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Chained to the Barbarian
Carol Townend


Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesHER WARRIOR SLAVE Bound in chains, enslaved barbarian Sir William Bradfer stands proud in the Constantinople slave market. As a warrior, he’s trained in the art of survival. Lady-in-waiting Anna of Heraklea is betrothed to be married – against her will.Catching sight of the magnificent William, she finds a rebellious half-plan forming in her mind. Anna can offer this captured knight freedom in return for his hand in marriage! Palace Brides Beauties of Byzantium – claimed by warriors!












And then there washim.


The young man with hair like a Viking. The moment Anna had seen him the most ridiculous idea had jumped into her head—a most ridiculous, yet dangerously compelling idea …

That man is desperate. A man like that would surely do anything to regain his freedom. Marry him.

Marry a slave?

Yes! Marriage with a man such as this, a desperate man, will be your means of escaping marriage with Lord Romanos. Once it is done, you can give the slave his freedom. You will never have to see him again and Lord Romanos will not touch you when he learns you have married a slave.

I cannot marry a complete stranger! And yet …

The idea would not leave her.




AUTHOR NOTE


For me, the word Byzantium conjures images of an exotic medieval empire. It carries with it an aura of magic. Byzantium … I loved learning about it at university, and enthusiastic teachers ensured that Byzantium lost none of its shimmer.

These books bring Byzantium alive:

Byzantium, the Surprising Life of a Medieval Empire by Judith Herrin (Penguin, 2008)

Byzantium by Robin Cormack and Maria Vassilaki (Royal Academy of Arts, 2008)

Fourteen Byzantine Rulers by Michael Psellus (Penguin, 1966)

The Alexiad of Anna Komnene translated by E.R.A. Sewter (Penguin, 1969)

Names can be tricky. Without being too rigid, I have used Greek versions of names where possible, and in a couple of cases I have shortened the names of real people.




About the Author


CAROL TOWNEND has been making up stories since she was a child. Whenever she comes across a tumbledown building, be it castle or cottage, she can’t help conjuring up the lives of the people who once lived there. Her Yorkshire forebears were friendly with the Brontë sisters. Perhaps their influence lingers …

Carol’s love of ancient and medieval history took her to London University, where she read History, and her first novel (published by Mills & Boon) won the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s New Writers’ Award. Currently she lives near Kew Gardens, with her husband and daughter. Visit her website at www.caroltownend.co.uk

Previous novels by the same author:

THE NOVICE BRIDE

AN HONOURABLE ROGUE

HIS CAPTIVE LADY

RUNAWAY LADY, CONQUERING LORD

HER BANISHED LORD

BOUND TO THE BARBARIAN* (#ulink_ff1474fc-1fe8-5562-9869-b780c9e28261)

* (#ulink_58d7503d-d675-56d8-b155-5c8f0d27353a)Part of Palace Brides trilogy

Look for the final instalment in

Carol Townend’s

Palace Brides mini-series BETROTHED TO THE BARBARIAN in August 2012

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk




Chained To

The Barbarian




Carol Townend






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


With love to my sister, Jillie.

And many thanks to my editor, Megan.

Her many creative suggestions and insights

make her a pleasure to work with.




Chapter One







William gritted his teeth—he would not lose consciousness. Dark waves threatened to block his vision, his head was pounding from the beating they had given him, but he was not going to lose consciousness.

The children were huddled at his feet. Thus far, neither Daphne nor Paula had been put up for sale. Nor had he. Not that anyone was likely to buy him in his current battered state. William was not generally a praying man, but he was praying now. God grant that we are not separated. If he and the girls were kept together, he could protect them for a little longer. Lord. Two tiny girls, and they only had him, an enslaved knight, to watch over them. William knew firsthand what it was like to feel abandoned at an early age. And these mites were even younger than he had been when … no matter, what had happened to him was nothing compared with what these children were suffering. They were too young to fend for themselves.

William could not bring their mother back to life but, if humanly possible, he would help them.

Something thudded into William’s back. The butt of a spear. As he stumbled on to the auction block, more darkness swept over him. His chains rattled, hobbling him at the ankles, weighing heavy at his wrists. The darkness was all but impenetrable, he could hardly see. It looked as though twilight was gathering, but surely evening could not have come so soon? He would have sworn it was not yet noon …

William fought to stay on his feet as he fought to keep his wits about him. This was combat, a combat that was as challenging as any he had faced and he must not fail. The children need me.

There was buzzing in his ears. A number of black splotches were flying about the auction hall, like crows in a cornfield. William knew what that meant—any moment he could topple like a felled poplar. His limbs were heavy as lead and his movements, as he mounted the dais, were slow. His head throbbed. His vision cleared a little to reveal Paula and Daphne in front of him on the platform, clutching each other. Paula’s eyes were huge, her face white. Both girls were half-starved, that went without saying, but William had learned that in the diminished world of the slave, lack of food was one of the lesser evils. His lip curled. The miscreant who was trying to sell them considered that half-starving a slave was merely one way of controlling him. Or her. He concentrated on the children, praying to be sold alongside them. Paula must be what—about two years of age? And Daphne was only a babe. He blinked to rid himself of the black splotches, bile was bitter at the back of his throat. And to think he had thought his early life harsh. Lord.

A lock of blond hair fell into his eyes. When he shook it aside, pain shot to his temples, there was rushing in his ears. Meanwhile, fury sat like acid in his stomach, burning, burning. I should not be here. This is the slave market at Constantinople and I am up for sale. A knight on an auction block. Jesu, what has the world come to?

Grimly, William forced himself to take stock of his surroundings.

The auction block was a raised dais in the centre of a covered market that was packed with people. Stone pillars held up the roof. With something of a lurch, William realised why the torches had not been lit. It wasn’t twilight, far from it. Sunlight was streaming through Romanesque arches, bright shafts jabbed like hot knives into his brain. The darkness had been conjured by his exhausted mind, by his beaten body. The citizens of Constantinople were jostling each other, talking and laughing as they pressed up to the dais. They were narrowing their eyes as they stared at the children. At him. As William understood it, slavery was common here at the heart of the Empire.

This was the second time William had been put up on a slave block. He didn’t recall anything about the first time—then they had drugged him into oblivion, rather than beating him. Drugging had been most effective. William had known nothing until he had woken in chains to find that he, Sir William Bradfer, had been enslaved.

Fury at his fate, at the sheer injustice, had his guts writhing. I am a knight, I should not be here!

Resolutely, he set fury behind him, there would be time for fury tomorrow. Today, the girls needed him.

The black patches, the crows—William’s mind was fumbling over the distinction between reality and imaginings—were swooping towards a slash of sunlight as though they were attacking it. He blinked and the auction space swam back into focus. Columns. Two small girls. Strangers staring. Assessing eyes.

He must stay conscious, he must ensure the children were not bought by a cruel wretch like the last one, the darkness could not take him until he knew they were safe …

The auction house wavered, the crows swooped and soared, light knifed the back of his eyes. Biting down on his tongue, William tasted blood. Scraps of black flickered at the edge of his sight, but he did not faint.

A movement at the front of the crowd drew William’s gaze. Two young women were gazing intently at the children. William shook his hair out of his eyes again and felt himself freeze.

