"On behalf of Exarch Honorius and citizens of Trebizond, I welcome you," said the magister, a short, stock-legged man with a round face and a black beard. "His eminence the governor sends his greetings, and wishes you a fruitful stay in our city. He regrets that he is unavoidably detained in Sebastea, but assures me that he will endeavour to join you before your business here is completed. In the meantime, we have prepared a house for the envoy's use. You will be taken there in due course, but first we thought you might like some refreshment after your long journey.
"I am Sergius, and I am at your service during your sojourn here." The magister spoke politely enough; indeed, wonderfully so, in precise and polished Greek. But the man lacked genuine warmth, I thought; there was no light of friendliness in his eye, nor enthusiasm in his voice. He was a tired musician, performing his old song with little liking for those he was meant to entertain.
The spatharius, on the other hand, more than made up for his superior's lack of zeal with an overabundance of good will. A young man, but with many grey hairs in his dark hair and beard and a fleshy paunch beneath his cloak, he all but quivered in his desire to please. His name, he told us, was Marcian; and he proceeded to fawn over the eparch in an oily, obsequious way that put me in mind of a pup overanxious for its master's favour.
The two of them-weary minstrel and his pandering dog, as it were-led us along a wide street lined with the tall, flat facades of fine houses whose windholes were all shuttered against the day. The magister stopped before a large, square house set a little apart from the others. At first, I thought this was where we would stay, and welcomed the prospect as it was easily the finest house I had ever had the pleasure to enter.
Nikos ordered a dozen of the Sea Wolves to mount guard outside the house, though there was no one in the street at all. Then Sergius conducted us up the steps, through the wide door and into a large vestibule; the walls were painted pale green, and the floor was a single huge mosaic depicting a Greek god-Zeus, I think, judging from the trident-surrounded by a dance of the seasons. Passing through the entrance room, we came into a large empty marble hall, through this, and out into a small, stone-paved square open to the sky. Though it was not a warm day, the sun off the white surfaces produced an agreeable warmth. In the centre of the square was a fountain, which produced a gentle, soothing sound. The principals arranged themselves in chairs while slaves in green tunics hovered around them bearing trays of food and drink.
As leader of the eparch's bodyguard, King Harald was required to attend this reception of welcome, although he had no real part in it, nor did anyone deign to address him. He was allowed a chair-which I stood behind-but the only ones who betrayed any interest in him were the slaves who brought him cups of wine. I do not think Harald noticed the slight, preoccupied as he was with the drink and sweetmeats.
Komes Nikos spoke at length of matters in Constantinople, supplying his hosts with the intimate gossip they desired, and in a most amusing, if deprecating, way. He provoked laughter several times with a witty description of some person known to his listeners, or an event of general interest.
"What is it they laugh about?" Harald asked me after one such outburst. I told him that Nikos had just made a clever observation regarding one of the palace officials. The king regarded Nikos through narrowed eyes for a moment. "A fox, that one," he remarked, and turned back to his wine.
The eparch, I noticed, said little. When he did speak, his comments were restricted to the purpose of his visit-a quality which made him seem dry and tedious next to Nikos's smooth, and occasionally artful, ebullience-and he seemed to endure the reception, rather than to enjoy it. When at last he came to the end of his fortitude, Nicephorus stood abruptly and said, "You must excuse me, I am fatigued."
The spatharius leapt to his feet and almost upset himself in his scramble to assist the eparch. The magister rose more languidly, and with an air of resignation. "Of course," he said, "how foolish of us to prattle on like this. I hope we have not exhausted you. I will take you to your residence now. It is not far. I will summon a chair at once."
"Not for me, if you please. I have spent too many days confined to the bare boards of a ship," the eparch replied. "I shall walk."
"As you will," replied the magister, somehow implying that this was yet one more demand he was obliged to accommodate, however wearisome.
