A second army under the command of Stephen, a eunuch of Zoe's, hurried from Constantinople to meet the advancing foe. Near Ostrovos, the rebel made his scornful charge. He had nearly shattered the Imperialists when an arrow went through his heart. His followers gave way at once, and the eunuch rode into Constantinople with the head of Georgios Maniakes on a lance. The night that story reached them, Harald, Ulf and Halldor got monstrously drunk and made a long memorial verse for Gyrgi.
Still the weeks dragged. A few times Harald received a letter from Maria. Her kinswoman, ruling the Emperor in everything else, could make no headway against Zoe's will; Constantine would not cross his benefactress for the sake of a friend of the Russians.
With summer came news that lit fire in Harald. Early in the year it had chanced that a Russian noble had been slain during a tumult at Constantinople. Jaroslav, now lord of all his folk, deemed this a ripe time to fall on the Empire. An expedition under his son Vladimir crossed the Black Sea. Suddenly Constantine Monomachos had his back to the wall and a sword at his throat. He had every resident Russian arrested and sent to remote themes. But Harald was commanded to hasten back.
Under the mild Italian heaven, the Norseman raised a boy's shout. He did not then care that he might have to fight his mentor; he did not think until hours afterward that he might himself face arrest. He was returning to Maria!
3
By the time the Varangian galleys had toiled into the Sea of Marmora, the war was past.
In hard battles, the Russian ships and troops had been defeated, experiencing heavy losses. As they retreated, a storm finished the work. Byzantium was not yet too old to defend herself.
That victory was very new, and the danger of a fresh attack must still be reckoned with. At night the great chain lay across the Golden Horn. But bells were singing when Harald came ashore.
He was quickly brought before the Emperor and prostrated himself, knowing he was suspect. The wine-flushed countenance regarded him sternly. "Rise, Spatharokandidatos," said Constantine. "You came too late to aid us."
"We came as fast as God allowed, Your Sacred Majesty." Harald kept his eyes respectfully on the floor.
"You did not fall on Maniakes either, when first he committed his treason in Italy."
"Despotes, his men outnumbered mine. Furthermore, there were unrestful natives to keep obedient to Your Sacred Majesty. The first Imperial army sent against him was broken before I could effect a juncture."
"Indeed, indeed." Constantine tapped the arm of his throne. "We have heard, however, that you would leave us."
Harald's palms were cold and wet. "Despotes, I have served the Empire for nine years. My nation awaits its rightful king. I wish to make a lady of this realm its queen. Most humbly do I beg Your Sacred Majesty to let these things come to pass."
"It must be thought of, Spatharokandidatos. You may go."
Harald left with a numbness in him. He had been refused.
At the Brazen House, he summoned Ulf to a private room. The Icelander looked grim on hearing his news. "Leaving Zoe aside, your friendship with Jaroslav is a heavy burden today," he said. "This city came too near death. I think indeed I had best make sure of our old arrangements for escape—though that'll be no easy trick, with the Horn closed at night and the watch doubled."
"Have you word of Maria?" asked Harald through his own pulsebeat.
"Yes, she is well, though grown very quiet this past year. She is on duty at the palace today but will be free tomorrow. I'll see what I can do about another meeting for you and her."
"How do you know so much?"
Ulf chuckled. "While you were seeing the Emperor, I was seeing Lady Anna. She's at court too, you remember. Ah, what a homecoming I've just had!"
Harald went back to his work. Getting the Varangians barracked after so lengthy a stay abroad was a knotty task. He welcomed that—a means to forget for a while that he and Maria were still walled from each other. Not until late at night did he return to his own house. He drank several cups of wine and presently slept.
Thundering at the door awoke him before sunrise. Then he heard clashing metal and the terrified squeak of a slave. He started up as a score of praefectural guardsmen entered his bedchamber. They grounded their spears with a doomsday noise. Their chief trod forward and raised a paper he held.
"Spathatokandidatos, I have here an order for your arrest. Dress and come with us. In the name of His Sacred Majesty!"
Chapter XII:
Of Maria Skleraina
1
Walking between his guards through the stirrings of a dawn-gray city, Harald felt his head clear. The first stunned "No!" had been said; now he had to be cold and watchful however hard his heart galloped.
