by Mia Marlowe
Then when she pleased Mahomet with a favorable prediction, she used the head wife's successful outing to plead for her and Landina to be allowed to make a brief pilgrimage across the city to the Hagia Sophia. Landina was a follower of Kristr, Valdis explained, and wished to pray for a son in a manner that might meet with her God’s approval. This request could not fail to meet with Habib Ibn Mahomet's favor. What man could possess too many sons?
“And you, my seeress,” Mahomet had asked. “What might you be seeking among the Christians?”
“Enlightenment,” she answered smoothly. “Seid craft bids me open myself to wisdom. Does not the name Hagia Sophia, Church of Holy Wisdom, suggest it may offer me new insight? I seek wisdom where ever it may be found that I may better serve my master.”
In the end it was decided the two women would go together under Publius's watchful eye. The eight bearers of their sedan chairs could be stationed at the many doors of the great church to make sure Valdis and Landina did not slip away from them. None of the faithful Muslims wished to sully themselves by actually setting foot inside the building dedicated to the worship of another deity besides Allah the Merciful.
As they neared the basilica, Valdis too was trepidatious. The structure was designed to intimidate. Its scale was huge, a series of half-domes flanked by four spires stabbing the gray sky and crowned with a monstrous full dome. The church was a veritable beehive of activity with small knots of worshippers coming and going from the many doors.
If he was even here, how would she ever find Erik amid this throng? His last runestick had been cryptic.
Thor’s day Hagia Sophia north gallery.
Even though Erik left the house of Mahomet, Valdis regularly found a carved piece of wood near the stone bench in the courtyard. Erik had arranged for the new Varangian who'd taken his place to act as a messenger.
Beside her, her friend Landina fidgeted with excitement. She hoped to see her beloved Bernard here as well. The meeting was risky but if Erik managed to locate him at the Xenon, where many foreign visitors to the city lodged, Landina was sure Bernard would dare to come.
“Remember,” Publius admonished them, “you are not to dawdle. Make whatever obeisance the Christian god requires and return as quickly as possible. The sky is threatening.” He held out his palm, testing for a drop of rain. “I’ve half a mind to turn around right now.”
“No, no,” Valdis said. If everything went well this first time, she'd be able to make this pilgrimage a regular occurrence. If she could only see Erik, even for a few moments, she'd be strengthened to continue on the path that led to her freedom. “We will be quick. I promise.”
The two women scurried through the basilica's tall bronze doors. Once inside, Valdis pulled back the hood of her burka. The walls were covered with mosaics peopled with solemn-eyed figures to whom a smile would be a mystery.
“In this alcove, they have a splinter of the True Cross,” Landina explained as she led Valdis to a glittering gold reliquary. When the Frank saw it, she dropped to her knees before the strange artifact.
Valdis was confused by her friend's veneration for such a tiny object, and a humble one at that. The miniscule sliver of wood was entirely ordinary looking and further obscured by its extravagant setting.
“Why is this so important to you?” Valdis asked.
“It is a piece of the very Cross on which Christ died.”
Valdis shook her head. Followers of Kristr were fixated on his death. In the North, it was the adventures and victories of the gods that were celebrated. The Tale of Ragnarok, the Doom of the Gods, was too somber for most settings and rarely received a favorable hearing.
Valdis and her friend crept forward, drawn into the building's open central space. The sacred place was so huge, Valdis's breath caught in her throat. If the relics and mosaics left her confused, the sanctuary rendered her incapable of speech,
The ceiling soared upward and far above them; a mosaic of the Kristr spanned the great dome, hovering over the milling worshippers. Valdis was surprised to see the Christian's god depicted as a man, albeit a very large one, and not the three-headed being she expected. Staring up at the astonishing dome, Valdis felt the same sense of smallness she experienced as a girl when she gazed into the endless Northern night sky.
