Читать книгу Chained to the Barbarian - Carol Townend, Carol Townend - Страница 9

The strapping on his shoulder wasn’t tight, William flexed his arm for her and opened and closed his fingers. She followed the movement. With a jolt, William saw bright colour flood her cheeks as she observed the play of the muscles in his biceps. He repeated the movement, conscious of a pleasant tightening in his belly as she jerked her gaze away.

Keeping his face straight, for this prim lady-in-waiting amused him, he cleared his throat. ‘I do feel a little weak yet, I shall have to follow an exercise regime to build up my muscles.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Her voice was faint. Crimson-cheeked, she stared fixedly at a brazier at the other end of the room. ‘Strengthening exercises.’

To draw her gaze, he touched her sleeve and instantly her eyes locked with his—the contact had startled her. I may not touch her, I am yet a slave in her mind. Carefully, William removed his fingers from her sleeve, but the urge to tease remained.

‘My lady, I have …’ he ran his hand over his cheeks and grimaced ‘… a favour to ask.’ With effort, he kept his face straight, fully aware that what he was about to ask bordered on insolence. She was so prim, though, he simply could not help himself.

‘Yes?’

‘I need to shave. I must look like a wild man.’

Her eyes widened, she examined him closely and, Lord, now it was he whose cheeks were burning. Not that she would be able to see, his beard would hide it. Thankfully.

‘You want to shave?’

‘If you do not …’ William groped for the right word ‘… trust me with a knife you could shave me.’

She drew her head back, the movement expressed outrage.

William waited. Laughter was a breath away, he could see, he could actually see her struggle to decide whether to chastise him for being deliberately insolent or whether to let it pass because he might really want to shave. In her eyes his motives would likely be mysterious, he was a Frank, a barbarian from beyond the boundaries of the Empire.

It was when she nibbled her bottom lip, that full bottom lip, and William could not take his eyes off it, that he realised that somehow the boot had got on to the wrong foot. Suddenly, most inappropriately, he was aching to feel those gentle fingers on his cheeks, he wanted them caressing him under the guise of rubbing soap into his skin.

In a heartbeat, the idea of being shaved by Lady Anna had transformed. It was no longer a suggestion designed to wring an interesting reaction from her, it was a suggestion that had sent the hot blood rushing to his loins. Lord. Shifting on his pallet, William watched and waited to see whether she was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt.

She swallowed. ‘It is customary for Frankish men to shave off their beards?’

For a second time, William was forced to clear his throat. ‘It is customary. I feel unkempt.’

‘How long have you been in our Empire, William?’

‘Not long.’ In truth, William could not give her a full answer. What with the drugs the slavers had given him and the subsequent beatings, he had no clear idea how long it had been since he had been taken from Apulia.

‘Here in our Empire, men …’ careful emphasis was placed on the last word, those tantalising lips pursed ‘… wear beards. You will look like a eunuch.’

‘A eunuch!’ God have mercy! William had forgotten that here in the Imperial Palace eunuchs were commonplace. They were chosen for high office because it was thought that men who were unable to found a dynasty were more likely to be loyal. ‘Do I look like a eunuch?’

And then he saw it. A tiny smile trembled at the corners of her mouth. Little witch! She had realised he was teasing her and was repaying him in kind.

Repressing an impulse to take her hand, William ran his fingers round several days of stubble. ‘My lady, local customs notwithstanding, I feel unkempt.’

Nodding, she gestured for one of the girls. ‘Juliana?’

‘My lady?’

‘We require a bowl of hot water, some soap and a razor.’

The maidservant gave William a dark glance. ‘A razor, my lady? Are you certain?’

‘Please.’

Curtsying, Juliana went to find water.

William rubbed his chin. ‘Thank you, my lady. I feel like a brigand with a beard.’ He lay back and fixed her with a look. ‘Mind that when it is done, there are to be no remarks about eunuchs.’

A carefully plucked brow arched. ‘You are not yet free—you are in no position to make such pronouncements.’

The Frank is exhausted, Anna thought, when he made no response to her comment. Instead, he closed his eyes and seemed to drop straight into sleep. And no wonder. When did he last have a proper night’s rest?

‘Here is the water, my lady,’ Juliana said, setting a large ewer down on a wall table. She had several linen cloths over her arm. ‘Will you wake him?’

A light snore reached her. How strange. I know that his request for me to shave him was made largely to goad me into some reaction, but I feel a distinct pang that I am unable to do so. How ridiculous! Surely I am not looking for an excuse to touch him? How unladylike. And how inappropriate, this man is a slave, a Frankish slave.

