"Here they come." Harald rose and led his troopers to the entrance of the nearest building. "Form ranks!"
The gates sagged. The people surged in and spilled through the palace. High on their shadowed walls, mosaic saints watched God's judgment roll over the Imperium.
The Varangians were attacked less fiercely than Harald had awaited. With so much to loot, only the most revengeful rebels went against them. He withdrew step by step down seemingly endless hallways, giving and taking weary blows. Forced at last into a wide room and attacked on every side, his formation was broken and his men must flee singly. He saw Ulf backing up a stair, ax still flying as half a dozen swordsmen pursued.
Later, with much lewd detail, the Icelander told what had happened. No lamps were lit on the floor above, so he ducked around a corner and into the gloom of a luxurious suite. A woman hiding there gasped as she heard him come in. He seized her and clapped a hand to her mouth. "Silence! They'll hear us!"
"Oh ... a Varangian!" She coughed out, then, still in his arms half weeping, she said, "Save me, save me, for God's holy sake! I will pay you, I'll make you rich if you save me. . . ."
Though he reeled on his feet, Ulf thought he could best stop her fit with a good noisy kiss. That worked well enough, perhaps, because even in her terror Anna Danielis expected no such thing from a mere guardsman.
"At your service, despoina," he said. "We can make ourselves a fortress here. They're not likely to come in such numbers that they can storm it." He piled furnishings against the doors and got a lamp lit. Since he saw no chance of rejoining his comrades, and a full carafe stood on a table, he removed his mail and shared the wine with her. They were soon drunk. She was a leading lady at court, handsome in a plump pop-eyed fashion, her decorum torn away by fear. Ulf was not too worn to bed her and afterward they often found occasion to meet. Her husband was a dry stick, she told him.
As for Harald, he rallied a few men in a doorway, beat off an attack and stood waiting. The foe grumbled sullenly at him but did not try afresh. Every man's hands felt too heavy to lift. In the hours that followed, the mob sacked the palace.
Toward morning a band of Imperial guardsmen, bearing torches and a flag of truce, arrived with their news. The Emperor had fled with his uncle, Zoe had resumed power, the cause was won and all folk should go peacefully home.
"And my men died for him!" said Harald. He threw his blunted sword on the floor and walked out.
4
Theodora was not like Zoe. She was big and ugly, dressed plainly, hoarded her wealth and, although a good speaker, she voiced more prayers than counsel. While the commoners cheered, danced and sang in the streets, the Senate confirmed her as colleague on the throne, much to her sister's displeasure.
Harald stood with several Varangians behind Zoe while she addressed her people from a balcony, thanking them for the aid which had left her dwelling a gutted wreck. His wounds ached, he mourned good friends, but the riots had not come near Maria's home and that was sign enough of God's goodness.
The Empress' fat shoulders sagged with exhaustion. When she asked mercy for Michael, her voice was quite lost in the shouts.
"Death to the Caulker! Down with the scoundrel! Impale him! Burn him! Geld him!" For a moment it looked as if wrath would again waste the city. Zoe fled back to her apartments, tears making channels in her powder.
Harald was not surprised to learn that the praefect and a squad of officers were already off to St. Studion. Theodora had many years to avenge. He and his men were ordered to hold back the crowds while sentence was publicly carried out.
The braces had been erected in the square before the palace, and the executioner was heating his instruments when Michael and Constantine were brought thither. Both still wore the black monastic robes they had hoped would keep them safe. Michael stumbled, half dragged along by his guards; Constantine strode firmly, glaring contempt at the world.
As they lashed him into place, Michael struggled and screamed. "Christ, not so, have mercy, in Christ's name, I am your Emperor, God will smite you for this, help, help, help!"
"Hear how the pig squeals!" called someone. The mob, pressing hungrily closer, laughed. Theodora watched from a balcony, avid. Zoe was not present.
"Show some respect, there!" rapped Constantine when he was fastened in the brace.
"Take him first!" screamed Michael. "Take him first!"
The executioner shrugged and plucked a white-hot needle from his brazier with tongs. Constantine watched unwaveringly. Harald saw how the eunuch's teeth caught at his lip when the steel sizzled in, but he made no sound. The executioner withdrew the needle and picked up another.
