He strode out smartly, calling out for people to clear the way before us. Gunnar appeared worried. "Never fear," I told him as we started off. "We will prevail. You see? God has already answered our prayer."
Following our chattering guide, who seemed determined that we should appreciate as many of the sights as possible along the way, we threaded our way along narrow, close-crowded streets. As it happened, the closest imperial bakery was very near the granaries, which were no great distance from the harbour. We arrived after a short walk. "Here, my friends, is the bakery," said Didimus, pointing to the white-painted building before us.
Save for the column of smoke drifting from the clay pipe in the roof, it might have been a stable. He stepped to the blue door and banged on it with the flat of his hand, and a voice called out from within. "He says to wait," the boatman informed us.
We stood in the street, watching the people hurry by around us. The dress and appearance of the wealthier Byzantines amused and amazed me anew: their lavish and extraordinary attention to each item of clothing and every curl of hair was extraordinary. I saw three men walk by, deep in ardent conversation, the foremost of them pounding his fist into his palm. Each of the men wore long cloaks over bright-coloured, richly embroidered tunics, the shoulders of which were stuffed with cloth to make them appear larger-absurdly so, it seemed to me. Their hair was long and heavily oiled, and arranged in well-ordered coils-beards, too. As they passed, they saw Gunnar and Tolar, and put their noses in the air, turned their faces away, and hurried on as if they smelled a repulsive odour. I felt slightly offended, but Gunnar laughed at their pomposity.
After a time, the blue door opened. "Here!" called a fat man in a close-fitting brown garment; his hair and clothing were powdered almost white with flour. He took one look at us and shouted, "Be gone! Away with you!" Before we could move or speak, he pulled in his head again, slamming the door behind him.
"A most unfriendly man," observed Didimus. He made to knock on the door again, but Gunnar stepped forward, indicating that he should step aside. Motioning for Tolar to stand at the door, he knocked sharply.
We waited and Gunnar knocked again, using the handle of his knife this time, and almost rattling the door off its hinges. A moment later the man, angry now, thrust his head out. "You! Stop that! I told you to be gone!" He made a dismissive gesture with his hand.
Quick as a flick, Gunnar seized the baker by his fat wrist, yanked him through the doorway and out into the street. The baker sputtered in outrage and spun around, but Tolar had swiftly stepped behind him into the doorway and was now blocking his retreat.
"My friend," I said. "We have business with you."
"Liar!" snarled the man. "I bake for the emperor alone. Neither pagani nor barbari taste my bread. Now, get you gone before I call the scholae!"
"These men also serve the emperor," I told him flatly. "He has sent them to you to collect our bread allowance."
"Again, I call you liar," the baker sneered; his face had turned very red and he seemed about to burst. "I have never seen you before. Do you think it is so easy to steal bread from me? I am not like those others who give the politikoi to anyone who asks and then charge the state exorbitant fees. My bread is honest bread and I am an honest man!"
"Then you have nothing to fear from us," I said, trying to soothe him. "The men you see before you serve in the barbari bodyguard. They have come to fetch the politikoi, as you say, for the ships escorting the trade delegation to Trebizond."
The fat baker stared at me. "I am Constantius," he said, calming somewhat. "If you are from the emperor, where is the sakka?" He thrust out his hand, palm upward.
"What is that?" I asked.
"Thieves!" the baker cried. "I thought so! I knew it! Be gone, thieves."
"Please," I said, "what is this sakka?"
"Ha! You do not know politikoi; you do not know sakka! If you were indeed Farghanese," he sneered, "you would know what it is. I would not have to tell you."
Gunnar followed this exchange with a perplexed frown on his face, watching every move carefully, his hand ready on his knife.
"We are emperor's men," I insisted, "but we have never done this before. The ways of Byzantium are new to us."
"The sakka is given you by the logothete to tell me how much bread to allow," said the baker. "You do not have one, so you get no bread. Now, get out of my way. I have wasted enough time with you."
Understanding came to me at once; I reached into my belt and produced the small square of parchment Gunnar had given me. "This is the sakka you require, is it not?"
Constantius snatched the parchment from me, glanced at it, and shoved it back at me. "It is impossible. I do not have so much bread. Come back tomorrow."
"We need it today," I said. "Is there some other bakery to which we can go?"