Hope.

He prayed he wasn’t imagining it, but both women’s eyes were full of what looked like compassion. And shock. Emotions that were surely alien to a cruel soul, emotions that William had not thought to encounter in the Constantinople slave market.

‘You must buy those two, you must!’ The taller of the two women caught her companion’s arm as she looked at the children. She had smoky grey eyes that were luminous with tears.

William held his breath as her gaze turned in his direction. A single teardrop caught the light as it fell from her lashes and everything seemed to slow. Despite the shufflings and mutterings of the crowd, despite the pain throbbing in his head and shoulder, William caught the hiss of her indrawn breath. He saw the whitening of her fingers on her friend’s arm.

Hope.

‘Buy him! You must buy him!’ Her voice was clear. Urgent.

If William had strength he would frown—the woman wanted to buy him, bruised and battered as he was? She must be mad. But those smoky grey eyes were kind.

The auction hall rippled, his sight was definitely going, it was like peering through a heat haze.

Stay conscious. If these women buy the children, they will be safe.

How he knew this, William had no idea, but he knew it, no question. If these women bought the children, he need have no more worries on their behalf. It wouldn’t matter then who bought him, he was no slave, he had no intention of remaining in the City, not once the girls were safe. He had plans—he had only delayed putting them into action because of little Daphne and Paula.

William fixed his gaze on those luminous grey eyes and the rest of the market faded from his awareness. Dimly, he heard her friend make some objection. ‘He looks like a troublemaker.’ She was talking about him.

The grey eyes never left his face, the young woman’s veil trembled. Like her gown, the veil was brown and plain. ‘Buy him as well as the children,’ she said. ‘Please, my lady, I … I don’t have money of my own, but I will pay you somehow. You can have my gold bangle and the rest of my jewellery. You can sell the lot and buy more slaves.’

The buzzing in William’s ears was louder, the crows had flocked back, their ragged wings fluttering between him and the two young women. The floor rocked.

‘My lady,’ said the girl in brown. ‘I will give you Zephyr, you can sell her, too …’

William must have blacked out for a few moments, because when he came back to himself, the bidding was underway. His stomach cramped. The young women did not look wealthy enough to be buying slaves, indeed, the one who was bidding had a gown that one might expect to see on a maidservant. They were being outbid by a man with the air of a prosperous merchant and a woman in a cherry-coloured gown whose face was wearing so much paint it looked enamelled. The words ‘whore of Babylon’ leaped into William’s mind.

He grimaced—he must be fevered. His right arm throbbed like the devil. Chains clinking, he struggled to ease it by cradling it in his other arm and fought down a wave of nausea. He wasn’t going to contemplate the thought that nausea was often sign of a break.

At the foot of the dais, the young women were muttering. Comparing them to the other bidders, William’s heart sank. The fabric of their gowns was far too plain, the weave too simple. Brown homespun. Their clothing was simply no match for the merchant’s luxurious green brocade or the painted lady’s cherry-coloured silk. It was a dream to imagine those women would have enough money for both William and the girls.

Buy the children. Forget about me, but for God’s sake, buy the girls.

He was peering past a swirling, sickening grey mist, trying to decide whether the women had any chance of winning the bidding contest when there was a disturbance in the crowd.

A man was pushing his way to the front—his hair was dark as night, his face intense and angry. When he reached the side of the smaller of the young women, the one who was placing the bids, he attempted to take her arm. Something about the way the man held himself told William that he was a soldier.

Despite William’s efforts to stay on his feet, the grey mist drifted inexorably nearer. First it swallowed the pillars of the auction house, then the young women started to fade.

No! Stay awake!

The platform shifted.

Lady Anna of Heraklea dug her nails into her palms. Her pulse was shaky and uneven. It was only her second day back at the capital and the last place she wanted to be was the slave market. Who would be here, if they could avoid it? At best it was a brutish place where the most squalid of deals were made. Here, they traded in human flesh.

She did not like to think about it, particularly when she ought to be thinking about what she was going to say to her father when she met him tomorrow. Two years—I have not seen Father since I went to Rascia two years ago. Will he still insist that I marry Lord Romanos?

The thought made her ill. Anna had to work out the best way of convincing her father that marriage with Lord Romanos was impossible, but instead, here she was at the slave market.

Katerina had been determined to come, and Anna had realised that if she did not accompany her, Katerina would have come on her own.

Which would not have been safe. It is bad enough that we left the Palace with only a Varangian sergeant and a handful of off-duty Guards, but for Katerina to even have considered coming here on her own—such foolishness! Katerina should be keeping up appearances, she is meant to be playing the part of Princess Theodora.

Katerina should be queening about in the Princess’s apartments with a vast entourage, she should be convincing everyone in the Great Palace that she is the Princess. Katerina shouldnot be in the slave market, she should not be buying slaves!

Thank God Commander Ashfirth has found us. He believes her to be the Princess and he has the sense to be discreet …

Anna listened with half an ear while the Commander tried to dissuade Katerina from buying the slaves.

‘Those children are far too young to be freed,’ Commander Ashfirth was saying. ‘You will have to look after them until they are grown. And if you have a mind to train them as servants, it will be years before they are of use …’

Anna’s throat tightened as she looked at the children huddled on the auction block. Poor souls. Poor little souls. Their clothes are in tatters, their faces are filthy and, what is worse, they look as though they haven’t eaten in a week. If Katerina does buy them, she will have done a good deed. It will have been worth coming to this terrible place.

And then there was him. The young man with hair like a Viking. The moment Anna had seen him the most ridiculous idea had jumped into her head—a most ridiculous, yet dangerously compelling idea …

That man is desperate. A man like that would surely do anything to regain his freedom. Marry him.

Marry a slave?

Yes! Marriage with a man such as this, a desperateman, will be your means of escaping marriage with Lord Romanos. Once it is done, you can give the slave his freedom. You will never have to see him again and Lord Romanos will not touch you when he learns you have married a slave.

I cannot marry a complete stranger!

Better that than marry Lord Romanos …

Holy Virgin, I cannot do this! And yet …

The idea would not leave her.

Commander Ashfirth was frowning at the young man. ‘And as for that male slave,’ he said, ‘he looks to be in a very bad way. I doubt that he will take instruction.’

Tipping back her head, pulse racing, Anna studied the young man who, despite his chains, stood so protectively over the children. The resemblance to Erling was uncanny. The slave was unusually large, with long, strong thighs and wide shoulders. So would Erling have been, had he lived. Locks of tangled blond hair were falling into his eyes, he had vivid green eyes that had, for one unsettling moment, tugged at her heartstrings. Those green eyes had reminded Anna of Erling. They had taken her back to another time and another place.

It was an ugly memory, she shoved it to the back of her mind. Not my fault, what happened to Erling was not my fault. In any case, this manis not Erling. Erling is dead. There is no way I can know whether this man can be relied upon.

The slave will obey you, he does not look as biddable as Erling, but he will surely obey you. Look into his eyes—that man wants freedom more than he wants his next breath. Offer him that and he will surely obey you.

And Father? What will he do if I delay our meeting until I have married the slave? How would Father react?

