The wharves blazed with the tapers of the porters, who customarily worked long into the night. Haraldr took the tiller from Ulfr and talked to Maria; together they recited the names of the towering, broad gates in the seawall as they glided past:
Basilica, Phanarii, Petrion, St Theodosia, Ispigas and Platea, with its huge complex of wharves, warehouses and endless rows of merchant and pleasure craft. The high, round hulls of Venetian merchantmen were dark silhouettes at Droungariou Viglae Gate. On the north shore of the Golden Horn, the city of Galatea glimmered with a brilliance that would have made it the wonder of the world, were it not for the great city little more than two bowshots across the water.
The splendid spine of the city was strung with necklaces of light; already the great palaces of the Dhynatoi had been rebuilt and filled with new riches. The lights of the Imperial Palace and the ring of glowing golden windows round the dome of Hagia Sophia winked into view from the hills to the south-east. At the Perama Gate, Haraldr gave the tiller back to Ulfr and told him to steer to left centre of the channel. Haraldr joined Halldor in the prow of the galley.
‘Not good at all!’ shouted Halldor. He pointed at Neorion Harbour, a lattice of lights cradled in the slightly hooked end of the peninsula. Most of the small patrol craft were still on lifts, but Haraldr could distinctly see the hundreds of tapers milling around the
dhromons
like luminous ants. ‘Our passage has been reported! I presume they know what they are after!’
‘They haven’t left anchorage yet!’ shouted Haraldr. ‘We’ll outrun them easily!’
‘If we make it over the boom.’ Halldor looked out on the black water. The Bosporus, glazed by the luminous backdrop of Chrysopolis on the Asian shore, opened up ahead. They were almost directly opposite the Neorion docks. One of the
dhromons
blew its air horn; the frightening bellow almost certainly signalled the departure of the huge fire-ship. ‘There!’ shouted Halldor. He pointed to the northeast, near the point where the Galatea coastline veered north. ‘I can see it already!’ The boom was an ebony sketch on the water. Haraldr called out to Ulfr to come larboard a quarter to meet the angled chain head-on. The other ships made the same turn and came abreast.
The massive log floats of the harbour boom became distinct three-dimensional forms. Each float was several ells high and thirty ells long; the sections were joined by iron links as thick as a man’s arm. Haraldr walked back to the stern and took the tiller from Ulfr. The log barrier was three bowshots away. He picked his spot. On the periphery of his vision he could see the lights of a
dhromon
as it left the docks. Another horn bellowed across the water. ‘Begin the drill!’ he shouted. The rowing cadence immediately increased and the ship lunged forward. Varangians deep in the hold began sliding the heaviest chests towards the stern, along greased planks set especially for the purpose. The bow began to plane up, and the railing at the stern dipped towards the waves. As they closed on the boom, the cadence went higher, more chests were moved, and the angle of the bow increased.
The log barrier suddenly looked like a wall. ‘Fifty ells!’ shouted Haraldr. The rowers took fast, deep strokes and the men in the hold braced themselves. Haraldr and Ulfr steadied the tiller with both arms. Maria ducked her head. Water whooshed along the hull.
Wood screeched against wood. The planing bow slid over the log float as if cresting a wave, then decelerated with a tremendous shudder. The stern began to settle, and the entire hull teetered on the fulcrum of the log float, the bow ten ells clear of the water. Men leapt onto the floats and began to secure heavy ropes between the mast and the boom. Oarsmen joined the frantic bailing at the stern. Haraldr was already up to his calves in water. He realized they were losing their first battle of the long journey back. He shouted for the men in the hold to go ahead with the drill. The chests were now pushed frantically forward along the greased planks. As the weight of the cargo was shifted, the hull protested with a deep, almost animate keen. The stern began to lift.
The ship slowly levelled, until for an instant it was perfectly balanced on top of the log fulcrum. Timbers screeched and the ropes that kept the hull from yawing over hummed with the strain as the ship tilted first to one side and then the other. And then the descent began; after a moment the bow slapped reassuringly into the water on the other side of the boom. The bow oars dipped and wood shrieked as the ship began to slip off the boom. They were free in the Bosporus.
‘You are luckier than Odin!’ crowed Ulfr. ‘We . . .’ Ulfr’s joy vanished in the thunderclap that came from the left. Every head turned. Only fifty ells away, the second ship was poised at the critical balance point atop the log. Within a heartbeat the ship fractured in two, as if it had been dropped against the log barrier from some great height.
