Stepping into the doorway, Titus rapped on the door with his bronze rod. In a moment, a smaller door opened within the larger and a gateman peered out. "Scholarae Titus, Chief Guard of the Bucoleon Gate," he said. "I am bringing emissaries to the emperor."
The gateman regarded the barbarians, then shrugged and opened the door; Titus motioned for us to follow and we were admitted into a stone-paved yard bounded by high walls on all four sides. Thick vines grew on the walls, the leaves of which had coloured and were beginning to fall. The breeze swirled in the square, sending dry leaves rattling across the stone-flagged yard. The sound made the place seem desolate and empty.
The gateman secured the door behind us and then led us to yet another in one of the walls. This door was also wood, but tightly bound in thick iron bands as wide as a man's hand and studded with large bronze nails. Blue-cloaked guards with long-bladed lances stood on either side of the door, regarding us with bored curiosity. The gateman took hold of an iron ring and pushed one of the great panels open; stepping aside, he indicated that we should proceed.
Having done what he promised, Titus left us to our fate. "I will return to the gate and send the surety when it arrives," he told Justin and departed.
The room we entered was immense. Light came in through four round windholes above, illuminating four large paintings: one of Saint Peter, one of Saint Paul, and the other two of royal persons-judging by their purple robes-one male, the other female: an emperor and empress, I supposed, though I could not say who they might have been. The walls were pale red in colour, and the floors white marble.
Save for low benches which lined the north and south wall, the room was bare of furniture-but not empty, for a goodly number of men in various kinds of dress stood about, some of them talking quietly to one another, others simply looking on. They watched us enter, their glances sharp and unwelcoming. Some had the wan, desperate appearance of men who had spent long years in captivity; others seemed sly and calculating, appraising our potential value. The sight of three barbarians and a travel-worn monk with a guardsman in tow did not excite them, however, and they quickly turned back to their own affairs.
The room, for all its size, was close, the air heavy and stale, and slightly sour. If ambition has a scent, I thought, then I am smelling it now.
In the centre of this anteroom stood a pair of great bronze doors, twice a man's height and covered with images of riders on horseback following the hunt. A huge bronze ring hung in the centre of each door, beneath which stood a man carrying a double-headed axe on a pole. Red horsetails were affixed to the hafts of the axes, and these guards carried small round shields on their shoulders and wore sleeveless red tunics with wide black belts. Their hair was shaved from their heads, save for a single knot which hung down over their temples. The face they presented to the world was fierce indeed, and all who held discourse within that room came under their merciless scrutiny.
Catching my glance, Justin said, "They are the Farghanese-part of the emperor's bodyguard."
He had just finished speaking when we were approached by a man holding a wax tablet and stylus. He glanced disdainfully at me, and at the barbarians, before turning to the chief guard. "Who are these men and what are they doing here?"
"This man is a king of his kind, and he comes seeking audience with the emperor."
"The emperor grants no one audience today," replied the pompous man.
"With all respect, Prefect, there has been trouble at the harbour."
"This trouble," sniffed the prefect, "requires the emperor's attention? I should have thought it more a matter for the emperor's guard."
"They have made hostages of the Quaestor of Hormisdas Harbour and of his men," replied Justin. "Any intervention by the guard will result in the deaths of all concerned. As I am only a scholarae, I have no authority to endanger the quaestor's life. But if you wish to take it upon yourself to settle the matter, Prefect, I bow to your superiority."
The official, who had been about to write something on his tablet, raised his eyes and glanced at Justin; his head whipped around and he regarded the barbarians. Weighing the odds, he made up his mind at once. "Guards!" he cried.
The two Farghanese leapt forward at the prefect's shout. Harald roared an order, and the Sea Wolves drew knives and prepared to meet the attack. The courtiers in the near vicinity threw up their hands and scattered with a great commotion.
"Stop!" Justin shouted. Seizing me by the shoulder, he cried, "Make them stop! Tell them it is a mistake!" To the prefect, he shouted, "Do you want to get us all killed? Call them off!"
Throwing myself before Harald, I said, "Wait! Wait! It is a mistake! Put up your blade, Jarl Harald."
