Tim Severin - King's Man

I had reached the very back of the last storage hall when I finally came across one image that I could identify for certain. The carving was done on a panel, and there were holes drilled for the attachment points where it had been fixed on public display. It was a picture of the three Norns, the women who weave the fate of all beings. One of them was spinning, another measuring, and the third held scissors. As I gazed at the panel, it occurred to me that here, perhaps, was a message that I should heed. Not even the Gods themselves can alter the destiny that the Norns have woven, so there was nothing that I could do to change the ultimate fate of the Elder Way. It was better that I should try to understand what was replacing it.

Perhaps Odinn put that thought into my head, because he soon arranged for me to fulfil my wish. On my return to the guards barracks, a message was waiting for me from John's sekreton. It informed me that I had been seconded to the staff of Araltes, and my duty was to act as his interpreter with protomaistor Trdat on a mission of great importance. When I showed the message to Pelagia and asked her if she knew about this Trdat, what he did or where he was going, she seemed baffled.

'A lot of citizens would know the name of Trdat,' she said, 'but it can't be the same man. He was the protomaistor, the master builder, who repaired the church of Hagia Sophia, the Holy Wisdom, after it had been damaged in an earthquake. But that was in my grandparents' time. That Trdat must be long dead by now. He was an Armenian, a genius as an architect. It is said that no one else had the talent to make such an elegant repair. Maybe this Trdat is his grandson, or his great-nephew. The role of protomaistor passes down through families.'

'And what about this mysterious mission of great importance the Orphanotrophus mentions? Does the gossip in the marketplace have any clues as to what that might be?'

'No doubt it has something to do with the Basileus,' she answered. 'His sickness — even though you still don't want to call it that — isn't getting any better. In fact it has been growing worse. It now affects him almost daily. The doctors are unable to halt the progress of the illness, so Michael has turned to the priests. He's becoming more and more religious, some would say morbid. He thinks that he can obtain a cure from God by prayer and religious works.'

'There's something else I need to ask you before Harald gets back to Constantinople,' I said. 'I didn't mention this to the Orphanotrophus, but Harald asked me to find out the best way of converting his booty from the pirate ambush into cash or bullion. And he would like to make the arrangement discreetly so that the authorities do not know.'

Pelagia gave a thin smile. 'Your Harald is already acquiring some of the habits of this city. But, as I said, you had better be careful. If the Orphanotrophus gets to hear that you are acting for Harald in the conversion of loot into cash on the black market, and not keeping him informed, you will suffer for it.'

'I will say that I was carrying out his instructions to win Harald's confidence. What could be more helpful than acting as his money agent?'

'What sort of loot does Harald have on offer?' Pelagia asked blundy, and I reminded myself that she was a woman of business.

'Silver and gold items mostly,' I replied. 'Plate, cups, jugs, that sort of thing, foreign coins of various countries, some jewellery, a few pearls. The pirate was making shore raids as well as seizing merchant ships before he was caught. His galea had a very mixed haul of booty. Our divers brought up a small clay jar from the burned-out wreck. It was packed in straw and carefully crated so it had survived unbroken. Our Greek captain was most excited when he saw it. He read the marks and told us that it was a dye shipment on its way to the imperial silk factory.'

'If that was a jar of purple dye, then he had every reason to be excited,' Pelagia told me. 'The dye comes from seashells, and the extract of twelve thousand shells is needed to colour a single imperial robe. By weight that dye is far more precious than fine gold.'

'Where could Harald dispose of such things without attracting attention?'

Pelagia thought for a moment, then said, 'He should deal with a man called Simeon. Officially he's an argyroprates, a seller of silver. But he also handles gold and precious stones. In fact he has another string to his bow as a moneylender. He's not supposed to be in that business, but he can't resist the eight per cent interest. The bankers' guild probably knows what he is up to, but they let Simeon operate because they find it useful to have someone who can do the occasional deal for them off the books. But it would be best if I contact Simeon first. He has a money changer's table on the Milion, not so far from the bread market, and we know each other by sight. If I make the connection successfully between Simeon and Araltes, I will want an introduction fee of, say, half a per cent.'

Pelagia was as good as her word, and it turned out that the half per cent was a bargain for the services that Simeon was to provide Harald with. The argyroprates always contrived to find someone willing to pay silver or gold for brocades, silks, boxes of spices, holy artefacts, even on one occasion a pair of lion cubs. In that particular transaction the keeper of the Basileus's menagerie in the Great Palace paid a premium price.

Harald came back to Constantinople shortly before Ascension Day, and barely had time for one private meeting with Simeon - at which I acted as the interpreter — before he received the details of his new assignment. His war band was to be sworn in as a unit of the Varangians-without-the-walls and receive regular army pay and accommodation. Harald himself was to select twenty of his best men and report aboard a warship loading stores and materials in the harbour of Bucephalon.

A copy of his orders had been sent to me, with a note penned in the margin by the chief secretary to the Orphanotrophus telling me that I was to accompany Araltes. I had lived long enough in Constantinople to know that Bucephalon harbour was reserved for vessels used by the imperial family. The only warship stationed, as far as I was aware, was the fast dromon assigned for the use of the Basileus himself. I had no idea why Harald and his men should be on board.

The intelligent-looking young man who greeted me on the dromon's deck quickly explained the situation. A civilian, he was slightly chubby with a glossy mass of curly black hair, and he had the look of a man always ready to find an excuse to smile or make a joke.

'I'm Trdat,' he said genially. "Welcome aboard. I gather that you are to be the interpreter for my military escort. Though why I need one is beyond me.' He spoke with such lack of formality that I wondered what he was doing on board the Basileus's personal dromon.

Trdat waved his hand casually at the taut rigging of the immaculate warship, the scrubbed decks and gilded detailing, the smartly dressed officers. Even the blades of the thirty-foot rowing sweeps were picked out in imperial purple and gold.

'Quite a ship, don't you think? Couldn't imagine anything finer for a gentle sea voyage in the best season of the year.'

'Where are we going?' I asked. 'And why?'

'Those stuffy bureaucrats haven't told you? Just like them. Always priding themselves on their discretion when there's no need for secrecy, yet willing to sell classified information if it swells their purses. We are bound for the Holy Land to see what can be done about the state of Golgotha. It's a mission for His Majesty the Basileus. By the way, I'm an architect, a protomaistor.'

'But I was told that protomaistor Trdat restored the Church of Holy Wisdom more than forty years ago.'

'That would be my grandfather,' the architect replied cheerfully. 'And he did a very good job too. That's why I've been picked for this commission. The Basileus hopes I can do as well as my grandfather. This is to be another restoration project.'