by SandraHill
"A barrel of mead?" a third soldier interjected innocently, though he had to know the answer.
"Nay, the drukkinn king of Stoneheim."
"Ha, ha, ha!" the men sitting around the alehouse table laughed.
"Didst hear that the king tupped Bertha last night?" another soldier called out. Bertha, the alehouse whore, straightened up. "The only problem is, he tupped the wrong hole."
"Ha, ha, ha!" More communal laughter.
"The king tupped himself," the soldier explained to one man who hadn't understood the jest.
These men must be demented to find humor in these endless hole-in-the-head jokes, Adam thought, but after a forced two-sennight stay in the trading town while the king recovered from a high fever, he and his friends were bordering on demented, too.
"You'd better be careful that Thorvald doesn't overhear these jokes," Adam warned. "He may not appreciate your laughing at him."
"Nay, you are wrong there," Bolthor spoke up. "Thorvald seems to enjoy the hole-in-the-head jests best of all. In fact, I have composed a saga about this very thing, 'Viking Men with Humor.' "
Bolthor was already starting to perform before Adam had a chance to groan. Rashid, the traitor, was applauding.
"Viking men are fiercesome fighters,
Skilled with sword and axe.
But off the battlefield, some say,
Their greatest talent is
The ability to laugh at themselves.
No man or god is ever so great
That never does he trip.
If man cannot laugh at himself,
He might as well be dead."
There was stone silence in the ale room. Bolthor was a giant of a man… too big for them to taunt with laughter or ridicule.
Finally Adam said, "Very good, Bolthor," though he gritted his teeth in saying so. Then he added, "I noticed that you had no rhyming words in that one."
"How sharp-witted of you to notice, Adam! I like to mix my sagas… some rhyming, some not."
"Excellent idea!" Tykir said.
Adam's head swiveled toward Tykir so sharply he would probably have a crick in his neck tonight. "Excellent idea?" he mouthed silently.
Tykir just grinned.
"Someone ought to tell Bolthor the truth someday," Adam grumbled.
"He who tells the truth should have one foot in the stirrup," Rashid advised him.
"Sagas and proverbs! I think I have landed in hell and no one bothered to inform me."
"It is good to know the truth, but it is better to speak of fig trees," Rashid continued.
"Aaarrgh!"
"Methinks I will go over and talk to Bertha," Rashid said.
"If you dare to offer her a spot in my harem, I swear I will tell the world you are a eunuch." Adam shoved his trencher and wooden goblet aside and placed his forehead on the table before him. Then he banged his head several times. Welcome to the world of the demented! "I have to get out of this place. I am dying of boredom. Soon I will be composing sagas and proverbs myself."
"Now, Adam, we will be gone from here in a day or so. Even you have said that the king is much improved," Tykir said.
Adam should be thankful. It had been questionable at one point whether the king would survive the fever that overcame him soon after leaving Stoneheim. "But two whole sennights we have lost here. The king planted the idea in my head that Tyra might be in danger in Byzantium, then succumbed to the fever. All this time, even as I tended to Thorvald, I have been worrying that we will be too late."
Tykir nodded his understanding, then leaned back on his bench against the wall, a dreamy expression on his face. "There was a time, afore Alinor and I were wed, when we were separated for a short time. You may not be aware of this fact, but my lady can be a very stubborn person."
Adam made a snorting sound and said, "And you are not?"
"Not as thickheaded as she. But do not tell her I said so," he quickly added. "In any case, during those several sennights when we were apart, I worried about her welfare. She had two evil twin brothers, you know? But mostly, she occupied every moment of my every day because I was coming to accept the fact that I loved her, and I had never told her. I was all twisted up inside."
Mayhap Tykir had the right of it. Betimes Adam felt as if he'd been turned inside out. He wasn't sure what he thought anymore. Sometimes he even forgot to eat. "I'll tell you one thing, Gunter's pretty face is going to be not so pretty when I am done with him, and Egil's overtight braies will fit him much better. Furthermore, Tyra had better not be scratching her groin again. After seeing her in that red gown," and seeing her naked, "I cannot bear the thought of her trying to act the man."
