Kathleen Kirkwood & Anita Gordon - Heart series

by The Defiant Heart

  Though she did not move, Ailinn’s heart followed after him. She watched as the distance increased between them, his bright head shining above most other men’s.

  As Lyting disappeared into the throng of the Mesê, Ailinn felt suddenly very much alone.

  Turning, she found Jorunn waiting at her side.

  »«

  Ailinn matched her pace with Arnór’s and Jorunn’s as they proceeded north along the boulevard. Ingered, Ashild, and the remaining convoy members followed directly behind, while at a small distance the armed guard dogged them.

  As they progressed, Ailinn gave her attention to the people crowding the Mesê. The Byzantines she could differentiate — or so she believed — but there were many from lands unknown to her, especially those of the East.

  The diversity was as endless. There were dark-skinned men in flowing striped robes, with extraordinary headdresses that reminded her of plump cushions, bound with wrappings of cloth. Others wore long, fitted coats that tied across the chest and slippers that curled at the toes. To one side she saw a trio of coarse-looking men with shaven pates, ritual scars on their cheeks, and chains for belts. In contrast, on the boulevard’s other side strolled a man whose hair and beard were meticulously curled and dressed with oil so that it glistened in the sun.

  Reaching the stalls of the leatherworkers, Arnór led them beneath the covered arches, past displays of boots, belts, pouches, gloves, and other apparel. Ailinn saw now that the passage beneath the colonnade opened onto workrooms, where artisans toiled and additional tables were spread with goods.

  Arnór conducted them on, halting at last before the shops of the saddlers. One of the men there recognized Arnór and rose from his work, greeting him by name. Minutes passed as Arnór introduced the other men in their company, who, Ailinn realized now, had also come for the purpose of trade.

  Jorunn chafed visibly while the men continued to posture and exchange formalities. Imposing herself at her husband’s side, she engaged him in a brief conversation, then withdrew and indicated for her daughters and Ailinn to follow.

  Ailinn much preferred to stay with Arnór but had no way to communicate this to him. She would also be sorely out of place while he and the others conducted their business.

  Resigned, Ailinn hastened to follow the three women, who were advancing briskly along the portico and now veered to depart from its shelter. Moments later Ailinn emerged from beneath the arches and found Jorunn poised to cross the street. Jorunn looked to Ailinn. Before she could fully catch up, Jorunn moved on.

  Ailinn fumed as she trailed after Jorunn and her daughters, hard pressed to keep pace with them as she worked her way across the boulevard, dodging carts and litters. Gaining the opposite side of the street, Ailinn found Jorunn waiting once more, her look sharp, unreadable, and yet expectant somehow. Jorunn pivoted and directed them southward until they came to a stretch of the colonnade that housed the cloth merchants.

  As before, stalls lined the portico, these offering a mind-boggling array of silks, linens, woolens, and brocades. Ailinn drank in the sight, utterly amazed, and understood Jorunn’s eagerness to be here.

  Thankfully, Jorunn slowed to examine the tables of goods. Ailinn couldn’t believe the sheer quantities of silk available — so rare and costly in Ireland. Not only did she find the abundance staggering, but the variety. They ranged in weights and textures from those light, smooth, and airy, to those more closely woven, firmer and heavier. The vibrancy of the colors fairly assaulted her eyes — strong, vivid colors to which she was unaccustomed but instantly loved.

  As Ailinn glanced up, she saw Jorunn bid Ingered and Ashild to the entrance of one of the shops, then lead them inside. Reluctantly Ailinn abandoned the lustrous red silk she had been admiring and followed.

  The workroom proved a noisy, congested place, where women vied with one another over rolls of sumptuous cloth stacked on long trestles. Jorunn stood toward the end of one of the tables, holding up a length of shimmering brocade for her daughters’ inspection. Ailinn picked her way toward them, stopping a moment to linger over a display of embroidered goods — smaller items including elegant handkerchiefs and headcoverings.

  Ailinn’s spirits brightened as she lifted one of the beautiful veils there. ‘Twas the lightest material she had ever held — a sheer whisper of silk, embellished with silver about the edges. She wondered of its cost — whether she could afford it, whether she should.

