He remembered being shown into the palace complex, a succession of buildings, each one larger than the last, that seemed to have been carved from giant blocks of marble and dipped in gold. He remembered the mechanical tree at the heart of the complex that moved by hidden pulleys and cogs and in which metal birds of all colours somehow sang songs sweeter than their real fellows outside. And he remembered the imperial rooms, decorated in the rich purple that gave the great dynasty their title – Porphyrogenita.
Harald saw now, though, cut dark across the faces of the furious mob, how foolish he and his men had been to think they could challenge such a rule. Empress Zoe might be in her sixty-second year, she might have worked her way through more husbands than was natural in her desperate quest for an heir. She might keep poisoners in her retinue and sorcerers to keep her young. She might be mad as a monkey in season, but she was born in the purple and nothing could replace that. Not some Rus prince, self-styled as ‘grand’ and certainly not some jumped-up Varangian from way above the snowline with only a few ounces of royal blood.
‘The empress!’ Harald roared. ‘We must protect the empress.’
Grabbing Ulf and Halldor he turned east, off the main avenue to the imperial gates and round the back to the Bucoleon Palace – the headquarters of the emperor’s Varangian guard.
The three of them were greeted with delight. The men were in chaos, uncertain which side to take and needed a leader.
‘No sides,’ Harald ordered, blood surging round his body at the chance to act at last. ‘We take no sides. We keep order and we keep Zoe safe. She is the lynchpin; let the rest play out as it will.’
It was a mantra they kept to through a long, dark night and it was Harald who was stood on the shore at dawn to see the Empress Zoe, rescued from her momentary exile, safely back to her people.
‘Thank you, Varangian,’ she said as he handed her personally into a chariot, as dignified in sack-cloth and with head shorn as she was in full imperial garb. ‘I shall see you rewarded.’
But Harald did not want reward. Not now. Harald did not want this world of hot-headed factions; he had been insane to ever think he did.
‘We must go home,’ he told Ulf and Halldor as they followed close alongside the chariot, keeping the eager crowds back from their returning mistress.
‘Home?’ Halldor queried and Harald’s heart ached as he was not used to it doing save when Elizaveta yanked at it.
‘Home to Norway,’ he elucidated.
‘Though first to Kiev.’
‘To claim your bride?’
Harald thought guiltily of Tora but dismissed the idea. She had married once; she could do so again. He would find her a good husband once he was king. Ulf should settle down. Yes, uncomplicated Ulf would do nicely for Tora and she would get more joy of him than of a man enslaved to a dark-haired Rus Princess.
‘To claim Elizaveta, yes, and to warn Yaroslav.’ Harald glanced warily around but no one could hear their words above the roars of the triumphant crowd. ‘He cannot attack now. It would be like setting fire to dry hay. I shall ask the empress permission to leave as soon as I can.’
It was several days before he could secure an audience. Empress Zoe had been busy hanging traitors and the walls were strung with them as he was shown into the great purple chamber. The empress was reclining on a couch. Either her sorcerers had been at work or, more likely, her wigmakers for she had a full head of hair and wore a gown so sheer he could see every part of her aging body through it. He fell to his knees and made his request but Zoe eyed him coldly.
‘You would leave me, Varangian? Leave me?’
‘I would rather not but my duty is in Norway, Empress.’
‘Your “duty” is wherever I say it is.’
She sat up, fangs bared, and fixed him in her viper’s stare. He had to think fast.
‘I have considered serving you not a duty, Empress, but a pleasure.’
She smiled then, a lazy smile.
‘You are quick, Varangian. I like that. And strong. I hear men follow you – even the brigand Normans – and I like that too. I could raise you up, you know, if I chose.’
‘You have already done me much honour, Empress.’
She rose and walked idly around him as he shifted helplessly on his knees before her. Then suddenly she leaned over his shoulder, her fake hair scraping across his face.
‘I could marry you.’
‘Empress?’ Harald had never been more scared in his life.