"That is the least of your troubles, boy. I can see clearly that you are in the same spot I was in then. You have not yet come to terms with your feelings."
"Oh, God! Spare me from Vikings who speak of feelings. Next Bolthor will be…"
Uh'oh! I spoke too soon. Already he saw that the verse mood was coming onto the skald's face, again.
"This is the saga of Adam the Lesser, also known as the saga of 'Three Dreaded Words.' "
"Three words there are that all men fear
More than sword, or ax, or spear.
Why is it such a dreadful thing
For a man to admit his heart can sing
At the mere swish of a fair maid's hip
Or the mere upward turn of her lip?
Some say there are stages to life:
Birth, death, first swive, first babe, first wife.
But I say there is another step man must go through,
One which brings terror to his heart so true.
'Tis the first time he says, 'I love you.' "
Still in Boring Byzantium
Another sennight had gone by, and Tyra was in the exercise arena, practicing battle skills with other members of the Varangian Guard. She was bored, and more than a little chagrined by her service in the Guard thus far.
Romanus was indeed treating her like a freak. Her uniform was the same as other members of his Guard, except more feminine in subtle ways. Tucks and folds he had apparently ordered resulted in her attire clearly showing that she was a woman with breasts and rounded hips and long legs. And he paraded her before every emissary who visited his court from other countries. It was hard to miss their smirks and rude stares or blatant invitations to couple with them, like a court whore. Worst of all, the empress's hatred toward her was becoming more and more evident.
Inside the palace enclosure there were supposedly fifty thousand retainers. Up till now, Romanus had kept Tyra as part of his private imperial bodyguard, though some Varangians served on active duty, too. During any reception or public event, the emperor had three lines of soldiers arranged in a semicircle behind him. The first arc included those fighting men who had recently distinguished themselves in the ruler's service. The second group was less important, but still meritorious of royal recognition. The third group, where Tyra had been assigned, included the "Barbarians," or "Varangians." All of them stood at attention, eyes lowered the entire time, in full uniform, armor, and weaponry.
In the evenings, she would be invited to dine with the royal family and their guests. In the large dining chamber, which held a huge table made of gold and was surrounded by thirty-six couches, meals were served on plates of gold. But even the smaller dining chambers with only a dozen couches held splendors unimaginable to the average person. Between courses, they would be entertained by jesters, mimes, dwarves, acrobats, musicians, poets… and her.
Ingrith would be really, really impressed with the staggering number of exotic dishes served each day. Vana would bemoan the amount of work to be done in polishing all the marble. Drifa would swoon at the profusion of heavy-scented flowers. And, Breanne… holy Thor! The ideas for building and renovating she could come up with here boggled the mind. She would no doubt be inspired to put marble pillars and indoor fountains in her father's great hall at Stoneheim.
Tyra never would have gu
essed that she could miss her bothersome sisters so much. And her father… the egotistical fool! He could teach this monarch much about reigning with dignity, even if his Norse castle was lacking the Byzantine's splendor. She hoped her father's health was continuing to improve, but she trusted that Adam would not leave Stoneheim till he was assured of that fact.
Personally, she thought these Byzantines took themselves far too seriously. They need a good hole-in-the-head-joke, if you ask me. Tyra had to smile to herself when that thought occurred. She must be going barmy if she missed Viking humor.
Occasionally, she and her soldiers had free days. Then some of them would go to the Hippodrome for entertainment, usually horse races or the circus. All of the men found women on whom they could ease themselves at night, she supposed. She never asked.
It was at Tyra's insistence that Romanus finally allowed her to join her fellow soldiers in the practice fields. And even there, they treated her like a curiosity. Many of the Byzantine soldiers wanted a chance to fight her one on one, no doubt to boast later of what great men they were to have triumphed over the Amazon soldier in combat. Some of them had been surprised when she trounced them soundly. In other cases, she'd been trounced herself. But mostly, she'd performed admirably, and slowly she was gaining their respect. She was unaccustomed to having to earn respect, and it grated on her.
