Free Scramasax by Kevin Crossley-Holland

Varangians.’
    Solveig smiled at the guard, but Grimizo didn’t smile back. He just … regarded her.
    â€˜But the Empress has other foreign guards, hasn’t she?’ asked Solveig.
    â€˜Oh, yes!’ Snorri said. ‘Bulgars, Georgians, Serbians …’
    â€˜Southerners,’ added Skarp. ‘Soft!’
    â€˜Not the ones dragging out that chained man,’ protested Solveig. ‘What happened to him?’
    Snorri clamped his jaw.
    â€˜He got trimmed,’ Skarp told her. ‘That’s what I heard. Topped and tailed, you might say.’
    Solveig screwed up her eyes.
    Skarp winked at Solveig. ‘You’ll be all right. Here with Maria.’
    You know I’m coming with you, thought Solveig,and Snorri knows. But no one else does. Not Tamas … When they hear about it, what will they say?
    â€˜Yes,’ Snorri said thoughtfully. ‘Our beloved Empress will look after you. She won’t do anything to upset Harald.’
    â€˜Her darling,’ declared Skarp in a scornful voice.
    â€˜He’s not!’ exclaimed Solveig.
    â€˜She wishes he was!’ Skarp retorted.
    Many of the guards laughed.
    â€˜Instead of Michael, you mean?’ Solveig demanded.
    Snorri shook his head. ‘As well as Michael,’ he said slowly.
    â€˜Blazing fires need feeding,’ added Skarp.
    â€˜Harald would never agree to that,’ said Solveig.
    â€˜And neither would Michael,’ Snorri replied. ‘He may look as fresh as a flower and blush like a young girl, but he’s not as soft as he seems.’ He gave Solveig a steely look.
    â€˜Shall we tell her, lads?’ asked Skarp.
    For a moment no one replied. But then Priskin began. ‘Last year, the old Emperor Romanus died. But not before he had challenged the boy-man. He accused Michael of bedding the Empress, but Michael denied it. He denied it on the bones of saints.’ The hollows of Priskin’s cheeks were flaming.
    â€˜Sometimes the gods madden Michael,’ Skarp interrupted. ‘He hurls himself to the ground, and writhes around, and rolls his eyes. He keeps banging his head …’
    â€˜Last year, the Emperor Romanus died,’ Priskin began again. ‘But he did not choose to die.’
    â€˜Few people do,’ Snorri said in a dry voice.
    â€˜What people believe,’ Priskin continued, ‘is that he was … helped.’
    â€˜You mean …’ Solveig began.
    â€˜I do,’ said Priskin calmly. ‘He lost his appetite. He couldn’t sleep. He’d always been quick to laugh, that’s what people said, always friendly, but he became peevish and irritable.’
    â€˜Was it a charm?’ asked Solveig. ‘Was a spell put on him?’
    â€˜His face became swollen,’ Priskin intoned. ‘I saw him myself and his colour had changed. Grey. Grey-green. He looked like a man who’d been dead for three days.’
    â€˜And his hair fell out,’ added Skarp.
    â€˜What some people say,’ Priskin went on, ‘is that his own wife, Zoe, and the boy-man were poisoning the Emperor. One morning, Romanus went to the palace baths with some of his servants …’ The guard paused and swilled saliva around his mouth. Then, using both his hands, Priskin pretended to push the old Emperor Romanus down, right down. ‘Several servants held his head under the water for a long time,’ he told Solveig, ‘and then they ran away. After a while the Emperor’s body rose to the surface – that was because of the air inside it – and he floated like a cork. Another servant put his arms around him, and pulled him out, and laid him on a bench. Romanus gave a long, long … first a moan, then a growl. His breathing quickened. Faster and faster. He gaped like a great fish. And out of his mouth there seeped thick … dark … goo …’
    Solveig took a deep breath