Byzantium

a moment. 'Quaestor Antonius is a prick who thinks himself a patriarch,' he said at last. 'I am willing to assume you have good reason for taking him captive. Still, you should know that he possesses a measure of influence with those in authority, and if you have gambled poorly you will find yourselves in chains-or far worse-for your trouble.' Before I could protest that we had ample provocation for our rash act, he lifted his hand. 'Say nothing. It is, as you say, a matter for the emperor alone. But I will advise you, as a friend, that if you hope to win the emperor's favour in the matter, you must bring him a pledge of surety.'

'I do not understand,' I confessed. 'What is this surety?'

'It is a token,' he said, 'a sign of good faith given to indicate the high rank of your lord, and convey the importance of your petition.'

'Why should we need such a token?' I asked. 'The quaestor's ring, rod, and helmet would seem proof enough of the importance. And Harald is as you see him-a very king of his kind. His rank cannot be doubted.'

'What you say is true, of course,' agreed the guardsman. 'But Quaestor Antonius is well known and respected at court. You are neither. Should you come before the emperor-which, I warn you, is most unlikely-and demand ransom for his majesty's harbour master, you would most readily advance your cause if you showed yourselves to be men of wealth and power in the custom of this city. This is best accomplished by the display of surety.'

'But we hold the harbour master and his men hostage,' I pointed out.

'Yes, and the less said about that the better,' the guard advised, 'if you hope to see the emperor.'

I began to understand. 'Then the greater the value of the object given in surety, the greater faith is demonstrated in our word.'

'Precisely,' agreed the guard.

'And if the emperor will not redeem his man?' I wondered.

'Then God help you,' the guardsman concluded, 'and God help the harbour master.'

I stood daunted by the challenge of extracting a ransom from the emperor. And, as if to press his point further, the guard added, 'Do not try the emperor's patience, my friend. Prison is the least torment awaiting a false accuser.' He paused, regarding me doubtfully. 'It is a risk, yes. Nevertheless, this is how affairs of this nature are conducted in Constantinople. I thought you should know.'

I looked the guard in the eye. 'Why are you telling me this? Why are you helping us against your own countryman?'

The guardsman lowered his voice, but held my gaze steadily. 'Let us say that, unlike many in this city, I care about such things as honesty and justice.'

'Friend,' I asked, 'what is your name?'

'My name is Justin,' said the guardsman. 'I am Chief of the Magnaura Gate scholarii. If you wish to pursue the matter further, I will lead you to the emperor's court, although, as I say, it is doubtful you will be admitted.'

'Then we shall leave it in God's hands,' I told him.

'Amen.'

I went to Harald, who fumed at being made to stand waiting while lesser men flapped their tongues. 'Well?' he demanded. 'Speak! What did he say?'

'That man is the chief of the guards, and has said he will lead us to the emperor's court. But we are forewarned: it will go ill with us if you do not also bring a token to attest your rank and signify the importance of your business-something to prove you are trustworthy.

'Proof! I will present the thief's head for my proof!' declared the king.

'Nay, Jarl Harald,' I said, 'that will not do.' And I explained as best I could the strategy given me by Justin, including what would likely happen if the emperor was displeased by our ransom demand. On sudden inspiration, I offered the observation that perhaps if the emperor was not inclined to redeem his servant, he still might be persuaded to make reparation for the theft and return the silver.

The king's brow wrinkled in thought as, surrounded by the bewildering formalities of the city, he seemed more willing to consider the possibility of simple restitution. 'It seems to me,' I suggested, 'that we have nothing to fear, as we are certain of the truth of our claim.'

The king hesitated. What had begun as a simple collection of an honour-debt was rapidly growing into a legal contest he no longer understood.

'Jarl Harald,' Gunnar said, speaking up, 'would you rather some other king was first of all Danes to win tribute from the emperor's hand? You would do well to consider this, I think.' He paused, allowing the king to feel his prize slipping away, then added, 'Do as Aeddan advises, and the tale will be told in every hall in Daneland. You will gain greater renown than Eric Hairy-Breecs. I think that is a thing worth all the silver in Miklagard.'

'I will do it!' cried Harald, making up his mind at once. Turning to Hnefi, he said, 'Take four men with you and bring the treasure box from the ship.'

Had I been thinking more clearly, I would have known what this meant. Alas, I was so preoccupied with steering our ship of concerns successfully through the rocky sea before us, the significance of Harald's words passed me by.

I told Justin that the king was sending men back to the ship to bring the required surety, and he said, 'Come along, then. I will leave some men to escort the barbarians when they return. The palace is not far; we will await them there.'

The Chief of the Magnaura Gate then appointed several of his guardsmen to escort Harald's men to the longship and thence on to the palace of the emperor. He then motioned the rest of us to follow him, and thus our odd company was allowed to pass into the city without so much as a single nomismi changing hands. Justin and I marched together at the front of the parade, leading a procession of proud, awestruck barbarians and their escort of soldiers at the rear. As Justin had said, the emperor's palace was no great distance from where we had entered, although it lay in the opposite direction from the way we had gone the previous day, so I recognized nothing from before.

King Harald, looking regal if slightly bewildered, strode like a conqueror through the streets of Constantinople, much impressed by everything he saw. His head swung this way and that, but he kept his mouth firmly shut-unlike the rest of the Sea Wolves, who exclaimed aloud at each new marvel to meet their eyes. The fine big houses occasioned much speculation about the wealth inside, and the first glimpse of the amphitheatre brought exclamations of wonder and delight-much to the amusement of the citizenry of Constantinople, many of whom stopped to watch our curious company pass by.

Had anyone known what the barbarians were saying, they would not have been so amused, I think. The Sea Wolves were astounded by the sight of so much wealth, and eagerly discussed how best to get it for themselves: whether it was advisable to slay the owners outright, or simply seize the valuables and kill only those who resisted; whether to burn individual houses, or put the whole city to the torch…I was heartily glad the onlookers taking such delight in the display understood nothing of what the Sea Wolves said.

When we came in sight of the palace walls, the talk turned to strategies for sacking such an imposing place. The difficulty, from a barbarian point of view, was that the palace presented itself not as a single house or dwelling, but a cluster of buildings scattered within a walled compound-a city within a city. The prevailing opinion was that it should be plundered like any other settlement: fires should be set and the inhabitants slaughtered as they fled the flames. The barbarians could then loot the place at their leisure, providing the soldiers did not interfere. The Sea Wolves had no idea how many soldiers the emperor commanded, but judging from the look of the gate guards they reckoned their own superior strength and stature more than a match for any number of shorter, more lightly- equipped defenders. The somewhat benign appearance of our small escort of red-cloaked guards did nothing to arrest the barbarians' swift-racing avarice.

Curiously, as we neared the palace, the houses became more crude and haphazard in their construction. The grand and spacious villas of the wealthy were steadily replaced by habitations of meaner design, each more rude than the last until, in the very shadow of the palace walls, the dwellings were little more than hovels: bits of wood stuck up against the wall and covered over with branches and rags. The entire length of the wall in either direction supported these pathetic structures, about which swarmed a horde of filthy beggars.

Before we knew what was happening, we were surrounded by a seething mass of dirty, ragged people, all crying for alms. Some of these wretches waved withered limbs or stumps in our faces, others exposed gangrenous wounds running with pus. The barbarians, though uncouth themselves, were appalled by the poverty of this stinking