Just then a soldier she recognized as an aide to General Phocas came up to her "The general would like to speak with you at once," he said without preamble.
She was bent over at the waist, hands on her thighs, trying to regain her breath after her latest bout of sword-play. She straightened and swiped a forearm across her forehead to wipe off the perspiration. "Now? Immediately?" she asked, trying to catch her breath.
He nodded.
"Should I not go off to bathe and change my dirty garments?"
"Now!" he repeated. "Follow me " And off the rude fellow went.
She glanced over at Gunter and Egil, both of whom shrugged, and she went off to meet with the general in his quarters.
Within moments, she learned what was so urgent to the gnomelike commander. She did not let his almost ugly appearance mislead her. She knew he was an excellent soldier and leader. Good looks mattered not in battle, as she well knew.
"My sources tell me you are anxious to get into active battle," he said straight off.
Well, anxious to be out of Byzantium itself, anxious to no longer be a spectacle, anxious to be given a useful job. "I would welcome an assignment," she said carefully.
"My brother, Leo Phocas, is general of the Army of the East. Always we are plagued by our greatest enemy there, Saif ed-Daula. 'Tis time to end the life of that pestsome gnat and to take the Syrian lands into the Byzantine Empire. Will you join him in his fight there?"
Lately, Tyra had been uncomfortable with aggressive warfare. She had no qualms whatsoever about defensive fighting to protect a homeland, or an ideal. But battle motivated by greed was different.
Inwardly, she struggled with all these issues, especially since she had come in contact with Adam the Healer and his criticisms of her warlike attributes. But for now her most important priority had to be getting out of the imperial city. Yea, 'twas best to accept the general's offer. Later she would have time to resolve her inner conflicts.
"I accept your assignment, provided all my men may accompany me," she finally said.
"Why must your men be with you? Can you not stand alone?" A shifty look came over the general's face, the same look Tyra had seen on too many occasions lately when he was in whispered consultations with the empress.
"Yea, I can stand alone, but we Stoneheim warriors came here as one unit, and that is how we intend to stay. Take one, take all," she insisted.
Nicephorus frowned at her, and a tic worked rhythmically to the side of his mouth, causing his lips to jerk up in a rather grotesque fashion. In the end, the general said, "So be it. You will leave on the morrow."
Tyra left the general's quarters and went off to give the news to her men. A heavy cloud settled over her mood, however. With this latest action, she would be taking herself another step farther away from Stoneheim… another step farther away from Adam, wherever he was.
What will my future hold now?
The eastern Byzantine frontier
"I never thought I would miss the cold of the Northlands, but I do." Tyra was sitting under the overhang of a tent, fanning her sweltering face with a palm leaf.
"I agree," Gunter said. "Thor's balls! Two sennights in the Syrian deserts and I would like nothing more than an icy Stoneheim wind, accompanied by a good dose of snow."
The two of them were watching a patrol of soldiers, including Egil and some of their comrades, come back from night duty. It would be their turn to go out soon. Wherever that slyboots Saif ed-Daula was, he hadn't made an appearance yet… leastways not for any direct confrontations. Instead, there were constant hit-and-hide assaults that were driving them all barmy.
A shortage of men was always a problem for the Byzantine armies, especially this Eastern division. As a result, soldiers were given land in return for service. The men were permitted to live on and work their own properties, but they had to present themselves fully armed and mounted whenever summoned to the frontier army. To say they were not dedicated soldiers was an understatement. Mercenaries and soldiers like the Varangian Guard were rewarded with huge salaries and the right to take booty after battles. Tyra thought they had the better deal.
