‘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.’
They held each other, unspeaking, until the lights of the dhromons came over them like terrible stars in a dark universe.
The Droungarios John Moschus stuck his powerful hands into the ivory casket and pulled up fistfuls of gold. The solidi fell back into the pile, the sound a dull clink in the shrieking wind. He fixed his cold grey eyes on Haraldr. ‘It’s a hundred times more than I could expect to leave this office with,’ he said. ‘But my life is ships. It would be death for me to live on some estate in Armenikoi after I am relieved of my command.’
‘You could buy your own ships. Pursue Saracen brigands. Sail when you please and fight when you please, instead of waiting on the docks until your Emperor decides to frighten some naked children on the beaches of Kherson.’ The dhromon lifted in the mounting sea. ‘Look at this. Is this an effective sortie for thirty fire-ships? To bring back Her Majesty’s Mistress of the Robes? Next you will be asked to send twenty dhromons to Libya to capture a black man to fan the Empress’s face. Besides, she doesn’t make the ultimate decisions. The Monomach knows you are an able commander.’ Haraldr reached in his cloak, produced a large leather purse full of gold coins, and set it on top of the gleaming contents of the casket. ‘Here. Give this to a dwarf named Theodocranus. Tell him that you want the Emperor to preserve your command.’
Moschus rubbed his scratchy black beard. ‘I’ve heard of this dwarf,’ he said as he shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’ He shook his head again.
‘Look,’ said Haraldr, ‘my men will come back for me. A lot of your men and my men will die. For what? For a glorified serving girl. If I did not love her so much with the head that doesn’t think, I probably would just give her back to you and shrug it off. But I burn every time I think of her. Why don’t you keep the money and let me keep the Mistress?’
Moschus looked at Maria and then at Haraldr. ‘I think you might misunderstand. I have orders to let you go. Maybe you should try to forget her.’
‘Look at her,’ said Haraldr. ‘Could you forget her? She’s not a woman, she’s a demon. She possesses the soul. You know what they say about her.’
Moschus laughed. Maria’s eyes never flinched. ‘I’ve heard about her as well.’ He cocked his head at Haraldr. ‘You’re certain that it isn’t the Emperor who really wants her back? I mean . . .’He lifted his wiry eyebrows suggestively and threw his hands up.