Chained to the Barbarian

by Carol Townend

Except me. I will speak for her, if need be.

  Saints, this afternoon I am meeting Father! This afternoon I must persuade him that I cannot marry Lord Romanos.

  Katerina halted. She was lifting her brows as she stared at an ancient building where part of the roof had caved in. A row of antique statues lined the portico, ghosts from another time. Several of the statues had lost their arms, one its head.

  ‘That was the Hall of the Nineteen Couches,’ Anna told her.

  Katerina shuddered. ‘It looks derelict.’

  ‘Yes, it’s been empty for years,’ Anna said, leading Katerina past several domed buildings towards the gate.

  How brave Katerina is, to play the Princess in this way. Particularly since she is new to Court. If I had her courage, it would doubtless be easy to convince Father that I am not prepared to fall in with his wishes. She sighed. If only he were less intransigent…

  In the past, Anna had tried calm discussion, she had tried entreaty.

  My lord, I cannot marry Lord Romanos, I cannot.

  Her father had been unmoved. The matter of her marriage had transformed him into a cold stranger, the man she had once adored might never have been.

  ‘Enough of this!’ her father had declared in a tone that had made her blood run cold. ‘You will marry

  Romanos Angelos! The Angeli expect it. I expect it. Believe me, Anna, I will do what is necessary to ensure this marriage takes place. If I have to beat you into submission, I will. If I have to starve you, I will.’

  That was the point she had left for Rascia to join the Princess. Two years had passed since then, it was possible her father had mellowed. She simply must convince him that Lord Romanos was not for her. If not, she would have no recourse but to take desperate measures.

  Desperate measures. In her mind, Anna could still see William on the slave block. He was swaying slightly, that magnificent body of his was bruised, but not broken, and those horrible chains were rattling as he stood over the children.

  So protective. So brave and determined. Such an indomitable spirit.

  Anna had hoped that with the coming of the next day, the desperate idea that had been born in the slave market would have been supplanted by another more sensible one. Unfortunately, that had not happened.

  Marriage with William would, naturally, be temporary. It would be contracted purely to convince Lord Romanos that she was not the bride for him. The problem was that Anna did not need to speak to her father to know that marriage to a Frankish slave would alienate him permanently. That was not what she wanted.

  During her time in Rascia the change in her father had eaten away at her. How wonderful it would be to be reconciled with him. It is just that I cannot marry Lord Romanos!

  ‘Creeping about in this way makes me feel like a criminal,’ Katerina said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘I suppose in the eyes of the Commander I am a criminal.’

  ‘You told me you had admitted nothing!’

  ‘Nor did I. But I do feel guilty for misleading him. Perhaps it was short-sighted of me, but I had not expected to feel quite so…bad.’

  They reached the Chalke Gate, passed through it and entered the City. The broad, colonnaded avenue was worryingly clear of citizens. Anna’s sense of foreboding grew, unease was an icy chill on her skin. Although no one was about, it was probably best they did not stray far from the Palace.

  ‘Anna?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Yesterday I overheard something very strange…’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘One of the grooms said that a soldier called Alexios Komnenos was making a bid for the throne.’

  Anna gave her a startled look. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t hear about that.’

  ‘So it’s true? Why on earth didn’t you mention it?’

  ‘I thought you had enough to worry about, and after we got back from the slave market I was somewhat distracted.’ Anna forced a smile and pushed away the image of a pair of green eyes fringed by dark lashes. ‘We both were. By the time the Commander had left your bedchamber, it had quite slipped my mind.’

  ‘You don’t think there will be fighting in the City, do you?’

  ‘It is possible, but I do not think it likely.’ Anna spoke firmly, though privately she had her doubts. The Imperial throne was at stake, and General Alexios had never been defeated.

  They rounded a corner to enter the square and a rumble of voices rolled at them. A child’s thin wail cut through the rumble, a dog yelped. So this is where everyone is. Justinian’s bronze column was dulled by the rain, the base was all but hidden by the crowd milling around it.