‘If I wanted,’ she went on, her voice honey-sweet. ‘You would make babies on me, I am sure.’
Had Harald at that moment been asked to fight the whole Sicilian army single-handed he would have taken it as the easier option.
‘Truly, Empress,’ he managed, trying to keep his voice from shaking, ‘I would consider myself dead and gone to God’s very heavens to have such a chance but I am too lowly.’
For a moment he thought she would challenge him. He saw himself dragged into her bed with her sorcerers casting spells over her womb as he pounded useless seed into it and her poisoners waiting in the wings for him to fail. Is this what it had come to? Was this his punishment for keeping two women waiting? Was this the mystical female vengeance he’d seen in the eyes of the citizens who’d broken him from his prison?
Harald chided himself, head bowed, for ever thinking this imperial woman would embrace him as a son and begged God as he had never begged Him before, not even at Stikelstad, that she would not embrace him as a husband. But then, as if bored by it all, Zoe spun away.
‘You are right. Your muscles are thick, Varangian, but your blood is thin and, besides, I have a husband planned.’
Harald dared to look up.
‘I may go then, Empress?’
She laughed, a high-pitched rattle that shook her frame beneath the transparent gown.
‘You may go from the palace, yes, but dare to leave Constantinople and I will have you caught and tied up and fed to my ladies piece by piece – heart last.’
‘Ah.’
‘I may be old, Harald Sigurdsson – yes, I know your name – but I am not stupid. Yaroslav is plotting and you and your friends are forever running back and forth to his little upstart of a city. You are a captain of my guard and you will stay a captain of my guard and be glad of it – will you not?’
There was only one thing to say – ‘I will, Empress’ – but he knew, despite her command, that his days here were numbered. Somehow he had to get out. That night he and Ulf and Halldor sat up until the North Star faded in the dawn and a week later, they were ready.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kiev, June 1042
‘It was the darkest hour of the night when we made our move.’
The nobles of Kiev were fixed on Halldor as he took up his favourite place at the front of Yaroslav’s dais, arms stretched wide to draw the assembled company into the world of his tale. ‘And yet!’ Halldor raised his hand with his voice, these days polished in the Rus form of Norse. ‘It is never dark in Miklegard. Oil lamps burn in the main streets to keep the thieves at bay and they cast beams like prison bars across the water. And that’s exactly what they would have been for us had our ship been caught in them – prison bars. Nay, worse. The Empress Zoe is a hard woman; she does not like to be crossed.’
‘Show me a woman who does,’ someone called and Halldor smiled.
‘You have it right, my friend, but few – luckily – have the power to order our deaths. Just days before our escape, the empress told Harald she would feed him to her ladies piece by piece. Heart last, she told him, so he would be alive to feel the pain of it for as long as possible, and I bet we all know which piece first . . .’
The company roared delight and at Elizaveta’s side Harald shifted.
‘Is that true?’ she whispered to him.
‘It’s what she said,’ Harald confirmed. ‘Truly, Elizaveta, Empress Zoe makes you look meek.’
‘Indeed? I shall have to improve then.’
> He groaned.
‘Please do not. You are quite frightening enough.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ she said and was rewarded with a snatched kiss but now Halldor was off again.
‘Jesting apart, good people, we would have been dead men if her guards had caught us. Harald and Ulf and myself would even now be hanging from Miklegard’s great walls with seagulls feasting on our eyeballs and all our fifty-strong company with us. We had to succeed.
‘We stole to the harbour via the back streets, our cloaks over our heads and our swords drawn against the vagabonds who lurk in the shadows. There are row upon row of jetties in Miklegard like you’ve never seen and ours, praise God, was in darkness. We took off our boots so as not to clatter on the wood and felt for the jetty’s edge with our toes and the boat’s blessed side with our fingers, like blind men seeking a woman. And, oh, my friends, she felt so good; better than any woman I’ve ever known . . . save one.’