  Ailinn smoothed her hand over the exquisite veil, yearning to have it, yet not wishing to squander Lyting’s coin. Taking the pouch he had given her, she checked inside, more to affirm that she should not spend the few coins she expected to find there. Ailinn gasped aloud at the little hoard of gold, silver, and gemstones that winked back at her.

  “Blessed Saint Pádraig! May he smile upon your generosity, Lyting!” she muttered half to herself and smiled wide, confident she could make the purchase without seriously depleting his supply. At the very least she could ask the merchant’s price and attempt to strike a reasonable bargain.

  Ailinn pursed her lips, scanning the room, wondering whom she might approach. Surprisingly, Jorunn came to her aid, catching her eye and directing her attention to a man several tables away, toward the back of the room. He appeared to be accepting monies and weighing coins.

  Ailinn nodded her thanks to Jorunn and began working her way toward the man. She waited as he finished a transaction with the two women before her. Happily, she looked over the veil and its precious embroidery once again, thrilled to have found it. Glancing back to the front of the shop where she had left Jorunn, her heart leapt.

  The Norsewomen were gone.

  Ailinn scanned the workroom. Dropping the veil on a nearby table, she hastened outside.

  Ailinn scanned the crush of people along the portico, rising on tiptoe to look right and left, as far as she could see. Without success, she stepped beyond the arches and stared out over the sea of confusion in the street. If the women were there, she did not see them. Ailinn retraced her steps, checking once more inside the workroom, then scouted along the portico until she determined beyond question that they were gone.

  Ailinn’s ire mounted. The three had purposely abandoned her.

  Suppressing her anger, she looked to the aqueduct and felt comforted to see its upper portion looming in the distance above the Mesê. What did Jorunn and her daughters hope their mischief would accomplish, when she could so easily find her way back to the saddlers and rejoin Arnór?

  Determined to do just that, Ailinn stepped out onto the boulevard once more, crossed to the other side and continued northward to the section of the leather workers. Locating the shop of the saddler, she proceeded inside, but found that Arnór and those in his company had already moved on.

  Ailinn reemerged, feeling the bite of frustration.

  Arnór and the others could be anywhere along the Mesê, which, according to Lyting, extended far. She assumed that when Jorunn took her leave of Arnór, she’d arranged to meet him elsewhere later. But where?

  Ailinn assessed where she stood on the boulevard, again using the aqueduct as her landmark. She thought of making her way down to the ships, but she wasn’t ready to return there. In truth, she wished to continue her exploration of the Mesê.

  She drew a fortifying breath. If Constantinople were to be her new home, she refused to be afraid. She had a purse of money to cover her needs and felt confident that she could find her way back to the Gate of the Drungarii whenever she wished.

  Ailinn looked southward in the direction of the palace. Lyting said he would return that way along the Mesê. Certainly, the possibilities of their finding one another between here and there far exceeded those of her venturing out to find Arnór in the other sections of the boulevard.

  Her mind decided, Ailinn headed southward, toward the palace, eager to discover more of the marvels of the city and hopeful she would chance on Lyting. Her cheer returned as she temporarily left the Mesê and entered the Forum of Constan
tine, a great public square that divided it.

  Graceful double-tiered colonnades embraced a large open area, enclosing it with curving arms — the “square” being not square at all, but oval in shape. A multitude of statuary ornamented the colonnade, flanking it with heroes and mythological beasts. At the center of the forum rose a tremendous column of purple marble, topped with a gleaming cross of gold. At its base a sizable crowd collected.

  As Ailinn began to cross the expanse, she became aware of the increasing number of people passing her at rapid gaits, headed toward the gathering. Clusters of finely robed men broke from their conversations to reassemble at the column where the crowd steadily swelled.

  Excitement filled the air, infecting Ailinn as well. ‘Twas as though a bell had been rung, or a horn sounded, announcing an event about to take place. The Mesê appeared to be emptying from both sides into the forum, everyone hastening so as not to miss the distraction.