‘Cut the lines and make ready to pick them up!’ shouted Haraldr. His ship scraped free from the boom, and he looked to his right to see how the third galley had fared. It, too, had dipped its bow and was sliding off the boom. Still farther to the right, the lights of the
dhromons
moved on the water.
The rescue was orderly; Haraldr praised the gods that Norsemen did not panic when plunged into a dark sea. Most of the Varangians had evacuated their gear bags and clung calmly to the shattered hull of their galley. The surviving galleys divided the crew of the wreck; the extra men were quickly distributed on the benches.
The next time there will be fire on the water,
thought Haraldr.
And none of us will be so calm.
Haraldr looked south. Apparently the harbour boom had been partially towed away at the Constantinople end, and the
dhromons
were coming through along the coastline. He turned to Ulfr. ‘This was my fault. I should have known that at least one of the keels would fail and fitted an extra ship. Now our two
ousiai
are so heavily loaded that we no longer have the advantage of speed.’ He paused and counted the
dhromons
as they passed the boom and began to turn to the north. Eight. ‘Before we lost that galley, this pursuit was not a contest for us. But we are in a race now.’
‘It is strange how an entire life must suddenly become a memory.’ Maria looked off the stern and wrapped her fur cape up to her chin. A night wind had come up from the north and the galley pitched rhythmically through the rising seas. The lights of the city were now a golden haze on the southern horizon. The lanterns on the masts of the
dhromons
were distinct stars against this luminous band, gently lifting and falling with the motion of the waves.
Haraldr snugged Maria’s cape around her shoulders and held her; he was unable to banish entirely the great city to his own memories. ‘If I had known the choice I was forcing on you ... it is still hard to believe.’ He paused for a long while. ‘I will go back with you. I would not be some helpless consort. Perhaps I could never be crowned, but then Joannes did not need a crown. I would rule.’
‘You would rule a dying empire, and in your own fashion you would become a Joannes. You did not grow up next to the heart of Rome. I did. And I know that Rome is dying. And everyone close to that heart is corrupted and dies in emptiness and darkness, no matter how long their span and how glorious the honours heaped upon them by the sycophants at court. Their souls are stolen when they ascend that golden throne, and at that moment they die, alone and empty.’
‘But you would have the love of your people.’
‘These people I would somehow reach out to from the prison of the Imperial Palace? These people who would perish in a civil war if my true identity were even known? Those who want to restore the Macedonian line would fight to seat me on the throne so that my young loins could bring forth the next Macedonian, and those factions whose interests lay elsewhere would raise their swords on protests of my illegitimacy.’ Maria turned to Haraldr. ‘It is so strange. Zoe and Theodora knew what I am telling you now, and yet in their secret hearts I guess they always dreamed that I could follow them. The shadow of their uncle the Bulgar-Slayer is still over Rome. And because Rome cannot escape a dead man’s legacy, Rome will soon join him in death.’
Haraldr wrapped his arms more tightly around Maria and nuzzled her ear. ‘As King of Norway I will find no better counsel than in my own marriage bed. I, too, have smelled that fetor of death. In the Studion. Among the corpses of a thematic army ill prepared and even more poorly led. And most strongly within that glittering circle at court, that splendid, scented illusion that masks a power that has decayed at its very core. The foundations of Rome are crumbling, but its caretakers have chosen to re-gild the exterior rather than shore up the columns that actually support the edifice.’ Haraldr looked out at the wavering constellation of the pursuing
dhromons;
the lights were now strung out in single file. ‘The great beast is dying from within. But its teeth are still deadly.’
‘Will we outpace them?’
‘We have pulled away slightly. This north wind holds them back more than it does us because their hulls are higher. But the
dhromons
can slip in behind one another, and the crews at the back can save their energy until it is their turn to challenge the wind. See, that is how they have formed up. As I said, the teeth are still sharp. And I must take my spell at the oars.’ He kissed her and let her go.
‘I wish I could row,’ said Maria.
Haraldr looked up at the sky. The stars were fading beneath a rapidly thickening haze, and the scent of an approaching storm was on the wind. He pointed to a bucket. ‘Well, you have already proved yourself a good bailer.’ he said. ‘I think you will have an opportunity to practise your skill again before the night is over.’
‘Khelandia,’
said Halldor flatly. ‘And there are ten
dhromons
instead of eight.’
