Silk Dreams - Songs of the North 3 (26 page)

“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 would 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.

“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 strip 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.

Landina's escape put Valdis in a tenuous position. Mahomet would surely demand to know, as Publius had, why she hadn't foreseen the girl's plan. Or at least why Valdis and Landina had parted company long enough for the Frank to make good on her escape. Mahomet's wrath would be terrible.

And yet, when Valdis thought of the Frankish girl, she could only pray her attempt would prove successful.

“Sprout eagle's wings, my friend,” she murmured under her breath. “May they bear you home.”

“Explain yourself,” Mahomet demanded after he summoned Valdis to his chambers. Publius cringed in the corner, a fresh red weal rising on his quivering cheek. Mahomet held a thin lash in his hand, a drop of blood trembling on the tip. “I want an account of everything that happened in the infidel's house of worship. Leave nothing out.”

Valdis drew a deep breath to calm her shivering spirit. “Landina and I—”

Mahomet cracked the whip at her, missing her by an eyelash. “Use that odalisque's name again and I shall not stay my hand a second time.”

Valdis dipped her head in deference, but steeled herself not to tremble. “We entered the church together. As you know, I am no follower of
Kristr.
I seek the spirit realm where ever it may be found. There is a Presence there.”

That much at least was true. Valdis decided to deviate from the truth as little as possible. It might save her from being tripped up under rigorous questioning.

“The one who was with me showed me a relic she called the Splinter of the True Cross. She knelt to pay homage to the object,” Valdis said as she straightened her spine.

“As a pagan, you surely did not.”

“No, but after that, the spirits who speak to me chose to reveal a vision of the future.” This too was true, for wasn't Erik her future?

“Let us pretend for a moment that I believe you.” Mahomet scowled at her, his thick brows meeting over his knife-sharp nose. “What did you see, my oracle?”

“I looked through the mist and there I saw a great sea battle, and yet not a battle,” Valdis began. The more she could spin out her narrative, the more likely she'd convince him of her vision. “The emperor's eagle crested the waves, yet the waves were not so high as to suggest the
drommond
was on the open sea. Then I saw another craft, one not belonging to the Empire. It was low and sleek, like the ship which bore me from my homeland here to the Empress city. A
dhow
.”

Mahomet glared at Publius, who looked as if he might melt into a lardy puddle at any moment. Valdis caught a whiff of urine, the stench of fear emanating from the eunuch.

“Publius has been filling your head with news of the upcoming spectacle,” Mahomet said. “So far, you tell me nothing.”

Publius seemed to realize the threat to his own skin might be mitigated by Valdis's successful vision. “No, my master,” he hesitantly spoke up. “I have said nothing to the seeress about the spectacle. Neither to her nor to any of the women of the
zenana
. Why should they desire to know anything which happens beyond these walls when the light of your presence radiates so strongly upon us here that even the sun is pale by comparison?”

Mahomet waved away the eunuch's fulsome praise, but his moustache twitched with satisfaction. Publius's cringing and groveling fed the silk merchant's vanity. Mahomet turned back to Valdis.

“How fared this battle that was not a battle?”

“At first, the
drommond
and the
dhow
moved like a pair of dancers on the waves, circling and dipping. It was as if the turns were prearranged,” she said, pressing her momentary advantage. “But then something happened which the eagle did not expect.”

“What?” He all but pounced on her.

“The
dhow
diverted from its plan, confounding the
drommond.”
Vagueness was essential to an oracle. “And as I was watching, a thick cloud covered both vessels and they were hidden from my sight.”