“Ah, you are the most fortunate of men,” the boatman replied, “for you are in the presence of one to whom the city is a Garden of Delight. You may place your full confidence in me. I will certainly give you the best guidance you could desire, never fear.”
Hnefi and Orm dropped into the boat just then. Orm, supposing it his duty to show me my place, pushed me roughly aside. Unsteady in the small boat, I fell against the side. “Say nothing!” he warned. “I am watching you.”
Gunnar, coming behind them, interceded for me, saying, “Let him be, Orm. He is the king’s slave, not yours.”
“Tell this man to take us to the nearest gate,” Hnefi ordered, settling himself in the bottom of the boat.
“I have already done so,” I replied. “This is what I was doing when Orm struck me.”
Hnefi nodded curtly. “I am the leader now,” he said. “You will do what I tell you.” He gestured to the watching Didimus and said, “Now tell this worthless fellow to get about his work or we will gut him like a fish.”
To Didimus I said, “We are ready to proceed now, if you please.”
“It is my pleasure,” answered the boatman, pushing away from the longship with his hands. “Sit down, my friends, and worry for nothing. This is the best boat in all Byzantium.” He took up the long oar at the stern and, standing with his foot on a bench, waggled the oar back and forth. The boat turned and drew away from the longship.
Those watching from the rail called out for us not to carry off all the treasure, but to save some plunder for them. Orm answered by blowing his nose at them, and Hnefi told them their time would be better spent looking to their weapons than worrying about us.
Gunnar settled himself beside me against the curved side of the boat. “Why did you choose me?” he asked.
“I thought it might be helpful to have someone I could trust beside me.” As he made no reply, I asked, “Why? Would you rather have stayed behind, Gunnar?”
“Nay,” he answered with a shrug, “that is no concern of mine.” He looked out at the city for a moment, and then glanced at me sideways. “I thought you might have a different reason.”
“Quiet!” snarled Orm. He kicked me with the toe of his boot.
“Orm,” said Hnefi, “I am the leader here. If you cannot remember that, I will leave you in the boat while we go and find the treasure.”
Orm grumbled and took out his knife and began polishing the blade on his breecs. To me, Hnefi said, “Keep your mouth shut. When I want you to speak, I will tell you.”
I turned my attention to the city, bobbing nearer with every dip and stroke of Didimus’s oar. From the water, very little of Constantinople could be seen—only where the hills raised their heads did I mark any of the city behind the walls. These walls, however, were most impressive. Brick and stone in alternating courses had been used to create an enclosure both high and stout, and bearing a distinctive red-and-white banding, making it like no other wall I had ever seen. Along the top of the wall, people were moving—city guards perhaps, though I was too far away to be certain. Here and there, I could see the tops of trees—a few pines, and the bare branches of others which had lost their leaves.
The sea came up to the very foundations of the wall, allowing only a very narrow causeway which served a varied collection of stone and timber quays, large and small, new and old; around each of these, ships clustered like feeding piglets crowding one another at the sow.
And such ships! I saw vessels with two and three masts, and some with more than one deck. There were so many different coloured sails, I quickly lost count—and the cargoes of the ships were even more varied. I saw bags and chests, casks and jars and baskets beyond number. Sure, if a boat could carry it over the sea, it would be found in Constantine’s city.
Didimus steered a snaky course through the clotted harbour; we passed along the unending quayside, dodging the larger boats and searching for a place to make our landing. As we drew nearer the quays, I became aware of the stink. The water grew foul with garbage and excrement, and refuse of all sorts, for the slops were continually tossed overboard into the bay. This fulsome effluent made for a ready stench as potent as any I had encountered.
Our boatman seemed not to mind, however; he worked the oar with his arms, smiling and singing the while, pointing out any of several landmarks when it occurred to him to do so. Orm and Hnefi watched him with low suspicion and ill-founded contempt, and kept their mouths firmly shut as if they feared revealing the king’s loathsome plan.