Blood ran down Constantine's cheeks from the empty eye sockets. "God be praised!" he said. "Now I need no longer look at you dogs."
Michael jerked against his bonds, keening above the jeers. Thus had it ended, the power and wealth, stately days and reveling nights—ended in a wooden spiderweb and the blue-white glow of a needle. He screwed his eyes shut, still shrieking. The executioner forced the lids back with deft fingers.
Afterward the prisoners were led off, to drag out their lives as common monks at Elegmos. Two old women sat upon the Imperial throne, with a treasury nearly dry and a realm yet trembling.
Up on the balcony, Theodora permitted herself a pious little smile.
Chapter X:
How Zoe Was Ungrateful
1
A few days later, Harald learned that Georgios Maniakes had been released and reappointed commander in Italy. The Empire's affairs there had fallen into a sorry state, with the native Italians rising and the Norman mercenaries, by now a sizeable army, holding most of the Imperial possessions as an independent nation. Harald went to see his friend and wish him Godspeed. He found him directing preparations from an office by the Golden Horn.
''Oh . . . Araltes. Spatharokandidatos Araltes now, is it not? Good day to you. Be seated." Georgios laid down a list and peered across the table. Two years in prison had bleached his skin and gaunted his flesh, and his movements were jerky; but he smiled with a touch of the old sour humor. "Say not you are coming too!"
Harald shook his head. "I will soon be bound home, kyrios. I came but to say farewell."
"That was kind of you. I'll miss your mulishness." Georgios' fist slammed the table. "Body of Christ! Men these days are nothing but traitors or catamites. Where shall I find anyone like you who'll do a task and not stab me from behind?"
"Your common soldiers are not such bad fellows."
"Clods. I need officers. By the Virgin, it's hard." A whine entered the tone. "For two years they let me rot, then today when I've scarce seen my family I must be off again to shore up this wreck of an Empire, while my enemy Romanus Skleros stays home to intrigue against me. Has a man no rights?"
"You could resign your post and retire to the country."
"And leave myself powerless? Never." Georgios' mouth drew into harsh lines. "But let them give me my deserts this time, or beware."
Harald stirred uncomfortably. "Well, then . . . farewell," he said. "God help you."
"I'll help myself. It's useless to rely on anyone else."
Harald went out feeling that he had spoken to an unlucky man.
A sharp wind bore tar and smoke and a hundred spices to his nose. The docks clamored with men: a sweaty gang of laborers loading a merchant vessel, a carpenter hammering a gaggle of drunken sailors, a squad of harbor guards tramping by with the sun aflash on their mail. Ships, seemingly without end, lay berthed in the harbor, their yardarms athwart the sky. A gilt naiad leaped at the prow of one; tangled cordage and rusty anchors were everywhere; and the slap of wavelets on barnacled hulls permeated the air. Elsewhere the court might scheme and feast and make a great thing of refurnishing the palace; here there was work to do.
Harald walked the barrier chain, looped metal links as thick as a man's arm. At night, in times of peril, it stretched on timber floats across the Golden Horn, no part far above or below the water. An idle thought came
to him, a way by which certain craft could pass it if they must.
He fetched his horse from a livery stable and rode toward Nicephorus' house to see Maria. As he jogged through the swarming streets, he sang under his breath. At the gate, a servant took the beast. Merrily, Harald tossed him a coin, and got a troubled thanks. "Why, what's the matter, Demetrios?"
"Oh ..." The Greek would not meet his gaze.
"What?" Harald seized the fellow's shoulder. "What's wrong?"
Demetrios winced at the grasp. "Best see my master, despotes," he mumbled.
Harald flung him aside, ran over the path and up the peristyle stairway. He had not been able to meet her for days. If she lay in fever or . . . There were so many ways for folk to die. Sometimes they coughed their lungs out for five years, sometimes they screamed and clutched their bellies and were corpses next morning. O almighty God, surely You love her too much for that!
Nicephorus met him just inside the porch. The man's face was bleak. "Maria!" yelled Harald. "Where is she? What's the matter?"
