It was an ugly memory, she shoved it to the back of her mind. Not my fault, what happened to Erling was not my fault. In any case, this man is not Erling. Erling is dead. There is no way I can know whether this man can be relied upon.
The slave will obey you, he does not look as biddable as Erling, but he will surely obey you. Look into his eyes—that man wants freedom more than he wants his next breath. Offer him that and he will surely obey you.
And Father? What will he do if I delay our meeting until I have married the slave? How would Father react?
As Anna stared up at the dais, her guts knotted. The slave had been beaten. His cheekbones were bruised and there was a rust-coloured stain on the ripped fabric of his tunic. When he shifted, his chains clanked.
Are those chains necessary? He looks half-conscious. Might Commander Ashfirth be right, though? Might he be a troublemaker?
No matter if he is. He looks perfect for my purposes, just perfect. He should be more than capable of keeping my father at bay. This man will make him realise that marrying me to Lord Romanos is no longer possible.
Anna shot Commander Ashfirth a sideways glance, the Commander was scowling. Anna received the impression that he was weakening over Katerina buying the two children, but he certainly did not want her to buy the male slave.
But she must buy him, he needs our help! I may have failed Erling, but I will not fail this man.
Provided he does exactly as I wish. Provided he marries me.
As a means of evading an unwanted marriage it was sheer madness, Anna knew that. Marrying one man to avoid another was not something she had considered before today. But the moment she had looked at the blond slave, the instant she had seen the resemblance to
Erling, the idea had jumped fully formed into her head.
Madness. I wonder who is the more desperate, me or that slave?
Anna needed time to think this through, but first they had to buy the man. Conscious that the auctioneer was looking at Katerina and an expectant silence had fallen, Anna nudged her. ‘Bid again, or you will lose them!’
Commander Ashfirth’s scowl deepened, but since he believed Katerina to be the Princess, he would not gainsay her. When Katerina’s chin came up, Anna saw that she would have her way.
‘Sir, I will make my purchase,’ Katerina said. She raised her hand, nodded at the auctioneer and the bidding resumed.
The merchant across the other side of the platform looked as though he had a roomy purse. Have we brought enough money? Will we be outbid? Tension tightening every muscle, Anna’s nails gouged into her palms.
There was more bidding but, finally, Katerina raised her hand, and a gong rang.
‘Sold!’
Anna released her breath in a rush. Blessed Virgin, we have done it, the slaves are ours!
* * *
William came back to himself as he was prodded off the dais and into a pen at the side. A black headache had descended on him, and since he could barely see through it, let alone stand, he slumped against a pillar and watched bemused as the auction house floor began to float towards him.
And then she was there, the woman with misty grey eyes. A burly young man with a martial look to him stood at her side, but William was not interested in the burly young man. Those grey eyes held his and a feminine hand reached towards him. Spring flowers—he could smell spring flowers.
‘Let us help you.’
Her voice was soft and smoky, like her eyes. Between them, she and the burly young man lowered William to the ground.
‘The children…Daphne…Paula?’ William forced the words through his teeth with difficulty. His Greek was somewhat rusty. Of course, he understood more than any other Apulian knight of his acquaintance, but today it was a battle to express himself clearly.
‘They are safe, they will be cared for,’ the girl said softly. ‘As will you.’
‘Where…where…?’ And then, before William could marshal the strength to ask where they were being taken, the grey mist came for him, swirling through his sight, stealing his voice. As his head lolled, the only answer he received was the clatter of chains.
* * *
Back in the Boukoleon Palace, in the reception chamber in Princess Theodora’s apartments, Anna knelt on the marble floor by the slave’s pallet. She studied his unconscious features—just before they had found him a litter, the slave master had revealed that he was a Frank, one of many Normans who had found their way into the Empire.