Halldor paused and looked down to where Aksel was sat at his feet and ruffled the boy’s head fondly. Now eight, Aksel was growing tall and strong and was already joining the older lads in martial training whenever he was allowed. He longed to impress his warrior father and several times Elizaveta had secretly watched him as he checked his new muscles in the looking-glass or strained to measure his height against the notches on the bower wall. He had not left Halldor’s side since the men had ridden in at noon and Elizaveta felt her own feet strangely cold where he was usually wont to sit. She was pleased, though, to see her ‘squire’ so happy and Halldor was clearly revelling in his strong son’s attention.
The druzhina held its breath as, for a moment, Halldor seemed lost, his eyes fixed on a ghost in the mid-distance, but then he snapped back into motion, the story with him.
‘We could not raise the sail. It would signal our departure like a beacon, so we had to row, and we had to row quietly. We fifty hulking Varangians had to row as if we were nothing more than a fish rising for a fly – one fish. We had to row together – we’re good at that – and we had to row delicately – we’re not so good at that.’ Halldor barely allowed the laugh before adding, ‘But it’s amazing what a man in fear of his life can master.
‘It was a thankfully rough night and, with God’s help, we crossed that harbour like a mere sigh of wind amongst the rest, with Harald on the steer-board guiding us between the probing lights. It was slow and I swear no man dared even breathe for fear of the bells ringing out and the harbour filling with the empress’s men and the sleek warships being set on us, breathing Greek fire that would char us like hogs on a spit. That would . . .’
Halldor checked himself.
‘No one came. We got past the reach of the lamps and skirted the harbour wall towards the exit. Ten boat lengths and we would be safe. Nine, eight . . . We could taste freedom on the salty air. And yet . . .’
He dropped suddenly off the dais, making Aksel visibly jump, and paced along the lines of diners either side of the hall.
‘And yet, we had one more obstacle to cross – and our greatest. We were not safe. Indeed, we were in the most fearful danger yet. For the good harbour guards at Miklegard like to protect their precious trading vessels from the pirates who creep across the seas beyond. And they like, also, to keep their precious trading vessels in harbour until their dues are paid and that is why, my lords and ladies, there is a chain stretched across the entrance, right on the sea’s surface.
‘It is a chain thicker than a man’s arm and it will snare the bows of any vessel that attempts to cross it and, like as not, snap her bow-strakes and let the greedy sea inside. There is little choice, then, but to leap from the deck and submit to the mercy of the guards and, believe me, Empress Zoe’s men have no mercy.’ He mounted the dais once more, an actor in his own Greek theatre. ‘They consider it sport to shoot men in the water. They enjoy the artistic effect of red blood across the blue.’
‘How though,’ Ivan asked, ‘would they see you in the darkness?’
Halldor leaned over and tweaked the Prince’s cheek.
‘’Tis the golden city, man, home of Greek fire. They have lamps so bright a single one could light up this whole hall. They do not normally kindle them at night so the pirates are kept in the dark but they can. Within moments they can be ablaze and then . . .’
He mimicked drawing back an arrow, and then staggered, as if he were his own victim. The crowd shifted uncomfortably.
‘So how then,’ Anne squeaked, stung into speaking out by the horror of the tale, ‘did you escape?’
Halldor put a finger to the side of his squint nose.
‘Cunning, Princess,’ he said. ‘Cunning and daring. As soon as we were close we put up the sail. The wind was brisk and it caught immediately, propelling us forward. We yanked in the oars and stood ready, every man focused. We could see the creaking chain in the moonlight, like a thousand silver teeth waiting to devour us. We had to time it exactly right. Ulf was up on the prow, arms wrapped around the dragon’s neck to better judge the distance and, as we drew within a leg’s space of the chain, he gave the command and we ran. We ran, all the rest of us, to Harald in the stern and as we did so, for we are not small men, the boat rose up, her bows lifting way above the water and the evil chain.