When at last we bumped against a tier of stone steps fronting the quayside before an enormous gate, I was glad to put the stink of the bay behind me. I turned to thank the boatman, but remembered Hnefi’s warning and dutifully held my tongue. Orm stepped from the boat, and Gunnar followed, both seemingly oblivious to Didimus, who was calling to us and holding out his hand for payment.
Hnefi, ignoring the boatman, said, “Come, Shaven One, you will go before us. I do not want you wandering from sight.”
“Forgive me, jarl,” I replied, “but we must pay him.”
The barbarian regarded the boatman impassively, and said, “Nay.” Hnefi turned his back and stepped from the boat without further word, leaving me no choice but to scurry after him.
“Please! Please, my friends,” bleated Didimus. “I have given you faithful service. You must pay me now! My friends! Please! Listen to me, you must pay now! Ten nomismi! Only ten!”
I paused on the steps long enough to say, “I am sorry, Didimus. I would pay you, but I have nothing.”
Seeing that he would not be paid, Didimus began crying curses at us, and calling for the harbour guards to come and beat us. I ran up the steps with his shouts of “Thieves! Thieves!” burning in my ears.
The three Danemen were waiting for me at the top of the steps. “That was wrong,” I complained to Hnefi. “We should have paid him.”
Hnefi merely turned away.
“He might have helped us,” I insisted. “Now he is calling for the guards to come and beat us. We should give him something.”
I felt the sting of Orm’s blow against my teeth before I knew he had lifted a hand. “Do what you are told, slave,” he told me, shoving me hard. I fell on the stone steps and would have tumbled into the water, but Gunnar grabbed me by the arm and kept me from rolling over the edge.
I climbed to my feet and followed them up the stairs. We walked towards the wall, the Danes moving cautiously, their hands on the pommels of their swords. Pausing at the entrance to the city, Hnefi turned to me and said, “You go first. We will follow.”
The gate was a huge double timber door banded with iron. People were passing through it by the score, many laden with burdens of various kinds—some pushing small two-wheeled carts, and others pulling wagons, but most bearing bundles on their backs. Above the gate hung a red triangle of cloth with a symbol on it sewn in white; I did not recognize the symbol and could not think what it meant.
We joined the throng moving through the gate, and reached the entrance only to be hailed by a man in a green cloak, wearing a round black cap of wool, and carrying a short rod of brass. “Disca!” he cried without enthusiasm. He held out his hand impatiently.
“Forgive me, lord,” I said, “I do not know what you want of us.”
He turned a weary eye on me, then glanced at the barbarians. If their appearance alarmed him, he hid his fear right well. Noticing my slave collar, he said, “Which of these men is your master?”
“He is,” I pointed to Hnefi.
“Tell your master that barbari are required to obtain leave of entry from the Prefect of Law.”
“I will tell him,” I replied. “Perhaps you could be so kind as to tell me where we may find the Prefect of Law.”
Stifling a yawn, he raised the brass rod and pointed to a booth set up in the shadow of the gateway. “Over there.”
I thanked the man and explained to the Sea Wolves what he had said. We walked to the booth to find a small, bald-headed man sit
ting in a cushioned chair beside a table on which sat scales and a pile of small copper discs. I stood before him for a moment without arousing his attention, which seemed to be wholly occupied with a brown spot on his green breecs which he scratched with a long fingernail.
“If you please,” I said, “we were told to obtain leave to enter.”
“Ten nomismi,” he said without looking up.
Turning to Hnefi, I translated what the Prefect of Law had said. Hnefi gave a disapproving grunt and started walking away. Orm and Gunnar hesitated, shrugged, and followed. This brought an immediate response.
The Prefect glanced up, saw the barbarians entering the city and shouted, “Stop!” in a very loud voice. He leaped to his feet and ran after Hnefi. “You must pay!” the bald man shouted. “Ten nomismi!” He shook one of the small copper discs in the Sea Wolf’s face.
Hnefi seized the man’s hand and relieved him of the disc. He tucked the copper into his belt and continued on his way. The man stared incredulously and then began shouting. “Guards! Guards!”