And yet, here I am, sitting at his side, unable to stop studying that strong, bristled jaw. Wondering what it might be like to touch him. I like his face, I like his form. And his mouth—how can so beautiful a mouth be so uncompromisingly male?

In truth, I wonder what it would be like to be married to such a man?

This is a wild idea. This is a burst of folly that does not belong in a sensible, practical mind. I know nothing about this man, nothing. There must be other solutions. When I see Father tomorrow—

‘My lady?’

Anna started. ‘My pardon, Juliana. What did you say?’

‘Do you wish me to wake him?’

‘Oh! N … no. It is likely he needs rest far more than he needs to shave.’

The look in Juliana’s eyes was knowing. She had observed Anna’s reaction to the Frank and had drawn her own conclusions. Anna’s face burned.

This will not do. I am lady-in-waiting to the Princess Theodora, I should not be entertaining feelings of any kind for this man. He is a stranger, a barbarian slave. It would be much better if I resolved matters with my father without him.

I wonder, was he born a slave? That cannot be, he has the look of a warrior about him, a warrior who, despite appalling maltreatment, has honour enough to care for two small children. And the way he addresses one, there is little subservience in his tone. Why is he a slave?

This man is no slave.

‘Let him sleep,’ Anna said.

Thankfully, the door to the Princess’s bedchamber opened and Juliana turned that knowing gaze on Katerina. Anna’s mouth twisted. In Juliana’s mind, the scandal of what Princess Theodora Doukaina had been doing in her chamber with Commander Ashfirth clearly outweighed Lady Anna’s paltry fascination with the Frank she had found in the slave market.

Rising, Anna shook out her skirts. ‘Princess Theodora has expressed a desire to visit the bathhouse,’ she said. ‘I shall be attending her.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘Juliana, should the Frank waken while we are elsewhere, you may offer to shave him.’

When Juliana’s eyes went hard, Anna saw that she was in for an argument. Juliana was a servant, not a slave, and she thought the task beneath her.

‘Must I, Lady Anna?’

Anna gave her a straight look. ‘That was an order, Juliana, not a request.’

Juliana lowered her head. ‘Yes, my lady, my apologies.’

And when Katerina and I have finished in the bathhouse, I shall have decided what to do with him.

William woke to the smell of loaves, fresh from the oven. Bright slashes of light poured through the windows and lay on the marble floor tiles, like stripes on a shield. No sooner was he sitting up than a serving girl approached.

‘You would eat?’ she asked, offering him a basket filled to the brim with bread, cheese and dried figs.

‘My thanks.’ Balancing the basket on his lap, William picked up the bread. Warm. Since this might be the last food he was given for some time, he was going to make the most of it.

Across the chamber, it was heartening to see Daphne and Paula being cared for by Sylvia and Juliana. Lady Anna was near a brazier at the far end, breaking her fast at one of the side tables with the Princess. She had put away the dowdy brown gown. Today, Lady Anna was wearing blue silk and was every inch the noblewoman—the beautiful noblewoman.

Lady Anna and her princess looked abstracted—William received the impression that they were in a hurry. Lady Anna’s attention was certainly taken up with Princess Theodora, she didn’t glance his way though she must be aware he had woken.

William squashed a twinge of disappointment, it was best this way. He would be gone from the Palace this morning, at the first opportunity—there would be no regrets. During the night, he had come to a decision. The thought of staying in the Great Palace while he gleaned more about his mother’s past was tempting, but too much was at stake, he had to get back to Apulia. He had his future to consider and he wanted justice—the man who had wronged him must not go unpunished.

And once that had been accomplished … Lady Felisa might have rejected him, but perhaps some other lady might consider his suit. It was likely such a lady would be less well-endowed than Lady Felisa Venafro, he had been aiming too high with her. Yes, a less well-endowed lady might consider him. Or … an older one. Some older ladies took young knights to husband and William knew he was not considered ill-favoured. If his lack of lands worked against him, perhaps his looks might work for him.

William’s gaze had drifted back to Lady Anna, she was lifting a goblet to her lips, grace and elegance in her every movement. Her quiet beauty was most appealing. And far too distracting.

Reminding himself that an army marched on its stomach and that he must stay focused on his escape, he turned his attention back to his food. The cheese was soft and white and as fresh as the bread. He chewed thoughtfully.