Clearly he was being hurried off in secret. If he could knock his way past these spears, dash to the Brazen House and raise the Varangians . . .No. There would be no time to ready them, and the city was full of Imperial troops recently returned from fighting in Russia. The Northmen would be cut down for no gain and Maria would face Zoe alone.
"Where are we bound?" he asked.
"Be still, prisoner," said the captain.
That insolence told how steeply Harald had toppled from the Imperial favor. He controlled his anger and watched the way he was taken.
They ended in the Phanar quarter, at an old fortress lost among warehouses and sleazy tenements. His friends would not easily learn where he was. The building was a block of stone with a cobbled courtyard at the rear. On this side it rose in a round tower whose battlements were only a few yards above the flat main roof. An iron-bound door, newly carpentered, opened at the base of the tower. Harald was waved through. The door clashed behind him. He heard bolts go down and the lock snap shut.
Cursing, he looked about. He was in a large single room. It filled the whole tower, but it was dank and bare save for a few straw pallets. The walls were sooty; charred beams showed where upper floors had been. Now even the ceiling was gone. This must be one of the prisons devastated by the rioters two years ago. A piece of sailcloth stretched across the remaining beams made a roof of sorts; daylight filtered through it, thick and yellowish. Otherwise only some arrow slits admitted any sun. Ancient sweat and dirt, as well as the latrine hole, made a stench that would choke a hog.
His very prison was an insult.
Slumping down, suddenly bone-tired, Harald fought his own sense of defeat.
In a little while, the door was opened again and Halldor thrust inside. They stared at each other.
"You, also," said Harald at length. "Why?"
"I could not guess until I saw you here," answered Halldor. "Now I can tell. We may look for Ulf to join us."
Slowly, Harald nodded. "Of course. You two are known as my nearest friends. The only ones who would keep striving and prying to learn what had happened to me. You could rally the Varangians to make a threat on my behalf. Without some such leadership, lack of sure knowledge will hold them still. I know those lads."
"So does Zoe." Halldor spat.
Harald arched his brows. ‘Then, you have heard?"
"Who has not, in that damned sniggering court? Though I suppose the Russian trouble was what thrust you over the edge. Ulf told me you were thinking of flight. I was going to come too." Halldor shook his head. In this light, his skin had a grisly color. "And I left Iceland meaning to wax rich and famous. Here I left my youth and here I'll leave my bones."
Harald wondered how much the other man blamed him. He could never quite understand Halldor. "This is no time for waitings," he said. "What's our outlook for escape? Belike we could climb up those beam stumps, and the roof is only sailcloth."
"Which isn't easy to tear," Halldor said. "Maybe you've that much strength, but it would still be too noisy. There are men barracked in the main house. We'd gain naught but fetters."
"Yes." Harald sat down again. Somewhere a mouse scuttled away. Oh, Maria, Maria, what will become of you?
A while later, Ulf joined them. He looked at the others, grinne
d, and fished in his pouch. "What a pair of faces!" he said. "Were they an inch longer, you'd trip over your own chins. Here, I have some dice."
"Rattle them around in that hollow head of yours," Halldor growled, "but leave me alone."
"Haw!" Ulf squatted on the floor and began idly rolling the dice. "Will you not give me a chance to fill my purse again? It's empty because my head this morning was so full."
Harald felt his belly muscles tighten. "You have some scheme?" he asked most softly.
"Well, no, but I have taken steps. Whether or not they lead anywhere lies with the Norns." The dice danced across the clay floor. "When they came to arrest me, I begged leave to send a message to my good friend, the noble lord Stauracius Danielis, to inform him of my plight, that he might plead my case. The name was impressive, and when I added gold it was overwhelming. So they let me give word in their presence to a little blackamoor I own."
"The great lord Stauracius would scarce be an oath brother to you," said Harald dryly.
"Oh, he knows naught of me. But I must needs use his name, d'you see. My thrall understood well enough it was Danielis' fair wife I meant. Now Anna has brains, and she's high among the ladies at court. If anyone can find out why we've been locked away and what's to be done about it, she will. Harald, how often have I told you that this one-woman virtue you've striven so much for can lead to no good?"