"I told you they were in earnest!" Justin hissed in exasperation. "For God's sake, man, let the emperor deal with them."
The prefect seemed to reconsider his hasty action. He spoke a word and the Farghanese relaxed; they raised their axes once more and the danger passed.
Shaking his robes in agitation, the prefect glared around him like a master who has discovered his servants quarrelling. "I am citing you, scholarae. You know the proper conveyances," he informed Justin tartly. "I need not remind you that official protocols exist for precisely these occasions. I suggest you remove yourself from here at once and take the barbarians with you."
"Yes, prefect. And what of the quaestor?"
Lowering his eyes to the tablet, the man pressed his stylus into the soft wax. "As I have already told you, the emperor is seeing no one. He is preparing an embassy to Trebizond, and is spending the next few days in the company of his advisors. All affairs of court are suspended. Therefore, I suggest you take your concerns to the magister officiorum."
"I believe the magister is in Thrace," Justin pointed out. "I understand he is not expected to return to the city until the Christ Mass."
"That cannot be helped," the prefect answered, working the stylus against the wax with deft strokes. "In any event, it is the best course I can recommend." Glancing at me, and then at the Danes he added, "That will allow them time to bathe and clothe themselves properly."
I conveyed the prefect's words to Harald, who merely grunted, "I will not wait." With that, he stepped forward and produced a gold coin from his belt.
Taking hold of the tablet, he pressed the gold coin into the soft wax. The prefect looked at the money and at Harald, then brushed his long fingers across the coin. As the official's fingers closed on the gold, the king seized him by the wrist and squeezed hard. The prefect gave a startled cry and dropped his stylus. Harald calmly pointed to the entrance.
"I think he means to see the emperor now," remarked Justin.
The Farghanese bodyguard moved to the prefect's defense once more, but the prefect waved his free hand to ward them off. "In Christ's name, just open the doors!"
The two guards stepped aside and pulled on the bronze rings; the doors swung open and Harald released the official's hand. The prefect led us into a small screened room, the vestibulum, where we were instantly met by a man in a long white robe carrying a slender silver rod-the magister sacrum, he was called. Tall and grey and gaunt, his face pitted and scared, he gazed upon us severely. Addressing the prefect, he said, "What is the meaning of this unseemly intrusion?"
"There has been some trouble at Hormisdas Harbour," the prefect answered. "These men are responsible. The emperor's attention is required."
The magister made a face as if he smelled something foul. "You will not speak until spoken to," he intoned, addressing himself to the uncouth visitors, "and then you will make your replies as succinct as possible. When addressing the emperor, you may call him by his official title, basileus, or sovereign lord, either is acceptable. It is customary to keep your eyes averted when not speaking to him. Understood?"
Harald looked to me for explanation, and I relayed the magister's rules to the king who, much to my amazement, burst into a broad grin as he learned the Byzantine protocols. With a heartfelt, "Heya!" he slapped the unsuspecting magister on the back with his enormous paw.
The courtier maintained his rigorous dignity, however, and without another word led us into the emperor's hall. We stepped from the vestibule into a room without equal in the world: high and wide, the space beneath the ceiling dome was vast and filled with the light of ten thousand candles. The walls, floors, and pillars were deep-hued marble, polished so smooth that their surfaces reflected like mirror pools. The glint of gold met the glance on every side: gold was woven into the fabrics of clothing, in the mosaics covering the walls; all the fitments and furniture of the room were gold-candletrees, chests, chairs, tables, bowls and ewers and urns-the very throne itself. The whole room was bathed in the honeyed gleam of that most precious metal.
What shall I say of the wonder of this hall and its renowned occupant? In the centre of the vast room sat a golden throne raised upon a tiered dais, and tented over with a cloth of gold. Three steps-carved from porphyry, I was told, and polished to the smoothness of glass-led up to the dais, and at the topmost step was the emperor's footstool. The royal seat itself-more couch than throne, double-backed and large enough for two big men to sit comfortably-was established directly beneath the great central dome. In the apse of the dome was the largest image I have ever seen, a mosaic of the Risen Christ, ablaze with glory, and beneath his feet the words "King of Kings" in Greek.
