“Twice as much as I took from him,” the captive said.
King Harald shook his head firmly as I gave him the harbour master’s words. “Tell this ignorant fellow that I have slaves worth more than that. Besides, I will get all the silver I can carry when I plunder the city. Nay,” he said dismissing the opportunity, “I will have his head on my mast, and this will be a warning to all who think to plunder Harald Bull-Roar’s silver.”
This I told the Quaestor of Hormisdas Harbour, who sputtered with rage and frustration. “It is impossible! Do you understand what I am saying? No barbarian has ever plundered this city. You will all be killed before you set foot inside the gate. Release us at once, and I will plead clemency before the emperor.”
“Plead mercy for your men instead,” I told him. “For unless this Daneman hears a better reason than you have given, you and all your men will be dead before the emperor’s fleet can stir an oar.” The quaestor’s men shifted uneasily and muttered imprecations to their superior. Still I could see that my speech fell somewhat short of persuasion, so I added, “Trust me; I speak the truth. I am a slave, and I shall die in this city anyway. My life is in God’s hands; I am content. But you—you have it in your power to save yourself and the lives of your men.”
The harbour master squeezed shut his eyes. “The emperor will pay, I tell you! He will grant you whatever you ask. Spare me!”
I told Harald what the desperate man had said, and added, “Think of it, jarl, the emperor himself paying tribute to Harald, King of the Danes—that would be a wonder, would it not?”
A smile appeared on the king’s face and he agreed that, yes, it would be a wonderful thing to have the emperor bowing to him with the ransom in his hands. He made up his mind at once. “I will do it.”
Taking his foot from the man’s neck, he yanked the quaestor to his feet and stripped him of his belt and boots, and took the ring off his finger; he then gathered his horse-tail helmet and bronze-knobbed rod of office. All these items were tied up together in the quaestor’s red cloak, whereupon the king gave orders that if he did not return before the sun had set, the captives were to have their throats slit, their heads nailed to the mast, and their corpses thrown into the harbour. He then chose twelve men to accompany him ashore—Hnefi, Orm, and Gunnar, who had been ashore the previous day, and myself as interpreter, were foremost in the landing party. As the king made ready his departure, I turned to the quaestor. “Is it true that you answer to the emperor?”
“That is true,” he muttered sullenly.
“Then pray the emperor considers your life worth saving.”
30
Harald exulted in his triumph. The very thought of obligating the emperor delighted him; it appealed equally to Harald’s sense of fairness and to his vanity, for he imagined catching one of the emperor’s minions in theft granted him a hold over the great ruler, who would be honour-bound to redress the injustice.
That Harald and his Sea Wolves had come to Constantinople with the sole purpose of robbing the emperor and as many of his subjects as possible was a detail which failed to impose itself on the barbarian mind. Even so, the Danes possessed a powerful, if peculiar, sense of honour; I had seen it amply demonstrated before. In truth, I had no idea what would flow from this action, but considered that if it prevented bloodshed, it would be no bad thing.
The Sea King commanded his three other vessels to come alongside and shield the dragonship in case anyone should try to interfere; he brought men from the other ships to help keep watch over the hostages, and charged his Sea Wolves to arm themselves for battle and await his return with utmost vigilance.
“I go to collect the honour-debt,” Harald proclaimed as he prepared to depart. “Thus will I be the first king of the Danefolk to receive tribute from the emperor of Miklagård.” Truly, the man was drunk with arrogance.
The king, having arrayed himself in his finest clothing, took his place in the quaestor’s boat and commanded his men to row. The Sea Wolves made short work of driving the small boat through the crowded harbour, and we soon made landing at the steps below the Magnaura Gate and proceeded through that great portal. Our mission was almost thwarted before we had set foot in the city, for upon seeing the barbarians the prefect of law leapt from his table and demanded to see our disci. Harald, on his way to collect a ransom, was not in a humour to pay anything for the privilege of entering the city, and refused.