Soon she was saddled up and about to ride out on what turned out not to be the usual guard duty. Instead, General Phocas assembled a large troop, almost two hundred soldiers, and announced they were going farther than they had in the past. This would be an overnight foray to a distant village, where Saif had presumably been raiding the last few days.
The odd thing was that, at the last moment, the general ordered Gunter and Tyra's Stoneheim warriors to stay behind while she went alone. They protested vehemently, but the general claimed he needed the accomplished talents of the Northmen to hold down the garrison post. So, at least this time, they gave in.
By that evening, Tyra understood why she and she alone had been singled out from the Stoneheim contingent to go on this foray. As they approached a desert oasis some distance from the village where they were headed, Tyra's horse suddenly went lame. When she dismounted and examined the mare's foreleg, she saw immediately that it had been gashed. Before she had a chance to stand and confront whoever had done this dastardly deed, Tyra was struck from behind. She lay in the sand staring up at a hazy image of General Phocas bending over her, smiling grimly.
"Kill the horse," the general ordered, even as her heavy eyelids were closing. The pain at the back of her head was unbearable. Was this how Adam had felt when she'd whacked him with the flat side of her broadsword?
"Should we leave her here, unattended?" one of the Byzantine soldiers was asking the general.
"Aye. Leave her. She will be rescued shortly. It will be as the empress desires."
There was much chuckling and soft laughter then as the men mounted their horses and prepared to ride off.
Then Tyra's world went black.
When Tyra awakened later that day, she was in strange surroundings. Bit by bit, she took in her situation. She was lying on a marble slab. There were cool breezes from water falling into a courtyard fountain. She noticed the pungent scent of desert flowers, the sound of giggles and soft feminine chatter.
Tyra's head throbbed painfully. Still, she glanced to the right, then to the left. There were scantily clad, beautiful women everywhere, of all ages and colors.
She recognized two facts then:
She was totally naked.
She was in some sultan's harem.
Tyra gasped and felt her heart begin to race with panic. A hysterical reaction to an unbelievable situation. Rashid had suggested one time that she would make a good harem concubine, and she'd laughed. It would seem that the decision had been taken out of her
hands.
For a certainty, she wasn't laughing now.
Byzantium… at last!
Six sennights of travel, and they were finally arriving in Byzantium. Adam felt as if dozens of butterflies were fluttering their wings in his belly, so anxious was he at the prospect of seeing Tyra again.
What should I say?
How will she look?
How do I look? Rashid says the blue tunic matches my eyes, but mayhap I should try the red-fox-lined cloak instead. Better yet, I should probably wear armor… appear more soldierly.
Bloody hell, what difference does it make how I dress?
On the other hand, some women are swayed by fine trappings.
Not Tyra. Never Tyra.
Well then, how best to handle her?
Fool! Handling is the worst thing I can do.
I must be firm with her.
Nay, I cannot be firm. She will consider that overbearing. Gentle is better. Yea, gentle… but firm.
"Why are you talking to yourself?" Tykir asked, looping a companionable arm over Adam's shoulder.
"Fear."
Tykir nodded his head, as if that was perfectly understandable. "Do you have a plan?"
"Nay, and do not think of suggesting another of your lackbrain plans, like the one all of you concocted back at Stoneheim."
Tykir blinked his eyes rapidly, pretending affront. "You did not like our Seduction Plan for Adam? There were many good points in that plan."
Adam was not about to get involved in that silly discussion again. "Shouldn't the emissaries be back by now? 'Tis almost noon, and they have been gone for two hours."
King Thorvald, resting on his ship bed, had sent some emissaries to seek permission from Emperor Romanus for their contingent to enter the royal sector of the city. His health was much improved, but he tired easily. Today he wanted to appear at his best.
Tykir shrugged. "We still have plenty of time. The imperial gates do not close till three. Once inside, we have the rest of the day to find Tyra."
"I have decided to stay behind here on the ship with some of the soldiers and Alrek," Rashid said. He was on Tykir's other side "The Byzantines do not have much love for us Arabs, and I prefer not to take a chance."