  Katerina gasped. ‘No wonder the Palace seemed empty, everyone is here!’

  Anna nodded. Hundreds of citizens, courtiers if the sumptuous gowns and cloaks were anything to go by, were pressing towards the great column, pushing past it to reach the door that led to the great church of Hagia Sophia. Caught up in the crowd, Anna and Katerina were carried along as though by an inexorable force, before they knew it, they had crossed the church forecourt and been swept inside.

  Hagia Sophia was full of shadows and the low murmur of the faithful at prayer. The air was wreathed with incense and the dome above flickered with the light of a thousand hanging lamps. Mosaic saints, haloes agleam with gold, watched from the walls.

  Katerina glanced about wildly and clutched Anna’s arm. ‘Anna, the Empress is bound to be here. I cannot meet the Empress, she knew the Princess before she was sent to Rascia…I can’t take the risk… Anna, get us out of here!’

  * * *

  In the apartment overlooking the Sea of Marmara, the young Varangian had called for a slave named Philip. Philip was wearing a short-sleeved tunic of bleached linen, as he escorted William to the bathhouse, William noticed many men in similar tunics, as well as a number of women wearing clothes made from the same undyed fabric. There must be hundreds of slaves here. But more to the point were the soldiers—guards were patrolling the corridors, not all of them Varangians. They were doubtless there to protect the Imperial family, but their presence must also keep the slaves in order.

  William halted in the bathhouse doorway. It was empty and light was shafting down from a row of glazed windows set high in the walls. Instead of the bathtub he had been expecting, tiled steps led down to what was in effect a small pool, steam was rising from the surface of the water. A wooden bench stood at the poolside and linen drying cloths were draped over a rack.

  ‘Your shoes, if you please.’ The slave Philip gestured for William to remove his down-at-heel shoes.

  As William kicked them off, he made another discovery. The floor tiles were warm. ‘Hypocaust,’ he murmured, flexing his toes. Mon Dieu, glazed windows, heated floor—what luxury!

  The bathhouse walls were tiled as well as the floor and a geometric frieze ran round the walls. The air was perfumed with aromatic herbs. Philip picked up William’s embarrassingly shabby shoes and put them on the floor next to the bench, handling them as carefully as though they were the Emperor’s purple slippers.

  ‘Your belt, sir?’ Philip said, woodenly.

  ‘No need to call me “sir”, Philip,’ William said, amused at the way the man had handled his shoes. ‘My name is William.’

  When Philip looked at William as though he were a madman, William realised no one had thought to tell him that he, too, was a slave. Not for long though…

  ‘William, my name is William.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I think I had better remove that bandage before you go into the water.’

  William gave up and submitted, and Philip helped him undress. The man stared thoughtfully at his discoloured chest.

  ‘I can give you a body massage after your bath, sir. There is an ointment that will ease those bruises.’

  ‘Thank you, but that will not be necessary.’ William had a squire in Apulia, but the thought of being given a massage by this slave made him uncomfortable. Had it been Lady Anna, however… He grinned. The thought of Lady Anna’s hands smoothing away
his bruises was much easier to entertain.

  ‘The water has been freshly drawn, sir.’ Philip waved at a tray of oils and soaps. ‘Do you care for me to bathe you?’

  ‘Lord, no, I can do that for myself.’ The water was blue and inviting. Hurriedly, William stepped in—it was blissfully warm.

  ‘Is the temperature to your taste?’

  ‘Perfect, thank you.’

  ‘Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?’

  Water lapping at his waist, William discovered a ledge which formed an underwater seat. Lowering himself onto it, he reached for a block of soap. It smelled of rosemary and pine.

  ‘No, thank you, Philip, I have everything. I shall call if I need you.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘Philip?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I should like to take my time in here.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  Bowing, Philip left the bathhouse, closing the door softly behind him.

  William eyed the shadows on the tiled floor. Philip would probably give him half an hour before returning, but he couldn’t rely on it. He must be quick, he would be gone from the bathhouse long before Philip came to find him.

