turned back to Erik. “You are familiar with the city, are you not?”
Erik nodded.
“Then you know that not all our citizens are as blessed as Lentulus here. In the pestilential district called the Studion, freemen die of starvation every day. Their women dare not walk the streets without an escort for fear of being molested. Ask the poor if their liberty means more to them than a full belly and peaceful security.”
“Valdis is a freeborn Norsewoman,” Erik said with inborn stubbornness. “She'll not willingly submit to a thrall's iron collar.”
“I've put nothing less precious than silver on her neck.”
“Silver, gold, gems or pearls—it matters not. As long as you count yourself her master, Valdis will feel the weight of iron.” Erik glanced toward her still form. “Give her reason to hope. Assure her she can earn her freedom and she'll serve you well.”
Damian narrowed his eyes at Erik, weighing his words. Finally, he nodded. “When we have accomplished the plan I have set in motion, I will free her. You may tell her so when she wakes.”
Erik's chest expanded. He imagined her delight at this news and her gratitude to him for bringing it to her. Then he realized he didn't know what the Greek expected of Valdis beyond learning his language. “Just what’s involved in this plan of yours?”
“In good time, my large, anxious friend,” Damian said as he poured wine for each of them. He offered Erik a precious Frankish glass of amber liquid. “Sit and I will tell you as much as you may safely relay to Valdis. She will learn the rest when she understands enough of my tongue for me to tell her myself. But we can't chance another episode of the sickness in public before Valdis is fully prepared to move forward with the plan. I commend you for the speed and efficiency with which you removed her from the Hippodrome. It's obvious we need more privacy for her to complete her training than the palace and city streets provide.”
Damian signaled for his body-servant to draw near. “Make preparations to move to the summer villa, Lentulus. We leave the city at dawn tomorrow.”
Then the eunuch turned back to Erik and in a softer voice revealed some of what he intended to accomplish. Erik decided listening to Damian was like skirting a sea of ship-killing icebergs. So much rested beneath the surface of their conversation, and what lay below the Greek's words was surely more dangerous than a floating mountain of ice.
“The hour grows late and Valdis shows no sign of waking till morning.” The eunuch stood, his manner stating that Erik was being summarily dismissed. “You Varangians are famous for your wenching. If you have good-byes to say to anyone in Constantinople, say them tonight, Northman.”
The eastern sky was tinged with rose when Valdis and her escort rode through the massive gate in the last of the concentric landwalls that guarded the great city. Not that they had to worry about the barbaric hordes now, Damian assured her.
The Bulgar-Slayer had seen to that. When Basil II crushed the Bulgars, he gave no quarter. All the defeated soldiers were blinded, except one of every hundred who was left with one good eye so he could lead his ruined companions home. Now Basil II was past leading his troops in battle—the war with passing years is one no man wins, not even God's own emperor—but the collective memory of their stinging defeat was sufficient to keep the heathen tribes from attempting another attack.
Even a Bulgar threat could not dampen Valdis's mood as she won free of the city. She was mounted on a well-mannered gelding heading into the gentle slopes of the foothills and from thence to cool, pine-covered mountains. It might not be freedom, but escaping the suffocating heat of Miklagard in high summer was too delicious not to savor.
“Let me understand this aright,” she said to Erik, who rode a truly magnificent black stallion beside her on the broad road. “After I learn Greek, I'm
Erik nodded.
“Then you know that not all our citizens are as blessed as Lentulus here. In the pestilential district called the Studion, freemen die of starvation every day. Their women dare not walk the streets without an escort for fear of being molested. Ask the poor if their liberty means more to them than a full belly and peaceful security.”
“Valdis is a freeborn Norsewoman,” Erik said with inborn stubbornness. “She'll not willingly submit to a thrall's iron collar.”
“I've put nothing less precious than silver on her neck.”
“Silver, gold, gems or pearls—it matters not. As long as you count yourself her master, Valdis will feel the weight of iron.” Erik glanced toward her still form. “Give her reason to hope. Assure her she can earn her freedom and she'll serve you well.”
Damian narrowed his eyes at Erik, weighing his words. Finally, he nodded. “When we have accomplished the plan I have set in motion, I will free her. You may tell her so when she wakes.”
Erik's chest expanded. He imagined her delight at this news and her gratitude to him for bringing it to her. Then he realized he didn't know what the Greek expected of Valdis beyond learning his language. “Just what’s involved in this plan of yours?”
“In good time, my large, anxious friend,” Damian said as he poured wine for each of them. He offered Erik a precious Frankish glass of amber liquid. “Sit and I will tell you as much as you may safely relay to Valdis. She will learn the rest when she understands enough of my tongue for me to tell her myself. But we can't chance another episode of the sickness in public before Valdis is fully prepared to move forward with the plan. I commend you for the speed and efficiency with which you removed her from the Hippodrome. It's obvious we need more privacy for her to complete her training than the palace and city streets provide.”
Damian signaled for his body-servant to draw near. “Make preparations to move to the summer villa, Lentulus. We leave the city at dawn tomorrow.”
Then the eunuch turned back to Erik and in a softer voice revealed some of what he intended to accomplish. Erik decided listening to Damian was like skirting a sea of ship-killing icebergs. So much rested beneath the surface of their conversation, and what lay below the Greek's words was surely more dangerous than a floating mountain of ice.
“The hour grows late and Valdis shows no sign of waking till morning.” The eunuch stood, his manner stating that Erik was being summarily dismissed. “You Varangians are famous for your wenching. If you have good-byes to say to anyone in Constantinople, say them tonight, Northman.”
The eastern sky was tinged with rose when Valdis and her escort rode through the massive gate in the last of the concentric landwalls that guarded the great city. Not that they had to worry about the barbaric hordes now, Damian assured her.
The Bulgar-Slayer had seen to that. When Basil II crushed the Bulgars, he gave no quarter. All the defeated soldiers were blinded, except one of every hundred who was left with one good eye so he could lead his ruined companions home. Now Basil II was past leading his troops in battle—the war with passing years is one no man wins, not even God's own emperor—but the collective memory of their stinging defeat was sufficient to keep the heathen tribes from attempting another attack.
Even a Bulgar threat could not dampen Valdis's mood as she won free of the city. She was mounted on a well-mannered gelding heading into the gentle slopes of the foothills and from thence to cool, pine-covered mountains. It might not be freedom, but escaping the suffocating heat of Miklagard in high summer was too delicious not to savor.
“Let me understand this aright,” she said to Erik, who rode a truly magnificent black stallion beside her on the broad road. “After I learn Greek, I'm
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