‘I can’t see them,’ said Ulfr. ‘I can’t see--’ Ulfr stopped and squinted at the line of lights trailing behind them. Except for an occasional light or two on the shoreline, the rest of the horizon was black and featureless. The Great City was a memory. Even the stars had vanished entirely. ‘I can . . .
Skita!
Where did they come from?’
‘They had been hanging back and running without lanterns. Very clever. Put bells on the oxen and let us exhaust ourselves racing against them, then silently bring up the horses.’ Halldor turned and studied the bowing backs of the Varangians and shook his head. ‘They are at their limit right now.’ He looked back at Maria, still vigilant at the stern, her fur cape bound tightly around her. ‘Have Haraldr spelled,’ he told Ulfr. ‘We are going to have to decide what to do when they catch us.’
Haraldr came to the stern, sweat beaded on his forehead. He listened to Halldor, squinted past the
dhromons,
and his ruddy complexion faded as he verified the observation. He looked quickly at Maria and she smiled at him. He beckoned her with his hand. ‘She will want to know,’ he said softly.
Maria looked up at the three Norsemen, her eyes the only bright surface on the entire galley. Haraldr pointed to the south. ‘They have sent out more ships than we thought.
Khelandia.
The fastest fire-ships. I think they are waiting for some sign of our weakening before they unleash them.’ Haraldr looked quickly over his shoulder at the swaying oarsmen. ‘And that will be soon.’
Maria’s lips parted silently, and she inhaled quickly before she spoke. ‘This race is ended, then.’ Her voice was resolute. She looked at Haraldr. ‘You have a dinghy. Set me in it and give me a lantern. I am the prize, not your lives. When they have collected me, they will turn back.’ Haraldr immediately shook his head and Maria grabbed his arms. ‘Listen to me!’ she commanded. ‘This is not the end. I will find some way to come to you. Rome will never hold me again. But what prison would I escape from if you were not free to welcome me? This is the only way now.
For your
people. For us.’ Haraldr stared into her steady blue eyes, her unimpeachable logic ripping at his heart. He shook his head again. ‘What other way is there?’ protested Maria.
‘Very well,’ said Haraldr. ‘We will lower the dinghy. But I will be the captain of that vessel.’
‘No! Zoe might . . . who knows what she might . . . She has gone mad.’
‘I am not afraid of Zoe,’ said Haraldr. ‘And I do not intend to see Zoe. I intend to bribe the Droungarios in command of those
dhromons.’
‘You should know by now that even all your chests of gold cannot purchase the fate of a purple-born.’
‘It suddenly occurs to me that the Droungarios almost unquestionably does not know why his Empress so desperately demands your return. You, yourself, spoke of the threat to Zoe’s own status if a more fecund Macedonian were to become available. I don’t think Zoe is yet as mad as you think.’
Maria looked at Haraldr with sparkling astonishment. Then her white teeth flashed and she reached up and touched his face. ‘Why do I sometimes forget, my darling, that you are a very wise man?’ She drew her arms around him. ‘You won’t even have to offer him a chestful of gold. A Mistress of the Robes, particularly a discredited wanton like myself, is probably only worth a bag of silver.’
The hulls of the Varangian galleys vanished behind the dark waves. Spray whistled along with the wind and soon drenched the passengers in the wildly pitching dinghy. Maria’s teeth chattered and Haraldr used one oar to steady the dinghy and the other to hold her. ‘Darling, I must tell you something. This wager may be lost. There is a chance that I am wrong about Zoe.’
Maria spoke firmly in spite of her quaking body. ‘Feel this.’ She guided his hand to the lining of her cape. The hard blade of a knife lay beneath the soft fur. ‘If they threaten to take you, I will use this. You know I will.’
‘No. I will get in the water somehow. Halldor and Ulfr will come back to look for me. I will live and you must not die.’ A wave picked the dinghy up and dropped it with bowel-numbing suddenness. ‘What I must say is what I did not have a chance to say the other times we have taken such risks. There is so much that can happen now if this does not work. We could ... it could be a long time before we hold each other again. Years. I could die in the north before . . .’ He shook his drenched head as if in flinging away the drops of seawater he could cast off that destiny. ‘Fate is suspended, that is all I know. And I may not have this reprieve again.’ He turned to her with blue lightning in his eyes. ‘Wherever you are, I will find you again. I will hold back the last dragon for all eternity if I must to hold you again. I promise that. I will keep that promise beyond my own grave. I will find you and hold you again. This will not be our last embrace.’