He would make his escape at the first chance. Lady Anna had said that she would free him, but he could not wait on the pleasure of a titled lady. He would go today, while their guard was lowered. No one expected him to make a move—they believed him to be recovering. He would have to take care where the Varangians were concerned, though. He would need arms, clothing …

A draught lifted William from his plans in time for him to see a flash of blue silk and the shimmer of a blue veil shot through with silver threads. Lady Anna was gliding past him, the Princess at her side. They left the apartment. He stared after them, stirred by an uncomfortable emotion he was unable to interpret. It was as though that brief moment of shared amusement the evening before had never happened. With a grimace, he rubbed his chin. He was in even more of a need of a shave this morning than he had been when she had teased him about resembling a eunuch.

‘Excuse me?’ The maidservant Juliana cleared her throat. ‘Do you care for shaving water?’

William had opened his mouth to accept when it struck him that shaving might not be the best idea. If Lady Anna was to be believed, most men in the City wore beards, like Saxons. If he shaved, he would draw attention to himself and a runaway slave ought not to be drawing attention to himself.

‘I would appreciate water to wash in,’ he said, ‘but I shall wait until I am stronger before I shave.’

The maid clapped her hands. ‘Kari! Kari!’

The main doors of the apartment opened and a guard appeared. It was the Varangian he had noted earlier. Absently, William picked a dried fig and sank his teeth into it. The guard was a Varangian to be sure, but he looked very young.

How much experience can a boy like that have?

‘Kari,’ the maidservant said, ‘when this man has finished breaking his fast, would you be so good as to direct him to the bathhouse on the ground floor?’

The maid was asking the guard to show him to a bathhouse? William could hardly believe his ears. His heart thudded. His moment had come—freedom was within his grasp.

William gave the maid one of his best smiles. ‘Thank you, I confess I would appreciate a visit to the bathhouse after I have eaten.’

Daphne and Paula were safe—he could leave with an easy conscience. He would allow enough time for Lady Anna and the Princess to get well clear of the Boukoleon, and then … freedom!

When Katerina—in her guise as the Princess—had expressed a desire to escape the Palace for a while, Anna understood exactly how she felt. If Anna found it unnerving pretending to be serving the Princess when in truth she was serving an impostor, it must be even more unnerving for Katerina.

If we are caught, what will happen to us? Will it be enough to say we have been following Princess Theodora’s orders?

The real Princess had insisted that Anna and Katerina carry letters that stated they were acting on her instructions, but Katerina was starting to show a distressing tendency to go her own way. It did not bode well.

They passed through the door of the Boukoleon Palace and into the first of the courtyards. A light rain was falling. By rights they ought not to leave the Palace unescorted, but Anna sensed that Katerina wanted to talk and they could scarcely talk openly with the Emperor’s personal guard breathing down their necks.

Anna drew up her hood and led the way along paths that glistened with wet. As they left one courtyard and entered another on their way to the Chalke Gate, the hairs rose on Anna’s neck. Where was everyone? The grounds were eerily empty of people.

It is far too quiet.

Through an arch, a lone peacock trailed across one of the lawns, its brilliant glory lost and bedraggled. When its shriek broke the silence, Anna almost leaped out of her skin. A slave was hurrying along the paths by one of the smaller palaces, but she could see no one else. Of course, with everyone absent, who would notice them wandering about without an escort? Her skin prickled. It felt unnatural—she had never seen the Palace so deserted.

Where is everyone? Can the rumours be true?

Anna had only been back in the capital for a couple of days, but disturbing news had reached her. The army had acclaimed General Alexios as Emperor, raising him on their shields in the traditional Roman manner.

It cannot be true, it cannot. We already have an emperor, Emperor Nikephoros! What will happen to him if General Alexios takes the throne?

Shivering, she drew her cloak more tightly about her as they walked along. The General was said to be camped outside the City walls, waiting for the right moment to make his move. Unsurprisingly, these developments were causing much unease, colourful stories were flying back and forth like the shuttle on a loom. It was impossible to say if any of them was true.

I must say nothing of this to Katerina, the poor girl has enough to contend with, pretending to be a princess in a world that is alien to her. Katerina’s plight is far worse than mine.

Anna might not be on the best of terms with her father, but if it came to light that she was helping Katerina pose as the Princess, he was an aristocrat and that must count in her favour. Katerina, on the other hand, was a simple village girl, she had no one to speak up for her.

Except me. I will speak for her, if need be.

Saints, this afternoon I am meeting Father! This afternoon I must persuade him that I cannot marry Lord Romanos.