  Dipping his head beneath the water, he soaped himself from top to tail, then rinsed off. He was dry and had pulled on his braies and hose before he checked the shadow again. It had scarcely moved. His arm gave a twinge, having been half-wrenched from its socket by the slave master, it needed support. Finding the discarded bandage, he attempted to replicate the bindings as Lady Anna had done them. He made something of a clumsy job of it, but it would have to do.

  It was a pity about the lack of a tunic. Shrugging—with the Palace crawling with guards, William minded the lack of a sword far more than he minded the lack of a tunic—he slipped his feet into his shoes and crept to the door. One of the larger drying cloths would do as a cloak.

  Easing the door open, he peered through the chink and caught the rumble of nearby voices. He thought he recognised Philip talking, but could not make out what he was saying, or who he was talking to.

  Not that way. Quietly closing the door, he narrowed his eyes and looked up at the windows, judging the height. His gaze dropped to the wooden bench.

  In a matter of moments, he had upended the bench, scrambled up it and reached the window…

  * * *

  William’s makeshift cloak must have passed muster, for once out of the bathhouse, he kept his head down and went through acres of Palace grounds without being questioned. Not that he saw many people, the courtyards, lawns and paths were largely empty. The sky was overcast, the air damp. A light rain was falling—it was more of a mist than rain—and there was a briny tang to the air. That last might have been his imagination, but William knew the sea was close, he had glimpsed it through the apartment windows.

  Heart thudding, braced for the shout that would warn him that his disappearance from the bathhouse had been discovered, William skirted a number of columned buildings. Rather to his irritation, he found himself wondering if he might catch sight of a blue veil shot through with silver threads. He received vague impressions of marbled porticoes, of fountains playing over nymphs and dolphins. Exotic birds wandered the lawns, their long tails leaving dark lines in the wet grass, but there was no sighting of a lady-in-waiting in a blue gown.

  He was fortunate that Lady Anna had bought him, it was undoubtedly easier escaping from her than it would have been escaping from the merchant. The merchant had wanted a drudge. He would have kept him chained and maltreated him to keep him docile. And if the lady with the painted face had won the bidding? William shuddered to think what use she might have had for him.

  Hearing the whinny of a horse, William broke step. A low whitewashed building lay on his left hand, cheek by jowl with the Palace wall. A long-jawed dog was tied to a ring in the wall and a couple of muscled grooms idled by a water trough. This must be the Imperial Stables.

  What are my chances of stealing a horse?

  A boy emerged from the stable with a forkful of dirty hay. He tossed it on to the muck heap and looked questioningly at William. ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘Good morning.’ No chance there. Nodding casually at the stable boy, William passed on.

  Was this all the Palace? It was like a city! Lord, somehow he had to get through the wall. Where in hell was the nearest gate? William couldn’t ask, to do so would reveal a suspicious ignorance of the Palace, but if this went on, he was likely to find himself going round in circles. And the last thing William wanted was to find himself back where he had started, at the Boukoleon Palace.

  Above him, the clouds were falling apart and the morning sun was breaking through. It was exactly what William needed. If the Great Palace was walled all around, surely it was reasonable to assume there would be more than one gate? He knew the Sea of Marmara lay to the south so…he would head north-east, there was bound to be a gate in the eastern wall.

  Using the sun as his guide, William pressed on, hugging the side of a great hall, skirting one courtyard and another. He had no idea why the Palace was so quiet, but it was an unexpected blessing.

  Some buildings looked to have been abandoned. He walked swiftly by and at last found a gate manned by four sentries. They were well equipped with helmets and mail tunics, with swords and spears…

  William tried not to look too obviously at their arms. They were not Varangians, they had no battleaxes.

  Again, his luck was in. Grave-faced, the guards had their heads together and were deep in discussion. William strolled languidly towards them. Concerned that the bruising on his naked chest and the bandage on his arm might cause comment, he drew the cloth firmly about him and prayed they were too preoccupied to notice that his cloak was a drying cloth from the Palace bathhouse. His pulse rate speeded up.

