The Norse King’s Daughter (17 page)

“Her father is going to kill me,” Wulf said to no one in particular.

“You and me both,” Ivar muttered.

“Where’s Alrek?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

“He did not return last night,” Thork announced gleefully. “Methinks he got lucky at the tupping barrel, too.”

Jamie elbowed Thork and hissed. “Psssh, you dumb dolt. Have ye no wits in yer fool head?”

Drifa had a fair idea where Alrek had spent the night. Apparently Ianthe wasn’t as attached to Sidroc as Drifa might have thought. Sidroc had assured her of that fact. Still . . .

It was under ominously gray skies—a storm was brewing from the east—that they arrived at the Praetorian, where much of the city business was conducted under the watchful rat eye of the eparch Alexander Mylonas. Hundreds of people worked in beehive-like chambers of the huge building, many of them with scrolls, quills, and ink. The hallways buzzed with folks in a hurry to get somewhere. Occasionally there were shouts or once a scream coming from the bowels of the structure where Drifa knew a prison was located.

Once they arrived at Mylonas’s headquarters, they were made to wait in an antechamber for what seemed like a long time while aides came and went, none of them looking particularly happy. When it was finally their turn, a man in uniform of the tagmatic army informed them, “Only two of you may go in with the princess. Eparch’s orders.”

They were not happy about that order, but Ivar and Wulf went in with her while the rest of the men stood guard outside after ascertaining that it was the only entry or exit out of the eparch’s office. Still, they glowered their disapproval at everyone who passed by.

A rather chilling atmosphere of austerity filled the eparch’s chamber. Despite his being a wealthy man, there was no sign of riches or high station here. Just a table, behind which Mylonas sat with two men on either side of him scratching notes on crisp parchment. One of them, a defeated-looking man of Slavic origins, wore a slave collar.

“Princess Drifa,” the eparch greeted her. He did not rise as a sign of respect, which was telling. Then he addressed the others, “Lord Cotley. Ivar of Stoneheim.” Was it ominous that he recalled their names? “Sit,” he said, motioning to the hard chairs in front of the table.

“I welcome you once again to Constantinople, Princess Drifa. You have only been in the city a few days, but I wonder . . . have you given thought to declaring goods to be sold here?” There was intelligence and craftiness in his expression. His two front teeth protruded slightly, enhancing his rodent appearance. This man was not and never would be a friend.

“I have no goods to sell,” she said. “I have come to study the gardens of your fair city. I am here purely for my own pleasure.”

At the word
pleasure
, his head shot up and he gave her a studied, insulting scrutiny, mostly centering on her bruised mouth, as if he knew what she had been about the previous night. Surely he could not know. Could he?

“Those were fine gifts you gave the emperor and empress. Are you sure you do not bring into my country items for sale or barter? The penalty for smuggling undeclared goods into Byzantium is high.”

“I have already said that I do not. Is it against your Greek law to give gifts?”

Mylonas narrowed his eyes at her sharp retort. “Of course not. But already you have established contact with one of our craftsmen, rather craftswoman. The jewelry maker. I hope you do not intend to supply her with stones?”

“I have no intention of doing such. If I ever did, I would declare myself, as your law prescribes.”

“Tell me, Princess Drifa, do you intend to contact your Arab family while here?”

That question came out of nowhere and took Drifa totally by surprise. “What? Why would I do that? How would I do that? I know of no Arab family.”

“Your mother . . . ?” he prodded.

“My mother was a slave afore she wed my father. She died when I was born. As far as I’m concerned, I am Norse and always will be.”

Mylonas shrugged.

“What is this about?” Wulf demanded. “Is Princess Drifa accused of some crime?”

“Did I say that?” Mylonas made a ridiculous-looking moue of innocence, which caused his teeth to stick out even more over his pursed lips. “If you must know, Princess Drifa came to the attention of some Arab dignitaries at the feast two nights ago.”

“Arabs were invited to a Greek feast?” Ivar asked incredulously. Everyone knew of the ongoing battles between the Christian and Moslem nations.

“While we are at war with most of the infidels, who have declared a
jihad
against all Byzantines, there are some who are friendly,” the eparch revealed. “Those who are not number far greater, of course, and they include your possible blood relatives.”

Drifa and her companions reeled with shock.

“What are you inferring?” Wulf wanted to know.

“I infer nothing. There are three great caliphates of the Moslem world at the present time, one of which is the Abbasid, whose capital is in Baghdad. I merely ask if Princess Drifa could possibly be the granddaughter of the most celebrated of the Hamdanid emirs, Saif ad-Dawlah, best known as Sword of the State, before his death. His daughter was abducted many years ago in Egypt. ’Twould seem there is a resemblance.”

“Even if there was this connection, what does it matter?” Wulf was clearly annoyed by the eparch’s veiled threats.