As Anna stared up at the dais, her guts knotted. The slave had been beaten. His cheekbones were bruised and there was a rust-coloured stain on the ripped fabric of his tunic. When he shifted, his chains clanked.

Are those chains necessary? He looks half-conscious. Might Commander Ashfirth be right, though? Might he be a troublemaker?

No matter if he is. He looks perfect for my purposes, just perfect. He should be more than capable of keeping my father at bay. This man will make him realise that marrying me to Lord Romanos is no longer possible.

Anna shot Commander Ashfirth a sideways glance, the Commander was scowling. Anna received the impression that he was weakening over Katerina buying the two children, but he certainly did not want her to buy the male slave.

But she must buy him, he needs our help!I may have failed Erling, but I will not fail this man.

Provided he does exactly as I wish. Provided he marries me.

As a means of evading an unwanted marriage it was sheer madness, Anna knew that. Marrying one man to avoid another was not something she had considered before today. But the moment she had looked at the blond slave, the instant she had seen the resemblance to Erling, the idea had jumped fully formed into her head.

Madness. I wonder who is the more desperate, me or that slave?

Anna needed time to think this through, but first they had to buy the man. Conscious that the auctioneer was looking at Katerina and an expectant silence had fallen, Anna nudged her. ‘Bid again, or you will lose them!’

Commander Ashfirth’s scowl deepened, but since he believed Katerina to be the Princess, he would not gainsay her. When Katerina’s chin came up, Anna saw that she would have her way.

‘Sir, I will make my purchase,’ Katerina said. She raised her hand, nodded at the auctioneer and the bidding resumed.

The merchant across the other side of the platform looked as though he had a roomy purse. Have we brought enough money? Will we be outbid? Tension tightening every muscle, Anna’s nails gouged into her palms.

There was more bidding but, finally, Katerina raised her hand, and a gong rang.

‘Sold!’

Anna released her breath in a rush. Blessed Virgin, we have done it, the slaves are ours!

William came back to himself as he was prodded off the dais and into a pen at the side. A black headache had descended on him, and since he could barely see through it, let alone stand, he slumped against a pillar and watched bemused as the auction house floor began to float towards him.

And then she was there, the woman with misty grey eyes. A burly young man with a martial look to him stood at her side, but William was not interested in the burly young man. Those grey eyes held his and a feminine hand reached towards him. Spring flowers—he could smell spring flowers.

‘Let us help you.’

Her voice was soft and smoky, like her eyes. Between them, she and the burly young man lowered William to the ground.

‘The children … Daphne … Paula?’ William forced the words through his teeth with difficulty. His Greek was somewhat rusty. Of course, he understood more than any other Apulian knight of his acquaintance, but today it was a battle to express himself clearly.

‘They are safe, they will be cared for,’ the girl said softly. ‘As will you.’

‘Where … where …?’ And then, before William could marshal the strength to ask where they were being taken, the grey mist came for him, swirling through his sight, stealing his voice. As his head lolled, the only answer he received was the clatter of chains.

Back in the Boukoleon Palace, in the reception chamber in Princess Theodora’s apartments, Anna knelt on the marble floor by the slave’s pallet. She studied his unconscious features—just before they had found him a litter, the slave master had revealed that he was a Frank, one of many Normans who had found their way into the Empire.

He is Frank, he is not all Viking, not like Erling. He is a Frank who has likely inherited his colouring from some distant Viking forebear. But, had Erling lived, he would certainly have resembled this man. The flaxen hair and green eyes—now closed—were the most obvious similarities, the general resemblance was undeniable. Erling was there in the large build, in the protective way the young man had stood over the children. Despite his chains and his injuries, he had been ready to fight the world on their behalf. Erling had been just as protective. Of her.

Anna had failed Erling and guilt had haunted her for years. I will not fail this man. I may not have decided whether I have a use for him or not, but whatever happens, he will be freed.

The Frankish slave groaned, the fair head shifted on the pillow, but his eyelids barely fluttered.

Anna clapped her hands to summon one of the serving girls. ‘Send for more water, if you please, Maria. And clean linens. And …’ she grimaced at the bloodied tunic ‘… fetch some scissors. I will have this man clean and comfortable.’

‘Yes, my lady. Those tiles will be hard on your knees—would you like a cushion?’

‘Please.’

Anna glanced across the wide floor towards the two children. Her heart twisted. Poor mites. At her command, a bevy of serving girls had taken them into their care. A large copper basin had appeared, with steaming jugs of water, sponges …

‘They will need food first, I think,’ Anna said gently. ‘I doubt they have been fed in some days. Let the older girl have some bread and milk. As for the infant—is there a wet-nurse in the Palace?’

‘I shall enquire, my lady.’

One of the girls curtsied and ran past the guard at the doors, another came in with an armful of white linen. Anna’s attention returned to the Frankish slave.

His hair needed cutting. Matted and dirty, it had not seen a comb in some time. Carefully, wary of waking him, Anna smoothed it from his face. His face had stopped her breath the moment she’d seen it, and not simply because of the resemblance to Erling. The slave’s features were attractive, regular and even, his mouth was most beautifully formed. He had a strong jaw that was shadowed with several days’ growth of beard, he was overpoweringly male. But the bruises beneath the beard! Anna frowned. His cheekbones were far too prominent, not to mention that they were bruised and bloodied. Overall, the Frank had a gaunt look that was at odds with the powerful build.

Half-starved.

‘Juliana?’

‘My lady?’

‘Send to the kitchens for meat and wine.’

‘Meat, my lady? It is still Lent.’

‘Meat,’ Anna repeated firmly. ‘Preferably beef. Tell them it is needed in the Princess’s apartment, no one will gainsay you.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

Taking hold of the Frank’s ragged tunic, Anna began easing it from him.

‘Here, my lady.’ Shears were thrust into her hand, a tasselled cushion was placed on the floor next to her.

‘My thanks.’

Anna pulled at the fabric of the slave’s tunic. Like his face, his chest was black and blue. Grimacing, Anna exchanged glances with one of the serving girls. ‘Some people do not deserve to own slaves.’

‘No, my lady.’

The double doors at the entrance to the apartment were flung back and Commander Ashfirth stalked in, his expression was thunderous. He had Katerina by the arm and was towing her behind him.

Anna caught her breath. Heart cold, she pushed to her knees. She was afraid, very much afraid, that the moment she had dreaded was upon them.

Has the Commander found us out? Has he realised that the woman he believes to be the Princess is, in fact, just a serving girl?

She swallowed. ‘Princess Theodor—’

‘Later,’ the Commander snapped, marching towards the Princess’s bedchamber. His face was closed, his shoulders were rigid with anger.

A white-faced Katerina shot Anna a desperate look, but with the Commander hauling her along, she had no choice but to follow.

He knows! Yes, there is no doubt, Commander Ashfirth knows that Katerina is an impostor. Merciful heavens, if this becomes common knowledge, Katerina and I will be in deep, deep trouble …

Commander Ashfirth poked his head through the bedchamber door and signalled to the guard. ‘Kari?’

‘Sir?’

‘The Princess and I do not wish to be disturbed.’