In clustered ranks about the throne stood a veritable crowd of people-courtiers of various kinds, I decided; nearly all were robed in green, or white, or black, save those closest to the throne who were Farghanese and, like the warriors standing guard at the door carried pole-axes and shields.
At our first steps the sound of a rushing wind commenced, and a moment later the most exquisite music filled the air. It was like the music of pipes and flute and every rushing wind that I had ever heard. And thunder, too, yes, and everything that sang under heaven. I had never heard anything to equal it, nor ever have again. It was, I think, the sound of heavenly majesty rendered audible to the earthly ear, and it seemed to come from a great golden casket a little behind and to one side of the throne.
I might have discovered more about the source of this glorious music, but I had eyes only for the throne and the man sitting in it. For, occupying one side of the wide throne and regarding us openly, was Emperor Basil, robed in deepest purple that glistened and shimmered in the light.
The splendour of the room and the opulence of all around me combined to make me suddenly conscious of my own appearance. Glancing down, I noticed to my embarrassment that my once-fine cloak was stained and torn; my mantle was filthy and ragged at the edges. Raising a hand to my head, I felt that my hair had grown and my tonsure needed renewing, and my beard was matted and unkempt; an iron collar hung about my throat. In short, I looked more like one of the beggars that swarmed the walls of the Great Palace, than an emissary of the Irish church. But I was not an emissary. In truth, I was what I appeared: a slave.
So this is how I came to the emperor: not dressed in the white robe and cloak of the peregrini, but in travel-worn rags and a slave collar; not surrounded by my brother monks, but in the company of rough barbarians; not led by the blessed Bishop Cadoc, but beside a pagan Danish king; not bearing a priceless gift, but bargaining for a hostage.
Ah, vanity! God, who has no use for pride, had seen to it that I remained humble before his Vice-Regent on Earth.
Raising my eyes once more, I found myself looking into the face of the most powerful man in all the world, and it was the face of a clever monkey. Before I could properly take in the sight, the magister sacrum raised his rod and cracked it down hard on the floor.
At the same instant, the golden throne began to rise in the air. So help me Michael Valiant, I tell the truth! The throne, which looked like a Roman camp chair, save larger and made of gold, simply lifted itself into the air to hover before us-as if raised by the superb melody issuing from that golden organ, as they called it.
Before I could grasp the contrivance of this wonder, the white-robed magister struck the floor with his rod again and made a flattening motion with the palm of his hand. Justin sank to his knees and stretched himself facedown, flat on the floor. I followed the guard's example, but the barbarians beside me remained standing, oblivious to the insult they provoked. The music swelled, and then stopped. I held my breath-I do not know why.
The next voice I heard was that of the emperor himself. "Who disturbs the serenity of these proceedings with such unseemly clatter?" he inquired; his voice was even and deep, and came from a place high above us.
To my alarm, Justin whispered, "Here is your chance, Aidan. Tell him who you are."
Climbing quickly to my feet, I squared my shoulders, swallowed hard and replied, "Lord and emperor, you see before you Jarl Harald Bull-Roar, King of the Danes of Skania, together with his slave and two of his many warriors."
A faint twitter of laughter greeted my salutation, but it quickly died when the emperor muttered, "Silence!"
"Basileus, they seem to have gained their way by guile," said the magister sacrum, anxious to absolve himself without seeming irresponsible.
"So it does appear." Scanning the barbarians, the emperor said, "The king may approach. We will speak to him face to face."
The official gave a crack of his rod and motioned for the king to answer the summons. I moved to Harald's side. "He would speak to you," I told him, and together we stepped forward.
The floating throne descended slowly to its base, and before us sat Emperor Basil, a small, bald-headed man; olive-skinned like his Macedonian countrymen, he possessed the short limbs and compact frame of a horse soldier. His eyes were dark and quick, and his hands-resting on the arms of the throne, fingers drooping from the weight of his patriarchal rings-were small and neat.
"In the name of Christ, Sovereign of Heaven, we greet you, Lord of the Danes," he said, offering a bejewelled hand to Harald, who bore himself with regal dignity.
Justin touched my shoulder, indicating that I should convey the emperor's words to the king, which I did, and added, "He means for you to kiss his hand. It is a sign of friendship."