When the king continued on his way, the prefect called the guards, shouting, “Stop them! Stop them!” until the gatemen appeared, weapons ready, and blocked our way with their spears. Harald was of a mind to fight them, but seeing the young guardsman who had helped us the previous day, I begged the king to stay his hand while I explained the matter to this official.
“So, it is you again,” the guard said. “I thought you might have learned your manners yesterday.”
“It is more serious this time,” I said, and told him as quickly as I could that the quaestor and his men had been taken hostage.
“You can prove this?” he inquired. I motioned to Gunnar to bring the bundle; under the king’s watchful eye he untied it and allowed the guardsman to look inside. Upon seeing the harbour master’s belongings, he said, “So, you have taken him. Do you wish to tell me why you have done this?”
“That is a matter for the emperor alone,” I replied. Having experienced something of the ways of the city, I reckoned that our best hope of gaining the emperor’s ear lay in saying as little as possible to anyone else, for men are curious by nature and like to see a mystery resolved.
“Aeddan!” thundered Harald, who was, I observed, quickly losing patience with the trivial restrictions the city contrived to throw in his path. I bowed before the king and begged the chance to negotiate safe passage to the emperor’s palace, asking only for the luxury of a few moments to do so. The king grunted gruff approval to this plan, so, bowing once more to my barbarian master, I turned to the guard.
“The king is growing impatient. It is in his mind to collect a ransom in exchange for the quaestor and his men; to this end, he means to see the emperor at once.”
“You will never succeed,” the guardsman informed me. “The palace guards will not allow you into the palace precinct. Should you attempt to force your way in, they will kill you.”
“Please, help us,” I said.
“Me!” he protested. “It is none of my concern.”
“If you do not help us, the quaestor and eight of his men will die before the sun has set. Harald Bull-Roar has decreed that the captives’ heads will adorn his mast if he does not return with the ransom; he has four ships of fighting men waiting to carry out this vile deed. Although your soldiers may try to prevent it, much blood will be shed on both sides and the harbour master will die anyway.”
“So that is the way of it,” he said, regarding the barbarians carefully. He weighed the situation in his mind for a moment. “Quaestor Antonius is a prick who thinks himself a patriarch,” he said at last. “I am willing to assume you have good reason for taking him captive. Still, you should know that he possesses a measure of influence with those in authority, and if you have gambled poorly you will find yourselves in chains—or far worse—for your trouble.” Before I could protest that we had ample provocation for our rash act, he lifted his hand. “Say nothing. It is, as you say, a matter for the emperor alone. But I will advise you, as a friend, that if you hope to win the emperor’s favour in the matter, you must bring him a pledge of surety.”
“I do not understand,” I confessed. “What is this surety?”
“It is a token,” he said, “a sign of good faith given to indicate the high rank of your lord, and convey the importance of your petition.”
“Why should we need such a token?” I asked. “The quaestor’s ring, rod, and helmet would seem proof enough of the importance. And Harald is as you see him—a very king of his kind. His rank cannot be doubted.”
“What you say is true, of course,” agreed the gua
rdsman. “But Quaestor Antonius is well known and respected at court. You are neither. Should you come before the emperor—which, I warn you, is most unlikely—and demand ransom for his majesty’s harbour master, you would most readily advance your cause if you showed yourselves to be men of wealth and power in the custom of this city. This is best accomplished by the display of surety.”
“But we hold the harbour master and his men hostage,” I pointed out.
“Yes, and the less said about that the better,” the guard advised, “if you hope to see the emperor.”
I began to understand. “Then the greater the value of the object given in surety, the greater faith is demonstrated in our word.”
“Precisely,” agreed the guard.
“And if the emperor will not redeem his man?” I wondered.
“Then God help you,” the guardsman concluded, “and God help the harbour master.”
