Scramasax (26 page)

Commotion!

Everyone was agog. Aghast.

Dark eyes burning, Empress Zoe raised her mottled right hand, and the racket around her hushed into a shocked silence.

The Empress searched out Solveig and Maria. She reached out towards them.

‘You!' she said in a hoarse voice. ‘Harald's light angel, his dark angel. I know you better than you know yourselves.'

The two girls stood so close together they could feel each other's warmth.

‘You can't rescue him,' Empress Zoe told them, and now her voice was caustic and bitter. ‘Don't think you can help him in any way. Maria! Solveig! Don't go
near Harald. You're not to take a single step towards him.'

The Empress flexed and tried to straighten her crooked hand. She drew it across her throat.

M
aria squeezed her wrists. She got up from her silken sedan, and then sat down again. She sighed noisily.

‘The Black Tower,' she wailed. ‘Black as the hole to hell. Have you seen it?'

‘If anyone can escape, Harald will,' said Solveig.

‘Prisoners get thrown in but carried out. Everyone knows that.'

‘There must be some way.'

‘There's only one door,' Maria told her. ‘A thick oak door with many locks. Inside, there's a platform and a ladder into the dungeon. As soon as a prisoner has climbed down, the warder pulls up the ladder.'

Solveig quaked. ‘And above the platform?' she asked.

‘Nothing. Not a single window. Not even a roof.'

‘No roof?' exclaimed Solveig.

‘So the walls of the tower bake in the sun,' Maria continued, ‘but after a rainstorm they're cold and slimy and, the dungeon's ankle deep, shin deep in water.'

‘My father and Snorri and Skarp,' asserted Solveig in a very firm voice, ‘they'll … I don't know what, but they will!'

Maria shook her head. ‘Only a master of magic could,' she replied. ‘That door's always locked and guarded.'

‘In Sicily,' Solveig told Maria, ‘we were sitting round
the fire talking about prisoners and escapes, and one guard told us how dozens of women had cut off their hair …'

Maria waved a pudgy hand. ‘And knotted it into a long rope,' she said. ‘That's just a story. It's not true. And what good did it do you or Tamas when you cut off your plait?'

The tower is guarded, thought Solveig … and we can't dig a tunnel. So how can we help Harald to escape? He can't pretend he's dead – that wouldn't work without a coffin … In our fjord, there's an old woman who knows spells to send people to sleep … Maybe Harald could send a message to the Empress … What would he say, though? ‘Maniakes is right and I'm wrong. I've cheated and defrauded the Empire of Byzantium. Yes, and I long for you to grant me your favours!'

Solveig screwed up her face.

‘What are you thinking?' Maria asked her.

‘Bad thoughts and worse ones,' Solveig replied.

‘I'll talk to my father,' Maria said. ‘When I see him tomorrow, I'll ask him whether he knows the warder of the Black Tower.'

‘And I'll find out what my father and Snorri and Skarp are thinking. They won't rest for as long as Harald's in that dungeon.'

It was quite a long while, though, before Solveig was able to cross the palace to the Varangian guardroom, because as soon as she returned to her chamber, worried and weary, four servants carefully carried in the most beautiful glistening silk dress.

It was woad and ice and bluebell. It kept changing colour and Solveig recognised it at once. That silk we saw in the silken paradise, she thought. This dress has been woven by those Jewish weavers.

Tears filled Solveig's eyes. Quickly she put on the
dress, and her servants buttoned all the buttons and fastened all the fastenings. The silk rustled, it gleamed, and Solveig retraced her footsteps to Maria's chamber.

‘I had it made for you,' Maria told her.

Solveig grabbed her and hugged her fiercely. ‘Oh, Maria!' she whispered. ‘It's made of light. Northern light.'

‘It becomes you.'

‘The light that never darkens,' Solveig said, ‘not even at midnight. It's the most lovely dress I've ever seen.'

Only very reluctantly did Solveig change back into the day-clothing Maria had lent her and, when she had done so, she set off for the Varangian guardroom.