The guard’s eyes widened. ‘I see.’

‘I hope that you do. No one …’ pointedly, Commander Ashfirth jerked his head towards Anna ‘… and I mean no one is to enter this bedchamber.’

‘No exceptions, sir?’

‘None except Captain Sigurd. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

The bedchamber door slammed and the bolts shot home.

Juliana let her breath out in a rush. ‘Holy Virgin, what is that all about? The Commander will not hurt the Princess, will he?’

Anna blinked uncertainly at the closed bedchamber door, painfully conscious of the need to guard her tongue. ‘I do not think so.’ Her mind raced. Like everyone else in the Palace, with the possible exception of Commander Ashfirth, Juliana believed Katerina to be Princess Theodora. ‘Commander Ashfirth has a strong respect for the Princess,’ she added carefully. ‘Remember, the Emperor has commanded him to protect her.’

Juliana’s eyes were round as she gaped at that closed bedchamber door. ‘But surely he should not enter the Princess’s bedchamber! What are they doing in there?’

What indeed?

‘Come, Juliana—’ Anna made her voice brisk ‘—help me shift this man to one side so we may bathe him.’

Juliana turned a disapproving face towards her. ‘You will bathe him yourself, my lady? A slave? A male slave?’

‘It is …’ Anna hesitated, unwilling to reveal too much to a woman she did not know well ‘… it is a penance I have set myself for past sins.’ For Erling’s sake.

Pointedly, Juliana raised a brow at such an unorthodox penance—a lady, bathing a slave!—but after a moment, she grudgingly bent to assist. Anna hoped that the shock of witnessing Lady Anna of Heraklea bathing a Frankish slave would distract Juliana from whatever was going on in the Princess’s bedchamber.




Chapter Two







Head thumping, William woke with a start and grabbed for his sword. Then he remembered—his sword was lost, he was a slave. Mind fogged with pain, he heaved himself into a sitting position. Out of the tangle in his head one question emerged. Are the girls safe?

He had been put on a clean pallet in an airy room that was busy with activity. He caught a brief impression of a wide tiled floor; of a line of tall windows billowing with drapery of some kind; of women rushing to and fro, long skirts swishing as they skimmed over polished marble. There was so much marble, so much light and air, he could not imagine where he might be.

He could not see the children.

A feminine hand pushed him back against the pillows, it belonged to the woman from the slave market, the one with smoky grey eyes. He wondered who she was. The brown gown and veil were so plain, she might be a servant. Yet her companion’s clothing had been equally plain, and that had not prevented her from finding money for three slaves …

‘Paula?’ His voice was creaky. He struggled back onto an elbow. ‘Daphne?’

The woman settled on a cushion at his side, a glass goblet in hand. The goblet caught William’s eye—the glass looked Venetian, it must have cost a fortune to have shipped it here. A Venetian glass goblet?

Where am I?

The woman smiled. It occurred to William that she was observing him most carefully, and had been for some time. ‘I take it that Daphne and Paula are the girls in your … party,’ she said, pointing to the other end of the chamber. ‘They are being well cared for. See?’

And there, in the centre of a circle of women, were the girls. Paula, in a fresh tunic, was holding the hand of one of the women. She was smiling. William’s throat tightened, he could not recall the last time he had seen Paula smile. Daphne, closely wrapped in what looked like silk, was safely in the lap of a motherly-looking wet-nurse on a gilded stool.

A gilded stool? Lord.

What is this place?

Daphne was being fed. The wet-nurse glanced William’s way without embarrassment and nodded at him.

‘As you see, the children are safe.’

William swallowed, but his throat was so parched it was well nigh impossible. Grimacing, he massaged his throat.

The woman leaned towards him, offering the goblet. ‘Wine?’

Clumsily, for his hand did not seem to be obeying him the way it ought to, William grasped the goblet and sipped.

‘I hope it is to your taste, it is watered,’ she said, lowering her voice and leaning towards him. Beneath her veil, he caught a glimpse of wavy brown hair. ‘I thought perhaps, you have not taken … refreshment for some time.’

Giving a jerky nod, William drank. He drank deep. The wine might be watered, but the flavour was richer and smoother than any he had tasted in his entire life. When he had emptied the glass, he sank back against his pillows and peered in amazement at the few remaining drops. Excellent wine served in a Venetian glass, a pillow softer than thistledown, a chamber that is the size of a knight’s hall, huge windows fluttering with silk draperies …

He cleared his throat. ‘Where? Where am I?’ His voice sounded like an unoiled hinge.

She gave him another of those tentative smiles. ‘In Princess Theodora’s apartments in the Boukoleon Palace.’

‘The Palace! This is the Great Palace?’ His head throbbed, the glass wavered in his grasp. A rush of emotion ran through him, confusing in its intensity.

Here, almost a quarter of a century ago or thereabouts, his reclusive mother had met his father. His irresponsible, careless father, the unknown Norman lord who had refused to marry his mother and had never acknowledged William’s existence. Having spent most of his life outside the Empire, William had never thought to set foot in its capital Constantinople, never mind the Great Palace.

‘Yes, you are in the Great Palace.’

Bile stung the back of William’s throat. Holy Heaven, finally, he had come to his mother’s birthplace. As a slave. ‘And the other woman, the one who was with you in the … market—she is Princess Theodora?’

The woman gave a jerky nod and the precious goblet was plucked from his fingers.

William glanced down the length of the chamber, the girls looked happier than he had ever seen them. Paula was still smiling, Daphne still feeding. Relaxing into the pillows with a sigh, he closed his eyes and willed his head to stop throbbing. He needed to think, but not about his mother, not yet. First, he had to get out of the Palace.

‘You are hungry?’

He opened his eyes. Hungry? His stomach growled.

The smoky grey eyes were anxious. ‘I have ordered beef. Would you like some?’

Briefly it crossed William’s mind that this might be a new torment his previous owner had devised for him. Beef. His mouth watered. He levered himself into a sitting position, almost choking on a sudden rush of saliva. Bruised muscles screamed in protest. Another pillow was thrust behind him and a bowl was handed over, smelling fragrantly of meat and herbs. When William reached for the spoon, he was shamed to see his hand was shaking, he was practically drooling.

She, bless her, pretended not to notice.

Beef. Lord. And bread.

William forced himself to eat slowly, but he did not pause until the bowl was empty, even going as far as to mop up the gravy with a chunk of bread.

She gave him a measure of privacy while he ate, flinging the odd remark to the other women in the chamber. ‘The baby feeds well, Sylvia?’

‘She is fine, my lady.’

My lady. She was no maidservant then, but why was she wearing such plain clothes? In the auction hall, Princess Theodora had been dressed equally simply. Had they been trying to conceal their status? But why should they want to do that? Were Imperial princesses forbidden to leave the Palace? Were they hedged about by rules? Certainly they had not gone to the slave market unaccompanied—dimly, William remembered a small escort. There had been that burly young man who might have been a bodyguard, as well as a couple of other men with a military look to them.

‘More beef?’

‘Please.’

The meat was tender and melted in his mouth, it was a struggle not to moan with delight.

