by Sandra Hill
“Dost think you could arrange for your father to sell me some of his amber?” Ianthe asked Thork, trying to get attention away from red-faced Alrek, who was attempting to mop up his mess and making more of a mess of it. “I have worked with just about every stone there is, from crystals to diamonds, but not amber.”
“Certainly,” Thork said. “I will come to your shop with Drifa, if you wish . . . to give you more information.”
He was fooling no one on the type of information he would like to convey, along with details about his father’s trading merchandise.
“Me too,” Alrek said again. “Princess Drifa will need extra protection in the busy marketplace.”
Alrek, too, was fooling no one.
Oddly, Sidroc exhibited no jealousy over the men’s interest in his mistress, although he did snipe, “Why don’t we all come?”
“Are you being sarcastic?” Drifa inquired sweetly.
“Me?” He placed a hand over his heart with exaggerated innocence. He smiled at her then, and, oh, he had a very nice smile. She recalled in that moment why she had fallen for his seduction five years ago and braced herself to resist his dubious charms.
“Who other?” she snipped as Sidroc continued to play the innocent fool.
And, really, the oaf had some nerve threatening to make her a bed thrall when he already had a lovely mistress to satisfy his base urges. And sometime she was going to tell him exactly what she thought of his coming into her bedchamber in the middle of the night when he had no doubt just slipped out of Ianthe’s arms.
Ianthe narrowed her eyes, studying the interplay between her and Sidroc, so Drifa quickly turned to Wulf and began talking about what he had planned for the next few days. The hersirs’ stay in Miklagard had already been extended from a day or two to five as they saw and heard of more sights and activities they must witness.
When she glanced back again, Ianthe had her arm looped with Sidroc’s and was leaning up to whisper something in his ear. He, in turn, whispered something in Ianthe’s ear, which caused his mistress’s cheeks to bloom with color.
Drifa felt an uncomfortable surge of jealousy, which was untenable to her. She didn’t want the cad. She didn’t!
The whole time they’d been talking, servers had been placing platter after platter before them.
They started with kakavia, a fish soup that had mussels and chunks of white fish floating on top. Then there was a young goat, head intact, stuffed with garlic and leeks, as well as lamb and pork in many variations, roasted, and covered with sweet and savory sauces, a combination much favored by the Greeks. The Greeks, like the Vikings, enjoyed mustard with their meats, too.
Also, small wooden skewers held pieces of meat with vegetables, like carrots, onions, and something new to her, eggplant. Of course there was plenty of fish, fresh and saltwater, thanks to the nearby waterways, including snails and mussels still in their shells. Baby octopuses swam in leek butter garnished with parsley. Dolmades were rolled grape leaves filled with chopped meats and barley.
Many of the dishes were covered with garos, a fish sauce, or a white cream sauce called béchamel. Lentils were offered in many different combinations.
At the end of the meal, slices of fruit cleansed the tongue. Oranges, limes, grapes, succulent melons, figs, and pomegranates. Or for those few not yet filled to the gullet, servants carried in a tray of sweetmeats the Greeks had invented called marzipan, and kopton, a deliciously sweet confection made of baked layers of parchment-thin dough interspersed with butter, thinned honey, and walnuts.
Drifa promised herself to write down the names of some of these foods as soon as she returned to her chambers so she would be able to relate it all to her sister Ingrith. She also intended to purchase all the various spices she’d noted in these foods, like saffron, cloves, turmeric, cardamom, nutmeg, cinnamon, cumin, mastic, and rosemary, which would surely please Ingrith.
Some of the offerings were strange and not for the simple palates of the Norsemen around her, but overall it was a feast fit for a king . . . or, rather, an emperor.
Speaking of whom, even from this distance, John Tzimisces could be seen at the high table seated beside his bride under a golden canopy.