The chief laughed. Even Halldor smiled. So small a hope was like wine in this place.
They diced most of the day, against promises of payment. Ulf won so heavily that Harald was not sure there was no skill used. Once the guards brought them bread and water, otherwise nothing happened. Toward evening, they went to sleep.
Harald had a dream. He stood on endless snow, and snow whirled out of a sightless sky, hissing as it fell, driven by a shrill and bitter wind. From afar he heard the noise of glaciers, marching down off the mountains, grinding fells and towns and all fair valleys to ruin. A raven flew by, screaming. And he knew with a shudder that this was the Fimbul Winter.
Groping forward through the drifts, teeth clapping in his jaws, he saw something that shone. As he neared, it became the byrnie of Olaf. The king was seated on a throne of rock, and ice had sheathed him thickly; he was pale, and the three wounds lay red across him. But as Harald approached, he opened his eyes and his helmet flamed with swift sunlight. Even as the world shattered in the wreck of the gods, Olaf sat on his throne, wearing his helmet that was the sun.
Harald woke gasping. The narrow foulness of his prison closed in. He felt cold and afraid. Surely this had been a vision, but whether for good or ill, he could not say.
"Hallow Olaf," he whispered into the night's blindness. "I fought for you once. Watch over Maria."
2
Lying there, he grew suddenly aware of a noise. Horror gripped his throat, thought of draugs and devils crawling from the earth. He told himself it was only a mouse but he knew it was not. The noise stopped, began again, the softest scratching. And it was from above.
Harald leaped to his feet. He stared upward. The sky rolled back and became a ragged patch of stars.
Olaf!
He knelt, groped his way to Ulf's snores and laid a hand on the mouth. The beard tickled his palm. Ulf started alert, drew one shaken breath and gripped Harald's shoulder. They roused Halldor. A shadow leaned over the hole cut in the roof. Barely enough starlight fell into the tower to show a rope snaking down.
"I'll go first," muttered Harald. "This may be some scheme to murder us without the Emperor being blamed, but ..." He tugged at the rope. It held firm. He swarmed up.
Two men, hardly visible in the deeper blackness outside, stood on the battlements. The knife which had slit the canvas shone under a splendid sky. The other man held the rope, belayed about a merlon. Harald sprawled flat on the verge and peered downward. A sentry tramped around the courtyard, emitting a faint metal shimmer, but he had not heard ... he had not heard.
Ulf and Halldor joined them on the roof. Whereupon the strangers stealthily led them over a ladder to the roof of the house across the street, where another ladder was propped and a third man waited. Harald could now see that they were Saracens, either slaves or bribed visitors. When he felt the pavement under his shoes, a wave of dizziness went through him, he stumbled and knew not what to do. "Olaf," he breathed. "Olaf, King."
Within moments his wits returned; his nerves were steady but keyed for action. There was much work yet. But before God, he was free, and ready to fight the whole damned Empire!
The guides led them through a twist of alleys to another courtyard. Blank walls rose on every side. In the center stood a litter, surrounded by its porters and a couple of stave-bearing guards.
A white figure came running and sobbing to Ulf's arms.
"Anna!" the Icelander choked. "You did this?"
"Oh, my darling, my darling, my darling!" She clawed herself to him. "It might have been death for you. . . . The Empress was so angry!"
"There, there, I'm still alive, sweet." Ulf chucked her under the chin. Her tears gleamed in the starlight. "Tell me how it stands."
"I had to bribe . . . and blackmail, and promise, and . . . Th-th-the praefect's officer told me the most." Anna caught her breath on a hiccough. "Araltes was to be charged with . . . stealing funds and goods entrusted to him in the wars . . . and you were to be his ac-accomplices. I learned where you were. Your fate had not yet be-been decided, but they thought ... it to be harsh. I made an excuse to leave the house, and promised . . . those three slaves their freedom if ... It will be hard to explain. But I love you so!"
Ulf glanced at his fellows with some shame. "Give me a few minutes," he said in Norse. "I must make sure of her." He led her into an alley.
