by Mia Marlowe
It was her last clear memory of the day that upended her world.
Again, light.
And at the Hippodrome, just before Loki began growling his warning, the gilt spokes of the chariot wheels spun like glittering circles in her head.
Could it be? She opened her eyes and decided to test her theory. Everyone in Damian's household enjoyed the fountain in the courtyard, but while Valdis liked its cheerful patter, she rarely looked at it. Now she turned her full attention on the falling water.
The crystalline drops fell in the same pattern, one always on another's heels. That would provide her the repetition she sought.
Now for the light.
Sun sparkled on the south side of the fountain. From this angle, a small star pulsed at the summit of the water's path, glinting relentlessly. Valdis stared at the point of light, wondering if so ethereal a thing might be the gateway to the falling sickness.
The men were talking in low tones and she heard Erik exclaim that if Damian truly wanted to pass Valdis off as a seid-woman, there was only one way. Damian seemed to be arguing with Erik, but his voice grew indistinct and muffled. Valdis couldn't understand him. Her fingertips tingled and at her hemline, Loki growled softly and nosed her ankles. She couldn't seem to tear her gaze from the dancing light. The little dog whined.
Blackness so deep it engulfed even the light of the star wrapped itself around Valdis and she knew no more.
* * *
“Now look what you've done,” Erik accused as he cradled Valdis's bucking body. Her splendidly mismatched eyes rolled in their sockets, showing only the whites.
“Let her be,” Damian ordered. “I want to see what she'll do.”
“She might injure herself.” Erik held her all the tighter. “Why did you drive her to this?”
Damian rubbed his hands together, barely containing his elation. “She drove herself to it, and so quickly too. Once she recovers from a fit, the superstitious will believe every word that drops from her lips.”
Valdis thrashed with more violence.
“I'd believe it myself if I didn't know the sickness for what it is,” Damian whispered in awe. The spell started to pass and Valdis ceased struggling. A thin ribbon of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth where she'd bitten herself. “We'd be fools not to use so powerful a weapon placed in our hands.”
“She's not a weapon,” Erik said. “She's a woman.”
“Valdis is a means to an end—the further glory of the New Rome.”
Damian took time from congratulating himself on his own cleverness to cast a superior sneer at Erik. “As a military man, I am surprised you do not know the value not only of covertly gathered information, but also about the spread of false information to your enemy. Valdis is the perfect conduit for both.”
As her body shuddered once more, Erik decided he could think of only one enemy worth destroying: the posturing eunuch named Damian Aristarchus.
“Always know how the dice are weighted before you make your throw."
—from the secret journal of Damian Aristarchus
Chapter 14
* * *
Within days of Valdis's dance with her demon, Damian Aristarchus ordered them back to Miklagard. Much to Erik's disgust, the eunuch occupied all Valdis's waking hours. While the servants packed, Aristarchus filled her head with the nonsense she must convince some poor dupe was a message directly from the world of spirits.
By night, her door remained closed.
Erik reluctantly admitted her wisdom in the matter. He was shamed by his willingness to endanger her with another visit to her chamber, but he'd have dared it if she so much as crooked her smallest finger his way. He thought she'd witched him before. Now he was certain of it.
And to his surprise, he didn't mind one bit.
During the ride back to the great city, though the eunuch's constant presence allowed them no private speech, Erik was satisfied just to be near her, to hear her voice, and to watch the play of light on her face.
Part of him hoped she’d changed her mind and decide to chance making a run with him for parts unknown.
But then the party arrived back at the Imperial Palace and Valdis disappeared into her silken gaol. Erik was summarily dismissed.
Every day after that, he'd made an appearance at the royal residence, demanding speech with the chief eunuch, only to be told that Damian Aristarchus was an exceedingly busy person, but perhaps time might be made to see him later if the Varangian cared to put his request in writing. Oh! But of course a barbaroi couldn't be expected to be able to write out his request. So sorry. If the Varangian officer would be pleased to return on the morrow, or better yet, sometime next week ...
There was no question of him seeing Valdis. She was locked up tighter than a vestal virgin in the temple of the eunuch's chambers, waiting until Aristarchus was ready to initiate his much vaunted plan. But one evening, Erik thought he caught a glimpse of her standing on the balcony, looking out over the granite heads of the Acropolis toward the blue waters of the Bosporus.
Did she regret not running away with him?
Whether she did or not, Erik could not rest, could not even report back to his commander till he knew for certain that Aristarchus would heed him in the matter they'd quarreled over before Valdis fell into that last shuddering fit. She was still bound for a zenana. That much was certain. Erik might not be able to change her fate, but he might make the tunnel she must pass through a little less dark.
It was worth a try.
That morning he decided he was done with Byzantine delaying tactics. He shoved past the first eunuch who tried to bar his way. When the distraught official called for assistance, the tagmata who responded turned out to be a man Erik knew from skirmishes on the practice field.
“I have business with Damian Aristarchus that won't wait,” he explained to his fellow soldier.