  ‘Surely General Alexios won’t fight it out in the streets?’ one was saying. ‘It’s tantamount to treason.’

  Another guard shook his head and made a sucking sound with his teeth. ‘You don’t think so? The General has been acclaimed Emperor by the army and he has the backing of half the Court. Emperor Nikephoros is too weak to object.’ Absently, he waved William through.

  ‘Yes,’ a third man chimed in as William forced himself to walk casually past, ‘Emperor Nikephoros has alienated far too many. Wouldn’t be surprised if…’

  William stepped into a paved street and the voices faded. God be praised, he was free! Likely the guards would have been more disciplined and demanding if he had been trying to enter the Palace, but, thank God, he was out.

  Free!

  Heaving a sigh, William released his grip on his makeshift cloak. He knew the drill—he must walk naturally, he must walk as though he knew where he was going.

  Head up, he turned briskly into a broad avenue. The rain had stopped. He had only gone a few paces when he noticed a fifth sentry outside the Palace. The man was facing the wall a few yards from the gate, a puddle at his feet. Adjusting the tunic beneath his mail coat, he gave William a sheepish grin. His gaze sharpened when he noticed William’s discoloured chest. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Guard?’ Dear God, it would take but one shout for this man to alert his comrades at the gate.

  ‘Would you mind telling me your business, sir?’ The sentry’s hand hovered over his sword hilt.

  William glanced quickly about him, the street, like the Palace, was largely empty. Let the games begin. Snatching off his makeshift cloak, William dived. He had the cloth round the man’s head before the sword was unsheathed.

  The guard struggled and pain shot up William’s arm. Gritting his teeth, William held on grimly, cracking the helmeted head against the Palace wall. The man grunted and went limp.

  William snatched the sword and was haring down a side street before a bemused passer-by raised the alarm.

  ‘Guards!’ Behind him came a shout. ‘Guards!’

  Chapter Four

  Heart pounding like a drum, William gripped the sword
hilt and ran on, twisting and turning down a narrow series of passages that cut in between some wooden buildings. He turned left, he turned right, he turned left again—the City was like a maze. At last the shouts faded. When he stopped to draw breath, he found himself at the edge of a large ceremonial square. His chest heaved. Black spots danced at the edge of his vision.

  On one side there was an imposing building faced with purple marble in the classic style the Romans had favoured. Myrtle bushes lined the avenue between the building and a pillared monument. There was movement behind the monument, a tantalising metallic gleam in the strengthening sunlight—the flash of light on a fan of spears, on a line of battleaxes.

  Lord, Varangians, and he had all but run into them. The Emperor’s personal guard were out in force, in battle formation by the look of it. Still breathless, William backed behind a myrtle bush as snatches of the sentries’ words came back to him. ‘General Alexios…battle it out in the streets…the backing of half the Court.’

  God have mercy, what was going on? Whatever it was, it was serious enough to have cleared the Palace grounds of courtiers, it had sent the Varangians to stand their ground in this square not a stone’s throw from the Palace.

  An ear-splitting scream pierced the air—a woman’s. It had come from the tangle of streets behind him. Whipping round, William’s gaze fell on a scrap of blue cloth caught in one of the myrtles. He tugged it free. Diaphanous blue silk, with silver threads cunningly caught in the weave.

  Jesu! Lady Anna!

  His stomach formed a tight knot as his consciousness narrowed down to the scrap of silk. The blue was an exact match—he remembered the glint of silver threads in her veil as she had left the apartment.

  As another scream came from the mouth of the alley, William’s instincts told him that Lady Anna was close.

  A triumphant cry echoed off the walls of the building. William felt sick. Several male voices…laughing, jeering, urging each other on. Lady Anna had just run into the worst kind of trouble, he was sure of it.

  He was cold, cold as ice, yet perspiration was springing to his brow, he could almost feel his freedom sliding away from him. So much for returning to Apulia for justice, so much for winning lands for himself…