Harald drew Halldor aside. "Can we flee tonight?" he asked.
"Yes. We'd better! Ulf knows how. He's marked a couple of Russian ships we can steal, little watched now when their owners have been sent away. And he's laid provisions and treasure in a warehouse nearby, he says. But the cursed chain—I know not how to get past that. Maybe we can wait in the harbor till morning, hoping we aren't noticed, and then row faster than ever men rowed erenow."
"We'd never escape thus. But I think I know a way."
Ulf came back. "Let's go," he said shortly. "I like not so using a woman."
"St. Olaf did this," Harald answered. "He worked through her. But come quickly!"
They loped through streets which were tunnels of night. Once they hid in a doorway while a patrol went by, otherwise it was run and run and run with burning lungs and bursting heart, until they were at the palace gates and bespoke a Varangian on guard who let them in. When they had entered the barracks, it was like waking from fever dreams.
Darkness was not yet old. Most of the Varangians were still awake, benched in the central hall. Lamplight splashed hard, bearded faces, beakers clinked and voices surfed. When Harald stepped in, they rose with a yell.
"Where've you three been? What the Devil's the matter?"
Harald raised his arms for silence. Huge, in the doorway he stood, questioning them about what they knew. The accusation of theft to be laid against him had been shrewdly chosen. The Varangians would not have stirred, however unhappy they were, until they could be sure he was honest. They knew him to be in need of gold and would not besmirch their own names by following a thief. In a few sharp words he told them the truth. Their outcry shivered the walls.
"No, easy there, stay calm. Satan take you all, be still!" Harald roared them down. "We cannot rise against the whole city. Ulf has long ago sounded out those men who'll be willing to escape with me. Let them now take their arms and come. The rest can do naught but stay here, and when you're later asked what happened, you must say you know nothing. Serve out your terms; there's no reason to cause yourselves loss. I lay one command on you, that you watch over Nicephorus Skleros. Let it be known that any harm done him is harm to you. And those who come home through my hall in Norway shall have good guesting!"
Slowly the band grumbled itself back toward coolness. A hundred busked themselves to go, men of long service, the hardiest and most loyal to Harald. Looking at their scarred faces, he felt a leap of joy. He himself took helmet and sword and slung a small shield on his back, but left off the noisy mail coat. Ten others he told to do likewise.
"Now, Ulf," he said, "where are those ships you know of?"
The Icelander gave directions. "We shall have to bind and gag a few harbor guards, or kill them, but I've spied out their rounds and it should be simple. Then we must very quietly load." His gaze grew thoughtful. "Harald, you are going after Maria, are you not?"
"Yes. I'll join you at the dock."
"The streets are full of death tonight, and you have a kingdom waiting. Is the girl worth that much?"
Harald nodded curtly. "If I'm not there by the time you're ready, sail without me and raise a runestone in my memory at home. But I think St. Olaf is with us."
"Well, I hope so." Ulf grinned crookedly and wrung his hand.
The Varangian exit was noticed in the palace grounds, of course, but none challenged them. Doubtless every Greek officer thought that someone else had ordered a hundred guardsmen out. When he left the main body with his ten, Harald told them to shoulder axes and march in formation. He himself went at their head. Each time he passed a patrol he was saluted. Being so discreetly arrested had its merits.
When he saw the dim whiteness of Nicephorus' garden wall, the blood thudded within him. He pointed to a gloomy side street.
"Wait there," he ordered. "This will surely have to be done by stealth."
Reaching, he caught the top of the wall and lifted himself over. His shield rattled as he dropped to the other side. He crouched with his scalp aprickle. About him lay only a sleepy fragrance of roses—no sound save the rustling of trees and the chirping of crickets. The house stood before him.
Noiseless, he made his way around those well-remembered corners. Maria's window glowed with light. It was unglazed and the shutters stood open. He looked in. The light came from a single candle before an ikon of the Virgin, all else was dark. It sheened on a small bronze Hermes, a thousand years old or more, who danced like Harald's own heart. He hitched himself to the sill and squeezed his shoulders through. Slowly he moved to the bed.
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