“It's all right, Benedict,” the tagmata told the fluttering eunuch. “He means no harm. If this Varangian were up to no good, your hands would already be looking for your head. Let the man pass and see to his business.”
Still, the little eunuch had insisted that Erik be disarmed. Once he handed over his battle ax and gladius, Erik was escorted through the polished marble halls and down the many stairs to Damian's lair.
He pounded on the silver-plated door, and when he heard no word granting him admittance, he shoved the portal open anyway. The chief eunuch was at his desk, as he'd been when Erik was first forced into the man's service, still absorbed by the administrative documents instead of looking up to see who had just battered down his door.
“Hello, Varangian,” Damian said without removing his gaze from his desk. Then he cast a quick glance at Erik before returning to perusing the scroll before him. “Don't look so surprised. Do you think I wouldn't know the moment you set foot on Imperial marble that you were on your way to see me? I have eyes in places you would never think to look.”
“Then you know I've tried several times. Why did you refuse me?” Erik growled.
“Because as you can see, I'm a very busy man.” Damian spread his hands over the paperwork on his desk. “And you have yet to report back to your commander. If I told Quintilian you've been released from my service for over a week, he'd hang you as a deserter. I've heard that Northmen put much store in the manner of their death. What's so important that you'd risk an ignoble one?”
Damian indicated that Erik should sit in the chair opposite him. While he would have preferred to stand, this was the eunuch's home ground. The engagement must be fought under his rules. Until Erik could find a way to change them.
“It concerns Valdis.”
“I surmised as much.” Damian steepled his hands before him. “Put your mind at ease. She is content and ready to begin her new life.”
“It's the manner of that life that troubles me. You still wish to convince someone that she is a seid-woman, ja?"
Damian lifted an eyebrow in assent.
“Then you
must make sure whoever takes her into his harem is aware that in order for a seid-woman to work her magic and foretell events, there are certain requirements in the North. Chastity for one.”
“She must remain a virgin?”
“A true adept keeps herself pure to focus all her energies on spelling. As you well know, power exacts a price, and spiritual power is even more demanding than worldly power. If there were another seid master here in Miklagard, he would tell you the same.” Erik was confident no seid-man would be found beyond the cozy reach of his own fire in the far north.
“Does a male seid practitioner maintain the same virtue?”
Erik grimaced. Damian had probably looked into his background when he first came into his service and knew he was not above frequenting the company of dancers and whores on occasion. “Seid-men are required to make other sacrifices on the altar of the powers. Besides, are not the rules for men and women different all over the world?”
Damian snorted at that. "You have a point."
Aristarchus might be only a half-man, but Erik suspected he wouldn't change places with a woman on a bet. Unless a Byzantine woman was a member of the royal family, she had far less personal freedom than her Nordic sisters.
“Valdis may be only shamming the power, but something of seid must be true in order for her to be convincing.” Erik pressed his advantage. “Wherever she is placed, her prescient abilities provide more opportunities to gather information than as a concubine.”
“You might be surprised what a man will tell his bed partner if he's properly... motivated,” Damian said wryly.
“But he'll take advice from someone whose wisdom he trusts,” Erik countered. “As a respected voice of counsel, Valdis can spread the misinformation you intend with far more credibility than as a bed slave.”
“Valdis is trained to be an odalisque. Since she was promised freedom, she's been willing to perform in whatever capacity deemed necessary for the good of the Empire. That seems to bother you inordinately.” Damian stood and crossed over to a side table that held an amphora of wine. He splashed some of the amber liquid into a silver chalice and took a sip, failing to offer any to Erik, though a second chalice stood waiting. “Why is that, I wonder?”
Erik decided to ignore the question. He stood to go. “You asked me to prepare Valdis to pretend to have seid abilities. My only concern is to make sure she is as convincing as possible, both for her safety and the success of the mission. If your frustrated fixation with the bedchamber leads you to disregard my advice, so be it. When your scheme fails, don't blame me.”
Erik turned and stalked toward the door, the silence behind him crackling with suppressed fury. The silver chalice clattered to the floor. Erik pivoted to face the eunuch, whose face was flushed crimson.
“I am not some whore-mongering barbaroi who struts about pretending to serve the Emperor,” Damian said through clenched teeth. “Everything I do is pointed to one purpose—the glory of the Empire. How dare you imply otherwise?”
Erik inclined his head slightly. “Then our goal is one and the same. And as your ally and the emperor's servant, I urge you to heed me in this matter.”
Damian narrowed his eyes at Erik, searching for evidence of guile. “Very well. I agree. Whatever makes Valdis more authentic as a seid-woman furthers our cause. When I part with her, I will admonish her future master that she must remain pure to retain her powers."
Erik struggled to keep from showing the triumph that surged through him.
“But Valdis is exceedingly comely,” Damian said. “If her next master is minded to sacrifice her prescient abilities for her other attributes, I cannot gainsay him.”
“Who are you planning to sell her to?” Erik asked.
Damian bared his teeth in a grimace that couldn't be mistaken for a smile. “That is none of your concern. Leave me now.”
Erik strode toward the door with a lighter heart.