“Oh my!” she said, as she got her first good look at Theodora, the woman who would become empress. Actually, she had already been crowned empress days ago. In this country, oddly, a woman became empress even before the wedding ceremony. In any case, while the emperor was rather short and at least fifty years old, he was a finely built, handsome man with reddish-blond hair and neatly trimmed beard, and if she was not mistaken, piercing blue eyes.
But his bride was a different story.
“Yea, she is long in the tooth,” Sidroc said, reading her unspoken surprise. “At least matching the emperor in age, would be my guess.”
“It is interesting how fifty is long in the tooth for a woman, but no detraction from a man’s virility,” Ianthe commented.
“Hah! ’Tis the way of men throughout the world, whether they be Greek, Saxon, or Viking,” Drifa agreed. “Once a man gets a bit of gray in his beard, he starts looking at girls scarce out of swaddling clothes.”
The men all groaned, and Sidroc had the nerve to say. “Men age like good wine. Women age like vinegar.”
“Idiot,” she murmured. “Still, ’tis surprising that the emperor is marrying a woman past childbearing years. I thought heirs were of great importance in royal circles.”
“In this country, they castrate the younger boys in a family so they will not inherit, whether it be the crown or a family’s wealth,” Thork pointed out. “Can you imagine?”
All the men cringed at that image.
“No one would snip off my braw body parts, no matter my age,” Jamie asserted. “Even coming from the womb, I would bite the hand that dared touch my claymore.”
“Claymore!” the other men hooted with laughter.
“What is castrated?” Alrek wanted to know. “I know how horses are castrated betimes, but how . . . oh my gods!”
“Precisely,” Wulf said.
“The reason that John marries is purely political. Theodora is of the powerful Phocas family, a direct line in the Macedonian dynasty. Furthermore, he is merely the regent emperor holding place for the young Basil and Constantine until they are of age,” Sidroc explained. “Having no love for court life, he is a military man at heart and that is where he would rather be.
“What is surprising to me is that a man of power and high regard, such as John, would wed a woman homely as a squashed bug,” observed Finn.
“Finn!” she and Ianthe protested.
“Oh come, you must admit she is not at all comely. And that is being kind.”
True, but it seemed mean to say it aloud, even if they were speaking in the Norse tongue that the Greek servers could not understand. Wulf was able to speak and understand the language because Norse and Saxon English were so similar, and Ianthe must have been with Sidroc long enough to learn his language.
And it was rude, of course, to make mock of the guest of honor for whom the feast was being held. But these were men, and men ofttimes cared little for the niceties, like politeness.
“Apparently beauty is not one of the criteria that the emperor seeks in his new consort.” If Wulf was trying to be kind, he failed miserably.
“Obviously. After all, he could have wed the beauty Theophano, the previous empress, long ago, if he chose. In fact, he led her to believe he would as he openly visited her bedchamber nightly,” Sidroc said. Then in a whisper, he added, “Why else would she help him kill her husband, Nicephorus, John’s uncle, to help him gain the throne?”
“In a most brutal fashion, by the by. Stabbing and decapitation in his bedchamber,” another of the Varangians disclosed, also in a whisper.
Finn and Sidroc nodded.
“And then he exiled her to a convent,” the Varangian added.
“No doubt she walloped him over the head with a pottery pitcher or promised
him one thing or another, then reneged,” Sidroc decided. “Not to be trusted, like some other woman we know.”
He and Finn both turned to stare at Drifa on that happy note.
“Hey, I had good reason,” she protested.
But no one was listening.
“I heard that Polyeuctes, the church patriarch at the time, levied a huge penance on John for all his sins, which included the political marriage and the exiling of his mistress,” Wulf said, demonstrating what Drifa already knew. Court gossip spread faster than chaff on the wind. “Theodora is after all the daughter of Constantine VI and aunt to the two young emperors Basil and Constantine. The churchman would not allow John to enter his church and be crowned until he complied.”
“Personally, I think beauty should be its own dower,” said Finn, who was far-famed for his vanity.
