Enchantress Mine Page 9

  Reaching the other side of the small river Mairin stopped for a moment looking back at Aelfleah.

  “It is not like Landerneau, Dagda, is it?” she said quietly. “I know we shall return to Aelfleah.”

  Part Two

  THE PRINCE’S BRIDE

  Byzantium, 1063–1065

  Chapter 4

  Mairin wondered afterwards if Aldwine would have taken his wife if he had known how hard the trip was to be on Eada. A voyage by sea might have been easier had the seas been calm, and the long miles between England and Constantinople might have even been covered in a shorter time. The Anglo-Saxons, however, were suspicious of covering great distances by a capricious sea when a safe land route was available to them. Consequently, as the Thegn of Aelfleah had promised his wife, they had avoided the sea as much as was possible.

  It had been necessary to cross the waters separating England and Normandy, and they had done it in good time. Their party consisted of the six members of England’s trade delegation to the emperor, the three women, and a troop of fifty young men going to serve in the Imperial Guard of the emperor, Constantine X Ducas. They moved swiftly across a corner of Normandy into Ile de France, through the Kingdom of Aquitaine, and finally into the Languedoc, following roads that had been built over a thousand years earlier by the Romans.

  They followed the coast east from Marseilles into various small states—Genoa, Parma, Modena, Bologna—until they embarked from Brindisi across the Adriatic Sea to Macedonia. The voyage was but a day’s journey in time and Eada’s beads never left her hands. The whole way her fingers twitched nervously up and down the strand of white coral. Each day they traveled twenty-five to thirty miles from the break of dawn until the final light faded from the sky. At first all the bright summer days seemed the same, but as they reached Macedonia each day grew visibly shorter and Eada showed strong signs of exhaustion. By the time they reached Thessalonika Aldwine realized that his wife could travel no further at such a quick pace.

  Over Eada’s protests a ship was found that could take all of King Edward’s delegation the final distance to Constantinople. Accustomed to the choppy northern seas, Eada was surprised by the pleasant voyage. The ship glided across the turquoise waters of the upper Aegean Sea, through the Dardanelles, and into the Sea of Marmara. While sitting upon the deck in the bright sunshine where she was refreshed by the warm breezes, Eada’s strength returned. By the time they had reached the fabled city she was quite herself again.

  Mairin had been pacing the small deck for over an hour. The captain had promised them that they should reach Constantinople this morning. It was a perfect day, and the Sea of Marmara was a busy waterway. They were passed by barks from Dalmatia and Croatia; feluccas from the East; great high galleys belonging to the merchantmen of Venice, Genoa, and Amalfi. There were caïques from the Greek islands. Everyone stared open-mouthed with amazement as a huge dromon of the imperial Byzantine fleet majestically swept by them.

  Aldwine was familiar with dromons. Each vessel, he told them, was manned by over two hundred oarsmen, and some seventy marines. The high wooden turret mounted in the bow of each dromon projected three tubes which sprayed Greek fire. On the high deck at the stern were catapults used for hurling fiery missiles which were soaked in oil. Greek fire was the secret weapon of the Byzantines, and it was greatly feared for there was no known defense from it. The young Saxon warriors going to join the emperor’s Imperial Guard were very impressed by the Thegn of Aelfleah’s words.

  Suddenly Mairin cried out, “Look, father! Look, mother! It is the city! It is Constantinople!”

  They followed the direction of her finger, her youthful excitement contagious. Even Aldwine, for whom the sight was not a new one, stood spellbound.

  The captain of their ship smiled. “She’s quite a beauty, isn’t she?” he said in almost reverent tones. “I’ve lived my entire life here, and yet always the first glimpse of her from the sea astounds me. She is truly the queen of cities.”

  Aldwine nodded slowly. “It has been many years since I’ve laid eyes upon her,” he said, “but until this moment I did not realize how much I had missed her.”