“Make certain to report to Quintilian by sundown, or I will know of it and will take steps to see you hung for dereliction of duty.”
Erik pushed open the heavy silver door. With any luck at all, sundown would give Erik plenty of time to learn where Valdis was bound.
* * *
Erik exchanged a handful of nomismas for a beggar's rough hooded cloak and took his station on the steps of the Hagia Sophia. From that vantage point, he could mark all who entered or exited the Imperial grounds. Once Valdis and her escort were underway, it was a small matter to blend into the press of people behind them. The plain cloak effectively rendered him of no account, but it was difficult to disguise his impressive height. Erik stooped his shoulders and bent his knees as he shuffled after Valdis and the chief eunuch.
Near the opulent public baths, Aristarchus met a grossly fat, smooth-faced eunuch dressed in precious silks. The inordinate length of time Damian spent talking with animated gestures to the other eunuch convinced Erik this was no chance meeting. He settled in a doorway to keep watch.
Valdis stood, seemingly aloof, while the two men conversed. The little dog was still with her, its collar studded with more sparkling jewels than a whore might earn in a lifetime of leg spreading. Loki strained at the end of his tether, then suddenly stopped, sniffed the air and turned back to his mistress, whining in distress.
Valdis collapsed to the pavement in a convulsing heap.
“By Odin's lost eye,” Erik swore softly. “The damned dog does seem to know when it's about to happen.”
A crowd gathered, curious gawkers circling about the woman writhing on the ground. Erik could no longer see Valdis through all the bystanders. He fought the urge to push through the press of bodies and start knocking heads about for their thoughtless nosiness.
Then he heard her voice, weak at first, then growing stronger with each syllable. She prophesied a windfall of good fortune for someone whose name Erik didn't recognize.
Habib Ibn Mahomet.
Erik stood. He had what he needed. The fat eunuch dangling a purse before Damian's face. Aristarchus waved it away and took Valdis's arm with every sign of solicitousness, leading her back toward the palace. The other man followed a few steps before giving up, but Erik heard him call out.
“If this prophecy turns out to be true, you may name your price and my master will pay.”
Canny, Erik thought. Even though Damian was chomping at the bit to place Valdis in this Mahomet's household, he had arranged matters so his mark would pay handsomely for the privilege of having a spy at his side.
Erik strode toward his commander's office. Once he rounded a corner, he tossed the cloak to a scruffy-looking street child. He had no further need of disguise.
Two can play this game, Aristarchus. And I always play to win.
“Never offer up the truth when a well-crafted lie will serve."
—from the secret journal of Damian Aristarchus
Chapter 15
* * *
The general in command of the Varangian Guard did not occupy a silver-plated, sweet-scented office like the chief eunuch. Quintilian Maximus was a soldier first and an administrator a distant second. But that didn't mean he had no head for intrigue. A man didn't rise to a position of authority within the Empire without knowing how to navigate the serpentine river of plots and counterplots.
At least that's what Erik was counting on.
He stepped into Quintilian's spartan quarters and fisted a smart salute.
“Ah, Heimdalsson,” the general said. “Back from your tour of duty with the third sex, I see. About time too. That gang of ruffians of yours misses you. They nearly ran your replacement into retirement, and he's not a day over thirty. I assume you're ready to resume your duties.”
Erik allowed himself a quick smile. “With a will, sir. If ever I darken another perfumed chamber that doesn't have a woman in it, it will be too soon.”
The general guffawed. “They are an odd bunch, those ball-less wonders, without doubt. But the Empire wouldn't make it through a day without them. Their
be-jeweled fingers stir everyone's pot.” He made a dismissive gesture. “But of all the half-men I've known, Aristarchus is the least like a eunuch of any of them. Still carries himself like a man, that one. I respect that.”
Erik nodded his grudging agreement. “But as you say, into everyone's business.”
The general's eyes narrowed in speculation. “And just whose business is the chief eunuch most interested in now?”
“A silk trader of all people. No one you need trouble yourself about,” Erik said, hoping Quintilian would rise to the bait. “Now if you've no further need of me—”
“Stay a moment,” his commander said. “The trader’s name?”
Erik frowned, as if straining to call up the name. “Habib Ibn Maho...”—he let the name dangle unfinished for a few heartbeats—“Mahomet, I think. Ja, that's it. Habib Ibn Mahomet.”
Quintilian drummed his thick fingers on the desktop. “I know of him. A leading player in guild politics. What does the chief eunuch want with a silk merchant?”
Erik shrugged. “I doubt he's concerned about new hangings for his apartments. After all, Aristarchus has gone to quite a bit of trouble to insert a new informant into the man's household.”
“Has he indeed? Something big must be afoot.”
“You may be right,” Erik agreed, shaking his head in disgust. “But what can we do? Men of action frequently take a poor second to others when it comes to intrigue. The chief eunuch sits like a spider in the center of a web of a thousand strands, just waiting for one of them to vibrate. It's a pity that a perfumed courtier like Damian Aristarchus will earn the gratitude of the emperor when whatever Mahomet is involved in comes to light.”