“Saif ad-Dawlah’s family still has many supporters. They, along with his enemies, could use her for their own ill purposes.”

Drifa assumed that Mylonas was among those who might use her. Her already low opinion of the man sank lower.

“My mother’s name was Tahirah. I have no idea if that was her birth name or not. My father purchased her at the slave marts in Hedeby. He brought her home as a concubine, then married her. That is all I know.”

“And you have no intention of traveling to the Arab lands whilst here, mayhap to establish relations between the Norselands and our desert enemies?”

“Good gods, nay!” Drifa wanted nothing to do with politics or centuries-old feuds.

“You make many accusations. Dost have any proof of this?” Ivar demanded to know.

Mylonas put up a halting hand. “I make no accusations. Sorry I am if I have offended you with my questions.” The rat wasn’t sorry at all. He was fooling no one.

“Does the emperor know you are interrogating one of his honored guests in this manner?” Wulf added.

“Forgive me if I have shown disrespect, Princess Drifa. It is my job to ensure the safety and financial well-being of the city. Ofttimes threats come from the high, as well as the low born.”

Did he place her in the high or low born class? It mattered not. “I am no threat,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Let us hope so. Have a pleasant visit here in Constantinople.” He waved a hand in the air. They were obviously dismissed.

“Well, that was interesting,” she said after they’d left. “What do you suppose was the purpose?”

“Intimidation,” Wulf declared, and updated the others on what had happened behind the closed door.

“Would you want to meet your Arab family?” Thork wanted to know.

“It never occurred to me that might be possible, but, now that it’s been suggested, I don’t think so. I have thought of myself as Norse for too many years.”

“I wouldna mind meeting some harem lassies,” Jamie mused in a deep Scottish brogue that seemed to come and go at will.

“Harem
lassies
?” Thork scoffed.

“I still think you should return to Stoneheim, Princess Drifa. Even with your guardsmen . . . well, I have a bad feeling.” Wulf was frowning with concern.

“I do, too,” Ivar surprised her by concurring.

She arched a brow at the older man, and he said, “I am confident of my abilities in a front-on fight. Even a sneak attack. But we are in a foreign city, and normal rules do not apply.”

“Listen, I understand your concerns, and I even concede that the dangers may be greater here than if I were in Jorvik, or Birka, or Dublin, but I am not a lackwit. I will cultivate a friendship with the empress. I will never go about without a guardsman. I have all the seamen who man my longship to back us up, if need be. I am here to study gardens, and I will make that abundantly clear to one and all. In fact, I will even inform the eparch of Ianthe’s plant roots that I intend to take home.”

All seven of the men accompanying her shook their heads hopelessly.

“If that be so, our longships will be leaving in two days,” Wulf said.

“Then let us all enjoy ourselves today,” she said cheerily. “Shall we go to the Hippodrome?”

They all agreed, though some of them had already visited yesterday. Apparently there was something new to see every day.

When she returned to her chambers later that day, Anna told her there had been a delivery for her in her absence. It was the harem garment, and there was a note.

Drifa:

Until I return. Miss me.

S.

She already did.

Chapter Sixteen

Sex in the Golden City . . .

D
rifa was sad to wave off the four
hersirs
two mornings later as their longships rode the waves away from the Golden City harbor. They had been her companions for months and had come to feel like brothers to her.

But she did not remain sad for long. Today she was going to witness a truly spectacular event . . . an imperial Byzantine wedding. And Empress Theodora, whom she had spent an hour with yesterday in her separate wing of the palace, had invited her to have a special placement in the cathedral and at the wedding feast. Much to Ivar’s displeasure, by the by. If he had his way, she would stay put in her own palace quarters. He worried about her safety in the crowds that would come to witness the historic event.

But then Ivar worried about every location or happening. For example, yesterday he and Farle had stuck to her like burrs on the hem of a
gunna
when the head gardener of all the palace gardens, a Greek monk named Father Sylvester, gave her a tour that lasted all afternoon, thanks to the empress’s influence. While she’d been fascinated by the monk’s vast knowledge, her men had been bored nigh to tears, if their constant yawns were any indication. When she’d asked Ivar later if he didn’t find the tour interesting, he’d stared at her as if she were daft and compared it to watching his toenails grow.

“Not even the tamarisk grove?”

“Pfff! Not even the lotus petal fountains, or the statue garden, and I do not care what you say, that Greek senator’s manroot was the size of a radish.”

With a smile behind her hand, Drifa pretended affront. “Some men have no taste for the finer things in life.”

“The finest thing I could appreciate right now is a cool horn of mead.”

