The two of them-weary minstrel and his pandering dog, as it were-led us along a wide street lined with the tall, flat facades of fine houses whose windholes were all shuttered against the day. The magister stopped before a large, square house set a little apart from the others. At first, I thought this was where we would stay, and welcomed the prospect as it was easily the finest house I had ever had the pleasure to enter.
Nikos ordered a dozen of the Sea Wolves to mount guard outside the house, though there was no one in the street at all. Then Sergius conducted us up the steps, through the wide door and into a large vestibule; the walls were painted pale green, and the floor was a single huge mosaic depicting a Greek god-Zeus, I think, judging from the trident-surrounded by a dance of the seasons. Passing through the entrance room, we came into a large empty marble hall, through this, and out into a small, stone-paved square open to the sky. Though it was not a warm day, the sun off the white surfaces produced an agreeable warmth. In the centre of the square was a fountain, which produced a gentle, soothing sound. The principals arranged themselves in chairs while slaves in green tunics hovered around them bearing trays of food and drink.
As leader of the eparch's bodyguard, King Harald was required to attend this reception of welcome, although he had no real part in it, nor did anyone deign to address him. He was allowed a chair-which I stood behind-but the only ones who betrayed any interest in him were the slaves who brought him cups of wine. I do not think Harald noticed the slight, preoccupied as he was with the drink and sweetmeats.
Komes Nikos spoke at length of matters in Constantinople, supplying his hosts with the intimate gossip they desired, and in a most amusing, if deprecating, way. He provoked laughter several times with a witty description of some person known to his listeners, or an event of general interest.
'What is it they laugh about?' Harald asked me after one such outburst. I told him that Nikos had just made a clever observation regarding one of the palace officials. The king regarded Nikos through narrowed eyes for a moment. 'A fox, that one,' he remarked, and turned back to his wine.
The eparch, I noticed, said little. When he did speak, his comments were restricted to the purpose of his visit-a quality which made him seem dry and tedious next to Nikos's smooth, and occasionally artful, ebullience-and he seemed to endure the reception, rather than to enjoy it. When at last he came to the end of his fortitude, Nicephorus stood abruptly and said, 'You must excuse me, I am fatigued.'
The spatharius leapt to his feet and almost upset himself in his scramble to assist the eparch. The magister rose more languidly, and with an air of resignation. 'Of course,' he said, 'how foolish of us to prattle on like this. I hope we have not exhausted you. I will take you to your residence now. It is not far. I will summon a chair at once.'
'Not for me, if you please. I have spent too many days confined to the bare boards of a ship,' the eparch replied. 'I shall walk.'
'As you will,' replied the magister, somehow implying that this was yet one more demand he was obliged to accommodate, however wearisome.
The house provided for the eparch was the governor's own, and it was magnificent. More palace than house, it was supplied with exquisite furnishings, all tastefully displayed, and all placed at the eparch and his party's disposal. The entrance vestibule was of white marble, as was the hall, which featured a mosaic of Bacchus, Cupid, and Aphrodite in a wooded vale. Built in the style of a Roman villa-a central courtyard surrounded by long wings-the house contained enough rooms for all of us.
'We hope you will find this to your liking, eparch,' the magister declared, his tone and expression combining to imply the opposite of his words. 'We have endeavoured to anticipate your needs. Naturally, if there is anything you require…' He let the words drift away, as if finishing the thought were too much bother.
Nikos took it in hand to order the household, informing me so that I could explain the arrangements to Harald. 'The bodyguard will stay in the north wing. However, no fewer than ten guards will be required to remain on watch day or night. Is that understood?'
I conveyed the instructions to Harald, who indicated that he understood. 'Very well,' continued the komes, 'the eparch and I will stay in the south wing, and you,' he directed his words to me, 'will also stay in the south wing. In fact, you are not to return to the ships. Should the eparch require someone to order the guard, he will want you close at hand.'
Jarl Harald was not pleased with this development, but grudgingly agreed when it was pointed out to him that he had no other choice in the matter. I considered this protection unnecessary. The city appeared peaceable enough; nowhere had I seen anything to argue for such fastidious precaution. But, as soon as the baggage began arriving from the ship, I learned the reason for Nikos's concern, for the emperor had sent his emissary with a whole shipload of baskets, crates, and boxes. These were carried into the house and placed in a room which had been prepared to house it-that is to say, emptied of all other furniture-and a double guard placed at the room's only door at all times.
I reckoned by this that the crates and boxes contained valuables, and I was not the only one. Harald, too, realized which way the wind blew in Trebizond. Harald and his Sea Wolf guards became diligent in the extreme- though I think it must have chafed them raw to have to guard the very loot they had previously hoped to steal. Even so, from the moment Eparch Nicephorus set foot in the villa that day, he did not stir so much as a pace without a full complement of armed barbarians. More dutiful bodyguards there never were.
My own position was ambiguous. Komes Nikos had said the eparch required me to remain close at hand; beyond this, I was given nothing to do. True, I served as Harald's interpreter, but no other duties were forthcoming. It seemed to me that Nikos simply wanted me close so that he could keep an eye on me, though why he should concern himself in this way, I could not say.
Aside from the tedium, the situation suited me. I had not forgotten Justin's warning to stay far away from Nikos; on the other hand, he was possibly the only person who knew what had transpired with my brother monks during their sojourn in Constantinople and, what is more, why they left without completing the pilgrimage-that is to say, without seeing the emperor. It seemed a mystery to me, and I reckoned my best chance of solving it lay in remaining close to Nikos. Toward this end, I began searching for ways to worm myself into the proceedings.
As it happened, this was not as difficult as I first imagined. As Harald's interpreter, I was very often present when orders were given and instructions conveyed. Consequently, I chanced to see the eparch from time to time, and I never let pass an opportunity to ingratiate myself to him-not in any overt way, mind, but subtly and with some wit, so that Nikos might not find any reason to suspect me.
A word here or there, a greeting perhaps-these were my tools. Thinking that the eparch might be a devout man, I contrived to sing a verse or two of a psalm in his presence, once when it might seem as if I did not know he was nearby. Another time I contrived to be praying in the courtyard, in Latin, when he passed by. Although he said nothing, he stopped and listened for a while before continuing on his way.
Gradually, I came to his notice. I knew my work was succeeding when once I entered a room he also occupied, and his eyes shifted in my direction. A tiny gesture, indeed, but I never failed to reward his notice with a smile, or a reverent bow of my head, such as I might give any esteemed superior. It does me no credit, I fear, to say that I achieved my aim without seeming to have done anything at all. Indeed, I succeeded far better than I could have hoped.
One day, walking down the corridor to my own room, I passed the open doorway leading to the courtyard. The eparch was there and called me to him, saying, 'Brother, come here.'
I went to him, dutifully, as if this were my habitual function. 'I call you brother,' he said, 'because you are, or were, a priest. Well? Am I wrong?'
'By no means, eparch,' I replied respectfully.
He allowed himself a satisfied smile. 'I thought so. I am rarely wrong about men. I have heard you praying, you know, and singing; you have a fine voice. I enjoy hearing you.'
'You flatter me, eparch.'
'What are you called?' he asked.
'My name is Aidan,' I told him simply.
'Where were you born, if I may be so bold?'
I noted his fatherly tone, and told him I was born in Eire and was, for the most part, raised by monks at the monastery at Kells. 'Do you know Eire?' I asked.
'Alas, no,' he said. 'It has not been my privilege to have travelled so far as that.'
We talked awhile of these and other things, and he dismissed me to my duties. But from that day, Nicephorus began including me in various ways-slowly at first, to see how I took to the work, but with greater frequency when