  The stream of people thickened about Ailinn, carrying her forward. She thought of the delightful little elephant and did not resist, anticipating the diversion to come. Had not Arnór said there were many wonders in Byzantium? She made a silent vow to not miss one of them.

  The press of people quickly became so dense that, even should she wish to turn out of it, she could not. It carried her toward the great porphy column. Several of the more aggressive souls surrounding her bore her on in their company, taking her with them through the jam of people to the forefront of the crowd.

  With so much jostling and pushing, Ailinn took little notice of the increasing vocalness of the crowd. ‘Twas only when she neared the front did she realize that the utterances about her were not ones of buoyant good cheer but were wrathful and jeering.

  Before she could take heed, someone muscled from behind, pushing at her back as they tried to gain a better vantage. Ailinn found herself propelled roughly forward and thrust into the open, beyond the front of the crowd.

  Catching herself, she began to straighten, then halted. A man knelt a short distance before her, his hands bound and outstretched in front of him upon a wooden block. Officials waited to the side, one presently signaling to someone who stood beyond her edge of vision.

  All warmth drained from Ailinn’s face as a hooded axman stepped forward, spit to one side, then marking the man’s wrists, drew the blade up and sliced through the air, sweeping it down.

  Ailinn screamed, the crowd roared, and the blade whirred home.

  Ailinn swung around and battled with all her might through the wall of people. Driving and shoving and pushing her way through, she gained the outer perimeter of the crowd many long minutes later.

  Nauseated, she broke into a run and headed toward the exit on the south side of the forum, where it rejoined the Mesê. Escaping the forum, she spun around and threw her back up against its outer wall, bracing herself for support and heaving for breath. She could not dispel the sight of the man from her mind.

  Ailinn remained panting several minutes longer. She became aware of a supplicating voice nearby. Dragging open her eyes, she found a beggar without eyes. Ailinn pressed away from the wall. More Byzantine justice? she wondered, distraught.

  Composing her ragged nerves, Ailinn set out again on the Mesê. As the poundings of her heart began to slow, she realized, by the stalls and displays along the arcade, that she had entered the section of the goldmiths and silversmiths, the gem crafters and jewelers. But ‘twas not the finery they offered that captured her attention, but the men bent over the workbenches — iron bands around their neck, some with chains on their ankles. Slaves.

  Ailinn’s heart sank, the days of her own enslavement haunting her.

  Progressing on, she came to another gathering, blocking a portion of the street directly ahead of her. Ailinn possessed no desire to see what fascinated the crowd, her curiosity slain. She began to skirt the body, but the spectators parted before she could draw her gaze away. At the center of their interest was a shaggy brown bear.

  Ailinn viewed the animal from its back. At first the sight amazed her, for the bear stood upraised, shuffling on its hind legs for the crowd’s amusement. But as it turned, she saw the chain attached to a ring in its nose. The sight saddened Ailinn for the poor creature. Her thoughts went to Lyting, and she believed he would be saddened, also.

  Lyting. She must find him.

  She glanced briefly back along the boulevard and discovered that the aqueduct was no longer visible, the forum obstructing it from view. But she refused to enter it again without Lyting, and certainly not while public punishments were being meted out. Looking south again, to the far distance, she thought to see the end of the Mesê, marked by a gigantic bronze statue of a man on horseback. The Sacred Palace must lie beyond it, she reasoned.

  With her new goal in sight, Ailinn set forth, ever searching the crowd for Lyting. Halfway down the avenue, she began to notice women, their faces heavily painted with lip tints and eye darkener, and carrying stools. When she saw how they approached the men in the street, she realized they were prostitutes.

  The clatter of wheels alerted Ailinn of a carriage. Tearing her gaze from the women, she stepped without looking from the street, directly into the sizable stomach of a man, standing just outside the arches. His hands caught her instantly and held her as he helped her regain her balance. Ailinn voiced her thanks, suddenly enveloped by an exotic, woody scent.