‘And then, as fast as we had run to Harald, we turned and ran back to Ulf. For a moment, a terrible moment, the keel teetered on the great iron barrier and then the boat see-sawed down and the stern lifted and we were free, free of the empress, free of the mob and the bitter factions tearing Miklegard apart; free to live. We raised Prince Harald’s glorious landwaster up the mast and flew home beneath his raven, like birds of the air ourselves – and here we are.’
He bowed suddenly as the courtiers rose to their feet cheering and clapping and Yaroslav came out to clasp his hand. Aksel leaped up and threw his arms around his father’s thick waist and Halldor pulled him close, smiling in delight.
‘You really did that?’ Elizaveta asked Harald.
‘We did. Halldor’s stories are mainly truths, Elizaveta, I promise you, just with embellishments – like a golden trim on a plain gown.’
‘Real tales with stronger detail?’ she suggested, borrowing his own words. ‘But how did you know it would work?’
‘Ah!’ Harald grimaced. ‘We did not.’
‘You had not tried it before?’
‘Never.’
‘But you have heard of others who have done so?’
‘Not as such.’
‘No one had done it before? Ever? Harald, are you mad?’
He leaned in and grabbed the hands she hadn’t even realised she’d been waving.
‘I wanted to get back to you.’
‘That badly?’
‘Yes, that badly. I have been away too long, Elizaveta. I was a fool and I bless you for waiting for me. I will make it worth your while, I promise.’
He kissed her, harder this time, and she felt herself melt like sealing wax in a candle. It had been hard, it was true. Anastasia had moved into her own quarters with Andrew and took precedence over Elizaveta at all meals. She had given birth to a daughter, Adelaide, and Ingrid fussed over her first grandchild in a way that sometimes made Elizaveta feel physically sick. She longed to make a home of her own, as Vladimir had done in Novgorod, but she was a woman and she needed Harald to make that possible. Nay, she just needed Harald.
‘And how,’ she found breath to tease, ‘will you do that, my lord?’
‘Marry me and you will find out.’
‘I will.’
‘Soon?’
‘Very soon.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Done!’ She glanced along the table. ‘Well, maybe the next day. You know how Father likes his ceremony and it might kill Mother to arrange all that in one night.’
Harald smiled.
‘The next day I can just about wait for.’ He rose. ‘I will put it to him.’
‘Now?’ Elizaveta gasped.
‘Now. I am th
e hero of the hour, Lily!’ He winked. ‘The Grand Prince will surely not refuse me?’
Elizaveta shook her head, a strange thrill suffusing her body as Harald leaped the table and went on one knee before a very surprised Yaroslav.
‘Grand Prince,’ he said, his voice ringing around the hall. ‘I have suffered much to return to you and I ask one boon – your daughter. I cannot live a moment longer without her as my wife.’
There was an ooh of delight from the women in the hall and, though Elizaveta looked modestly down, her body sang. She sneaked a look at Anastasia and was pleased to see her usual smug expression wiped from her fair face. Beyond her, Agatha was grinning wildly. Elizaveta’s youngest sister was nearly thirteen now and had had her own share of proposals but she stuck steadfastly at Edward’s side and, in her usual forthright way, had made it clear that she intended them to be wed. Elizaveta might be making it to the altar just in time not to be beaten by another of her sisters.
‘In that case,’ Yaroslav said, playing the crowd, ‘we must have a wedding.’ Cheers greeted this. ‘We will have it one week hence.’
Harald looked back to Elizaveta and grimaced. She giggled.
‘’Tis only a week,’ she mouthed.
‘’Tis a week too much,’ he mouthed back and her body tingled.
‘Yes,’ Yaroslav said, putting out a hand for Ingrid who, as always, rushed to his side. ‘A wedding, then a few days for you to . . . get to know each other.’ Whoops of delight. ‘And then we will sail.’
The crowd were still calling their approval but Elizaveta saw Harald stiffen and felt the noise fuzz around her.
‘Sail?’ he asked Yaroslav.
‘Yes, for Miklegard. We cannot, I’m sure you will agree, afford to wait.’
The Constant Queen Page 14