Outside the tall windows, the mew of gulls told him that this part of the Great Palace was close to the sea. William racked his mind to recall what he knew of the Imperial Palace, but for the most part, his mind remained unhelpfully blank. His mother had not wished to speak about her time here and he suspected that what he had learned later in his life was closer to myth than reality.

The Norsemen had their own name for Constantinople—to them it was Miklagard. The greatest City in Christendom, the Imperial vaults—hidden somewhere beneath the Palace—were said to be crammed with the wealth of several hundred years of Imperial rule.

Smoky grey eyes were watching him.

Why was this woman, this lady, helping him? Why was she being so kind? It made no sense. She wants something from me.

‘Lady Anna?’ The wet-nurse spoke from across the room. She had finished feeding Daphne and was setting her down in a willow basket, cocooning her in wrappings.

William marked her name. Anna.

‘Yes, Sylvia?’

‘Do you wish me to remain in the apartment, my lady? Or shall I return to the servants’ quarters?’

Rising, Lady Anna left William’s side, moving with quiet grace across the marble floor. Lady Anna was tall and shapely, the brown veil fluttered with the sway of her hips. Joining the wet-nurse by the gilded stool, she smiled tenderly down at the sleeping baby. ‘The Princess would like you to remain here,’ she said. ‘Your duty is to care for these children.’

Sylvia wrinkled her brow. ‘Even though they are slaves?’

‘Yes, even so.’ Lady Anna’s voice was firm. ‘I do not believe they will be slaves for long.’

The wet-nurse’s jaw dropped. ‘The Princess is thinking to adopt them?’

Lady Anna’s gaze shifted and came to rest on a closed door, a slight frown formed on her brow. William wondered what lay behind that door, it seemed to unsettle her.

‘I believe so,’ she said. ‘When the Princess joins us, I am sure she will make her wishes plain.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘In the meantime, Sylvia, do your best for the children, you are in charge.’

Sylvia curtsied. ‘Yes, my lady. It is an honour to be serving the Princess. I shall not let her down.’

Giving the wet-nurse a look that William was unable to interpret, Lady Anna returned to stand by his pallet. Her expression was troubled, something in her exchange with the nurse had wiped the smile from her face. William could not imagine what might upset one of the Princess’s ladies, and he wasn’t going to dwell on it. The key point was that, finally, Daphne and Paula had come to a safe harbour. At last he could leave them, freedom was within his grasp.

William had a vague recollection of the Princess murmuring in his ear at the slave market, he was uncertain whether it had really happened. He might have dreamed it, but a chilling echo was sounding in his mind …

‘I have bought you for Lady Anna,’ the Princess had said. ‘It is she who owns you.’

Did he dream it? Did a mind fevered with exhaustion and ill treatment put words in Princess Theodora’s mouth? Did Lady Anna own him? He rubbed his temple. He was a knight—he should never have been enslaved in the first place! If only he could think straight …

‘Lady Anna?’

‘Yes?’ As she stood over him, the breeze from the windows pressed her gown against her body, briefly presenting him with a glimpse of a remarkably alluring body. Outside the seagulls screamed like lost souls.

William asked the important question, the only question. ‘My lady, am I a free man?’

Lady Anna nudged a cushion closer and, sinking on to it, folded her hands in her lap. ‘Are you a free man? It is true that the Princess bought you at my behest, but—’

‘Why?’ Months of suppressed fury made his voice curt. ‘Why did you ask her to buy me?’

She caught her breath and startled grey eyes looked warily at him. ‘Why? Because … because …’

‘What do you want of me?’ It was not this woman’s fault that he had been enslaved. She was not his enemy, indeed, she appeared to be helping him. Yet she had insisted that the Princess should buy him. Why? He gestured at the maidservants, the marble tables, the silken hangings. ‘You are not short of slaves here. What do you want of me?’

She recoiled. ‘I have not decided.’

Her back was straight as a poker and her eyes had lost their warmth. William hadn’t really noticed that warmth earlier, but now that it was gone … His heart clenched. The contrast with the confiding way she had taken her place at his side and this cold grey gaze could not be more marked. However, he had to know—Lady Anna must want something from him. Why waste money on a slave, if all she was going to do was free him? ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Do? At present you do not have to do anything … except recover. I do not intend to keep you, if that is what you mean. Of course, I cannot free you officially until the Princess has signed the document of ownership over to me. You will have to wait for that. I may have a simple task or two for you, but as I said, I am undecided as to whether you are … suitable. However, as soon as I can, I shall give you your document of manumission.’

‘You expect me to believe that you are going to free me?’ It was hard to keep the scorn from his voice. In William’s experience, people who offered favours always expected a sizeable return. Always. The price for a favour as large as this—his freedom!—was bound to be high. Not that he intended to be around to pay it. He was curious though, about what use a gently bred court lady might have for a Frankish slave.

She shrugged. ‘As you rightly observe, I have no need of you in the long term. I shall free you once the Princess has signed you over to me.’ She frowned in the direction of the closed door. ‘You must bear in mind that she must sign your documents before you may be freed.’

Lady Anna’s expression was earnest, she sounded convincing. It was tempting to believe her, tempting to think that he had at last met someone who was capable of putting others before herself. He shook his head. Much as he might wish it, life had taught him that only a saint would behave in such a way. ‘Slaves are generally bought for the long term. This simple task you have in mind must be of some importance.’

She flushed, her lips pursed. It was obvious she was not prepared to divulge the nature of the task she had in mind. It might be dangerous. And though Lady Anna did not strike him as anything but law abiding, it might be against the law.

Grey eyes searched his and after a moment she reached forwards, cool fingers feathered across his forehead. ‘Are you feeling stronger?’

William nodded, he took no notice of the pounding in his head.

‘Your skin was burning earlier, thankfully you seem cooler. Would you care for more wine?’

‘Please.’

Recognising the change of subject as meaning he would get nothing more from her, William sipped fine wine from the Venetian goblet and willed his anger away. For the moment he was content simply to watch her. His brain didn’t seem to be working for much else and watching her was preferable to snapping at her.

This woman was not his enemy. He must direct his anger at his real enemy, at whoever arranged for his capture in Apulia. Lady Anna had nothing to do with that. She may well want something from him, but she was going to be disappointed—he was going home to search out his enemy and take his revenge. In the meantime …

Watching Lady Anna was as pleasant a way of passing the time as any. William couldn’t say what it was about her, but she intrigued him. The simplicity of the dull brown gown and veil suggested someone whose rank was unremarkable, yet she was, apparently, lady-in-waiting to Princess Theodora.

And her Imperial mistress, as he recalled from what he had seen at the slave market, had worn equally unremarkable clothes. Why? And why had the Princess ventured outside the Palace with only a handful of men as her escort? Surely an Imperial princess should have a great entourage? The customs of the Great Palace were as much a mystery to William as the subtleties of female attire, but one thing he had learned from what had happened to his mother—there was a rigid hierarchy in the Imperial Palace.

Here, rank meant everything. As in any great palace, courtiers must fight and jostle for power. Reputation and prestige would be guarded most jealously. So the quiet foray that Lady Anna and her princess had made to the slave market had been unorthodox, to say the least of it.