"She is well," said Nicephorus hastily. "But she . . . she isn't here." His wiry fingers caught the Norseman's wrist with their ever astonishing strength; they felt cold. "Come in and sit with me. I have wine already poured."
Harald knotted his fists. He felt sweat prickle under his arms. But he forced himself to be calm. "Tell me the news."
Nicephorus waited until they were alone before he raised a cup and said, "Well, Araltes, I am afraid your wedding may have to be postponed. You see, yesterday the Empress Zoe ordered Maria back to court. She also withdrew permission for her marriage to you."
Harald took up the other goblet. Wine slopped on the floor. "Why?" he asked after a time. His voice felt strange in his ears.
"The order merely said something about . . . unsuitability ... it was vague." Nicephorus looked steadily into the blind blue eyes. "We have no cause for despair, Araltes. You know how flighty the Empress is. This is a question of ... of time, and diplomacy. Not something to be settled with an ax."
"By St. Olaf, if it were!" Blood trickled into Harald's short beard from the lip he had bitten.
Nicephorus poured him a fresh beaker, which he drank at a gulp. "Let us discuss coolly what can be done," said the Greek.
Harald threw himself into a chair. The silver cup began to be distorted by his fingers. Nicephorus took a couch.
"This isn't final, Araltes, never forget that," he said. "I know not what the Empress' motives are. Perhaps some of this religion she has been feeling so much of late. After all, you are from a Catholic country, and we are ever more at odds with the Pope. Perhaps she, or Theodora, who has more real power—but surely Zoe would do the very opposite of anything Theodora suggested. . . . Well, perhaps she is piqued that you fought so well on behalf of Michael Calaphates. Or perhaps this is only a means of keeping you, a soldier of proven value, here. No doubt many reasons at once lie behind her act."
"Mother of the people! Fit mother of those!"
"Our riddle is not answered with curses," said Nicephorus gently. "I think your best chance is to petition the Empress in person. Win back her favor."
"And if she still refuses, how long must I wait?" Harald shouted. "God's teeth, it's nigh twelve years since I left home!"
"Araltes, you cannot fight the Empire. The day is long past, here in the South, when a man could be a man. Think: Saracens and Bulgars you mowed, but the mob of Constantinople defeated you. Only two kinds of men in the Empire have any real freedom. Those like me, who withdraw into their own shadow world; and those who can outwit and outwait their masters."
"Am I to own Zoe and her rabble masters?" asked Harald thickly.
"You must try. And ... it grieves me to say this . . . you must stay away from this house. Your case will be prejudiced if you continue to see Maria, she herself may be endangered, and Zoe has spies everywhere. Araltes, are you man enough to abide your chance?"
2
Harald's request for a private audience with Zoe was acknowledged and he was told to wait. He waited a month.
And meanwhile he must be on duty. Day after day he must be in the throne room, leading the double circle of guards who stood with lowered eyes while two old women received ambassadors, gave judgment and ruled the state. He was part of their statuary. The great ax which could hack them to Hell was another decoration. Buttered voices fell on his ears, the organ thundered, the eunuchs pattered to and fro, and he stood motionless.
Once only did he see Maria, during a court procession: she was robed and veiled, but her light tread turned his heart over within him. For the barest moment their eyes crossed, then broke away again; it was forbidden.
A few times she sent him a letter by some furtive messenger. Though he wrestled with the words till sweat stood out on his skin, in the end he had to take them to a priest. The old man was friendly, but he read in a nasal monotone.
"... each day without you is another death, and yet I can find you each moment. Morning light has the hue of your hair; noontime overhead is colored like your eyes; rain and wind are you hurrying across the world; night and the stars are filled with you. Now and again the gods are—kind? cruel? I know not, but I glimpse you from some high window, and then for a while I am in a darkness that burns. I have not yet learned why this must be, the Empress has never deigned to say and a serving maid may not ask. Were this the ancient days, I would think the gods were envious of us; we were too happy. But then you would have ridden up Olympus, broken down the gates and compelled Zeus himself to do as you bid. Were the saints, then, angered that I made your name a prayer? Well, I shall endure knowing you are too strong to be broken. . . ."
