Free Scramasax by Kevin Crossley-Holland Page A

and swallowed loudly.
    â€˜Whatever the truth of all this,’ Priskin continued in his measured way, ‘there’s no argument about what happened next. On the same day her husband had died, our beloved Empress married the boy-man.’
    â€˜Fresh as a flower and blushing like a young girl,’ said Snorri.
    â€˜The same day! I was there. I was one of the guards!And there and then,’ Priskin completed his ghastly account, ‘Michael was crowned Emperor.’
    Solveig was so shocked she didn’t say anything.
    â€˜You must keep your eyes skinned,’ Priskin warned her. ‘And keep yourself to yourself.’
    â€˜Yes, Solveig, you must,’ Tamas repeated, eager and concerned.
    â€˜No one’s safe in this snake-pit,’ Priskin went on. ‘Not you. No one. Not even the poor old Emperor.’
    â€˜Honour,’ said Tamas in a firm voice. He pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Truth-telling. Loyalty …’
    â€˜Life is much too easy in Miklagard,’ observed Skarp. ‘Sunlight, sherbet, silks, spices.’
    â€˜And what’s easily won is easily thrown away,’ Snorri agreed.
    â€˜Maria,’ said Priskin, ‘she may mean well, but the Empress can bend or break her. Be wary what you tell her.’
    â€˜You will, won’t you, Solveig?’ Tamas asked her earnestly.
    Solveig gave him a gentle smile and nodded.
    Now there was a hammering at the door. A eunuch walked in. He crossed the hall to Solveig and informed her that she was to return to her quarters.
    â€˜Why?’ asked Solveig.
    â€˜Empress Zoe has summoned you and Maria to Hagia Sophia,’ the eunuch told her.
    â€˜So you can help her and the Emperor,’ Snorri added.
    â€˜Help them?’ said Solveig, looking alarmed. ‘How?’
    â€˜And all the oily priests. So you and the whole court can pray for us and bless us before we set sail.’
    Maria instructed her servants to dress Solveig in one of her own gowns. It was made of heavy silk, misty grey-blue.
    â€˜It matches your eyes,’ Maria told her. ‘Almost.’
    But Solveig shook her head. ‘It’s so stiff. Was it woven by those Jews in the market?’
    â€˜No, I brought it back from Antioch.’
    Solveig looked puzzled.
    â€˜Across the Great Sea. The weaver said, “He wraps Himself in a cloak of morning light.”’
    â€˜Who does?’
    â€˜God, of course. And he told me that when I wore his gown, I too would be wrapping myself in morning light.’
    Solveig gazed at Maria. ‘You should see the early light north from our farm. I wish you could.’
    â€˜Let my servants dress you,’ Maria told her. ‘At least this gown will cover what’s beneath. Nothing but rags and tatters.’
    â€˜My sealskin boots are all right,’ Solveig replied. ‘In fact they’re better now than when I left home. They fit like gloves.’
    â€˜Webbed ones,’ said Maria, and both girls laughed.
    As soon as one of her servants had combed Solveig’s golden hair and secured her hood, three rosy-cheeked eunuchs conducted the girls to Hagia Sophia, and on their way they passed through several halls Solveig hadn’t seen before.
    Maria read her thoughts. ‘In my Father’s house are many mansions,’ she intoned. ‘Many mansions … the Gospel according to Saint John. But in my aunt’s palace are many halls – that’s what I always think.’
    In one hall there was a forest of slender columns, each a slightly different colour: trunks of ash, hornbeam, maple, beech.
    At once Solveig was back in the forest that horseshoed round her farm, back with Blubba and Kalf, crouching, panting, knowing the least snap of a twig might give her hiding-place away.
    â€˜Jasper,’ Maria told her, ‘rock crystal, porphyry. Speckled marble from Phrygia, white marble from Prokonessos – that’s quite near here