‘They are always courteous to us.’
Constantine’s brow furrowed. ‘They are both so … agile. When a beast learns its master’s tricks too easily, the master should wonder if the beast doesn’t intend some day to teach him a few tricks.’
‘Well, as we are not their masters, I intend to greet them.’ Michael held his arm up. ‘Manglavite!’
The two Norsemen worked through the crowd; some of the dignitaries greeted them eagerly, while others discreetly turned away as they passed.
‘Manglavite. Hetairarch.’ Michael, joined perfunctorily by Constantine, bowed in greeting. ‘Now I know we have picked an auspicious destination for our evening’s adventure. Do you intend to stay for the theatre? They say this new drama is quite, one might say, transparent.’
‘So we have heard,’ said Mar, his manner genial. Then he grinned. ‘Look for us before you find your seats. And if your cup runs dry before then, tell your serving boy that the Manglavite is buying your draughts. You must relieve him of some of his gold before his vaults sink into the earth.’ Haraldr nodded his agreement. He had spent enough time working with Mar to be comfortable with him, if still wary. And while Mar’s Roman duplicity required a Norseman’s caution, Haraldr had found Mar’s Roman urbanity engaging, even beguiling. He had to admit he enjoyed going with him to a place like Argyrus’s.
Haraldr and Mar bowed and went off into the crowd. ‘What does Nordbrikt do with all his money?’ asked Constantine when they had left.
‘Women,’ said Michael. ‘He has taken a whore, a girl from Alania who is said to rival fair Helen, and it is said that his mistresses include several ladies at court. Apparently there is also something to be made of his relationship with the daughter of the Grand Domestic. You have met her. Perhaps there is a match there.’
‘I thought he was quite set upon Maria, the Empress’s dear companion. Don’t I recall some mention of their liaison during our recent journey?’
‘That ended some time ago. And were it to resume, I can assure that such a liaison would never be allowed to come to fruition.’
Constantine laughed and squeezed Michael’s arm playfully. ‘You have won a purse full of nomismata, so now you imagine yourself privy to the secrets of the Empress’s apartments.’
Michael smiled and put his arm across his uncle’s shoulders. ‘I have certain . . . contacts, dearest Uncle.’
‘They interest me.’ Mar spoke in Norse as he and Haraldr walked away from Michael Kalaphates and Constantine.
‘True, Joannes has shown them little favour,’ replied Haraldr. ‘But that is a far reach from saying that they might be inclined to conspire against him.’
‘You saw them in Antioch. What is your estimate of their abilities?’
‘The uncle could not be expected to figure out how to dump shit from a chamber pot. Michael Kalaphates, however, I believe to be far more able than he is given credit for. A bit of the praise-tongue, but all in all a very worthy young man. Certainly very keen.’
‘And perhaps keen enough to realize that his uncle is not rewarding his talents in near the measure that his qualities deserve.’
‘Possibly. We should deliberate this matter before we proceed, though, and then proceed very cautiously.’
Mar pursed his lips. ‘I am worried that we will not always have the luxury of caution. Joannes has made no move against us for weeks now. You know how a camp is always the quietest when there is to be an attack in the morning.’
‘Hetairarch! Manglavite! Esteemed Dignitaries!’ Nicephorus Argyrus’s leathery face beamed with its usual effusion of genuine affection, moderate inebriation and irrepressible self-interest. He swept the two Norsemen into the main dining hall, a miniature palace lined with sumptuously carved, emerald-shaded Carystos marble columns; the lofty, coffered ceiling had been painted a celestial blue.
‘I insist that you join us!’ boomed Argyrus. He guided the Norsemen to a large table set in the apse at the end of the room. The table was littered with goblets of fine glass, silver and burnished stone, silver plates and utensils, and the savaged remains of a suckling pig.
‘It appears you have finished eating,’ said Mar drily.
‘Gentlemen. Dignitaries. Esteemed colleagues!’ The fourteen or fifteen guests at the table continued tearing at bits of pig, arguing, and shouting at the ceiling. Haraldr recognized a komes of the Imperial Fleet, who licked his fingers with a look of grave deliberation, two senators, and a Genoese admiral said to keep a Saracen mistress in a town house only two blocks from Haraldr’s palace. A small man raised his oversize head from the wine-soaked white tablecloth and tilted it slowly as he appraised the new arrivals with glazed grey eyes. The Logothete of the Symponus, Haraldr observed, the official responsible for the financial administration of Constantinople. They are also drinking tonight in the Studion, thought Haraldr. Would the Logothete sleep as well, he wondered, if he could hear the oaths the cutthroats of Studion were growling into their cups?
Argyrus put his arm around Haraldr and addressed no one in particular. ‘I gave our worthy Manglavite his first employment when he came among us. You might say he learned his lessons at the foot of the master. My name means silver, but when I touch a man, he turns to gold!’ Argyrus rapped Haraldr’s massive shoulder as if he expected it to clink like a golden statue. ‘I’m proud of him; he took his advice from me and made himself a rival to Croesus. Of course I was generous when I dealt with him, and the only gratitude I asked was that he remember his mentor, Nicephorus Argyrus!’
Serving boys quickly cleared and set places before Mar and Haraldr could escape from Nicephorus Argyrus. They sat and looked about the room. With the current moratorium on Imperial banquets due to the Emperor’s illness, Argyrus had drawn half the Imperial Court. Everyone seemed to enjoy the relative absence of decorum; the noise required Haraldr and Mar to raise their voices in order to pursue ordinary conversation.
‘Let us forgo supper and ask the servants to bring us dessert.’ Mar smiled salaciously and looked around the room. ‘The Curator of the Magnara is here, so I imagine his wife has accompanied him to give the proper public display of their mutual infidelity.’ Haraldr noted this with interest, since he had slept with the Curator’s wife, Danielis, half a dozen times. ‘And I do not see the Grand Domestic Bardas Dalassena – no doubt he is home wringing his hands over his dispatches – so we can assume that Anna has probably come.’
Haraldr nodded and signalled the servant. He had at first been taken aback by the protocol of the Imperial Court, which was quite different from that practised in the more liberal-minded private homes – like Argyrus’s – or in a notoriously permissive environment like Antioch. Among dignitaries, it was considered scandalous for women to dine side by side with men; they instead dined in a separate chamber. But when dessert was served, the women were invited to join the men.
At court, the suffocating protocol constrained this contact to elaborate formality. Here, however, the interaction frequently exceeded propriety – thus the popularity of Argyrus’s venture.
The women had already begun to trickle into the dining hall, generally in groups of two or three. Here and there a man would stand and invite a lady to sit; she might accept, or she might pretend that she had not seen the gesture (even if the desperate gallant was flapping his arms in her face like a frantic bird) and hold out for a more desirable opportunity. Haraldr had come to enjoy the flirtatious ritual, the nods, the gestures, the raised eyebrows, the subtle communications and often quite complex strategies that the participants had evolved.
Haraldr sensed someone hovering at his shoulder. He turned and rose immediately. ‘Anna,’ he said, and bowed deeply.