path leads.'
'It leads through here,' he replied, indicating the massive central doorway deep beneath high stone arches. 'Beyond this door beats the heart of the empire.'
31
Stepping into the doorway, Titus rapped on the door with his bronze rod. In a moment, a smaller door opened within the larger and a gateman peered out. 'Scholarae Titus, Chief Guard of the Bucoleon Gate,' he said. 'I am bringing emissaries to the emperor.'
The gateman regarded the barbarians, then shrugged and opened the door; Titus motioned for us to follow and we were admitted into a stone-paved yard bounded by high walls on all four sides. Thick vines grew on the walls, the leaves of which had coloured and were beginning to fall. The breeze swirled in the square, sending dry leaves rattling across the stone-flagged yard. The sound made the place seem desolate and empty.
The gateman secured the door behind us and then led us to yet another in one of the walls. This door was also wood, but tightly bound in thick iron bands as wide as a man's hand and studded with large bronze nails. Blue-cloaked guards with long-bladed lances stood on either side of the door, regarding us with bored curiosity. The gateman took hold of an iron ring and pushed one of the great panels open; stepping aside, he indicated that we should proceed.
Having done what he promised, Titus left us to our fate. 'I will return to the gate and send the surety when it arrives,' he told Justin and departed.
The room we entered was immense. Light came in through four round windholes above, illuminating four large paintings: one of Saint Peter, one of Saint Paul, and the other two of royal persons-judging by their purple robes-one male, the other female: an emperor and empress, I supposed, though I could not say who they might have been. The walls were pale red in colour, and the floors white marble.
Save for low benches which lined the north and south wall, the room was bare of furniture-but not empty, for a goodly number of men in various kinds of dress stood about, some of them talking quietly to one another, others simply looking on. They watched us enter, their glances sharp and unwelcoming. Some had the wan, desperate appearance of men who had spent long years in captivity; others seemed sly and calculating, appraising our potential value. The sight of three barbarians and a travel-worn monk with a guardsman in tow did not excite them, however, and they quickly turned back to their own affairs.
The room, for all its size, was close, the air heavy and stale, and slightly sour. If ambition has a scent, I thought, then I am smelling it now.
In the centre of this anteroom stood a pair of great bronze doors, twice a man's height and covered with images of riders on horseback following the hunt. A huge bronze ring hung in the centre of each door, beneath which stood a man carrying a double-headed axe on a pole. Red horsetails were affixed to the hafts of the axes, and these guards carried small round shields on their shoulders and wore sleeveless red tunics with wide black belts. Their hair was shaved from their heads, save for a single knot which hung down over their temples. The face they presented to the world was fierce indeed, and all who held discourse within that room came under their merciless scrutiny.
Catching my glance, Justin said, 'They are the Farghanese-part of the emperor's bodyguard.'
He had just finished speaking when we were approached by a man holding a wax tablet and stylus. He glanced disdainfully at me, and at the barbarians, before turning to the chief guard. 'Who are these men and what are they doing here?'
'This man is a king of his kind, and he comes seeking audience with the emperor.'
'The emperor grants no one audience today,' replied the pompous man.
'With all respect, Prefect, there has been trouble at the harbour.'
'This trouble,' sniffed the prefect, 'requires the emperor's attention? I should have thought it more a matter for the emperor's guard.'
'They have made hostages of the Quaestor of Hormisdas Harbour and of his men,' replied Justin. 'Any intervention by the guard will result in the deaths of all concerned. As I am only a scholarae, I have no authority to endanger the quaestor's life. But if you wish to take it upon yourself to settle the matter, Prefect, I bow to your superiority.'
The official, who had been about to write something on his tablet, raised his eyes and glanced at Justin; his head whipped around and he regarded the barbarians. Weighing the odds, he made up his mind at once. 'Guards!' he cried.
The two Farghanese leapt forward at the prefect's shout. Harald roared an order, and the Sea Wolves drew knives and prepared to meet the attack. The courtiers in the near vicinity threw up their hands and scattered with a great commotion.
'Stop!' Justin shouted. Seizing me by the shoulder, he cried, 'Make them stop! Tell them it is a mistake!' To the prefect, he shouted, 'Do you want to get us all killed? Call them off!'
Throwing myself before Harald, I said, 'Wait! Wait! It is a mistake! Put up your blade, Jarl Harald.'
'I told you they were in earnest!' Justin hissed in exasperation. 'For God's sake, man, let the emperor deal with them.'
The prefect seemed to reconsider his hasty action. He spoke a word and the Farghanese relaxed; they raised their axes once more and the danger passed.
Shaking his robes in agitation, the prefect glared around him like a master who has discovered his servants quarrelling. 'I am citing you, scholarae. You know the proper conveyances,' he informed Justin tartly. 'I need not remind you that official protocols exist for precisely these occasions. I suggest you remove yourself from here at once and take the barbarians with you.'
'Yes, prefect. And what of the quaestor?'
Lowering his eyes to the tablet, the man pressed his stylus into the soft wax. 'As I have already told you, the emperor is seeing no one. He is preparing an embassy to Trebizond, and is spending the next few days in the company of his advisors. All affairs of court are suspended. Therefore, I suggest you take your concerns to the magister officiorum.'
'I believe the magister is in Thrace,' Justin pointed out. 'I understand he is not expected to return to the city until the Christ Mass.'
'That cannot be helped,' the prefect answered, working the stylus against the wax with deft strokes. 'In any event, it is the best course I can recommend.' Glancing at me, and then at the Danes he added, 'That will allow them time to bathe and clothe themselves properly.'
I conveyed the prefect's words to Harald, who merely grunted, 'I will not wait.' With that, he stepped forward and produced a gold coin from his belt.
Taking hold of the tablet, he pressed the gold coin into the soft wax. The prefect looked at the money and at Harald, then brushed his long fingers across the coin. As the official's fingers closed on the gold, the king seized him by the wrist and squeezed hard. The prefect gave a startled cry and dropped his stylus. Harald calmly pointed to the entrance.
'I think he means to see the emperor now,' remarked Justin.
The Farghanese bodyguard moved to the prefect's defense once more, but the prefect waved his free hand to ward them off. 'In Christ's name, just open the doors!'
The two guards stepped aside and pulled on the bronze rings; the doors swung open and Harald released the official's hand. The prefect led us into a small screened room, the vestibulum, where we were instantly met by a man in a long white robe carrying a slender silver rod-the magister sacrum, he was called. Tall and grey and gaunt, his face pitted and scared, he gazed upon us severely. Addressing the prefect, he said, 'What is the meaning of this unseemly intrusion?'
'There has been some trouble at Hormisdas Harbour,' the prefect answered. 'These men are responsible. The emperor's attention is required.'
The magister made a face as if he smelled something foul. 'You will not speak until spoken to,' he intoned, addressing himself to the uncouth visitors, 'and then you will make your replies as succinct as possible. When