Incense rose from the altar, sending the odor of sanctity over the gathering. An unseen choir was singing, the ethereal plainsong devoid of earthly passion. In comparison to the full-throated singing of the Northlands, these southern voices were bloodless. When the song stopped, the worshippers trickled out of the sanctuary.
“Landina.” A man pushed through the crowd toward them. Valdis recognized the pale Frank she'd seen at Mahomet's table the first night she entered the Arab's house. He was undoubtedly Landina's Bernard.
Even though they were in a public place, her friend threw her arms around the man and held him fiercely. Bernard wrapped his cloak around her and drew her toward the more private curtained arcade.
“Remember, we haven't long,” Valdis whispered after them, unwilling to break the deep stillness that settled over the nearly deserted sanctuary. Landina flashed a smile of unabashed joy over her shoulder, silently thanking Valdis.
Valdis couldn't blame her friend for deserting her. Landina had no chance of earning her freedom as Valdis did. This fleeting opportunity to spend time with her beloved was all the Frankish girl was ever likely to have.
The north gallery, Erik's rune had said. Valdis took her bearings using the faint light slanting through the circle of windows at the base of the dome to orient herself. She looked up at the open balcony above the arcades lining the sanctuary. Perhaps Erik waited for her in those shadows.
She mounted the ochre-colored marble steps to the second level and walked along the aisle, conscious of the soft swish of her kid slippers on the polished floor. She paced the length of the gallery without encountering a soul. She was almost ready to turn back and try the south side when she heard someone humming softly.
The tune was a Norse drinking song, one with decidedly randy lyrics. She followed the sound and found Erik on his knees in the second row of seats. Valdis saw the glint of his knife. He was carving something on the back of the pew in front of him.
Valdis watched him a moment, burning on her memory the tiny details that would give her comfort when she contemplated Erik on her sleeping couch. She noticed the way his hair hung over one eye and how he grimaced in concentration. The tenderness in her chest threatened to burst out of her.
He must have felt her intense gaze, for he raised his eyes to meet hers. A smile stretched across his face and he was on his feet and catching her in his arms in only a few heartbeats. He kissed her, not caring that a priest or acolyte might stumble upon them at any moment.
“Valdis,” he murmured into her hair. “I waited for you last Thor's day. I was afraid you wouldn't be able to come yet again, so I was trying to leave you a message.”
She ran her fingertip over the runes and saw that he'd carved the first two letters of his name.
“Publius is waiting outside. We haven't much time.”
“Then we'd better not waste it,” he said with a wolfish grin. Erik sat down and pulled her onto his lap. “I've been dying to hold you again.”
“I want you too.” She buried her nose in his hair and kissed his neck, tasting the saltiness of his skin. “But we must be wise.” She wiggled off his lap and sat beside him, conscious of the heat of his thigh against hers. “I know it seems there's no one about, but they say the walls have ears in this city. No doubt they have eyes as well.”
“You're right.” Erik brought her hand to his lips, flicking his tongue along her knuckles. The moist touch was unbearably erotic. The fact that it was such an intimate, forbidden gesture in this public place made the jolt of desire coursing through her all the more fierce. “I wish you weren't stronger than me in this.”
He had no idea how weak she really was. She entwined her fingers with his. How woul
d she ever have the strength to let him go again? “Is all well with you? Tell me everything.”
Erik spoke with excitement of his assignment as captain of the Arab dhow in the coming spectacular. “My crewmen are all good sailors, Northmen to a man, handpicked by Quintilian. Even though the dhow handles like a pig, we've drilled for some time now and everyone knows their business. I've made a modification or two that will make the ship answer quicker to the steering oar, but she's still no drakar.”
Valdis frowned in puzzlement. The Byzantine passion for reenactments made little sense to her mind. Had they no storytellers who could bring the event to life with well chosen words? A good skald was worth ten reenactments, for a Nordic bard sent the total experience to the minds of his listeners, inviting them to relive the tale for themselves, to walk in the hero's boots, suffer his defeats and glory in his victories as if they were the listeners' own. Spectaculars reduced the audience to mere watchers, not participants.