  Constantinople, the Imperial City of the Byzantines, presented a spectacular sight to those approaching her from the sea. Like Rome the city sat upon seven hills and was entirely surrounded by great stone walls twenty-five feet in thickness that on the land side of the city rose in three levels behind a moat sixty feet in width and twenty-two feet in depth that was normally dry, but flooded in times of siege. On the sea side of the city the walls soared twenty feet high and like the land side were interspersed by watchtowers that rose an additional twenty feet above the walls. The towers held machines for Greek fire, missile throwers, and archers.

  From the ship the great gilded dome of the city’s most famous church, the Hagia Sophia, as well as some of its other great churches, monasteries, convents, and public buildings, was visible. Their ship sailed past several of Constantinople’s walled harbors including that of Eleutherius, Contoscalion, Julian and the beautiful harborside church of Saints Sergius and Bacchus.

  “There,” said Aldwine, pointing, “is the Boucoleon, the imperial harbor. Only the emperor and his family are allowed to have their vessels moored there. See the lighthouse? Beyond it is the Imperial Palace.”

  Mairin stared fascinated, but the Imperial Palace was difficult to spot amid the gardens, and isolated summer pavilions, the various other buildings and the several churches that were spread across the terraced grounds and wooded slopes of the promontory of land that stretched south and southeast to the Sea of Marmara and the Bosporus. They rounded the point of imperial land, and once more Aldwine spoke.

  “Look! To the right are the satellite cities of Pera and Galata. They are also walled, and see the chain! In times of danger it stretches from Pera across this waterway which is called the Golden Horn to a watchtower of Constantinople. When the chain is in place, no one can breach the defenses of the Golden Horn, or Constantinople.”

  “We are turning toward the city shore, father,” Mairin said.

  “Yes, my daughter, we will land at the Phosphorion Harbor. I expect there will be someone there to meet us for we are not unexpected. We are to be housed, I believe, on the grounds of the Imperial Palace.”

  “We will not be received by the emperor too quickly,” fretted Eada. “We have not the garments! I would not shame our nation!”

  Aldwine smiled. It was over two months since they had left England, but his wife had already recovered from her exhaustion. “There will be time for clothing to be made for you and Mairin, my love,” he promised. “A delegation such as ours is of little import on its arrival. The emperor will greet us officially for manners’ sake in due time.”

  Their vessel slipped safely into its dockage within the Phosphorion Harbor. As the thegn had predicted there was a troop of imperial Varangian Guards as well as a representative of the emperor to meet them. To Aldwine’s delight the official was his old friend Timon Theocrates. The two men greeted each other warmly.

  “The emperor has appointed me to the delegation that is to negotiate with your people,” Timon Theocrates said with a smile as Aldwine introduced him to the other members of his party.

  “My friend, Timon Theocrates, Wulfhere of London, Wilfrid of York, Aethelbert of Gloucester, Richard of Winchester, and Alfred of London.”

  “Welcome, my friends,” said the Byzantine. “Welcome to Constantinople! I know that your stay here will be a happy and successful one.”

  He escorted the English from their vessel to the quayside where horses had been provided for the men. A comfortable padded cart drawn by two black-and-white ponies had been brought for the women. They made their way through the Eugenius Gate into the city proper, and directly to the palace.

  By tradition Byzantium’s Imperial Guard was made up of Vikings from Scandinavia and, more recently, Anglo-Saxons from England. To her surprise Mairin felt a quiver race through her when an inc
redibly handsome young man with shoulder-length golden-yellow hair and sky-blue eyes lifted her into the cart. What was worse, she thought, was that their eyes met, hers widening in surprise, his brimming with amusement at her innocent reaction. Mairin shakily pushed his hands away from her waist where they had lingered a bit too long for propriety’s sake, and the Viking chuckled wickedly. She blushed.

  Eada, who had not missed any of this silent interchange, said quietly, but with firm authority,

  “What is your name, guardsman?”

  Instantly the young soldier snapped to attention and answered, “Eric Longsword, my lady.”

  “Thank you for helping my daughter, Eric Longsword,” said Eada with a smile of dismissal. As the young man bowed politely Mairin, who was behind her mother, stuck her tongue out at him.