Katerina halted. She was lifting her brows as she stared at an ancient building where part of the roof had caved in. A row of antique statues lined the portico, ghosts from another time. Several of the statues had lost their arms, one its head.

‘That was the Hall of the Nineteen Couches,’ Anna told her.

Katerina shuddered. ‘It looks derelict.’

‘Yes, it’s been empty for years,’ Anna said, leading Katerina past several domed buildings towards the gate.

How brave Katerina is, to play the Princess in this way. Particularly since she is new to Court. If I had her courage, it would doubtless be easy to convince Father that I am not prepared to fall in with his wishes. She sighed. If only he were less intransigent …

In the past, Anna had tried calm discussion, she had tried entreaty.

My lord, I cannot marry Lord Romanos, I cannot.

Her father had been unmoved. The matter of her marriage had transformed him into a cold stranger, the man she had once adored might never have been.

‘Enough of this!’ her father had declared in a tone that had made her blood run cold. ‘You will marry Romanos Angelos! The Angeli expect it. I expect it. Believe me, Anna, I will do what is necessary to ensure this marriage takes place. If I have to beat you into submission, I will. If I have to starve you, I will.’

That was the point she had left for Rascia to join the Princess. Two years had passed since then, it was possible her father had mellowed. She simply must convince him that Lord Romanos was not for her. If not, she would have no recourse but to take desperate measures.

Desperate measures. In her mind, Anna could still see William on the slave block. He was swaying slightly, that magnificent body of his was bruised, but not broken, and those horrible chains were rattling as he stood over the children.

So protective. So brave and determined. Such an indomitable spirit.

Anna had hoped that with the coming of the next day, the desperate idea that had been born in the slave market would have been supplanted by another more sensible one. Unfortunately, that had not happened.

Marriage with William would, naturally, be temporary. It would be contracted purely to convince Lord Romanos that she was not the bride for him. The problem was that Anna did not need to speak to her father to know that marriage to a Frankish slave would alienate him permanently. That was not what she wanted.

During her time in Rascia the change in her father had eaten away at her. How wonderful it would be to be reconciled with him. It is just that I cannot marry Lord Romanos!

‘Creeping about in this way makes me feel like a criminal,’ Katerina said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘I suppose in the eyes of the Commander I am a criminal.’

‘You told me you had admitted nothing!’

‘Nor did I. But I do feel guilty for misleading him. Perhaps it was short-sighted of me, but I had not expected to feel quite so … bad.’

They reached the Chalke Gate, passed through it and entered the City. The broad, colonnaded avenue was worryingly clear of citizens. Anna’s sense of foreboding grew, unease was an icy chill on her skin. Although no one was about, it was probably best they did not stray far from the Palace.

‘Anna?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Yesterday I overheard something very strange …’

‘Oh?’

‘One of the grooms said that a soldier called Alexios Komnenos was making a bid for the throne.’

Anna gave her a startled look. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t hear about that.’

‘So it’s true? Why on earth didn’t you mention it?’

‘I thought you had enough to worry about, and after we got back from the slave market I was somewhat distracted.’ Anna forced a smile and pushed away the image of a pair of green eyes fringed by dark lashes. ‘We both were. By the time the Commander had left your bedchamber, it had quite slipped my mind.’

‘You don’t think there will be fighting in the City, do you?’

‘It is possible, but I do not think it likely.’ Anna spoke firmly, though privately she had her doubts. The Imperial throne was at stake, and General Alexios had never been defeated.

They rounded a corner to enter the square and a rumble of voices rolled at them. A child’s thin wail cut through the rumble, a dog yelped. So this is where everyone is. Justinian’s bronze column was dulled by the rain, the base was all but hidden by the crowd milling around it.

Katerina gasped. ‘No wonder the Palace seemed empty, everyone is here!’

Anna nodded. Hundreds of citizens, courtiers if the sumptuous gowns and cloaks were anything to go by, were pressing towards the great column, pushing past it to reach the door that led to the great church of Hagia Sophia. Caught up in the crowd, Anna and Katerina were carried along as though by an inexorable force, before they knew it, they had crossed the church forecourt and been swept inside.

Hagia Sophia was full of shadows and the low murmur of the faithful at prayer. The air was wreathed with incense and the dome above flickered with the light of a thousand hanging lamps. Mosaic saints, haloes agleam with gold, watched from the walls.

Katerina glanced about wildly and clutched Anna’s arm. ‘Anna, the Empress is bound to be here. I cannot meet the Empress, she knew the Princess before she was sent to Rascia … I can’t take the risk … Anna, get us out of here!’