“If you're destined to lose, what's the point?”
“The dhow was lost during the real battle because her captain had no imagination.” Erik grinned. “I've studied the reports and figured out the error made by the pirates the last time. They may think the battle planned out, but they're going to be surprised. If we're going to do this thing, why not make it an exercise that will benefit the imperial navy in case they come up against a better sailor next time?”
“Won't that be dangerous? Your commander may disapprove.”
“I’ve discussed it with General Quintilian. There's an unspoken rivalry between the naval forces and the infantry. The general likes the idea of blackening the admiral's eye if I manage to win,” Erik said with a modest shrug. “And if I lose, at least the glory of the Empire's navy will have been earned, not handed to them by a scripted battle.”
“Be careful.” Valdis planted a quick kiss on his cheek.
“It's just a game, love,” he said and lifted their clasped hands. “But this isn't. What we have, you and I, it's the only real thing in my life. I never thought to find it, certainly not since I was exiled. It's inn mattki munr."
The mighty passion. Valdis drew a sharp breath. Many couples in the North married, had children together and stumbled through their entire lives without finding the mighty passion with their mates. Despite the obstacles facing them, Valdis knew she and Erik were the lucky ones.
Erik cupped her cheeks in his big hands. “I love you Valdis, and nothing will ever change it.”
She looked up at his raw-boned face. His image shimmered behind a veil of unshed tears. “I love you too.”
He took her lips softly, almost chastely. Valdis felt his love wash over her, fresh and cleansing as a mountain stream. It swept away the last of her bitterness over her family's rejection. Despite her strange malady, this man loved her, needed her. Erik's declaration filled every bit of her. She had no room for past hurts, no space in her heart to nurse old wounds. Her heart was whole again and she offered it to Erik without reservation.
Finally she pulled away. “I must go. If I hope to come again, I must please Publius this time by being brief.”
“Mahomet thinks you see the future. Tell your master there may be a surprise in the reenactment. The entire city will be lining the quay to watch. Perhaps he'll let you come,” he said, his face almost boyish with hope. “If he does and you come here again on Thor's Day, you might see me twice next week.”
“I will pray for it,” she promised, unable to resist one last kiss. Then she pulled away and nearly ran from him, lest she lose her resolve. As she descended the marble steps, she decided she might pray to the Christian God. It wouldn't do to insult the deity of the great city, and the Court of Asgard had certainly been ignoring her plight.
Valdis glanced up again at the gallery. Erik was standing now, looking down at her, his face so full of love it was a wonder the entire sanctuary didn't glow with the strength of it.
“All will be well,” she repeated to herself. She would complete her task for Damian and win her freedom. Erik would be waiting. Valdis hadn't felt this hopeful about her future since before that disastrous spell at the jarlhof that caused her to be sold into slavery.
Valdis retraced her steps, looking for Landina. Publius would be upset if they were much longer at their "devotions." She revisited the reliquary and passed the sober mosaics. Worshippers gathered in small groups, milling about as they waited for the next canonical hour to signal the beginning of another service. Valdis began asking bystanders if they'd noticed a woman in a burka just like hers. No one recalled seeing her.
The Frankish girl was nowhere to be found.
With rising panic, Valdis searched each curtained alcove of the arcade. In the last one, there was a crumpled garment shoved under the marble bench.
It was Landina's burka.
“No matter how detailed and well thought out the plan, it is impossible to see all ends."
—from the secret journal of Damian Aristarchus
Chapter 25
* * *
“Where is she?” Publius demanded, his jowls quivering with rage.
“I don't know,” Valdis said truthfully. She was half delighted that her friend managed to escape with her lover and half afraid over the awkward position in which Landina left her. Bernard must have brought some type of disguise into the church with him for Landina to slip on. Then he somehow spirited her past the bearers who would be looking for an odalisque in a burka. “I have no idea where she is.”