“I agree, I agree,” piped in Thork and Jamie, who did not suffer from an excess of humility, either.
“How would that work?” Alrek wanted to know. His question was met with groans from the rest of them.
“I’m glad you asked, Alrek,” Finn said. “Methinks beautiful persons should not require a dowry, whereas ugly persons should have to pay someone to wed them.”
“Mayhap you should wed yourself, Finn,” Drifa remarked.
“I would if I could,” he replied with unabashed conceit, not recognizing, or choosing to ignore, the sarcasm of her words.
The subject was changed as the entertainment began. There were musicians, who moved from one spot to another so that all might enjoy their talents. Acrobats flipped and jumped here and there. Contortionists bent their bodies in such a manner that they appeared boneless. And dancers, both male and female, drew ooohs and aaahs. In some cases the men linked arms over the shoulders and did these joyful moves that required great agility as they bent their knees at the same time they kicked outward. Then there were the partners, male and female, who did dances where they moved seductively about each other, casting sultry glances, teasing and then touching, teasing and touching.
Because of all the wine consumed, some of the men went off to the lavatories, where communal facilities allowed them to piss to their hearts’ content, with the waste water being immediately washed away.
Then Ianthe was called over to another table by a friend, leaving Drifa alone, which she did not mind. She relished this solitary moment when she could observe the vast wonders around her.
But then the biggest wonder of them all eased himself down to the divan beside her, thigh to thigh. With a smile, which did not reach his eyes, he said, “So, Drifa, I understand you harbor a secret.”
Chapter Seven
It was a sticky subject . . .
Sidroc leaned back on the divan, one arm across the back behind Drifa, and watched with interest the abject fear that crossed her pretty face.
Whoa! What is this? He could understand a little embarrassment over his discovery that she’d borne a child outside of wedlock, but not terror. In fact, she backed away from him a bit as if she feared he might strike her. Who or what has made her fear physical attack?
“Secret? What secret? I have no secret.” The wringing of her hands in her lap and a tic at the side of her mouth told a different story.
You lie like the rushes on a longhouse floor. “Not even Runa?”
She gasped, and her face flamed. “You know about Runa?”
He nodded. “I learned today that you had a child without the benefit of marriage.”
“Oh,” she said with what he could swear was relief. “That Runa.”
What is going on here? What did I say that would cause her relief? “You know that many Runas?”
“A few.”
She no longer appeared frightened, and that puzzled him even more. He sensed somehow that solving this puzzle was important to him. “Have you thought any more about my plans for you? I certainly have.” He touched his knuckles to one soft cheek as he spoke, and felt the same attraction that had drawn him to her five years ago. She truly was a beautiful woman, even at her advanced age.
“Your plans are of no interest to me, you rat.” She swatted his hand away.
He moved the hand to her thigh, and felt her stiffen. It was not entirely a stiffening of affront, but rather one of stimulation. He had been with enough women to know when one was fighting her attraction to him . . . and losing the battle. “Now that I know you are no longer a maiden, I have no reservations about my plans.” Not that I had many afore. Well, a few. Mayhap this rat is just playing with you, little mouse.
“Oh please! Spare me from the ego of a windy man.”
“Windy, am I?” He grinned at her. And saw her fight a return grin. “We will be good together, Drifa. You know we will.”
“And what of your mistress?”
It was his turn to stiffen. “Ianthe has naught to do with us.”
“I beg to differ. I would never mate with a man who was mating with another woman at the same time.”
“Mate? Is that a woman-word for tup, or swive?” Or fuck?
“There is no need to be coarse.”
M’lady, you have not heard coarse yet. Good thing I didn’t say fuck aloud. “Let me put it this way. If Ianthe were no longer my mistress, then you would come willingly to my bed furs?”
“Nay! That is not what I meant.”
I thought not. “Meet me tomorrow after dusk at the Madonna fountain. ’Tis just past the entrance to the Sun Palace. You cannot miss it. It is alight with candles night and day.”