  As Eada turned away Eric Longsword winked at Mairin. Once more she blushed to the roots of her hair. Why, she silently asked herself, had she encouraged that dreadful man? Why, a tiny voice asked deep within her, does it matter? She had never felt so uncomfortable with a man before. But if she were honest with herself no man had ever paid her the least attention. At home she was Aldwine Athelsbeorn’s little daughter, but here . . . here no one knew her. Was it possible? Was it just possible that the guardsman had seen in her a woman? After all she would be celebrating her thirteenth birthday in less than two weeks’ time! She could barely wait to arrive at their quarters so she might look into a mirror and see this great change that had been wrought in her during their travels!

  Eada smiled to herself as she read her daughter’s thoughts. Having never before felt such an attraction for a member of the opposite sex Mairin was most likely embarrassed and confused by her reaction. Eada realized that her daughter was growing up. It would soon be time to consider finding a husband for her.

  They made their way through the city, which had no distinctly fashionable residential quarters. A middle-class merchant’s house was just as likely to be flanked by that of a tenement on one side, and the magnificent villa of a wealthy man on the other. The streets were filled with peddlers who went from door to door crying their wares in singsong fashion, offering fresh bread, flowers, fruit, vegetables, songbirds in cages, and newly caught fish. All gave way before the imperial procession.

  Their host, Timon Theocrates, rode at the side of the women’s cart, offering them a brief history of his city. There had always been a settlement upon this spot, he told them, but many would credit the ancient Greeks with the official founding of Byzantium. Most buildings from that era, as well as those of the great Roman Empire, were long gone. They had been destroyed, the merchant explained, in the great fire of the year 532. It had burnt for five days following a series of riots.

  The emperor at that time, Justinian, had razed half the original city to the ground in the wake of the destruction. He then rebuilt Constantinople, for all the magnificent buildings of the great Constantine from whom the city took its current name had been destroyed, including the revered Hagia Sophia. Justinian rebuilt it all, making Constantinople a city of unbelievable beauty and incredible magnificence. Those emperors who had followed after him had continued this building program. As time went by the Imperial Palace was enlarged, other palaces and churches built, public parks and gardens laid out, the great squares embellished with statuary.

  Nara, who always had an opinion on everything, was wide-eyed and silent in awe. Eada couldn’t help but gasp with wonder as their procession passed beneath the Milion Arch and into the Augustaeum, which was the main public square of the city. To their left rose the great church of Constantinople, Hagia Sophia. Directly ahead of them was the gracious Senate building. Swinging to the right, they moved around the palace wall to its main entrance, which was called the Chalke, the Brazen Entrance, for its door and roof were all gilded bronze.

  The men dismounted, and the women were helped from their cart. Feeling very dwarfed by the fabulous building they followed Timon Theocrates into the vestibule of the Imperial Palace. “Look up,” he instructed them and doing so they saw that the ceilings were covered with beautiful mosaics designed as pictures which showed Justinian’s great general, Belisarius, returning in triumph to Constantinople after his great victories. They lowered their eyes to see that the walls and the floors of the Chalke were of fine marble in wondrous colors—emerald green, pure bright white, and deep, rich reds. There were some white blocks that were broken with wavy lines of sapphire blue.

  The young Saxon soldiers were visibly awed, but it was Eada who spoke for them all when she said, “This place cannot be real. Surely we have all died, and this is God’s house.” She spoke slowly, in Latin, a universal tongue readily understood here in Byzantium. It had been a long time since she had used another language than her own, but all during their journey her husband and daughter had insisted she practice, else she be excluded from their new life.

  Timon Theocrates, a small and plump man, beamed with pleasure at her words. He was extremely proud of his city. “I shall tell the emperor of your gracious words, lady,” he said as he led them through the Chalke out into an enormous park.