Drifa had been captivated with plants for most of her twenty-nine years and only now realized how much she did not know. The benefits of terracing and trellising. Ways to graft certain trees and cross-breed flowers. How to increase the number and quality of roses on one bush. Best times for pruning and thinning plants. Edible flower petals and roots. Even different types of manure, some very unusual, like camel dung.

But then, Drifa was able to teach Father Sylvester a few things, too, especially about the hardy plants that were able to grow in her snowy climate and ways to improve a species for survival.

The priest had given her permission to return and sketch in the gardens in the future, as long as she made arrangements ahead of time. They were, after all, mostly private oases in the busy palace. And he’d given her roots and cuttings and seeds to take back to Stoneheim with her. Those, on top of the iris roots Ianthe had already dug up for her, the flowers having quit blooming early, made a nice collection for Drifa, so far.

But now Drifa must ready herself for the wedding events. Ianthe had accompanied her to the harbor, along with her new guard, a burly Nubian eunuch named Joseph Samuel hired by Sidroc. Ianthe was coming back to the palace with her to help Drifa dress in her best finery. Ianthe herself had chosen not to attend. Having no special invitation, she would be crushed in the crowds.

“I noticed you spending some time with Alrek this morning before they set sail,” Drifa remarked as they walked along.

Ianthe blushed. “He is too young for me.”

That is a revealing answer if I ever heard one.
“Oh? And if he were thirty and two, and you were twenty and two, then it would be all right?”

Ianthe shrugged. “It is the way of the world.”

“Pfff! I admire the way you live so independently, Ianthe. I’ve told you that before. You defy conventions in so many other ways.”

“That is different. The heart is not involved in a business. Well, not in the same way. I fear making a fool of myself.”

Don’t we all?
“My friend, it is obvious that Alrek has developed an attachment for you. I’ve known him since he was only ten and single-handedly raising his two younger sisters and a brother. He was old for his years even then. And I can tell you this, I have ne’er seen him fall in love the way he appears to be with you.”

“So he says.” Ianthe was pleased, despite herself.

“It is to Alrek’s credit that he raised three fine siblings. His brother serves honorably in my father’s
hird
of soldiers, and his two sisters are of marrying age and free to choose, thanks to the dowries Alrek has amassed for them.”

“His honor was never in question. Nor his fine form,” Ianthe added mischievously.

“He is clumsy,” Drifa had to point out. After all, Ianthe lived in a confined space and worked with sharp objects in her jewelry making.

Ianthe appeared insulted by Drifa’s observation. “I think Alrek’s awkwardness is adorable.”

An adorable Viking? Every Norseman in Valhalla must be laughing in his ale.
“You
are
considering his suit,” Drifa guessed, smiling at Alrek’s good fortune. Ianthe’s, too.

“We shall see. Alrek says he will return after his mission against the Saxon king.”

“And?”

“I will say this, when Sidroc asked if I wanted to leave Byzantium with him, I did not hesitate to decline. But with Alrek, the temptation is great.”

Sidroc asked her to go with him? To marry him or as his mistress? It must be why their relationship ended. Ianthe must have been the one who severed it, not Sidroc.
Drifa wasn’t sure why it mattered to her, but it did.

But then another idea came to her unbidden. If Sidroc married, whether it be to Ianthe or some other woman, he would almost surely take Runa from her.

She did not want to think of that now. Later. She would think on it later, knowing that when he returned, she must tell him her secret, as promised, regardless of the consequences.

“Now let us decide on your garments,” Ianthe said.

They were in her chambers back at the palace where Anna had balked but finally heeded her request that she leave them to prepare for the festivities without her help. Not for the first time, Drifa wondered if the sly-eyed Anna reported her doings to someone higher up, like the emperor, or the general, or—shudder—the eparch. For what reason, she would have had no idea . . . until the recent meeting with the eparch. Now she suspected everyone around her.

Ianthe was examining the various
gunna
s she had laid out over her bed, then held up a white silk one.

Drifa shook her head. “We will be walking to the cathedral. The hem would be black afore we returned to the palace.”

“You are right.” Ianthe chose a crimson one then, also in silk, with a stiff-pleated train and gold braiding about the tight sleeves and round neckline. It matched the crimson, open-sided apron she pulled over it, except there was gold-threaded embroidery in a writhing wolf design along its edges, instead of braiding. She clipped gold wolf brooches at either shoulder. Placing a gold filigree fillet on her head, Ianthe then experimented with a hairstyle that involved twisting strands of Drifa’s black hair over and under the band so the crown appeared part of her hair, the gold peeping out from the ebony. A wide swath of hair hung down her back.

Drifa, watching in a small hand mirror, was impressed with the results. She did not dare think about how much easier it would be to prepare herself if she had a large mirror like the one at Sidroc’s Varangian quarters. It brought up too many images. Wicked images. “The hairstyle is wonderful. I never would have thought of doing that.”