Far, far away, Valdis hoped.
“How can you be a seeress and not have known what she was planning?” Publius turned an alarming shade of purple. “You have eyes at least. You must have seen something.”
Erik's words came back to save her. Tell your master there will be a surprise at the reenactment.
“My Sight is turned always to the betterment of the master,” Valdis lied. “I saw nothing of Landina’s disappearance because the spirits chose to reveal a vision to me while I was inside the church. Mahomet will wish to hear what I have received from the powers.”
Publius's face contorted into a mask of fury. He barked orders to the nearest of the bearers, who set off at a run to collect his fellows. The eunuch wrung his pudgy hands and muttered imprecations under his breath. When the bearers were assembled, Publius had formulated his plan.
“There are many places to hide in the city, but thanks to our excellent defensive walls, only a few places by which to leave. You, Claudius to the Blanchernai.” He pointed to one skinny fellow. “Demos take the Xylokerkos Gate. Argos, the Pege. Get yourself to the Polyandrian, Lucan. Theos, take Lysander there with you and scour the Harbor of Theodosius. The rest of you cover the Golden Horn and pray that the tide is out or she is still seeking passage on a ship there. Well, don't stand there gaping. What are you waiting for?"
“But what of the sedan chairs?” Demos asked.
“Forget them. Leave them. Why are you still here? Go!” Publius screamed. “If your delay allows Landina to escape, I will see her weight is taken out of your miserable hides!”
A few passersby turned their heads at his outburst, then hurried on about their own business. Beating a slave was a common occurrence. Threatening one didn't merit a second glance.
“Your pardon, but...,” Demos spoke again with obvious reluctance. “The woman has already slipped by us once, Excellency, because we were watching for two women in burkas. We don't know what the odalisque looks like beneath her veil.”
Publius hissed like a kettle near to boiling. “She has dark brown hair and blue eyes. Her skin is almost as fair as this one."
The eunuch skewered Valdis with a frown. In her haste to rejoin him, she'd forgotten to cover her face.
“Pull on your hood,” he ordered. “Have you no decency?” Publius turned back to the bearers, holding out a hand to indicate Landina's height. “The Frankish girl you seek is this tall. She speaks with an abominable Frankish accent. When you find her, you have permission to stri
p her. You will know it is her by the scarring on her back.” Publius cast a slant-eyed gaze at Valdis. “Landina is too timid to have done this on her owjn. She will no doubt be traveling with someone. You are still looking for two people. A man is with her, most likely.”
Valdis could almost see the thoughts tumbling around in his brainpan. Had he remembered Bernard, the Frankish merchant who dined with Mahomet the first night Valdis entered the Arab's house?
“When you reach the gates and the harbors, tell the captain of the guard that Publius Mendalaeus will pay ten gold bezants to the man who helps you apprehend the girl and her companion. Do not leave your stations until she is found or you receive word from me that she is dead,” Publius said, his alto voice ragged with rage. “Away with you now.”
The slaves scurried off, making for their assigned positions. Valdis suspected they were grateful to escape the eunuch's irate presence. When Publius turned his attention back to Valdis, his eyes narrowed to slits.
“If I find you knew of the wretched girl's plans, I will make you suffer the pangs of the damned,” he promised before waddling away. “Come. We must walk home now.”
“We could hire a carriage,” Valdis suggested, seeing how difficult it was for Publius to move his bulk along the broad Mese. Vigorous exercise would only worsen his mood.
Publius rounded on her. “Are you really in such a hurry to greet the master with this news?”
As Valdis trudged after Publius, rain started to fall. They'd both be soaked to the skin by the time they reached the master's house. Still, it was a good thing Mahomet's grand abode was situated far from the Hagia Sophia on one of Miklagard's seven hills. It would take that long for Valdis to come up with a plausible tale.