  Before them sprawled the vast and rambling palace grounds, which consisted of far more than royal residences. There were churches, fountains, gardens, and terraces. There was a private stadium, an indoor riding school, lily ponds, swimming pools, and storerooms. There were stables, kennels, guardrooms, servants’ quarters, dungeons, and a zoo. Their Saxon troop left them to follow the Byzantine guardsmen who had escorted them from the harbor. Aldwine, his family, and the English delegation followed Timon Theocrates, who was once again speaking.

  “The delegation will have spacious and comfortable apartments in a wing of the New Palace,” he said. “You, my friend, and your family are to have a small house of your own set in the gardens which overlook the sea. We will go there first for your lady will want to see her new home, and immediately begin to make changes even as my good wife would do.” He beamed at Eada. “Women,” he said indulgently, “are ever predictable!”

  They stopped before a small marble building, and Timon said, “Ah, here we are, my friends. This is to be your new home, the Garden Palace.”

  Before they could enter the building servants hurried out to lead them into the little palace. The richness of the decoration within amazed them. The entry hall was a square room in which columns of red onyx alternated with those of verd antique. The floor was mosaic tiles in which the central design was a golden sunburst. The rays of the sun spread outward beneath their feet against a deep blue tile sky.

  “I am Zeno, the majordomo,” said a pleasant-looking man stepping forward to greet them. “In the emperor’s name I welcome you to the Garden Palace.” He spoke in pure and unhurried Latin, and even Eada, much to her relief, was easily able to understand him.

  “This is the English lord, Aldwine of Aelfleah,” said Timon to Zeno. “His wife, the lady Eada, and their daughter, the lady Mairin.” Then the Byzantine turned to his friend, saying, “I must leave you now to settle the rest of your delegation in the New Palace. Zeno will answer all your questions, and see to all your needs.”

  “When will we be able to greet the emperor in King Edward’s name?” asked Aldwine.

  “That information has not been imparted to me as yet,” replied Timon. “I believe it has been planned that you recover from your long journey before seeing his majesty. Rest for a few days. I am certain that word will come then. No meetings between our delegations have yet been scheduled. I shall return tomorrow, and we will talk of old times.” He bowed politely to Eada and Mairin. Then with a wave of his plump hand he was gone, with the rest of the English hurrying to keep up with them.

  “This entire palace is yours while you are the emperor’s guests in Constantinople,” Zeno informed them. “Would you like to be shown to your apartments so you may first refresh yourselves? Afterwards I will personally conduct you on a tour of the building so you may be familiar and comfortable in your new surroundings.” With
out waiting for an answer he led them up a broad marble staircase to the second floor of the building. “Every residential building,” Zeno continued as they followed him, “located upon the grounds of the Sacred Imperial Palace, is called a palace. As you can see from the size of this building it is really no more than a comfortable villa.

  “I see you have brought but two servants with you. I will arrange to have you assigned our own people as well. Ahh, here we are.” He flung open a pair of double doors. “Your apartment, my lord and my lady. The young mistress has a suite of rooms just down the hall. If you will step in, I shall show her the way.”

  “Take Nara with you, mother,” said Mairin knowing her mother would be more comfortable having one of their own servants with her.

  “Dagda must stay with me,” said the thegn in their own tongue. “It would cause undue gossip for him to remain with you, my daughter.”

  “Your father is correct,” seconded the Irishman.

  “I understand,” said Mairin. “It is all right, father. I speak fluent Greek, and unlike mother will have little difficulty getting along. Dagda can accompany me when I am outside the palace.”

  Zeno’s view of the English was based upon the rough-and-tumble young Anglo-Saxon warriors who served in the emperor’s guard. He was rather delighted to discover that well-bred English citizens were actually quite civilized. He was even more pleased to learn that Mairin could speak Greek for it was now the official language of Byzantium, replacing Latin eight years earlier when the Byzantine church had broken with that of Rome.

  Now that Mairin was speaking to him in his country’s language Zeno became almost voluble. Opening one side of a carved double door he ushered her into an airy, high-ceilinged room. “This, young mistress, is to be your suite.” He walked across the room, opening yet another carved door. “Your bedchamber,” he said.