He is Frank, he is not all Viking, not like Erling. He is a Frank who has likely inherited his colouring from some distant Viking forebear. But, had Erling lived, he would certainly have resembled this man. The flaxen hair and green eyes—now closed—were the most obvious similarities, the general resemblance was undeniable. Erling was there in the large build, in the protective way the young man had stood over the children. Despite his chains and his injuries, he had been ready to fight the world on their behalf. Erling had been just as protective. Of her.
Anna had failed Erling and guilt had haunted her for years. I will not fail this man. I may not have decided whether I have a use for him or not, but whatever happens, he will be freed.
The Frankish slave groaned, the fair head shifted on the pillow, but his eyelids barely fluttered.
Anna clapped her hands to summon one of the serving girls. ‘Send for more water, if you please, Maria. And clean linens. And…’ she grimaced at the bloodied tunic ‘…fetch some scissors. I will have this man clean and comfortable.’
‘Yes, my lady. Those tiles will be hard on your knees—would you like a cushion?’
‘Please.’
Anna glanced across the wide floor towards the two children. Her heart twisted. Poor mites. At her command, a bevy of serving girls had taken them into their care. A large copper basin had appeared, with steaming jugs of water, sponges…
‘They will need food first, I think,’ Anna said gently. ‘I doubt they have been fed in some days. Let the older girl have some bread and milk. As for the infant—is there a wet-nurse in the Palace?’
‘I shall enquire, my lady.’
One of the girls curtsied and ran past the guard at the doors, another came in with an armful of white linen. Anna’s attention returned to the Frankish slave.
His hair needed cutting. Matted and dirty, it had not seen a comb in some time. Carefully, wary of waking him, Anna smoothed it from his face. His face had stopped her breath the moment she’d seen it, and not simply because of the resemblance to Erling. The slave’s features were attractive, regular and even, his mouth was most beautifully formed. He had a strong jaw
that was shadowed with several days’ growth of beard, he was overpoweringly male. But the bruises beneath the beard! Anna frowned. His cheekbones were far too prominent, not to mention that they were bruised and bloodied. Overall, the Frank had a gaunt look that was at odds with the powerful build.
Half-starved.
‘Juliana?’
‘My lady?’
‘Send to the kitchens for meat and wine.’
‘Meat, my lady? It is still Lent.’
‘Meat,’ Anna repeated firmly. ‘Preferably beef. Tell them it is needed in the Princess’s apartment, no one will gainsay you.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
Taking hold of the Frank’s ragged tunic, Anna began easing it from him.
‘Here, my lady.’ Shears were thrust into her hand, a tasselled cushion was placed on the floor next to her.
‘My thanks.’
Anna pulled at the fabric of the slave’s tunic. Like his face, his chest was black and blue. Grimacing, Anna exchanged glances with one of the serving girls. ‘Some people do not deserve to own slaves.’
‘No, my lady.’
The double doors at the entrance to the apartment were flung back and Commander Ashfirth stalked in, his expression was thunderous. He had Katerina by the arm and was towing her behind him.
Anna caught her breath. Heart cold, she pushed to her knees. She
was afraid, very much afraid, that the moment she had dreaded was upon them.
Has the Commander found us out? Has he realised that the woman he believes to be the Princess is, in fact, just a serving girl?
She swallowed. ‘Princess Theodor—’
‘Later,’ the Commander snapped, marching towards the Princess’s bedchamber. His face was closed, his shoulders were rigid with anger.
A white-faced Katerina shot Anna a desperate look, but with the Commander hauling her along, she had no choice but to follow.
He knows! Yes, there is no doubt, Commander Ashfirth knows that Katerina is an impostor. Merciful heavens, if this becomes common knowledge, Katerina and I will be in deep, deep trouble…
Commander Ashfirth poked his head through the bedchamber door and signalled to the guard. ‘Kari?’
‘Sir?’
‘The Princess and I do not wish to be disturbed.’
The guard’s eyes widened. ‘I see.’
‘I hope that you do. No one…’ pointedly, Commander Ashfirth jerked his head towards Anna ‘…and I mean no one is to enter this bedchamber.’
‘No exceptions, sir?’