Ignoring the outcry, the Sea Wolves walked on, and I followed. We had not moved ten paces when we were stopped by eight red-cloaked guardsmen who simply appeared in our path. Each wore a bronze helmet and carried a short, thick spear. Their leader carried a bronze rod, not unlike that of the harbour master save that, instead of a ball on top, the soldier’s rod had a lion’s head.
“Halt,” said the foremost guard—a young man, little more than a shaveling youth, he nevertheless bore himself with an air of placid authority.
“They did not pay!” the old man screeched. “They did not pay for the disca!”
The guardsman looked at the barbarians, and then at me. Choosing me as the more likely to make an answer, he said, “Is this true?”
“I must beg your pardon,” I said. “We have only just arrived in your city and know nothing of the customs here. It may be that, through ignorance, we have—”
“Pay him,” he said, waving aside my explanation.
“Ten nomismi,” said the Prefect, tapping his open palm.
Turning to Hnefi, I said, “They say we must pay for the copper disc—it is our leave to enter the city. Without it they will take us prisoner and throw us into the hostage pit.” I did not know if this last was strictly true, but I thought it might communicate the situation in a way he would best understand.
“If we pay,” asked Hnefi, “we will go free?”
“Yes.”
Frowning, he reached into the pouch at his belt and brought out a silver denarius which he handed to me. I gave it to the Prefect, who puffed out his cheeks in exasperation. “Have you nothing else?” he demanded.
“Please,” I said, “I do not understand. Is it not enough?”
Before the Prefect could reply, the young guardsman answered, “It is too much.” Indicating the coin, he said, “The silver denarius is worth one hundred nomismi.” To the Prefect, he said, “See you give them the proper amount in return.”
Glaring at the guard, the bald man grumbled, took hold of my sleeve and said, “Come this way.”
He pulled me with him back to the booth, where he made a great show of placing the single coin in his scales and adjusting the weight. When at last he was satisfied with the heft of our silver, he reached under the booth and brought out a leather bag full of coins—bronze, copper, silver, and gold—and began counting bronze and copper pieces into my hands. The bronze pieces were marked with Greek letters: some with E, some with K, others with M and I. These letters, I supposed, ascribed certain values to the coins; but he counted them so rapidly, I could get no idea what they were.
The Sea Wolves, always keen-eyed for business matters, watched this operation with interest. When the Prefect finished, Hnefi made me give the money to him. “First ten, and now a hundred,” he observed, “it seems our silver coins increase their value wonderfully well. Jarl Harald will be hearing of this.”
I thought about all the silver we had given the harbour guard, but thought it best not to say anything. Orm needed no reminder, however. “And so will the harbour master, I think.”
The Prefect of Law then counted out two more discs, which he gave to Orm and Gunnar. When I held out my hand for one, he shook his head. “It is only for the barbari,” he explained, and said that the disc gave them leave to enter the city as often as they liked until the year’s end. “But,” he warned tartly, “they must use only the Magnaura. All other gates are forbidden to them.”
“I understand,” I told him. “But tell me, please, which is this Magnaura gate?”
The bald man regarded me with an expression of disgust. “That!” he snapped, flapping his hand at the doorway behind us. “That is the gate you must use. Be off with you!”
He dismissed us then with a curt gesture and settled himself in his chair once more. We continued on our way, moving swiftly past the watching guards. Having purchased the freedom of Byzantium, the barbarians were desirous of discovering just how far this liberty might extend.
28
Within moments of leaving the gate, we were lost—a fact which did not come to our attention until very much later, however, for we walked the close and winding streets, wandering where curiosity took us, searching for the chief treasure house of the city. What had seemed a simple, straightforward matter aboard the ship was quickly shown to be monumentally complicated when standing in the middle of a road ebbing and flowing with people like a restless tide. Our first attempts to gather our wits provoked angry shouts to get out of the way.
“Move on! Move on!” cried a guardsman who happened by. “You cannot stop here. Move on!”