Thereafter Harald set himself to learn book skills.
He slept badly and, lacking appetite, had to force food down his gullet. The Varangians were patient under his harshness, being aware of the truth. Finally they sent Ulf to speak for them.
He found Harald slumped in a chair at home, more than half drunk. He took another seat and some wine of his own.
"I have a word for you," he said at length.
"Yes?" Harald remained sprawling, chin on breast, hands dangling empty.
"From your lads. They say that if you can't brook this any longer, they'll do whatever you like. Not all, of course, but those who've been with us longest. We could fight our way out and march to Russia. With good plunder, too," Ulf added thoughtfully.
"God! "Harald sat bolt upright. He lifted one fist. "To burn this whole snake's nest of a city! No." The fist dropped. "Let me first speak to the old slut. But tell the men . . . thanks."
There was another silence. "How goes it with you?" asked Harald finally, not caring much.
"Good. This noblewoman, Anna Danielis, is madly in love. She presses a Fafnir's hoard of gifts on me." Ulf's grin died. "But it's no life for a man. I'll be glad when we go home."
"If ever we do. Oftimes I feel like a netted bird. Those birds in Sicily, that burned the castle for us," said Harald somewhat wildly. "I've remembered them of late. Poor birds, it wasn't their war, was it?"
Ulf cocked his head. "You need a woman," he decided.
"Not the sort you have in mind." Harald got out a smile.
"Well," said Ulf awkwardly, "good luck to you." He departed.
The days passed. Harald hearkened to the court gossip, hoping for any clue. Zoe was openly in search of a third husband, despite the Orthodox Church frowning on such marriages. It was her best escape from Theodora's prim reign. After much intrigue, which led to at least one poisoning, her fancy approached a former lover, Constantine Monomachos, a dashing courtier whom Michael IV had been ungracious enough to exile. Zoe had already appointed him governor of Greece, and the court gossip flowed with rumors of still higher honors for him. Her advisors approved; Constantine Monomachos was not one to take an unfriendly view of their amusements.
Then the summons came for Harald.
At the appointed hour, an obsequious eunuch guided him to a room of rich hangings and soft
colors. The air was sickly with perfumes. But no maids were in attendance, only a rank of guardsmen. Maria might not learn today's outcome for hours. Harald made obeisance with his heartbeat thick in his throat.
"Rise, Spatharokandidatos," said Zoe. "You may look at us."
Harald hoped that the hate and scorn in him did not show. The Empress seemed fatter each day, she bulged around her girdle. Small help to her were her thin silken garments, or jewels or the wig of some blonde girl's hair which covered her bristly gray pate. She stroked her chins, simpered, and let him wait a bit before she spoke.
"You desired an interview with us, Spatharokandidatos."
'That is right, despoina," said Harald with great care. "I have served the Imperium faithfully for many years. Now I throw myself on the well-known mercy of Her Sacred Majesty, and beg one small favor."
"We understand that you wish to leave us," said Zoe coldly.
"Despoina, I have been long away from home. A crown awaits me there."
"Our finance ministers have been studying your accounts, Spatharokandidatos. It seems there are irregularities. They have even intimated misappropriation of Imperial property."
Harald's jaws ached with pressure. Somehow he was able to say quietly: "Despoina, not only am I a stranger to clerkly crafts, but in time of war a leader cannot stop to record everything. Perhaps my treasurers were not always honest. I have never heard that a successful leader was questioned about such things."
"Let us hear your petition," said Zoe with an impatient gesture.
"Surely Her Sacred Majesty knows. In view of my services to the Empire, I beg that the lady Maria Skleraina get leave to wed me and accompany me home."
"Services on behalf of Paphlagonian Constantine?" Zoe sneered.
So that still rankled, Harald thought. "Guardsmen must obey their superiors, despoina. We are but instruments. We did strive to save the palace from being looted."
Zoe reached for a sweetmeat and nibbled. The stillness waxed. Finally her lashes fluttered. Perhaps, under the powder, she colored a little. "For a self-styled king, Spatharokandidatos, you plan a humble marriage. Maria belongs to no wealthy or powerful branch of her family. Surely you could do better."
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