“But wait, this silver does not go with the rest.” Before Drifa could see what Ianthe was about, she undid the silver neck torque, saying, “You need something gold about your neck. This silver is beautiful, but it does not suit your . . .” A heavy pause followed, in which Drifa knew that Ianthe had discovered the red mark on her neck. To her surprise, Ianthe burst out in giggles, which soon escalated to side-splitting laughter. “Sidroc . . . You and Sidroc . . . Surely you didn’t! . . . You couldn’t possibly! . . . Oh my!” she choked out. “I cannot believe you allowed the cad within touching distance of your person.”

I can’t, either.
Drifa should have been offended, but she burst out laughing, too. It
was
funny, and not just the silly mark, which she had grown fond of, truth to tell, but the fact that Sidroc’s mistress, or former mistress, was the one to discover her shameful mark. “You must think me a total wanton,” she said finally as she swiped the moistness from under her eyes.

“What? Do you jest? Am I so pure that I could cast stones?”

“Oh, I did not mean—”

“Please, Drifa, you must stop apologizing to me. I am not so easily offended. Surely, even in your lands, friends can say anything to each other without fear of insult.”

“Ha! Vikings are known for their blunt tongues. You would not believe the things that come of out my father’s mouth. My sisters, too.”

They smiled at each other, then rooted through Drifa’s jewelry chest and agreed on a gold filigreed torque with a hanging ruby in the center. There were matching rubies for her ear rings.

“Too bad I didn’t bring one of my spiderweb necklaces for you, although I don’t think I have one with rubies at the moment.”

“Much as I would have liked that, I do not think it wise for me to call attention to your work at the moment.” She told Ianthe of the meeting with the eparch.

“Mylonas is definitely a cruel man,” Ianthe said, casting a glance here and there to make sure she was not overheard. “And dangerous. You are right. Best not to call attention to oneself when his rat nose is on the scent.”

Drifa laughed.

“But thank you for the warning. I will be extra diligent in reporting my business activities. His spies are everywhere.”

They walked out to Drifa’s small garden, where there were cool cups of lemon water that Anne had left for them. It would be an hour or more before Ivar and her other escorts arrived.

In the meantime, Drifa had to clear the air of one thing. “Ianthe, I am uncomfortable about Sidroc. ’Tis true we have a history, and there is more to come, I fear, though I would avoid it, but he is . . . was yours.”

“No, no, no! I keep telling you that ours was never a love match, and whatever we have is over. If you suffer guilt, please let it not be because of me. If anyone should feel guilty, it is me. Sex without marriage . . . sex without any intention to ever wed . . . that is a sin in my religion. At least you were betrothed to the man.”

Not anymore. I really have no more excuse than you do. In fact, my sin is probably greater to your God, compounded as it is with lies. Nay, the sex, wicked as it was, is not my greatest guilt.
Although a maidenhead was prized afore marriage in the Norse culture, men and women were looser in their sexual activities. The word
sin
did not even exist when it came to bedsport, as far as she knew. That did not mean Vikings were without morals. Just a different kind. But she could not dwell on that at the moment.

“Ianthe, I would ask . . .” She hesitated to speak what was on her mind. “Never mind.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk! You cannot stop now.”

She took a deep, bracing breath before beginning. “I have four sisters who are married, all to virile men whom they love dearly. So I know that women can enjoy sexplay, but by the gods!” She rolled her eyes.

“That good, huh?” Ianthe grinned, taking way too much pleasure in her discomfort.

Drifa thought about lying, but what was the point? “I do not consider myself naïve, but I never imagined!”

“I, on the other hand, can imagine. The dolt should know better than to try such nonsense on an inexperienced woman.”

“I’m sure he just wanted to shock me.”
And shock me, and shock me, and shock me.

“Were you shocked?”

“For a certainty. Do normal women enjoy such things?”
I certainly did, to my shame.

“I am not about to ask you what things you refer to, but I will say this. If two people care about each other, and no one is hurt physically . . .” She shrugged. “The things my husband and I used to do! I still blush. And we were virgins together when we wed.”

The difference was that she and Sidroc didn’t “care” for each other.

Or did they?

Rather, did she?

Even if Sidroc did have some faint feelings for her, how would that change when he found out she withheld knowledge of his daughter? She wished there were a way to find out how he would react regarding the child. Certainly, he would be happy that she was still alive, but the big question was whether he would insist on raising her himself. Without her. If only her sisters were here to help her decide the best course to follow!

Hesitantly, she said, “Ianthe, I need your advice about something.”

“Of course.”

“You must promise not to repeat what I tell you.”

“Of course.”

Drifa explained everything, with Ianthe interrupting her with pertinent questions here and there. When she was done, Ianthe summed the situation up succinctly. “What a mess!”