‘Keleusate.’ Haraldr rose and faced the throne beneath the golden vault of the Chrysotriklinos. The Grand Eunuch indicated that he could approach the Emperor and speak. The Nobilissimus Constantine sat impassively in a simple chair just to the right of the dais. Also in attendance were the usual white-robed secretaries, interpreters and the Emperor’s new astrologers.
‘Majesty.’
‘Hetairarch.’
‘Majesty, may I preface my request by remarking that Rome now enjoys a stability and unity that I have not seen before in my time here. I say without resort to flattery that no sovereign in my experience has ever enjoyed the love of his people to the extent that you do. I say with all honesty, as one who has been privileged to know you in times of both adverse and beneficent fortune, that I feel that the entire city has supplanted me in my office as Hetairarch, in that as I walk the streets behind you I know that any one of Rome’s citizens would lay down his life to protect your own as readily as could myself. Seeing that there is so little danger to your person, and that no foreign powers currently menace us, I believe that the time is now appropriate for me to take my leave of Rome. It is not without regret that I ask for leave, but I am bound by loyalties to my own family and people in Thule, and now I believe that they are in greater need of me than is Your Majesty. I humbly beg your permission to resign my office, and those offices held by the men of the Grand Hetairia, and be granted my leave as a devoted friend of the Roman Empire.’
Michael’s eyes were red-rimmed, no doubt from his always lengthy sessions in the Chrysotriklinos, and Haraldr worried that his speech had been too long. But he had learned that the Emperor was quite susceptible to well-intended cajolery and had reasoned that a show of respect would hasten him along.
Michael’s chest sagged somewhat, and Haraldr was now certain that the Emperor would implore him with desperate words to counter some new threat. ‘Well, Hetairarch, no sovereign, no matter how well loved, can afford to lose a servant and comrade in arms as dedicated as yourself. But then, no sovereign worthy of that love could deny one who has dedicated so much to him. You have my leave, my blessing, my gratitude. Rome will mourn your departure, of course. If I do not presume, can you tell me if you plan to take our beloved Empress’s Mistress of the Robes with you?’
‘Yes. Maria will become my wife in Thule.’
A strange flicker crossed Michael’s face, a brief, passing shadow. He does not like her, thought Haraldr. Or perhaps he is secretly smitten with her. ‘Does our Empress know this, Hetairarch?’
‘Majesty, I beg you to allow the Lady Maria and myself to plead our case to her directly. We do not intend to leave without her permission, either.’
‘Very well,’ said Michael. ‘My only reservations concerned her Majesty’s wishes in this matter. When that is settled between you, I will do everything I can to facilitate a prompt and safe return to your people.’ Michael was about to make the sign of the cross when he remembered something. ‘Counsel with me for a moment longer, Hetairarch. Indeed, as you say, I can confidently bask in the light of my people’s love, but who knows what external agents might wish to send clouds my way? I will need to replace your Varangians, and I am loath to summon your predecessor, Mar Hunrodarson, back from Italia. He is doing a far better job there than he did in protecting my late uncle, may the Pantocrator keep his soul. I have, however, recently purchased a contingent of Pecheneg eunuchs already educated in the Greek language, trained at arms, and even now performing well at various odd tasks for me. What is your estimate of their value as a temporary guard until I can obtain the services of loyal Varangians?’
‘Majesty, I believe that your perceptions of Mar Hunrodarson are characteristically acute.’ Haraldr did not add that he would be returning to Norway via Italia, and that Mar Hunrodarson would soon be unavailable for any sort of service. ‘As for the worth of Pechenegs, I have fought against them and have always felt that were they instructed in bathing, reading and military discipline, they would be the scourge of the earth. They are certainly fearless of death. These men should serve you well.’
Michael nodded and made the sign of the cross. As Haraldr departed with his hands over his breast, Michael and Constantine immediately found each other’s eyes.
‘Call me husband.’
Zoe laughed and rubbed the slick, sweet-smelling emollient over her bare white leg. Her scarlet silk robe was slit to the waist; she had spread the fabric out behind her like a peacock’s tail, and thus sat bare-bottomed on her silk sheets. ‘That is not the game I want to play tonight, precious one.’ She leaned forward and hissed through her gleaming white teeth. ‘I want to play bitch and hound.’
Michael blinked earnestly. ‘I really mean you must call me husband.’
‘Husband!’ Zoe leaned her head back and snorted regally. ‘My first husband was impotent, my second could only make love to me when we were adulterers upon my first, and you wish me to call you that.’ Zoe puffed her lips into a crimson pout. ‘I want you to stay my little boy.’
Michael thrust his hand between Zoe’s bare, succulent thighs. ‘It is quite important that you call me husband.’ His eyes glimmered brightly in the oil light.
Zoe removed his hand. ‘You have not asked me for that, precious.’
‘A husband does not ask.’
‘The wife of a fishmonger does not expect to be asked. I am the purple-born and you are my child. You will ask me.’
‘I am the Emperor and the beloved of my city.’
‘And you are my darling as well. But you must ask before you can open your mother’s pink-fleshed reliquary.’
‘My people would bid me have you whenever I wish.’
‘Your people give you only what your mother is willing to give you. You must not delude yourself that your people love you simply for yourself. You are loved because I have made you my child.’
Michael could not speak for some time, and there was a moment when his face hardened, until it seemed as if his skin was a porcelain that might shatter from the force of his grinding jawbones. ‘I am not asking for your troth again, as I did after your husband’s death,’ he finally said in a curious, quavering tone that caused Zoe’s blue eyes to widen. ‘I simply want you to pretend that I am your husband from now on. In your bed.’ He thrust his hand between her thighs again and moved it to her crotch. ‘In here.’
Zoe gripped his hand but he would not move it. ‘You are becoming quite your mother’s little man,’ she said slowly.
‘I am not a little man!’ Michael screamed, his face almost instantly livid. He stared at Zoe with murder in his eyes before he collapsed into sobs. She held him for a long while and let him smear his running nose over her silk-sheathed breasts.
‘Husband,’ said Zoe at length, her voice firm and inviting. ‘I am sorry that I did not recognize your dominion. I want you to rip my robe away and savage me with your manhood.’ She spread her bare legs wide, and Michael lifted his head to show her his burning eyes.
The people danced, twisting and swaying and whirling in mad circles. Inside their frantic ring, the two kings cast the lots of fate. One was tall and golden, the other black-bearded and cringing. The people began to chant as they danced, and the song they sang was Death. Over and over and over again they called down Death until their faces darkened with the wings overhead, and then they became the birds, fat, obsidian bellies glistening as they whirred in a cawing cyclone around the two kings. The raven appeared in the hand of the golden king, and the black king looked up at it, his eyes filled with unspeakable terror. The eyes of the raven glowed orange like burning embers, and the golden king brought the raven down into the face of the black king.