“Why would I do that?”
Do not play games with me, you saucy wench. “To begin to pay your debt.”
“This is ridiculous. I owe you naught.”
“You owe me plenty. Either meet me there, and I will lead you to my chambers in the Varangian Palace, or I will come to your rooms. Believe you me, my rooms are preferable for what I have in mind.”
He could tell she did not want to ask, but curiosity won out, causing him to bite his lip to hide a smirk.
“Why?”
“Because I plan to make you scream your ecstasy, and it might embarrass you to have your guardsmen overhear.” Good gods, I am arousing myself.
She shook her head as if he were a hopeless case.
Betimes he was.
“Dost really think my guardsmen are so ineffective they would not follow me, or forbid me to leave my rooms?”
“A devious woman like you can always come up with a likely story.”
“You defame me, Sidroc. You really do. There are things you do not know that would change your mind.”
A likely story! “Tell me then.”
“I cannot. Not now. Not here.”
Surprise, surprise! “Secrets?”
She nodded.
He spat out a particularly foul word.
She merely appeared saddened by his opinion of her, but he could not allow himself to soften with pity. Instead he told her some of the things he planned to do to her once he had her naked. With each description, her breathing heightened. He was not sure if she was panting with insult or arousal.
And he was beginning to wonder if he was serious or not.
Just then he noticed that the men were sauntering back to their seats; so Sidroc stood and began to move to the other side once again. Soon Ianthe would be returning as well.
But Thork—the rascal—said with a mock-serious face, “What was that I heard you say about licking?”
With an equally straight face, Sidroc replied, “I was telling Princess Drifa that the problem with honey on those lemon cakes over there is that you must keep licking your fingers for a long time after eating to remove the stickiness.”
Not one single man at the table believed him.
You could say it was a good-bye tup . . .
“I did not mean to show you disrespect, Ianthe. I am so sorry,” Sidroc said as they left the Imperial Palace.
“Sidroc! You have never mistreated me. In truth, you have raised me up, and you know it.”
>
“You deserved my full attention tonight, and I let my animosity toward Princess Drifa cloud my judgment.”
Even though the palace gates closed at night, because of the imperial feast he’d been given special permission to escort Ianthe to her home above her jewelry shop. He nodded to the guards as they passed through.
Ianthe, whose arm was looped with his, gazed up at him with question. “What do you have against the princess? Other than her breaking your betrothal? That is what happened, is it not?”
“How would you know that?” He would bet his finest arm ring that the princess didn’t discuss the subject.
“Finn.”
“Humph! Finn’s mouth is bigger than his ego.”
“Do not blame him. I asked.”
“I am not so small-minded that I would begrudge a woman the right to change her mind. There is more to me and Drifa than that, but it is not a subject I wish to discuss now. There is something else I need to tell you.”
Although she was clearly anxious to hear what he had to say, she waited until she’d unlocked her door and they’d gone up the stairs, where she unlocked yet another door to her home. Inside were cozy living quarters that doubled as both a bedchamber and a salon, with the usual low divans on jewel-toned Persian carpets. Although there was a brazier, she had no need for a kitchen since she was able to purchase fresh-cooked meals daily down in the market. Besides, food spoiled quickly in this heat. In the winter, food could be stored in a cold cellar, but even then food stalls were open practically outside her front door.
He sat down in an armed chair, and she handed him a goblet of his favorite apricot wine with a slice of lemon in it. He’d been with her for two years now, and she knew his desires without asking. Desires of all kinds, by the by. Sidroc was a man of big appetites in the bedsport, and she matched him in enthusiasm, even when he asked her to do things that might make some women cringe. His tastes had been honed these five years of serving in foreign countries.
For some reason, he thought of Drifa then. Would she balk if he asked her to wear nipple rings? Or refuse to pose for him naked? Or be shocked if he told her to kneel on all fours?