It was on the tip of William’s tongue to inform her that he was no slave, that he was a knight from the Duchy of Apulia and Calabria, but the old instincts were strong. Until he knew more about the Palace, until he knew more about this woman and what she wanted him to do, he would tread warily. Life had taught him not to give his trust too easily, it was a lesson which was hard to set aside.

Her gaze was downcast, giving him leisure to study her. Her eyelashes were long and dark, and her eyes had been lightly outlined with some cosmetic. Other than that her face was clear of paint. His mouth went up at a corner. No whore of Babylon here. Her nose was straight and beneath her veil her hair looked to be wavy, dark tendrils were curling about her forehead. Her complexion was clear, her skin was a golden olive in tone.

Why should a lady-in-waiting be nursing a slave? It made no sense, unless she was studying him to see if he was fit for this secret purpose of hers.

That hazy memory stirred and he was back at the slave market with the Princess murmuring in his ear. ‘I have bought you for Lady Anna, it is she who owns you.’

What can Lady Anna want of me?

Draining the goblet, he handed it back. ‘My thanks.’

Mon Dieu, he was weary, from head to foot everything ached. Yawning, William let his eyelids droop.

With the children safe, there was nothing more to delay him. He would rest awhile … and then, whether or not Lady Anna freed him, he would take his leave of this place. He must find the man who betrayed him in Apulia—he would have justice!

William dragged up the covers and found himself at the receiving end of a gentle smile. The warmth was back in her eyes, Lady Anna had forgiven him his curtness. He had responded with a smile of his own before he had time to check it. Whatever she might want of him, she seemed to be a good woman, she was certainly a beautiful one. But it would take more than a gentle smile to make him put his faith in anyone but himself.

‘Before you rest, please … what is your name?’

‘William.’

‘William of …? Where are you from? You were born outside the Empire, I think.’

Her voice was quietly persistent. It was likely she was trying to lull him into lowering his guard and believing he could trust her. She would not succeed. And even though William would be leaving shortly, he was reluctant to confess that he was in truth a knight. His pride was not ready for the public admission that he, Sir William Bradfer, had been enslaved.

‘The slave master said that you were a Frank,’ she added.

William grunted. Her presence at his side was oddly comforting, which proved nothing except that his months as a slave had weakened him. Hunching his shoulder on her, William closed his eyes. Now that the children were safe, he must give his body a chance to regain its strength.

And then, regardless of Lady Anna’s intentions, he would make his escape. Apulia, and revenge on his unknown enemy, awaited.

Anna stood frowning outside the Princess’s bedchamber. She exchanged glances with the guard at the door, a new recruit called Kari.

What is going on? Katerina and the Commander have been in there for an age! Surely they are not … are not …?

With a click, the bedchamber door swung open and the Commander came out, buckling on his belt.

He is buckling on his belt? No!

Jaw agape, Anna watched him leave the apartment. She hurtled into the bedchamber, slamming the door behind her.

‘Princess!’ she cried, remembering even in her dismay, to use the title that Katerina had assumed. ‘Are you mad?’

She could scarcely believe what she was seeing. Katerina is naked under that sheet! Naked. ‘What in heaven is going on?’

Katerina shrugged. ‘I would have thought that was obvious.’

‘The Commander and you …?’

‘Yes, Anna, the Commander and I.’

This was terrible. Everything was going wrong. In her role as Princess Theodora, Katerina had returned to the Palace only yesterday, everyone believed she was preparing to meet her betrothed. As Anna bent to retrieve Katerina’s gown and veil from the floor, her thoughts whirled. When Princess Theodora, the real Princess Theodora, had asked for Anna’s help in this masquerade, Anna had feared it was doomed from the start. It was true that Katerina bore a striking resemblance to Princess Theodora, it was also true that the Princess had not returned to the Palace for at least ten years, so few here would recognise her, but the pitfalls were many. Anna had known there would be … difficulties. But never once did she suspect that Katerina might put the entire scheme at risk by bedding the Commander …!

‘It must be the strain,’ she muttered. ‘I told the Princess that you were not suitable to take her place. She should have sent someone who understood the protocols.’

‘Someone with more breeding, you mean,’ Katerina said.

Conscious of those in the reception chamber—the servants, the Frank, the guard—Anna kept her voice low. ‘Since you care to put it like that, yes. Someone with a little more breeding would have had some idea what is, and what is not, acceptable behaviour.’ She shook her head. ‘Princess Theodora would never have invited Commander Ashfirth into her bedchamber. Or into her bed.’

What a disaster!

It might have been better if Anna had refused to help the Princess. She had not wanted to come home. The thought of finally facing her father and the ghastly marriage he had planned for her had made her feel quite ill. I should have refused to help. But no, she could not have done that. The Princess had been good to her, she had been so kind and understanding when Anna had joined her at the Rascian court. To have refused Princess Theodora’s request would have been churlish in the extreme.

Except that now … Anna bit her lip. This indiscretion of Katerina’s put them in something of an awkward position, and that was putting it mildly.

The scandal this will cause!

It was not only the scandal of an affair between the supposed Princess and the Commander that concerned her, though Anna could say nothing of this to Katerina. What will my father say? He was furious when I joined the Princess in Rascia without his permission—this will give him an apoplexy. He must not hear of it. And it is particularly important he does not hear of it before my meeting with him tomorrow …

Anna had been determined that her return to Constantinople should mark a new beginning in her relationship with her father. She wanted to prove that she had grown into a woman who was capable of making her own decisions. This was why yesterday, as soon as she had disembarked at the Palace harbour, she had sent a message to her father arranging to meet him. She had intended to quietly persuade him that marriage with Romanos Angelos was not for her. That would still be my best course of action. If I can bring Father round to my way of thinking, there will be no need to involve the Frankish slave.

Unfortunately, Lord Isaac, the Governor of Heraklea, was so conventional that any scandal would wreck Anna’s chances of reclaiming his good will. Inevitably she would be drawn into it, and that being so, what chance did she have of ever pleasing her father?

Ahead, she could see only scandal—scandal, disgrace and her father’s undying displeasure in a daughter who could never do anything right.

‘Pass me that robe, please, Anna,’ Katerina said.

Anna handed Katerina the robe and watched as she climbed out of bed. ‘Really, Katerina, you should not have done it. And so blatantly! You are quite without shame. The Princess should have sent a lady in her stead …’

While Katerina dressed, Anna let her displeasure be known, even though there was nothing she could do to change what had happened. Katerina might have been foolish to give herself to the Commander, but the attraction between them had been obvious and it had grown every day that they had spent together. Perhaps it had been inevitable. If only Katerina had waited until the real Princess had returned …

Nursing his throbbing arm and shoulder—William had felt someone gently probing and strapping it while he had lain in a half-sleep—he sat up and stared at the closed door. It must lead to Princess Theodora’s bedchamber.

Listening to the low murmur of voices—he could not make out the words—William felt his lips curve. It would seem that Lady Anna was somewhat strait-laced. Her face when that man had emerged fastening his belt … it had been priceless, absolutely priceless. Lady Anna did not approve of the affair that Princess Theodora was conducting with that man.

