The Norse King’s Daughter by Sandra Hill Read Free Book Online

behalf of Emperor John Tzimisces, and this”—he motioned to the tall, ascetic-looking man in regal church robes at his side—“is our most revered Patriarch Antony of the Hagia Sophia cathedral, the papal legate in Byzantium. We welcome Your Highness, Princess Drifa of Stoneheim. May your stay in our imperial city be one of peace and joy.”
    Luckily Drifa had prepared well for her journey and had studied the Greek language this past year with an elderly Greek slave her father had purchased for just that purpose. Mina had been supposed to travel with her to Byzantium but had become ill a month past and was still recovering.
    Drifa bowed her head to the senator. “It is my pleasure to finally enter your wonderful country.” To the high priest, Drifa, according to prearranged ritual, bowed from the waist with her right hand touching the ground. When she rose up, she placed her right hand over the left, palms up, and said, “Bless, Your Grace.”
    The patriarch raised the fingers of one hand in the shape of a Christogram. Holding that hand toward her, he pronounced, “May the Lord God of all people bless you.”
    She assumed that “of all people” was meant to let her know that even Vikings were blessed by the One-God. Drifa nodded and then pointed to each of the men beside her in turn. “Accompanying me are Lord Wulfgar of Wessex in the Saxon lands, Thork Tykirsson, son of the high chieftain Tykir Ericsson of Dragonstead in the Norselands, Laird James Campbell from the land of the Scots, and Alrek, a noted warrior who serves my father good and well.” She also turned to show the four warriors standing rigidly at attention behind her. “My guardsmen.”
    She hoped she gave her welcoming party pause: she did not come unprotected to an alien land. “We thank you for your warm greeting,” she added. “I bring gifts for your emperor from my father, King Thorvald.”
    “An audience will be arranged for you,” Senator Phocas told her, “though the court is very busy at the moment preparing for the emperor’s wedding. We have assigned chambers for you in the Garden of Sun Palace.”
    This was news to her. That she would be housed in a sun palace was wonderful, of course, but she’d been unaware of a pending royal wedding. The former warlord had become a widower many years before and had chosen the unmarried state thereafter, unusual for a monarch whose duty was to provide heirs, none of which he had yet. She had always thought there must be a story there.
    “Come, my lady, we have provided for you a special escort to take you to your rooms. There is a curfew in the city, and the palace gates close from late afternoon to dawn. Just a precaution to keep the peace,” the senator said. Then he beamed as he announced, “Your guards will be your own countrymen, by the by. Varangian guardsmen.”
    If the emperor’s representative and the church leader were dressed with opulence, the Varangians’ attire could only be described as splendid, a far cry from the garments back home, even when they were made of fine materials. They wore tunics of soft red wool, long sleeved and so tight along the forearm that they must be sewn on. That tightness caused the excess fabric to billow out above the elbows. Rich embroidery decorated the neckline, hem, and wrists of the garments in panels showing intertwining leaves of gold and silver thread. The men, all exceedingly tall, mostly with blond hair, wore braies of brilliant yellow and blue and pearly white that resembled loose pantaloons down to the knees, where they met highly polished black leather boots. Chalmys , long purple cloaks denoting the imperial guard status, were fastened on the right shoulder with brooches bearing the military insignia of the emperor, leaving the right arm free for weapons.
    “Good gods!” Thork murmured from her one side.
    “Like peacocks, they are,” Jamie murmured from her other side. “I’d like a pair of those breeches in blue.”
    “It must