I stood daunted by the challenge of extracting a ransom from the emperor. And, as if to press his point further, the guard added, “Do not try the emperor’s patience, my friend. Prison is the least torment awaiting a false accuser.” He paused, regarding me doubtfully. “It is a risk, yes. Nevertheless, this is how affairs of this nature are conducted in Constantinople. I thought you should know.”
I looked the guard in the eye. “Why are you telling me this? Why are you helping us against your own countryman?”
The guardsman lowered his voice, but held my gaze steadily. “Let us say that, unlike many in this city, I care about such things as honesty and justice.”
“Friend,” I asked, “what is your name?”
“My name is Justin,” said the guardsman. “I am Chief of the Magnaura Gate scholarii. If you wish to pursue the matter further, I will lead you to the emperor’s court, although, as I say, it is doubtful you will be admitted.”
“Then we shall leave it in God’s hands,” I told him.
“Amen.”
I went to Harald, who fumed at being made to stand waiting while lesser men flapped their tongues. “Well?” he demanded. “Speak! What did he say?”
“That man is the chief of the guards, and has said he will lead us to the emperor’s court. But we are forewarned: it will go ill with us if you do not also bring a token to attest your rank and signify the importance of your business—something to prove you are trustworthy.
“Proof! I will present the thief’s head for my proof!” declared the king.
“Nay, Jarl Harald,” I said, “that will not do.” And I explained as best I could the strategy given me by Justin, including what would likely happen if the emperor was displeased by our ransom demand. On sudden inspiration, I offered the observation that perhaps if the emperor was not inclined to redeem his servant, he still might be persuaded to make reparation for the theft and return the silver.
The king’s brow wrinkled in thought as, surrounded by the bewildering formalities of the city, he seemed more willing to consider the possibility of simple restitution. “It seems to me,” I suggested, “that we have nothing to fear, as we are certain of the truth of our claim.”
The king hesitated. What had begun as a simple collection of an honour-debt was rapidly growing into a legal contest he no longer understood.
“Jarl Harald,” Gunnar said, speaking up, “would you rather some other king was first of all Danes to win tribute from the emperor’s hand? You would do well to consider this, I think.” He paused, allowing the king to feel his prize slipping away, then added, “Do as Aeddan advises, and the tale will be told in every hall in Daneland. You will gain greater renown than Eric Hairy-Breecs. I think that is a thing worth all the silver in Miklagård.”
“I will do it!” cried Harald, making up his mind at once. Turning to Hnefi, he said, “Take four men with you and bring the treasure box from the ship.”
Had I been thinking more clearly, I would have known what this meant. Alas, I was so preoccupied with steering our ship of concerns successfully through the rocky sea before us, the significance of Harald’s words passed me by.
I told Justin that the king was sending men back to the ship to bring the required surety, and he said, “Come along, then. I will leave some men to escort the barbarians when they return. The palace is not far; we will await them there.”
The Chief of the Magnaura Gate then appointed several of his guardsmen to escort Harald’s men to the longship and thence on to the palace of the emperor. He then motioned the rest of us to follow him, and thus our odd company was allowed to pass into the city without so much as a single nomismi changing hands. Justin and I marched together at the front of the parade, leading a procession of proud, awestruck barbarians and their escort of soldiers at the rear. As Justin had said, the emperor’s palace was no great distance from where we had entered, although it lay in the opposite direction from the way we had gone the previous day, so I recognized nothing from before.
King Harald, looking regal if slightly bewildered, strode like a conqueror through the streets of Constantinople, much impressed by everything he saw. His head swung this way and that, but he kept his mouth firmly shut—unlike the rest of the Sea Wolves, who exclaimed aloud at each new marvel to meet their eyes. The fine big houses occasioned much speculation about the wealth inside, and the first glimpse of the amphitheatre brought exclamations of wonder and delight—much to the amusement of the citizenry of Constantinople, many of whom stopped to watch our curious company pass by.