"Nay!" replied Harald. "I will not." He then told me to ask the emperor whether he would ransom the life of his thieving servant now, or see his headless corpse thrown into the harbour.
"What does he say?" asked the emperor of me. "You may speak for him."
"Sovereign lord and emperor," I replied quickly, "Harald Bull-Roar, Jarl of the Danmark and Skania says that he regrets he cannot observe friendship with you until he has presented the purpose of his mission."
"So be it," replied Basil, taking up the matter at once. He spoke cordially, but his manner gave me to know that there were to be no further pleasantries wasted on the rude barbarians. "What is the nature of his concern?"
"He demands to know your business here," I said to Harald.
"Then tell him," ordered the king angrily. "Tell him we offer him a chance to redeem the life of his thieving harbour master."
"Emperor and lord," I began, "the king says that he would like it known that he has made hostages of Quaestor Antonius and his men, and now awaits your offer of ransom for their lives." This I said and told how, upon arrival in Constantinople, we had immediately been cheated by the quaestor. "My lord Harald captured the harbour master and would have taken the man's head, along with those of his men," I explained, "but the quaestor told us that the emperor would certainly pay a great reward for the sparing of his life. Thus, my lord Harald, Jarl of the Danes of Skania, seeks the emperor's ransom."
Basil made no reply; to be sure, his face betrayed nothing of his mind, so I gestured to Gunnar to bring forth the bundle once again. I placed it on the floor, unknotted it, and spread the red cloak. There, for all to see, was the quaestor's helmet, rod of office, and official ring. The emperor leaned forward slightly, squinted at the display, and then leaned back with a puff of agitation.
"Where is Quaestor Antonius?"
"He waits aboard Lord Harald's longship, basileus, with his men as well."
Turning his head slightly, Basil called for the prefect to join the proceedings. The magister hastened to summon the prefect, who approached the throne. Speaking to me, the emperor said, "Tell the king that I am sending this man to bring the quaestor. He must release him to the prefect, so that we may resolve this matter." He then directed Justin to accompany the prefect.
Upon relaying the emperor's words, Harald protested. "Nay!" he bellowed. "The emperor must pay the ransom if he desires the release of his man. This is everywhere understood," he added.
So, I explained to the basileus that Harald's men would not release their captive until they received word from their jarl that the ransom had been paid. Sure, I spoke more bravely than I felt, and stepped back to see what would happen next.
Far from showing his displeasure, however, the basileus merely nodded and instructed the prefect to bring him a bowl from one of the tables. This the official did, fetching a handsome golden bowl which he placed before the throne. "Give it to the king," Basil said, whereupon the prefect delivered the bowl into the barbarian lord's hands.
Well pleased with the weight and craft of the bowl, Harald granted his assent. Calling Hnefi to him, he charged him to attend the prefect and bring back the quaestor. "Tell the karlar the ransom has been paid," Harald said, then whispered, "but do not release the thief's men-this bowl does not buy their lives." The three left at once, whereupon the magister returned us to the anteroom to wait with the others detained at the emperor's pleasure.
While we were waiting, Titus appeared with the four barbarians Harald had sent to bring the surety. The newcomers were full of admiration for all the wealth they had seen along the way and wanted to know how much the emperor was giving for the quaestor's life. "It is difficult to say," Harald allowed ruefully, his golden treasure hidden beneath his cloak. "In this place, nothing is simple, I think."
The magister returned for us eventually. We entered the throne-room to find Justin and the quaestor standing before the emperor. "Quaestor Antonius," intoned the emperor gravely as we resumed our places, "we have been hearing about some of your recent activities. Have you anything to say in this regard?"
"Sovereign lord," replied Antonius at once, his voice, like his expression, pure defiance, "a serious mistake has been made by these men. Possessing no knowledge of the currency of Constantinople, they have erroneously calculated the worth of their coinage and so believe themselves to have been cheated."
"A reasonable explanation," replied the emperor mildly. He pursed his lips as if in thought, laced the fingers of his hands together and brought them to his chin. After a moment, he spoke again, directing his question to Harald, "The harbour tax is paid in silver. Have you other coins like those you delivered to Quaestor Antonius?"
