand to the Seljuk’s forehead like a vice, and neatly sliced his right ear off.
The Seljuk was rigid with shock; blood streamed down his neck and dripped off his shoulder. Haraldr seized the Seljuk’s jaw, popped it open, and stuffed the ear in. ‘Tell him to eat his ear!’
The Seljuk fell to his knees, retching and coughing. Haraldr knelt with him, his hands over the Seljuk’s mouth and nose. ‘Eat!’ The Seljuk’s eyes seemed to grasp for the air denied his lungs. Haraldr held his knife to the desperate face again. ‘Tell him to eat his ear or I will feed him his other ear and then his nose’ – Haraldr waited for the translation and sliced skin from the tip of the nose – ‘and then I will make him eat the nose that droops between his legs.’ He lowered the knife to the man’s belly, slit the coarse linen robe, and made a shallow cut across the abdomen. ‘And if he does not eat, I will find another way of filling his belly.’ Haraldr then placed the bloody point of the dagger against the tear gland of the Seljuk’s right eye. ‘When he has seen all this, we will provide him a dessert. He will have no trouble swallowing his eyes.’ Haraldr pushed against the Seljuk’s face and toppled him backwards. ‘Then our physicians will make certain that he lives.’
Haraldr stood over the Seljuk like an ancient Titan. ‘The first question saves his eyes.’
After a few minutes of verbal interrogation the Seljuk had gratefully saved everything except his previously forfeit right ear. It was an ominous tale. The Seljuks had been in the pay of the Emir of Aleppo but now planned to keep the Empress as their own property. They intended to rendezvous with a larger Seljuk force riding from the east, then retreat with their prize to a series of mountain redoubts in northern Persia, beyond the reach of any power, even the Romans. The ransom they extorted would finance their westward ambitions. For this reason they saw no need to deliver the Empress once their demands had been met; for if their demands were met, they would soon enough be at war with the Romans.
Blymmedes asked Haraldr and Gregory to accompany him. They climbed a rocky path that snaked to the summit of a sheer outcropping. The kastron, now four or five bowshots away, was a sinister apparition in the moonlight, a dungeon rather than a town. The dark walls were only about two bowshots on a side, but they were a good twenty-five ells high and were rooted in a roughly faceted summit that scarcely allowed purchase to a few scrubby trees. Toothlike merloned battlements ran along the top of the wall; in the crenellated openings the robes of the Seljuk sentries were visible as a pale luminescence.
‘I don’t like sieges,’ said Blymmedes. It is work for engineers, not soldiers. Towers, tortoises, fire blowers, mangonels. Of course it would take weeks to bring the equipment up here, dig the tunnels and entrenchments, and erect the engines. And there are too many Seljuks inside such a small place, so they would first slaughter the inhabitants to preserve food. A disagreeable business altogether.’ Blymmedes paused and frowned even more deeply; the lines were like slits in his leathery forehead. ‘Of course that is the simple problem, and now its solution offers us nothing. My akrites have already encountered the reconnaissance elements of the Seljuk force and have interrogated – though not as eloquently as you, Komes Haraldr – one of their scouts. The relief is quite a large force and only a day away. Even if my infantry arrives tomorrow evening to help us initiate the siege, we would not be able to withstand both the relief force and the force inside. And of course we do not know when Constantine will return with his thematic forces, though with such assistance as he will offer we might hope he is delayed indefinitely. I do not see any way we can prevent the Empress’s abductors from escaping into the Plain of Aleppo, and from there to wherever they may wish to go.’ Blymmedes folded his arms, looked up at the brooding kastron, and shook his head.
Haraldr studied the walls. At the back of the kastron the crenellations were almost crested by a twenty-ell- wide lip of tortured rock that fell away to a sheer drop of almost two hundred ells. ‘How wide are those walls on