“He says we must move along,” I told the Danes.
“Where should we go?” wondered Gunnar.
“Let us follow that man,” suggested Orm, pointing to a fat man trailing a long purple cloak. “He will certainly lead us to a treasure house.”
“I am the leader,” Hnefi reminded him. “I say we shall go the other way.”
Thus we proceeded, progressing deeper into the city until we came to a wide street lined with dwellings which for size and the expense of their construction were not to be equalled. They were very palaces.
“You see!” Hnefi crowed proudly. “I know how to find good treasure. Follow me!”
The greedy Sea Wolves strode boldly, declaring loudly which palace should be raided first and which they thought contained the most wealth—no easy decision, as it happened, for every house we saw seemed to possess a grandeur far exceeding any we had ever encountered, and at each and every dwelling the Sea Wolves stood in the street, gazing at the imposing edifice and swearing solemn oaths that here before them stood what was certainly the chief treasure house of the city. And they were happy in this thought until we came to the next.
One street was lined with mansions two and three floors tall, and where the walls of the lowest floor were blank-faced brick, save for the door, the walls of the upper floors boasted windholes covered with glass. I had never seen glass windholes before, but there they were. And on every house in the street! Many of the mansions, if that is what they were, had ornately carved doors, and painted lintels; one or two of these structures boasted carved statuary affixed to plinths beside the windholes. Many were topped with tiled roofs on the slant, but more grand dwellings had flat roofs from which green foliage could be seen. I had heard that wealthy Romans did this, but I had never encountered such wealth before. If that was not enough, nearly every house possessed another feature unknown to me: an extension of the upper floor which overhung the street. These protuberances—remarkably substantial, many of them—were faced with wooden screens which, I suppose, could be opened to allow the cool evening air into the upper rooms.
That a city the size of Constantinople should contain such mansions and palaces was to be expected. But there were scores…hundreds! I walked in a daze of disbelief. I could not comprehend such wealth, nor could I imagine whence it came.
The Danes were besid
e themselves with delight. They argued continually over which palace must contain the most treasure, and which they should plunder first. Orm was for rushing boldly into any or all of them and simply stealing whatever valuables came to hand. Hnefi was of the opinion that King Harald would want to make the decision which house to plunder.
“But Jarl Harald is not here,” Orm complained, his reckoning, as ever, unassailable.
“Then we will wait until he arrives.” Hnefi was adamant that we should arouse no undue suspicion among the inhabitants of the city. He reasoned that if we began breaking into every house we saw, it would alert the people and they would certainly be on their guard when we returned for the raid. “It is for us to look and discover where the best treasure is to be found,” he declared. “We can come and get it tomorrow.”
Orm accepted this with some reluctance, saying, “I still think we should take something back to show the king.”
Gunnar agreed with Hnefi, and allowed that it would go ill with us if we aroused the wrath of the people. Alone of the Danes, he appeared cowed by the immensity of the city, growing quieter by degrees—as if he would gladly slink away into the shadows.
So we continued, wandering this way and that, looking at the houses and observing the people. In this part of the city we did not see many inhabitants about, and those we did meet seemed to race about their errands with unseemly haste. Perhaps the look of the barbarians frightened them; I cannot say.
Nevertheless, I saw enough of the citizenry to form the opinion that the Constantinopolitans were in every way an average race: neither very tall nor unduly short; neither exceptionally dark-skinned nor light; in countenance, neither ugly nor remarkably fair. They appeared sturdy of physique, with short strong limbs and compact bodies—more suggestive of vigour than brute power, hardy rather than graceful.
In preference, it appeared the women wore their hair long with the strands wound into coiled tresses; the men were given to full beards which they wore oiled and elaborately curled. Their clothing, for the most part, consisted of a simple cloak worn over a long siarc, or mantle, with voluminous breecs for men, and a gown for women. The cloth of these garments was plain, light-coloured rather than dark, and adorned with brooches and other such jewellery. And everyone, men and women, seemed inordinately fond of hats.
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