"There is a word for you."
Doukas smiled without mirth. "Also a treatment. What will it be, death or blinding and gelding?"
"I know not. Nor do I care. You will go back for judgment."
"Easy enough for you, kyrios, who wields a sword for pay. I asked to be posted on this border because I had a country and a faith to defend."
"Why did you forsake them?"
"When a traitor sits the throne, puppet of a Paphlagonian eunuch? Do you know how much of the people's treasure goes into his coffers, Varangian? I had a brother whom I loved. He spoke one idle word about the matter. John heard of it. My brother died as no one would kill a beast. Then I went over to the Saracens." Doukas turned away. "Enough," he said harshly.
Harald grew still. Were not the bonds of blood holy? But . . . "Take him away," he said at length. "Let me not see him again."
Afterward he sat staring at emptiness. How the sun glimmered! Sweat soaked his underpadding. The flies buzzed and buzzed.
"We hire out for an ill work," said Ulf.
"I gave my oath," said Harald angrily.
"Not that it's any affair of ours if the Emperor lets his folk fall into the claws of the usurers. It's not our best men who are being gnawed away. Nonetheless . . . John ..." Ulf's broad brown face turned dreamy. "How would you like to join me and a hot iron someday in making a memorial inscription? 'Ulf Uspaksson raised this in memory of himself, that Ulf who was in Miklagardh with Harald Sigurdharson. Thor hallow these runes' ... in burnt leather on the buttocks of an Orphanotrophos."
"The thought has its merits," agreed Harald.
4
After wintering again in Constantinople, the Varangians were ordered that spring to sail for Italy.
There had been war in Sicily between two Saracen chieftains, brothers. The Byzantines had become allies of one, so successfully that the alarmed rivals made a reconciliation against them. This seemed a good moment to attack the island, regaining it for Christendom and ending the corsair raids based upon it. Georgios Maniakes, now commanding the Italian troops of the Empire, was readying for that new war, and the Northmen were sent to join him.
Harald landed at Reggio Calabria and led an escort of his axmen toward headquarters. The city boiled with soldiers, men from every theme of the Empire and mercenaries from a dozen other nations. Here a Greek officer rode by, arrogant in gilt armor, the lances of his guards nodding behind him; there a scarred Catalan grinned and snatched at a girl on the arm of a bearded Bulgar, suddenly knives were out and the girl screamed avidly; nearby a legless beggar whined appeal to a turbaned Persian who damned him for a Nazarene—bustle and clamor, clashing metal and bawling voices, heavy feet. The town bristled with weaponed men. Out in the harbor, ships lay jammed together. At their backs rose the mountains of Sicily, blue menace across the straits.
Harald entered a palace scarred and littered by the haste of war and found the chamber where Georgios was. The Greek looked wearily up from his endless papers. "Oh, Captain Araltes. Enter, be seated, we've much to talk about." Three years had changed him little, he was still a short-spoken stout man in peasantish garments, a sword belted at his waist even as he sat.
Harald lowered his bulk to a chair that creaked under him. "My folk are marching to quarters . . . kyrios."
Georgios watched him for a long minute. "Think you we can work together better this time than last?"
"The ground may not be so marshy here," said Harald.
Georgios chuckled. "Oh, I'll unleash you when I can, but first we must seize Messina. Once we have that for a port, we can spread out. I must own that the records of your campaigns make good reading." He bridged his fingers and stared intently across them. "I want you to lead not only your own corps, but three hundred Norman mercenaries. Know you the Frankish tongue?'
"No, but I can learn the needful words soon enough. 'Up on your feet,
Doukas smiled without mirth. "Also a treatment. What will it be, death or blinding and gelding?"
"I know not. Nor do I care. You will go back for judgment."
"Easy enough for you, kyrios, who wields a sword for pay. I asked to be posted on this border because I had a country and a faith to defend."
"Why did you forsake them?"
"When a traitor sits the throne, puppet of a Paphlagonian eunuch? Do you know how much of the people's treasure goes into his coffers, Varangian? I had a brother whom I loved. He spoke one idle word about the matter. John heard of it. My brother died as no one would kill a beast. Then I went over to the Saracens." Doukas turned away. "Enough," he said harshly.
Harald grew still. Were not the bonds of blood holy? But . . . "Take him away," he said at length. "Let me not see him again."
Afterward he sat staring at emptiness. How the sun glimmered! Sweat soaked his underpadding. The flies buzzed and buzzed.
"We hire out for an ill work," said Ulf.
"I gave my oath," said Harald angrily.
"Not that it's any affair of ours if the Emperor lets his folk fall into the claws of the usurers. It's not our best men who are being gnawed away. Nonetheless . . . John ..." Ulf's broad brown face turned dreamy. "How would you like to join me and a hot iron someday in making a memorial inscription? 'Ulf Uspaksson raised this in memory of himself, that Ulf who was in Miklagardh with Harald Sigurdharson. Thor hallow these runes' ... in burnt leather on the buttocks of an Orphanotrophos."
"The thought has its merits," agreed Harald.
4
After wintering again in Constantinople, the Varangians were ordered that spring to sail for Italy.
There had been war in Sicily between two Saracen chieftains, brothers. The Byzantines had become allies of one, so successfully that the alarmed rivals made a reconciliation against them. This seemed a good moment to attack the island, regaining it for Christendom and ending the corsair raids based upon it. Georgios Maniakes, now commanding the Italian troops of the Empire, was readying for that new war, and the Northmen were sent to join him.
Harald landed at Reggio Calabria and led an escort of his axmen toward headquarters. The city boiled with soldiers, men from every theme of the Empire and mercenaries from a dozen other nations. Here a Greek officer rode by, arrogant in gilt armor, the lances of his guards nodding behind him; there a scarred Catalan grinned and snatched at a girl on the arm of a bearded Bulgar, suddenly knives were out and the girl screamed avidly; nearby a legless beggar whined appeal to a turbaned Persian who damned him for a Nazarene—bustle and clamor, clashing metal and bawling voices, heavy feet. The town bristled with weaponed men. Out in the harbor, ships lay jammed together. At their backs rose the mountains of Sicily, blue menace across the straits.
Harald entered a palace scarred and littered by the haste of war and found the chamber where Georgios was. The Greek looked wearily up from his endless papers. "Oh, Captain Araltes. Enter, be seated, we've much to talk about." Three years had changed him little, he was still a short-spoken stout man in peasantish garments, a sword belted at his waist even as he sat.
Harald lowered his bulk to a chair that creaked under him. "My folk are marching to quarters . . . kyrios."
Georgios watched him for a long minute. "Think you we can work together better this time than last?"
"The ground may not be so marshy here," said Harald.
Georgios chuckled. "Oh, I'll unleash you when I can, but first we must seize Messina. Once we have that for a port, we can spread out. I must own that the records of your campaigns make good reading." He bridged his fingers and stared intently across them. "I want you to lead not only your own corps, but three hundred Norman mercenaries. Know you the Frankish tongue?'
"No, but I can learn the needful words soon enough. 'Up on your feet,
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