‘None except Captain Sigurd. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The bedchamber door slammed and the bolts shot home.
Juliana let her breath out in a rush. ‘Holy Virgin, what is that all about? The Commander will not hurt the Princess, will he?’
Anna blinked uncertainly at the closed bedchamber door, painfully conscious of the need to guard her tongue. ‘I do not think so.’ Her mind raced. Like everyone else in the Palace, with the possible exception of Commander Ashfirth, Juliana believed Katerina to be Princess Theodora. ‘Commander Ashfirth has a strong respect for the Princess,’ she added carefully. ‘Remember, the Emperor has commanded him to protect her.’
Juliana’s eyes were round as she gaped at that closed bedchamber door. ‘But surely he should not enter the Princess’s bedchamber! What are they doing in there?’
What indeed?
‘Come, Juliana—’ Anna made her voice brisk ‘—help
me shift this man to one side so we may bathe him.’
Juliana turned a disapproving face towards her. ‘You will bathe him yourself, my lady? A slave? A male slave?’
‘It is…’ Anna hesitated, unwilling to reveal too much to a woman she did not know well ‘…it is a penance I have set myself for past sins.’ For Erling’s sake.
Pointedly, Juliana raised a brow at such an unorthodox penance—a lady, bathing a slave!—but after a moment, she grudgingly bent to assist. Anna hoped that the shock of witnessing Lady Anna of Heraklea bathing a Frankish slave would distract Juliana from whatever was going on in the Princess’s bedchamber.
Chapter Two
Head thumping, William woke with a start and grabbed for his sword. Then he remembered—his sword was lost, he was a slave. Mind fogged with pain, he heaved himself into a sitting position. Out of the tangle in his head one question emerged. Are the girls safe?
He had been put on a clean pallet in an airy room that was busy with activity. He caught a brief impression of a wide tiled floor; of a line of tall windows billowing with drapery of some kind; of women rushing to and fro, long skirts swishing as they skimmed over polished marble. There was so much marble, so much light and air, he could not imagine where he might be.
He could not see the children.
A feminine hand pushed him back against the pillows, it belonged to the woman from the slave market, the one with smoky grey eyes. He wondered who she was. The brown gown and veil were so plain, she might be a servant. Yet her companion’s clothing had been equally plain, and that had not prevented her from finding money for three slaves…
‘Paula?’ His voice was creaky. He struggled back onto an elbow. ‘Daphne?’
The woman settled on a cushion at his side, a glass goblet in hand. The goblet caught William’s eye—the glass looked Venetian, it must have cost a fortune to have shipped it here. A Venetian glass goblet?
Where am I?
The woman smiled. It occurred to William that she was observing him most carefully, and had been for some time. ‘I take it that Daphne and Paula are the girls in your…party,’ she said, pointing to the other end of the chamber. ‘They are being well cared for. See?’
And there, in the centre of a circle of women, were the girls. Paula, in a fresh tunic, was holding the hand of one of the women. She was smiling. William’s throat tightened, he could not recall the last time he had seen Paula smile. Daphne, closely wrapped in what looked like silk, was safely in the lap of a motherly-looking wet-nurse on a gilded stool.
A gilded stool? Lord.
What is this place?
Daphne was being fed. The wet-nurse glanced William’s way without embarrassment and nodded at him.
‘As you see, the children are safe.’
William swallowed, but his throat was so parched it was well nigh impossible. Grimacing, he massaged his throat.
The woman leaned towards him, offering the goblet. ‘Wine?’
Clumsily, for his hand did not seem to be obeying him the way it ought to, William grasped the goblet and sipped.
‘I hope it is to your taste, it is watered,’ she said, lowering her voice and leaning towards him. Beneath her veil, he caught a glimpse of wavy brown hair. ‘I thought perhaps, you have not taken…refreshment for some time.’