  Lifting her gaze, she found the man to be like another she had seen earlier, his ebony beard and hair carefully curled and glistening with perfumed oil. He wore a black robe which parted over his protruding belly, showing a bright red sash.

  He continued to hold her in his grasp, his dark eyes moving over her as he addressed her in his native tongue. Questions, she thought. Perhaps he only asked whether she was all right, or the whereabouts of her escort.

  Ailinn relaxed somewhat when he released her. He remained courteous, smiling, evidently offering his aid. She sought to assure him she was all right and began to back away, but he caught her by the arm once more, then upheld a jeweled finger as though asking her to wait a moment.

  Turning, he beckoned to another man, a servant, who stood before one of the stalls, collecting a parcel. The servant hastened to his master’s side and held forth the bundle.

  Ailinn watched as the man opened the cloth wrappings and drew out a stunning necklace of emeralds set in gold. He faced her and held the piece outstretched, against her hair, then nodded with great satisfaction. Lowering the necklace, he laid it across the base of her throat and left it there.

  Astonished, Ailinn caught the piece before the precious jewels dropped to the ground. The man’s hand moved to touch her hair, captivated by its color, then came to rest on her shoulder. He spoke again, his voice honey-smooth, the beam burning in his eyes all too familiar.

  Ailinn’s throat turned to dust. Frantic, she twisted to scan the crowds for Lyting. The man’s grip tightened on her shoulder, and he snapped his fingers to a litter waiting nearby. Without delay the driver brought it forth, and the servant scuttled to bring out a cushioned stool and set it on the ground to aid his master’s climb.

  Realizing the man’s intent, Ailinn thrust the precious necklace back into his hands and shoved his hand from her shoulder.

  Surprise, then anger, flushed the man’s features as she rejected his generosity. Gripping her by the upper arm, he dragged her toward the litter. Ailinn fought his hold, striking out at his chest and demanding he release her. Her actions only angered him more.

  Seizing her by the wrist, he twisted it roughly and forced her onto the stool. Ailinn cried out, pain shooting through her arm. She tried to jerk free but managed only to step off the stool again. The man then barked orders to his servant, who promptly came forward to assist him.

  Desperate, Ailinn screamed and kicked out as they lifted her from her feet. Did no one hear? The people in the street merely looked on, but no one attempted to aid her. Did they think her to be one of the prostitutes and, therefore, u
nworthy of protection or without rights?

  Ailinn felt suddenly weightless as the two men tossed her into the litter. She sprawled gracelessly onto the cushion-lined bench there. Shoving upward, she scrambled for the side, but the man climbed in after her and flung her back down onto the cushions.

  In a pitch of emotion he snapped out orders. The driver cracked his small whip at the mules while the servant hastened ahead, clearing a path before them with a gilded stick.

  As the litter lurched forward, the man turned to Ailinn and spread the necklace of emeralds across her neck. His lips spread with a smile, his teeth gleaming. ‘Twas as though he envisioned her in naught but the jewels.

  Growling his approval, his hand moved to her thigh.

  Chapter 16

  Koll was dead. The fifth of the “Dragons” had been removed from around the throne.

  Lyting hardened his jaw as he left the palace grounds in the company of Thord, an officer of the Guard, and a troop of a half dozen Varangians.

  Rurik had been right. The missive from Dyrrachium was a trick to lure him back. Now, only he remained of the original six. ‘Twas Rurik who had been the central figure, the key person, in foiling the plot against the emperor, Leo Sophos, the one the “spider” would want to entrap above all.

  Lyting knew he must gain the Imperial ear and quickly. He would need to couple the information Rurik had shared with him with what Koll might have imparted to the empress.

  Following the enclosure wall that surrounded the palace, they entered the Augustaeum, the large public square that lay before the Sacred Palace. The Hagia Sophia rose off to his right, massive in size. To his left, stood the famed Hippodrome. Lyting and the Varangians traversed the square, then proceeded past an enormous equestrian statue of the emperor, Justinian, and moved onto the Mesê.

  Lyting began to ask Thord of Koll when a commotion down the street caught his eye — two men struggling with a woman, her dark red hair swirling about her.