gone. ‘I suppose Sigurd will tell you exactly what he demands, but on no account let him take the boy away from here.’
Anna bared her teeth. ‘Let him try.’
‘Good.’ The boy was too valuable to be left in the care of gaolers and torturers, and wounds like his would rot into his bones in the foetid dungeon air. Nor could I shake off the mounting sense that part of my life was now invested in his.
‘I will be back this evening, or maybe tomorrow.’
‘I shall look forward to it.’
Strangely warmed by those parting words, I left the monastery and hastened towards the city, keeping off the main road to avoid any encounter with Sigurd. I visited the docks, the workshop of Lukas the fletcher, and a man who sold me three withered gourds; then I retired to the fields near the western walls, where I passed the afternoon straining my shoulders and frightening a watching flock of crows. Finally, weary but satisfied, I made my way back to the palace.
Aelric, the grey-haired Varangian, was at the gate; he smiled when he saw me.
‘It’s as well you came to my door, Demetrios. Your name has been spoken often in the palace today, and rarely with favour.’
‘Sigurd?’
‘Indeed.’ Aelric shifted the weight of his axe a little. ‘He swears you are an agent of those who would harm the Emperor. That is, when he does not curse you for a mercenary intent only on impoverishing the treasury.’
I snorted; I had heard enough gibes about money. ‘And why does Sigurd fight for the Emperor? Is he a Roman, fighting to preserve his ruler and his nation? No. He fights for the same motives as all the other Patzinaks, Turks, Venetians and Norsemen in our legions: gold, and glory. Many would say they were the only things worth fighting for.’
A dark look crossed Aelric’s lined face. ‘Do not doubt Sigurd’s devotion to Byzantium, Demetrios. He takes the gold and cherishes his glory, as every warrior should, but he loves the Emperor like a monk loves his God. If the Emperor was hemmed in by countless hosts of enemies, and all was lost, Sigurd would be the last man left standing beside him – whether there was gold to pay him or not. Of how many Turks and Patzinaks could you say that?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘A believer may be blessed, but a zealot is dangerous – and his love too easily turns against itself. Anyway, I came to speak with the chamberlain, Krysaphios, not with Sigurd.’
‘You have a gift for him, do you?’ Aelric peered at the bundle I held under my arm. It was broad and flat, and wrapped about with sackcloth; it might have been a painted icon, though it was not.
‘Something he will want to see,’ I said. ‘If I am not banned from the palace for wanting to keep valuable witnesses alive until they have told their tale.’
Aelric nodded. ‘Krysaphios will see you.’
With a last suspicious glance at my package, he opened the gate and led me within the palace. Again we passed through myriad courtyards and burnished chambers, but it was different to my last visit: now none of it felt quite so magnificent as it had before. The splash of the fountains seemed quieter, the perfumes in the air less fragrant, the faces on those we met more tightly drawn.
I never saw Aelric speak to anyone, but Krysaphios was waiting for me. He stood where we had last met, in a colonnade lined with the marble heads of antique dynasties. His lips were thin with anger, and even before I had crossed the open square he met me with sharp words.
‘The Varangian captain swears you have done great mischief, Demetrios. You were hired to discover the Emperor’s would-be assassin, not hide him in the sanctuary of a monastery. If, indeed, this barbarian catamite is truly the one we seek.’
I had had enough of this sort of talk for one day. Without deigning to reply, I pulled the sacking from my bundle, lifted it to my shoulder and pressed on the lever. The eunuch’s eyes widened in terror as he guessed my purpose; he prostrated
Anna bared her teeth. ‘Let him try.’
‘Good.’ The boy was too valuable to be left in the care of gaolers and torturers, and wounds like his would rot into his bones in the foetid dungeon air. Nor could I shake off the mounting sense that part of my life was now invested in his.
‘I will be back this evening, or maybe tomorrow.’
‘I shall look forward to it.’
Strangely warmed by those parting words, I left the monastery and hastened towards the city, keeping off the main road to avoid any encounter with Sigurd. I visited the docks, the workshop of Lukas the fletcher, and a man who sold me three withered gourds; then I retired to the fields near the western walls, where I passed the afternoon straining my shoulders and frightening a watching flock of crows. Finally, weary but satisfied, I made my way back to the palace.
Aelric, the grey-haired Varangian, was at the gate; he smiled when he saw me.
‘It’s as well you came to my door, Demetrios. Your name has been spoken often in the palace today, and rarely with favour.’
‘Sigurd?’
‘Indeed.’ Aelric shifted the weight of his axe a little. ‘He swears you are an agent of those who would harm the Emperor. That is, when he does not curse you for a mercenary intent only on impoverishing the treasury.’
I snorted; I had heard enough gibes about money. ‘And why does Sigurd fight for the Emperor? Is he a Roman, fighting to preserve his ruler and his nation? No. He fights for the same motives as all the other Patzinaks, Turks, Venetians and Norsemen in our legions: gold, and glory. Many would say they were the only things worth fighting for.’
A dark look crossed Aelric’s lined face. ‘Do not doubt Sigurd’s devotion to Byzantium, Demetrios. He takes the gold and cherishes his glory, as every warrior should, but he loves the Emperor like a monk loves his God. If the Emperor was hemmed in by countless hosts of enemies, and all was lost, Sigurd would be the last man left standing beside him – whether there was gold to pay him or not. Of how many Turks and Patzinaks could you say that?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘A believer may be blessed, but a zealot is dangerous – and his love too easily turns against itself. Anyway, I came to speak with the chamberlain, Krysaphios, not with Sigurd.’
‘You have a gift for him, do you?’ Aelric peered at the bundle I held under my arm. It was broad and flat, and wrapped about with sackcloth; it might have been a painted icon, though it was not.
‘Something he will want to see,’ I said. ‘If I am not banned from the palace for wanting to keep valuable witnesses alive until they have told their tale.’
Aelric nodded. ‘Krysaphios will see you.’
With a last suspicious glance at my package, he opened the gate and led me within the palace. Again we passed through myriad courtyards and burnished chambers, but it was different to my last visit: now none of it felt quite so magnificent as it had before. The splash of the fountains seemed quieter, the perfumes in the air less fragrant, the faces on those we met more tightly drawn.
I never saw Aelric speak to anyone, but Krysaphios was waiting for me. He stood where we had last met, in a colonnade lined with the marble heads of antique dynasties. His lips were thin with anger, and even before I had crossed the open square he met me with sharp words.
‘The Varangian captain swears you have done great mischief, Demetrios. You were hired to discover the Emperor’s would-be assassin, not hide him in the sanctuary of a monastery. If, indeed, this barbarian catamite is truly the one we seek.’
I had had enough of this sort of talk for one day. Without deigning to reply, I pulled the sacking from my bundle, lifted it to my shoulder and pressed on the lever. The eunuch’s eyes widened in terror as he guessed my purpose; he prostrated
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