In the apartment overlooking the Sea of Marmara, the young Varangian had called for a slave named Philip. Philip was wearing a short-sleeved tunic of bleached linen, as he escorted William to the bathhouse, William noticed many men in similar tunics, as well as a number of women wearing clothes made from the same undyed fabric. There must be hundreds of slaves here. But more to the point were the soldiers—guards were patrolling the corridors, not all of them Varangians. They were doubtless there to protect the Imperial family, but their presence must also keep the slaves in order.

William halted in the bathhouse doorway. It was empty and light was shafting down from a row of glazed windows set high in the walls. Instead of the bathtub he had been expecting, tiled steps led down to what was in effect a small pool, steam was rising from the surface of the water. A wooden bench stood at the poolside and linen drying cloths were draped over a rack.

‘Your shoes, if you please.’ The slave Philip gestured for William to remove his down-at-heel shoes.

As William kicked them off, he made another discovery. The floor tiles were warm. ‘Hypocaust,’ he murmured, flexing his toes. Mon Dieu, glazed windows, heated floor—what luxury!

The bathhouse walls were tiled as well as the floor and a geometric frieze ran round the walls. The air was perfumed with aromatic herbs. Philip picked up William’s embarrassingly shabby shoes and put them on the floor next to the bench, handling them as carefully as though they were the Emperor’s purple slippers.

‘Your belt, sir?’ Philip said, woodenly.

‘No need to call me “sir”, Philip,’ William said, amused at the way the man had handled his shoes. ‘My name is William.’

When Philip looked at William as though he were a madman, William realised no one had thought to tell him that he, too, was a slave. Not for long though …

‘William, my name is William.’

‘Yes, sir. I think I had better remove that bandage before you go into the water.’

William gave up and submitted, and Philip helped him undress. The man stared thoughtfully at his discoloured chest.

‘I can give you a body massage after your bath, sir. There is an ointment that will ease those bruises.’

‘Thank you, but that will not be necessary.’ William had a squire in Apulia, but the thought of being given a massage by this slave made him uncomfortable. Had it been Lady Anna, however … He grinned. The thought of Lady Anna’s hands smoothing away his bruises was much easier to entertain.

‘The water has been freshly drawn, sir.’ Philip waved at a tray of oils and soaps. ‘Do you care for me to bathe you?’

‘Lord, no, I can do that for myself.’ The water was blue and inviting. Hurriedly, William stepped in—it was blissfully warm.

‘Is the temperature to your taste?’

‘Perfect, thank you.’

‘Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?’

Water lapping at his waist, William discovered a ledge which formed an underwater seat. Lowering himself onto it, he reached for a block of soap. It smelled of rosemary and pine.

‘No, thank you, Philip, I have everything. I shall call if I need you.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘Philip?’

‘Sir?’

‘I should like to take my time in here.’

‘Of course, sir.’

Bowing, Philip left the bathhouse, closing the door softly behind him.

William eyed the shadows on the tiled floor. Philip would probably give him half an hour before returning, but he couldn’t rely on it. He must be quick, he would be gone from the bathhouse long before Philip came to find him.

Dipping his head beneath the water, he soaped himself from top to tail, then rinsed off. He was dry and had pulled on his braies and hose before he checked the shadow again. It had scarcely moved. His arm gave a twinge, having been half-wrenched from its socket by the slave master, it needed support. Finding the discarded bandage, he attempted to replicate the bindings as Lady Anna had done them. He made something of a clumsy job of it, but it would have to do.

It was a pity about the lack of a tunic. Shrugging—with the Palace crawling with guards, William minded the lack of a sword far more than he minded the lack of a tunic—he slipped his feet into his shoes and crept to the door. One of the larger drying cloths would do as a cloak.

Easing the door open, he peered through the chink and caught the rumble of nearby voices. He thought he recognised Philip talking, but could not make out what he was saying, or who he was talking to.

Not that way. Quietly closing the door, he narrowed his eyes and looked up at the windows, judging the height. His gaze dropped to the wooden bench.

In a matter of moments, he had upended the bench, scrambled up it and reached the window …

William’s makeshift cloak must have passed muster, for once out of the bathhouse, he kept his head down and went through acres of Palace grounds without being questioned. Not that he saw many people, the courtyards, lawns and paths were largely empty. The sky was overcast, the air damp. A light rain was falling—it was more of a mist than rain—and there was a briny tang to the air. That last might have been his imagination, but William knew the sea was close, he had glimpsed it through the apartment windows.

