Page 115 of The Viking’s Captive

CHAPTER NINETEEN

BYZANTIUM, LATER THAT NIGHT

Princess, where art thou? …

King Thorvald was lying on couch number three in the Hall of Nineteen Couches, as indicative of his high standing in the court of Emperor Romanus. Adam, Tykir, and Bolthor were on couches much farther down the line, as indicative of their lower standing.

It was late on the night of their arrival, and Adam could not care less where he sat, whether his plate was gold or silver, whether he got one more dish served in grape leaves, whether his face was fanned by a dancing girl, or his fingers washed with rose water. If Adam spoke with one more Byzantine physician about herbs and healing, he was going to scream. Medicine was his profession, but Tyra was his obsession.

Six hours in the emperor’s presence, and they had not yet been given permission to discuss the purpose of their mission. They had not seen or heard of any of the Stoneheim contingent.

“Protocol,” King Thorvald had advised him. “We must follow protocol to accomplish our ends. Diplomacy is the key if we want to leave this land where we are far outnumbered.”

He had told the king exactly what he could do with his diplomacy, and the king had told him that mayhap he wouldn’t give him his daughter after all.

It was probably a good thing he and Thorvald were separated. Angry words spoken in haste needed time and space to heal.

He took another sip of the wine in his goblet and turned to speak with Tykir, who was listening to something being said by a slave girl wearing a clinging garment. Assigned to feed Tykir grapes or fan his face in case a bead of sweat dared to pop out, she purred to him, “You are such a fascinating man.”

Tykir must have heard Adam’s snort of disgust, because he blushed and told the slave girl, “I am not all that fascinating.”

“Alinor is going to kill you when she hears about this,” Adam remarked.

“That is assuming someone has a death wish and chooses to tell her,” Tykir said out of the side of his mouth.

On his other side, Adam heard Bolthor grumbling to his slave girl, “Just because I speak slowly does not mean that I think slowly.”

The girl just giggled. She probably did not understand the Norse language, and thought he was commenting on her rouged nipples, which were visible through the fabric of her gown.

“Here is a saga for you two,” Bolthor said. “A Viking View of Life.”

“Some lands are filled with riches

Which oft leads to excesses.

Gold plate, silk robes, jewels galore,

So much food that the belly gets sore,

Horses, boats, women, slaves, and what’s more,

There ne’er seems to be enough of anything,

So greed and dissipation become king.

Methinks there is much to be said

For the simple life led.

Food, shelter, fire, and wife …

That is all one really needs in life.”

For once, Bolthor’s saga made sense. Tykir nodded, and Adam told him how impressed he was. There was something revolting about the excess of this court. There should be a better balance between rich and poor. Strange idea, that. Who would have thought it would come from Bolthor? But then, perchance Adam had been guilty like many others of thinking Bolthor was slow-witted just because he spoke slowly.

Adam’s slave girl, who had to be all of thirteen years old, had gone off to deliver a message for him to King Thorvald. She was returning now.

“Your king says to come forth. The emperor will speak with you now,” she told him in her girlish voice. “You two, as well,” she added, indicating Tykir and Bolthor.