Who is he? The face was familiar, but William could not think why that should be—he could not place him. He had the bearing of an officer, whoever he was, and he had shocked Lady Anna.

A guard was standing by the double doors at the entrance to the apartment. William’s senses snapped awake. A Varangian! His heart jumped. He had never actually seen a Varangian in person before, but the man’s unit was betrayed by his weaponry. He had one of the infamous Varangian battleaxes firmly in his grasp, and his sword was slung on a shoulder belt. The battleaxe held William’s gaze. A Varangian, and no mistake. This was one of the Emperor’s personal bodyguard.

Mon Dieu, the ladies here could call on men in the Varangian Guard! It was a wonder that he had not noticed this earlier—he must have been more dazed than he realised. It made sense that the Emperor’s personal guard should be assigned to Princess Theodora, but it was something of a setback. Hell. William reached for the Venetian glass Lady Anna had thoughtfully left nearby and sipped. He must plan his escape with care. No rash moves.

He stared at the door of the Princess’s bedchamber. Lady Anna had looked so shocked when she had rushed in. If it were not for William’s ignominious position here, if it were not for his plans to return to Apulia—plans that had been thrown into disarray by him finding himself so unexpectedly at the heart of the Great Palace—it might be amusing to pursue her acquaintance.

His headache had eased and his mind was working better than it had done earlier, he was once again capable of setting out opposing points in an argument.

Should he remain in Constantinople for a time, or should he leave? He might not wish to be in the Great Palace, but Lady Anna had hinted that freedom was soon to be his. He was not sure he could trust her, but if her promise was not an empty one, he could stay and learn something of his mother’s family. He might meet them …

On the other hand, if he did not return to the Duchy soon, the trail leading to his enemy would be stone cold.

He frowned at the wine in his glass. For years he had wanted to discover the secrets in his mother’s past, such a chance might never come again …

And so it went on, the argument swaying from one side to the other, like the ebb and flow of two armies on the field of conflict.

He gazed at the closed door to the bedchamber. Lady Anna was apparently utterly without malice, she had yet to show him anything other than compassion, but it would not be wise for him to make a saint of her. She might be unreliable. After all, she had her reasons for persuading the Princess to buy him. She might never free him.

He must leave at the first opportunity.

It was a pity he was not going to stay long enough to discover Lady Anna’s reasons for buying him—he had to admit he was curious. His lips twitched. The way she had scurried into that bedchamber, shocked out of her calm by the Princess’s behaviour … Strangely, there was comfort in that.

The bedchamber door rattled and Lady Anna stood on the threshold.

Her huge grey eyes went straight to him. ‘You’re awake!’ Face lighting, she closed the door and came across, skirts sweeping the marble tiles.

William nodded. Truth to tell, he had only dozed earlier, much of the time he had feigned sleep to ward off questions.

‘Are you hungry?’ She glanced through the window at a darkening sky, evening was almost on them. ‘They will be bringing food shortly, but if you cannot wait, I can order more for you.’

‘I can wait,’ William said, as that light fragrance reached him. Spring, I can smell spring. Jasmine, spices …

Her smile was so open, it was in danger of dazzling. Lady Anna wasn’t to know that William was wise to smiles like that. Lady Felisa had smiled at him in just such a way when she had led him to believe that, despite his lack of lands, she was prepared to consider his suit. William no longer believed in such smiles. It had only been a few months since Lady Felisa had smiled at him, then a few days later she had rejected him. Lady Felisa had betrothed herself to a lord with lands that William could only dream of, and this lord, naturally, was a far more attractive proposition than William could ever be.

‘I am so glad your mind was not damaged,’ Lady Anna said.

‘Damaged?’

As Lady Anna talked, artlessly confessing that the Princess had suggested he might have suffered lasting injury as a result of the beatings inflicted upon him, William found himself re-examining her intentions towards him.

Harmless. The woman appeared to be harmless. She had seen that the children were clean and fed, and she had assured him that she intended to free him.

However, how likely was it that she would spend good money on a slave only to free him after performing a simple task? They were not short of servants here, the Palace was bursting with them. Had she bought him out of charity? Why? Why had she bought him?

Thus far, William had to concede that Lady Anna gave every appearance of having both his interests and those of the children at heart.

‘Does your arm pain you?’ she was asking. Her huge grey eyes were cloudy with anxiety, an anxiety that appeared genuine. William might be turning into a cynic, but some doubt remained. Can I trust her?




Chapter Three







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 thatdoes 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? Willit 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!’




Chapter Four







Heart pounding like a drum, William gripped the sword hilt and ran on, twisting and turning down a narrow series of passages that cut in between some wooden buildings. He turned left, he turned right, he turned left again—the City was like a maze. At last the shouts faded. When he stopped to draw breath, he found himself at the edge of a large ceremonial square. His chest heaved. Black spots danced at the edge of his vision.

On one side there was an imposing building faced with purple marble in the classic style the Romans had favoured. Myrtle bushes lined the avenue between the building and a pillared monument. There was movement behind the monument, a tantalising metallic gleam in the strengthening sunlight—the flash of light on a fan of spears, on a line of battleaxes.

Lord, Varangians, and he had all but run into them. The Emperor’s personal guard were out in force, in battle formation by the look of it. Still breathless, William backed behind a myrtle bush as snatches of the sentries’ words came back to him. ‘General Alexios … battle it out in the streets … the backing of half the Court.’

God have mercy, what was going on? Whatever it was, it was serious enough to have cleared the Palace grounds of courtiers, it had sent the Varangians to stand their ground in this square not a stone’s throw from the Palace.

An ear-splitting scream pierced the air—a woman’s. It had come from the tangle of streets behind him. Whipping round, William’s gaze fell on a scrap of blue cloth caught in one of the myrtles. He tugged it free. Diaphanous blue silk, with silver threads cunningly caught in the weave.

Jesu! Lady Anna!

His stomach formed a tight knot as his consciousness narrowed down to the scrap of silk. The blue was an exact match—he remembered the glint of silver threads in her veil as she had left the apartment.

As another scream came from the mouth of the alley, William’s instincts told him that Lady Anna was close.

A triumphant cry echoed off the walls of the building. William felt sick. Several male voices … laughing, jeering, urging each other on. Lady Anna had just run into the worst kind of trouble, he was sure of it.

He was cold, cold as ice, yet perspiration was springing to his brow, he could almost feel his freedom sliding away from him. So much for returning to Apulia for justice, so much for winning lands for himself …

He could see her in his mind, grey eyes softening as she offered him the Venetian glass, mouth curving in a shy smile.

‘Merde!’ William braced himself and stepped back into the avenue.

He took a deep breath and before he had drawn the next, Lady Anna flew out of the head of the alley. Her breast was heaving, her fingers were clenched white on her blue skirts, holding them clear of the ground. Her veil had gone and her hair was streaming out behind her like a dark pennon. One foot was shoeless, William had time to register the disturbing vulnerability of bare toes before the men who were after her appeared.

Mercenaries. Three of them, howling like wolves. Predators. The uniform was unknown to him, but their eyes told William all he needed to know. These men were not fixed on any coming battle, they were focused on taking their prey. There was no doubt that rape was large in their minds.

