Read Online TLV - 01 - The Golden Horn by Poul Anderson - Free Book Online Page B

is, the people still care for her," said Ulf. "They'll tell enough rowdy tales of her carryings on, but she remains their mother, appointed by God Himself, and they like her all the better for her bawdiness. They save their hate for John the monk. He's the real king, and you'd best keep on the lee side of him."
    Harald nodded. He had heard enough already about the heavy taxes which John was laying on the realm, the corruption and spying at court.
    He donned his best clothes and rode with an escort of Varangians to that city within a city which was the palace. He went clean-shaven now, to seem less the hairy barbarian, but on Ulf's advice wore long hair and his Northern shirt and breeches on all save the greatest occasions. "Why be a poor Greek when you could be a good Norseman? They like newness here, in spite of all their ritual."
    Courtiers led him first, to his surprise, to John the Orphanotrophos. It was a small enough title for so mighty a man, director of charitable institutions, and the office was not overly large or ornamented. A lovely ikon of gold and jewels, God's Mother stiff and strange in the Byzantine manner but still somehow glowing with mystery, hung over the chair.
    John himself was another astonishment. Harald had seen the rolling blobs, beardless and twitter-voiced, which were eunuchs, and had awaited something of that sort. But the Paphlagonian, though not tall, was powerfully built; his cheeks were smooth and fat, but a strong jaw cragged from them and the small black eyes glittered almost fiercely around the great hooked nose. He wore the humble robe of a monk, but his feet were cased in silken buskins.
    "God be with you," he said, extending a hand in casual blessing and then lowering it to be kissed.
    Harald bent the knee and bowed his head, however much it galled him.
    "I have heard you spoken of as a fine soldier." John's voice was high, but it had a ring to it.
    "Thank you, despotes." Harald spoke Greek quite easily now; his sense of smallness was gone and he remembered that he could break any man's back in his hands. "It pleased God to grant us some victories."
    John nodded at the courtiers, who bowed and slipped out; only his personal guards remained, and they were like furniture. "Enough of this formality. I want to talk to you." The beady eyes locked with Harald's and hardly blinked. "They say the Varangians want you to lead them, since their present captain is ready to go home; but that is a high post to give so new a man."
    "I think I can fill it well, despotes."
    "Oh, no doubt of that." John smiled coldly, and Harald saw a cancer eating at one corner of his mouth. "Too well, perhaps." He pointed to the books which stood in fair bindings on his shelves. "You have not read those histories, but they relate no few cases of men who got near the throne and then sought to climb that last step. Sometimes they succeeded, too. Once, in Old Rome, the Praetorian Guard put the whole Empire up at auction. I'd not want that to happen again."
    Harald swallowed an angry reply and said: "If you mean that I might think of making myself Emperor, then let me only say that I am not so mad."
    "Not now," said John. "But power . . . that's a curious drug, and habit-forming. There are other drugs too . . . poisons, for instance. Now just what are your plans?"
    "To serve His Sacred Majesty, as I swore to do."
    "But beyond that? You're a prince in your own country, Captain Araltes. Have you never thought of returning?"
    "Of course I have!" blurted Harald.
    "I see. Well, you will understand that it would not do to get the Guard organized around you only to have you start home at once."
    "That would not be for years, despotes. I must get money, and let my enemies wear themselves out against each other, and—"
    "That's shrewd thinking, I must say." John stroked his chin. Sunlight came through the arched window to flash in fiery shards off his rings. "You have the stuff of a good general, Captain Araltes, but a general