Had anyone known what the barbarians were saying, they would not have been so amused, I think. The Sea Wolves were astounded by the sight of so much wealth, and eagerly discussed how best to get it for themselves: whether it was advisable to slay the owners outright, or simply seize the valuables and kill only those who resisted; whether to burn individual houses, or put the whole city to the torch…I was heartily glad the onlookers taking such delight in the display understood nothing of what the Sea Wolves said.
When we came in sight of the palace walls, the talk turned to strategies for sacking such an imposing place. The difficulty, from a barbarian point of view, was that the palace presented itself not as a single house or dwelling, but a cluster of buildings scattered within a walled compound—a city within a city. The prevailing opinion was that it should be plundered like any other settlement: fires should be set and the inhabitants slaughtered as they fled the flames. The barbarians could then loot the place at their leisure, providing the soldiers did not interfere. The Sea Wolves had no idea how many soldiers the emperor commanded, but judging from the look of the gate guards they reckoned their own superior strength and stature more than a match for any number of shorter, more lightly-equipped defenders. The somewhat benign appearance of our small escort of red-cloaked guards did nothing to arrest the barbarians’ swift-racing avarice.
Curiously, as we neared the palace, the houses became more crude and haphazard in their construction. The grand and spacious villas of the wealthy were steadily replaced by habitations of meaner design, each more rude than the last until, in the very shadow of the palace walls, the dwellings were little more than hovels: bits of wood stuck up against the wall and covered over with branches and rags. The entire length of the wall in either direction supported these pathetic structures, about which swarmed a horde of filthy beggars.
Before we knew what was happening, we were surrounded by a seething mass of dirty, ragged people, all crying for alms. Some of these wretches waved withered limbs or stumps in our faces, others exposed gangrenous wounds running with pus. The barbarians, though uncouth themselves, were appalled by the poverty of this stinking throng and lashed out angrily whenever any of the beggars pressed too close. The guardsmen, well accustomed to the stench and noise, took the lead and pushed the overbearing crowd back with their shields and the butts of their spears. We eventually reached the gate where we were met by a company of blue-cloaked guards who, upon taking one look at the barbarians, drew their weapons and challenged us at spearpoint.
“Halt!” shouted
the chief guard. “Halt or be killed.”
The Danes, seeing spears lowered, thrust themselves forward to wage battle—at which point our escort of guards joined ranks with their countrymen. Justin raised his voice above the rattle of shields and shouted, “Scholarae Titus! Let us through! These men are with me—I am escorting them to an audience with the emperor.”
The guard called Titus signalled his men to stay the attack, and said, “Explain this procession.”
“We are on a…diplomatic mission—a matter of the highest importance.”
Eyeing the barbarians, Titus said, “I cannot allow it.”
“Listen to me,” Justin said, stepping close. “There are lives at risk. The Quaestor of Hormisdas Harbour has commissioned us,” he lied. “We must get through at once.” He then signalled to me to bring the bundle, which I took from Gunnar and brought to him. Unknotting the cloak, Justin held it open for his comrade to inspect. “I am hoping to resolve the incident without bloodshed.”
Titus shifted through the items in the bundle. “They have weapons,” he replied firmly. “I cannot allow barbarians beyond the gate with weapons. It is my head, and I consider that the highest importance.”
Turning to me, Justin asked, “Your king must agree to leave his weapons behind.”
Motioning for Harald to join us, I quickly explained to him the conditions of entry. He frowned and shook his head dangerously, saying, “Nay. I will not go into that place unarmed. We will burn it down instead. Tell them that.”
Turning to Justin, I said, “Lord Harald asks what assurances you offer that he will not be attacked should he and his men surrender weapons.”
Justin, observing the thrust of Harald’s chin, turned back to the other guard. They held close conversation for a moment, and then Justin motioned me to join them. “My friend Titus begs to inform your king that within the palace precinct, influence and negotiation have replaced brute force. We are not barbarians here. If the king would hold converse with the emperor, he must put aside his arms and proceed peaceably.”