"I do," replied Harald, speaking through me. Withdrawing the pouch kept under his belt, he opened it and shook a few silver denarii into his hand.
These he passed to the emperor, who examined them briefly and selected one, observing, "They were not minted in Constantinople, but we believe such coins to be in plentiful supply here and elsewhere." Showing the coin to Harald, he said, "What is its value?"
"One hundred of your nomismi," replied the Danish king, when I had explained the question.
"Who told you this?" wondered the emperor mildly.
"That man." I conveyed the king's words, and Harald pointed to Justin. "Indeed, if not for the scholarae's aid, I have no doubt there would have been bloodshed and loss of life." This last I added on my own, thinking it important that Justin's part should receive its due.
The emperor merely nodded and continued with his examination. Holding up a silver coin, Basil asked, "What say you, Quaestor Antonius? Tell me the value of this coin."
"One hundred nomismi, basileus," the quaestor answered stiffly.
"So," Basil smiled. "We have established the question of value." Addressing the harbour master, he said, "King Harald of Skania has made claim against you, Antonius. He says you have reckoned but ten nomismi to the denarius. Is this so?"
"Exalted basileus," replied the quaestor, "it is not so. Such an error could not be made. The barbarian is certainly mistaken."
Basil pursed his lips. "Then the fault is the king's alone."
"Lord and emperor," replied the quaestor, adopting a more reasonable tone, "I do not say it is the fault of anyone. Indeed, I believe no one is to blame. I say only that the ways of Byzantium may be confusing to one so newly arrived. I have already explained this to him, but he chooses to believe otherwise."
"There," the emperor said, spreading his hands as if satisfied that he had penetrated to the heart of the mystery at last. "A simple miscalculation. As no harm has been done, we are happy to allow the matter to end here and send you about your business with our own good wishes." He paused, observing the effect of his words. "We excuse your ignorance, as we forgive the disturbance of our peace. Return the bowl, and we will speak of this matter no more. What say you?"
Harald's face clouded as I relayed what the harbour master had said and explained the emperor's words to him. "With respect, Jarl Harald," I said, "he is giving you a chance to withdraw your complaint without incurring the wrath of the empire. It appears the judgement has gone against you."
"Tell him about the token," Harald commanded.
"Lord and sovereign," I said, apprehension creeping over me, "the king has brought a token of surety which he would like to put before you in consideration of his complaint."
This revived the emperor's interest.
"There are barbarians waiting in the anteroom, basileus," the prefect volunteered. "Shall I cause them to be admitted?"
"By all means, prefect," said the emperor. "It seems we are to be overrun by barbari until this matter is resolved."
Some of the courtiers laughed politely and the prefect hastened to summon the remaining Danes. A few moments later, the bronze doors opened and four Sea Wolves stepped from the vestibule, two of them carrying the peaked treasure box between them. I saw the chest and my heart beat faster. The Danes came to where Harald stood and placed the treasure at his feet.
"Well?" asked the emperor impatiently.
"Basileus," I said; it was all I could do to prise my eyes from the peaked box, "King Harald has placed before you the assurance of his honour in this matter."
"Has he indeed?" With the merest movement of his wrist, Basil summoned the magister, who opened the lid of the treasure box to reveal, Jesu help me!-the silver cumtach. Sure, Harald would bring that as his pledge of faith and honesty. The book was gone, but the sacred cover had found its way to the emperor nonetheless. Oh, but it was not the way I would have chosen to deliver it.
The official knelt down, withdrew the priceless cover from its resting place and, still on bended knee, placed it at the feet of the emperor. Basil leaned forward, allowing the imperial eye to rest upon the exquisite silver tracery and jewels of the cover. Then Harald stepped forward and laid the emperor's golden bowl alongside the silver cumtach. "We see by this that you place a very high value on your word, King of the Danes."
The quaestor stared at the treasure incredulously, and I imagined that he was on the point of recanting his version of the events. But the moment passed, and the harbour master kept his mouth firmly shut.
"Magister," the emperor called, beckoning the official to him. He whispered something into the official's ear, whereupon the man nodded once and departed, walking backwards from the room. "Now we may learn the truth," Basil declared and, in afterthought, added, "as God wills."