The two Farghanese leapt forward at the prefect's shout. Harald roared an order, and the Sea Wolves drew knives and prepared to meet the attack. The courtiers in the near vicinity threw up their hands and scattered with a great commotion.
"Stop!" Justin shouted. Seizing me by the shoulder, he cried, "Make them stop! Tell them it is a mistake!" To the prefect, he shouted, "Do you want to get us all killed? Call them off!"
Throwing myself before Harald, I said, "Wait! Wait! It is a mistake! Put up your blade, Jarl Harald."
"I told you they were in earnest!" Justin hissed in exasperation. "For God's sake, man, let the emperor deal with them."
The prefect seemed to reconsider his hasty action. He spoke a word and the Farghanese relaxed; they raised their axes once more and the danger passed.
Shaking his robes in agitation, the prefect glared around him like a master who has discovered his servants quarrelling. "I am citing you, scholarae. You know the proper conveyances," he informed Justin tartly. "I need not remind you that official protocols exist for precisely these occasions. I suggest you remove yourself from here at once and take the barbarians with you."
"Yes, prefect. And what of the quaestor?"
Lowering his eyes to the tablet, the man pressed his stylus into the soft wax. "As I have already told you, the emperor is seeing no one. He is preparing an embassy to Trebizond, and is spending the next few days in the company of his advisors. All affairs of court are suspended. Therefore, I suggest you take your concerns to the magister officiorum."
"I believe the magister is in Thrace," Justin pointed out. "I understand he is not expected to return to the city until the Christ Mass."
"That cannot be helped," the prefect answered, working the stylus against the wax with deft strokes. "In any event, it is the best course I can recommend." Glancing at me, and then at the Danes he added, "That will allow them time to bathe and clothe themselves properly."
I conveyed the prefect's words to Harald, who merely grunted, "I will not wait." With that, he stepped forward and produced a gold coin from his belt.
Taking hold of the tablet, he pressed the gold coin into the soft wax. The prefect looked at the money and at Harald, then brushed his long fingers across the coin. As the official's fingers closed on the gold, the king seized him by the wrist and squeezed hard. The prefect gave a startled cry and dropped his stylus. Harald calmly pointed to the entrance.
"I think he means to see the emperor now," remarked Justin.
The Farghanese bodyguard moved to the prefect's defense once more, but the prefect waved his free hand to ward them off. "In Christ's name, just open the doors!"
The two guards stepped aside and pulled on the bronze rings; the doors swung open and Harald released the official's hand. The prefect led us into a small screened room, the vestibulum, where we were instantly met by a man in a long white robe carrying a slender silver rod-the magister sacrum, he was called. Tall and grey and gaunt, his face pitted and scared, he gazed upon us severely. Addressing the prefect, he said, "What is the meaning of this unseemly intrusion?"
"There has been some trouble at Hormisdas Harbour," the prefect answered. "These men are responsible. The emperor's attention is required."
The magister made a face as if he smelled something foul. "You will not speak until spoken to," he intoned, addressing himself to the uncouth visitors, "and then you will make your replies as succinct as possible. When addressing the emperor, you may call him by his official title, basileus, or sovereign lord, either is acceptable. It is customary to keep your eyes averted when not speaking to him. Understood?"
Harald looked to me for explanation, and I relayed the magister's rules to the king who, much to my amazement, burst into a broad grin as he learned the Byzantine protocols. With a heartfelt, "Heya!" he slapped the unsuspecting magister on the back with his enormous paw.
The courtier maintained his rigorous dignity, however, and without another word led us into the emperor's hall. We stepped from the vestibule into a room without equal in the world: high and wide, the space beneath the ceiling dome was vast and filled with the light of ten thousand candles. The walls, floors, and pillars were deep-hued marble, polished so smooth that their surfaces reflected like mirror pools. The glint of gold met the glance on every side: gold was woven into the fabrics of clothing, in the mosaics covering the walls; all the fitments and furniture of the room were gold-candletrees, chests, chairs, tables, bowls and ewers and urns-the very throne itself. The whole room was bathed in the honeyed gleam of that most precious metal.