There were more than a dozen men there, some perched on low stools, some sitting on the floor with their backs to the wall, and they all stopped talking as she walked in.

‘Oh,' said Skarp. ‘It's you.'

‘Only me,' Solveig replied.

‘My one and only,' groaned Grimizo, reaching out for Solveig. ‘I feel so lonely.'

Solveig shook her head. ‘We are all lonely …'

But Snorri interrupted her. ‘We've just seen a friend of yours,' he began.

Solveig looked puzzled.

‘He sailed in this morning.'

‘The one with teeth like a jack-rabbit,' added Skarp. ‘Englishman.'

‘Edwin!' yelped Solveig.

Snorri nodded. ‘The word-spinner. That man can thread a word through the eye of a needle.'

‘Where is he?' asked Solveig.

‘Up his own word-spout!' Skarp exclaimed.

‘He's gone to arrange an audience with the Holy Mother,' Snorri informed her.

‘You've … you've told him about …'

‘Of course,' said Snorri, and then he lowered his voice. ‘Actually, your Edwin says he knows someone. And that someone knows someone who …'

‘He does?' said Solveig eagerly.

‘Well,' said Skarp, ‘we're beggars. We haven't got one bright idea between us.'

‘Edwin's our best chance,' Snorri continued.

‘Our only chance,' Skarp said flatly. ‘The only one, so far as I can see.'

‘Words,' observed Solveig, ‘words sometimes win what weapons cannot.'

Skarp smacked his forehead. ‘Like father like daughter!' he yawned.

And at that moment, as if Solveig's saying or Skarp's response had summoned him, Halfdan appeared in the frame of the door. He stepped into the guardroom.

‘Very good!' he declared with a broad smile.

‘Very good?' Snorri repeated.‘What's very good?'

‘What's wrong with Halfdan?' asked Skarp. ‘Glum and gurgling for weeks, what with his gut ache, but now that we're all joyless, every single one of us …'

‘And leaderless,' added Snorri.

‘And lonely,' said Grimizo in a hollow voice.

‘It came out,' Halfdan announced in a loud voice. He thrust out his right fist.

All the guards turned to look at him.

‘Out?'

‘Uh?'

‘What did?' asked Gorm.

‘The worm!' proclaimed Halfdan. ‘The worm, Gormless! I felt it coming, and then it came. One moment it was crushing me. Strangling me.' Halfdan clutched his stomach and screwed up his face. ‘The next, it was oozing out. Right out! Taller than I am.'

‘Never!' exclaimed Skarp.

‘As long as the Midgard Serpent. Writhing and shrithing. I chopped it into pieces.'

Heavy-hearted as they were, some of the guards hooted, some clapped their hands, and Solveig took her father's right arm and squeezed it fiercely and didn't let go.

Halfdan beamed at everyone. ‘I feel,' he said, ‘as if I've lost a companion. A deadly companion. And I've won back my life.'

‘Father!' cried Solveig, and she swung around in front of him and grabbed him by the waist.

‘Now for Harald!' boomed Halfdan. ‘What's the plan?'

But Edwin didn't come back to the Varangian guardroom that day or that evening or even the next morning, and the guards grew as gloomy and humourless as Solveig had ever seen them. They were men of action, hobbled by uncertainty and by having to wait. They were followers, half lost for want of a leader.

When they bragged, their boasts echoed in their own ears; when they made gibes, they became fractious; when they mended their tunics, they punctured their own thumbs; when they talked about Sicily, they remembered the dead friends they had left behind. The more ale they drank, the more melancholy they became, while Halfdan's unquenchable good cheer only made them more sour-mouthed.

Solveig grew impatient with Karly and Ulf and Gissur and Gorm – she became annoyed with the whole lot of them.

And when Egil told her to go away and play somewhere else, that's exactly what she did.

‘You dismal gang!' she cried. ‘Is there no one here who can rescue Harald?'

She stalked out and slammed the heavy door behind her.