Another scream came from the alley behind the building. Likely some other poor woman was being accosted by more of these devils. He prayed it was not the Princess.

William renewed his grip on the sword, the mercenaries halted and exchanged grins. They might as well have spoken aloud—they outnumbered him, they thought him easy meat.

‘That would be a mistake,’ William said softly.

There was movement behind him. Not Lady Anna. She had stopped mid-flight in front of the monument, her breath coming in shuddering gasps. Cold anger burned in William’s guts.

He was woefully out of condition—his chest ached, his sword arm throbbed and it was one man against three. There was a chance he might prevail, but it was small.

The soldiers hesitated and William caught a whiff of soured wine.

They have been drinking. Good. That evens the odds a little …

As he summoned the strength to make the first move, William felt the walls of Constantinople close in on him. Picking out the lead mercenary, he raised his sword.

Oddly, the mercenary wasn’t concentrating on William, he was looking past him. When his leer faded, William realised that something other than Lady Anna had distracted him.

Behind him, a harsh voice bellowed, ‘Lady Anna! This way!’

Briefly, wary of losing sight of the mercenaries, William looked over his shoulder. A Varangian had appeared, it was the man who had emerged from Princess Theodora’s bedchamber, the man he had seen in her company at the slave market. Commander Ashfirth.

The Commander unhooked his battleaxe and gestured Lady Anna towards him. The battleaxe glinted.

Lady Anna stumbled towards him. ‘Commander! Thank God!’

William held steady in the centre of the avenue. They will not have her, they will have to step over my body to reach her.

The mercenaries’ swords wavered. One of them took a step back.

Stay with the Commander, my lady. Be safe.

The lead mercenary spat. Another swore in a language that William did not understand. There was another backwards step, and another, and moments later all three had melted into the street round the corner of the building.

Warily, William turned. Lady Anna’s hair was tumbled down about her shoulders, she had lost her hair pins as well as her veil, but thank God he could see no bruises.

‘My lady—’ Commander Ashfirth was frowning down the side street ‘—where is Katerina?’

Katerina? Who the devil is Katerina?

Lady Anna’s mouth opened and shut, and the Commander gave her a little shake. ‘My lady?’

‘You … you know?’ Lady Anna said, all colour leached from her face.

The Commander nodded and shook her again. ‘The time for pretence is over. Where is Katerina?’

William frowned and stepped closer, he did not like the way the Commander was handling her. And why was he asking about Katerina? Surely he should be worried about the Princess? If William had guessed correctly, this man was the Princess’s lover. Who was Katerina?

Lady Anna met William’s gaze. ‘She is safe. In Hagia Irene.’

‘Thank God!’ The Commander’s relief was obvious. He looked at William. ‘You there, slave!’

William did not lower his guard. ‘Yes?’

‘You will look after Lady Anna?’

‘Yes.’

‘Time is short,’ the Commander said.

‘I understand.’ Lady Anna smiled at the Varangian. ‘You had to know she was safe.’

Commander Ashfirth nodded. ‘Do you trust this Frank?’

Lady Anna and William looked at one another.

‘I will be safe with him,’ Lady Anna said, her gaze flickering briefly to William’s sword. ‘Go back to your men, Commander.’

The Commander gazed coolly at William. ‘You are to protect Lady Anna with your life. Take her back to the women’s quarters in the Palace. Understand?’

Nodding, William held out his hand. ‘I understand.’

Lady Anna moved towards him and Commander Ashfirth turned and sprinted round the monument towards his men.

The sunlight shone in Lady Anna’s hair, it was glorious in its disarray. Her hand when it met William’s was trembling and her breath was shaky, but she was safe.

Another whoop came from the side street, it was followed by the unmistakable sound of swords being banged on shields. Scare tactics. Lord, it looked as though Lady Anna was not quite as safe as William had hoped.

Her hand jerked free and she pointed. ‘Look!’

Two of the mercenaries had returned, they were marching towards them, screeching like demons as they beat their sword hilts on their shields.

‘Holy Mother!’ Bundling Lady Anna behind him, William braced himself.

With only two mercenaries, the odds were turning in his favour.

The mercenaries nodded at each other, it must have been a signal, because one of them rushed at him headlong. He was over-confident and had little finesse. A butcher. As their swords clashed, the jolt sent black pain shooting up William’s arm. He grunted and parried the next stroke easily. He might be out of condition, but they had barely engaged and already the mercenary was breathing hard. Too much wine, William suspected. Too much chasing after innocent women.

He parried half-a-dozen more strokes, feeling his way into the man’s weaknesses, of which there were many. The other mercenary must be as drunk as the butcher, for he made no move to come to his comrade’s aid, instead, each slash of the butcher’s sword was accompanied with an unholy whoop and a thud on his shield. The strokes were wild, uneven. Slice, crash, hack, crash—like beats in in a devil’s chorus.

It took only moments for William to begin to enjoy himself. It had been too long since he had held a sword and it was invigorating to realise that he had not lost his touch. This man was not his match. William was just through the warming-up stage—he no longer felt shooting pains with each clash of steel—when the mercenary overreached himself. William made a swift, decisive thrust and the man clattered to the ground. His shield rolled to the side, blood seeped across the paving.

Behind him, Lady Anna whimpered and the devil’s chorus fell silent. The second mercenary stared at his comrade, eyes bulging.

William picked up the shield and beckoned. ‘Come on, don’t be shy, it’s your turn. I could use more practise.’

The man had eyes as dead as his comrade’s. His lip curled, he muttered something incomprehensible and retreated back the way he had come.

There was movement behind him. ‘I … I thank you, William.’ Lady Anna’s cheeks were bloodless, she looked to be in shock as she watched him clean his sword on the dead man’s chausses. It was a pity she had had to witness death at close hand, but William had had no choice.

‘Come, my lady, we must hurry, there may be other mercenaries about. Which way?’ That terrible screaming had started again, William gritted his teeth. ‘Which way?’

Her smoky grey eyes were wide with alarm. ‘Do you think he went for reinforcements?’

‘It is possible. Which way?’

She seemed held by panic and waved vaguely at the wall of the Great Palace. The domes of the Palace buildings were visible behind it. ‘The Palace is too far, we might not make it.’

Shaking his head, William slung the mercenary’s shield over his shoulder. With the sword firmly in one hand, he took hers in the other. Tugging her after him, he ducked behind the myrtle bushes and ran along the side of the building. The myrtle bushes were good cover. He stopped abruptly at the corner. A small structure resembling a storehouse stood a few feet away. There was no window, just a stumpy wooden door with fat hinges. He frowned doubtfully at it. It could almost be a prison cell.

Releasing Lady Anna, he handed her the shield and shouldered open the door. Inside, it was dark as night, he could see nothing. Behind them came the tramp of heavy boots.

‘William!’

With a final glance at the sky, William bent his head and pulled her into the dark. Prison or not, this was the only hiding place. He had to be realistic. He could not fight an entire troop—if he were killed, who would protect Lady Anna?

It was ice cold inside, in an instant his skin was covered in goosebumps. The dim outline of a great cavern opened up before them, it was large enough to house a cathedral. William halted, staring in disbelief. He could smell water.




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