Giving a jerky nod, William drank. He drank deep. The wine might be watered, but the flavour was richer and smoother than any he had tasted in his entire life. When he had emptied the glass, he sank back against his pillows and peered in amazement at the few remaining drops. Excellent wine served in a Venetian glass, a pillow softer than thistledown, a chamber that is the size of a knight’s hall, huge windows fluttering with silk draperies…
He cleared his throat. ‘Where? Where am I?’ His voice sounded like an unoiled hinge.
She gave him another of those tentative smiles. ‘In Princess Theodora’s apartments in the Boukoleon Palace.’
‘The Palace! This is the Great Palace?’ His head throbbed, the glass wavered in his grasp. A rush of emotion ran through him, confusing in its intensity.
Here, almost a quarter of a century ago or thereabouts, his reclusive mother had met his father. His irresponsible, careless father, the unknown Norman lord who had refused to marry his mother and had never acknowledged William’s existence. Having spent most of his life outside the Empire, William had never thought to set foot in its capital Constantinople, never mind the Great Palace.
‘Yes, you are in the Great Palace.’
Bile stung the back of William’s throat. Holy Heaven, finally, he had come to his mother’s birthplace. As a slave. ‘And the other woman, the one who was with you in the…market—she is Princess Theodora?’
The woman gave a jerky nod and the precious goblet was plucked from his fingers.
William glanced down the length of the chamber, the girls looked happier than he had ever seen them. Paula was still smiling, Daphne still feeding. Relaxing into the pillows with a sigh, he closed his eyes and willed his head to stop throbbing. He needed to think, but not about his mother, not yet. First, he had to get out of the Palace.
‘You are hungry?’
He opened his eyes. Hungry? His stomach growled.
The smoky grey eyes were anxious. ‘I have ordered beef. Would you like some?’
Briefly it crossed William’s mind that this might be a new torment his previous owner had devised for him. Beef. His mouth watered. He levered himself into a sitting position, almost choking on a sudden rush of saliva. Bruised muscles screamed in protest. Another pillow was thrust behind him and a bowl was handed over, smelling fragrantly of meat and herbs. When William reached for the spoon, he was shamed to see his hand was shaking, he was practically drooling.
She, bless her, pretended not to notice.
Beef. Lord. And bread.
William forced him
self to eat slowly, but he did not pause until the bowl was empty, even going as far as to mop up the gravy with a chunk of bread.
She gave him a measure of privacy while he ate, flinging the odd remark to the other women in the chamber. ‘The baby feeds well, Sylvia?’
‘She is fine, my lady.’
My lady. She was no maidservant then, but why was she wearing such plain clothes? In the auction hall, Princess Theodora had been dressed equally simply. Had they been trying to conceal their status? But why should they want to do that? Were Imperial princesses forbidden to leave the Palace? Were they hedged about by rules? Certainly they had not gone to the slave market unaccompanied—dimly, William remembered a small escort. There had been that burly young man who might have been a bodyguard, as well as a couple of other men with a military look to them.
‘More beef?’
‘Please.’
The meat was tender and melted in his mouth, it was a struggle not to moan with delight.
Outside the tall windows, the mew of gulls told him that this part of the Great Palace was close to the sea. William racked his mind to recall what he knew of the Imperial Palace, but for the most part, his mind remained unhelpfully blank. His mother had not wished to speak about her time here and he suspected that what he had learned later in his life was closer to myth than reality.
The Norsemen had their own name for Constantinople—to them it was Miklagard. The greatest City in Christendom, the Imperial vaults—hidden somewhere beneath the Palace—were said to be crammed with the wealth of several hundred years of Imperial rule.
Smoky grey eyes were watching him.
Why was this woman, this lady, helping him? Why was she being so kind? It made no sense. She wants something from me.
‘Lady Anna?’ The wet-nurse spoke from across the room. She had finished feeding Daphne and was setting her down in a willow basket, cocooning her in wrappings.
William marked her name. Anna.
‘Yes, Sylvia?’
‘Do you wish me to remain in the apartment, my lady? Or shall I return to the servants’ quarters?’
Chained to the Barbarian Page 2