Heart thudding, braced for the shout that would warn him that his disappearance from the bathhouse had been discovered, William skirted a number of columned buildings. Rather to his irritation, he found himself wondering if he might catch sight of a blue veil shot through with silver threads. He received vague impressions of marbled porticoes, of fountains playing over nymphs and dolphins. Exotic birds wandered the lawns, their long tails leaving dark lines in the wet grass, but there was no sighting of a lady-in-waiting in a blue gown.

He was fortunate that Lady Anna had bought him, it was undoubtedly easier escaping from her than it would have been escaping from the merchant. The merchant had wanted a drudge. He would have kept him chained and maltreated him to keep him docile. And if the lady with the painted face had won the bidding? William shuddered to think what use she might have had for him.

Hearing the whinny of a horse, William broke step. A low whitewashed building lay on his left hand, cheek by jowl with the Palace wall. A long-jawed dog was tied to a ring in the wall and a couple of muscled grooms idled by a water trough. This must be the Imperial Stables.

What are my chances of stealing a horse?

A boy emerged from the stable with a forkful of dirty hay. He tossed it on to the muck heap and looked questioningly at William. ‘Good morning, sir.’

‘Good morning.’ No chance there. Nodding casually at the stable boy, William passed on.

Was this all the Palace? It was like a city! Lord, somehow he had to get through the wall. Where in hell was the nearest gate? William couldn’t ask, to do so would reveal a suspicious ignorance of the Palace, but if this went on, he was likely to find himself going round in circles. And the last thing William wanted was to find himself back where he had started, at the Boukoleon Palace.

Above him, the clouds were falling apart and the morning sun was breaking through. It was exactly what William needed. If the Great Palace was walled all around, surely it was reasonable to assume there would be more than one gate? He knew the Sea of Marmara lay to the south so … he would head north-east, there was bound to be a gate in the eastern wall.

Using the sun as his guide, William pressed on, hugging the side of a great hall, skirting one courtyard and another. He had no idea why the Palace was so quiet, but it was an unexpected blessing.

Some buildings looked to have been abandoned. He walked swiftly by and at last found a gate manned by four sentries. They were well equipped with helmets and mail tunics, with swords and spears …

William tried not to look too obviously at their arms. They were not Varangians, they had no battleaxes.

Again, his luck was in. Grave-faced, the guards had their heads together and were deep in discussion. William strolled languidly towards them. Concerned that the bruising on his naked chest and the bandage on his arm might cause comment, he drew the cloth firmly about him and prayed they were too preoccupied to notice that his cloak was a drying cloth from the Palace bathhouse. His pulse rate speeded up.

‘Surely General Alexios won’t fight it out in the streets?’ one was saying. ‘It’s tantamount to treason.’

Another guard shook his head and made a sucking sound with his teeth. ‘You don’t think so? The General has been acclaimed Emperor by the army and he has the backing of half the Court. Emperor Nikephoros is too weak to object.’ Absently, he waved William through.

‘Yes,’ a third man chimed in as William forced himself to walk casually past, ‘Emperor Nikephoros has alienated far too many. Wouldn’t be surprised if …’

William stepped into a paved street and the voices faded. God be praised, he was free! Likely the guards would have been more disciplined and demanding if he had been trying to enter the Palace, but, thank God, he was out.

Free!

Heaving a sigh, William released his grip on his makeshift cloak. He knew the drill—he must walk naturally, he must walk as though he knew where he was going.

Head up, he turned briskly into a broad avenue. The rain had stopped. He had only gone a few paces when he noticed a fifth sentry outside the Palace. The man was facing the wall a few yards from the gate, a puddle at his feet. Adjusting the tunic beneath his mail coat, he gave William a sheepish grin. His gaze sharpened when he noticed William’s discoloured chest. ‘Sir?’

‘Guard?’ Dear God, it would take but one shout for this man to alert his comrades at the gate.

‘Would you mind telling me your business, sir?’ The sentry’s hand hovered over his sword hilt.

William glanced quickly about him, the street, like the Palace, was largely empty. Let the games begin. Snatching off his makeshift cloak, William dived. He had the cloth round the man’s head before the sword was unsheathed.

The guard struggled and pain shot up William’s arm. Gritting his teeth, William held on grimly, cracking the helmeted head against the Palace wall. The man grunted and went limp.

William snatched the sword and was haring down a side street before a bemused passer-by raised the alarm.

‘Guards!’ Behind him came a shout. ‘Guards!’