Skarp turned to Halfdan. His mouth curled. ‘Shcum!' he growled.

Halfdan glared at him. Then he belched.

‘Shcum!' repeated Skarp. He stood up and pointed at Halfdan. ‘Tomash …' he began, and he frowned, trying to work out the dead guard's name. ‘Tamash – he gave his life for your daughter, and she shtands here, accusing us.'

By now, Skarp was bellowing. Snorri stood up as well, and put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Enough!' he said firmly. ‘Much more of this, and it'll come to blows and blood.'

Solveig strode across the palace courtyard and, just outside the high walls, she saw a big man bundling towards her.

‘Edwin!' she cried. ‘Edwin!'

Solveig lengthened her stride and fairly hurled herself into the Englishman's arms, all her impatience and frustration dissolved in a moment.

When at last she stepped back, she saw Edwin's mouth puckering, and the very sight of it reminded her of what he'd said almost four months before.

‘Well, Solveig, maybe there are camels in Sicily.'

‘Edwin!' she said breathlessly. ‘Edwin, I thought I'd never have a chance to ask you. Was it you who persuaded Harald to take me to Sicily?'

Edwin gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘Oh, I wouldn't say that.'

‘Wouldn't you?'

‘Not really. Sometimes we say things, we suggest things already in another person's mind.'

‘Oh, Edwin!' exclaimed Solveig. ‘I'm so very glad to see you.'

‘And I'm glad to see you,' the Englishman replied. ‘Especially here, outside the palace.'

Solveig waited for him to explain.

‘Well away from all your countrymen! Down in the mouth, all of them, glaring and glowering.'

‘I know,' said Solveig, pressing her lips together. ‘I've had my fill of them too.'

‘They're afraid,' Edwin told her. ‘Harald's their mangod, and with a snap of her horrible hooked fingers …' Edwin paused and smiled. ‘Well, with a twist of her tongue, the Empress has done away with him. Dropped him into the dungeon.'

‘Can you help?' Solveig asked him. ‘Snorri says you know someone. And—'

‘First things first,' Edwin said, and he inspected Solveig from head to toe. ‘What do I see? A rather beautiful young Norwegian girl. Fifteen summers old.'

‘And rising,' Solveig told him with a half-smile.

‘Yes, fifteen and rising,' Edwin agreed. ‘A girl with a plait on one side of her head, bristles on the other. A new fashion?'

Solveig lowered her eyes.

‘A girl who has witnessed and listened and … loved … loved, yes, and suffered. Suffered much.'

How kind Edwin's voice was. Solveig smiled and warm tears slipped down her cheeks as they slowly walked away from the palace and across the concourse towards the Constantine column.

Through her tears, she told Edwin how hateful she found Harald's cunning and the unfeeling way he used other people for his own purposes; she told him about the cruel hanging of the two young children and their grandfather. She told him how she had come to realise she could never belong in an army of men, and how she had broken rank and climbed into the high hills; she told
him about the mountain people and the wise Saracen traveller Abu Touati.

Edwin paused. He put a hand on Solveig's right shoulder.

‘And –' he hesitated – ‘you loved a young man. And he loved you.'

Solveig's face crumpled. Edwin accepted her into his arms, and for a while they stood there in the middle of the concourse, Edwin so patient, Solveig so stricken.

After some while, the two of them began to walk again, quite slowly. To begin with, they felt no need to say anything, but then Solveig asked Edwin about Edith and her baby.

‘A daughter,' Edwin said. ‘As she foretold. She went into labour in Kiev. A fine red-haired daughter.' Edwin paused. ‘No Pechenegs!' he declared. ‘God be praised! And none on the way back here either.'

‘Is Edith with you?'

‘No, no. She'll be more safe in Garthar until I can ship her home.'

‘Will you go with her?'

Edwin smiled. ‘You and all your questions.'

‘You …' rejoined Solveig. ‘You and all your word-fencing.'

Edwin blinked and waved an arm. ‘Her name is Kata.'