Free Scramasax by Kevin Crossley-Holland Page B

– and this purple one, it’s from Egypt.’
    Solveig shook her head, but before she could ask any questions, the eunuchs had led the girls through the stone forest into another hall. And there, waiting for them, right in the middle of the room, stood a glorious golden lion.
    Solveig broke her step and then shuffled forward; her thick silk gown rasped and rustled. She edged round the beast so she could look right up at its wild mane, its blood-orange eyes …
    And at that moment, the golden lion opened his jaws and he roared. One stupendous, terrifying roar. A roar that ricocheted around the room and rose to heaven.
    Solveig jumped back. She tripped on the hem of her cloak, stumbled and cracked her head against the tiles.
    The golden lion snapped his jaws shut.
    Solveig looked up at the beast, amazed, and the three eunuchs helped her to her feet. Maria laughed.
    â€˜How … I mean … Is there a man inside?’
    Maria shook her head.
    â€˜How then?’
    â€˜I can’t explain exactly. It’s a machine. This palace is full of machines.’
    I want to find out, thought Solveig. I want to understand. I know some people can make magic with spells and charms, but some can with machines!
    Hagia Sophia was just as gloomy and chilly as when Solveig had first entered it, searching for her father. But now the entrance hall was packed with Varangian guards, courtiers and townsfolk, as many women as men. The eunuchs had to use their sharp tongues and sharp elbows to force a way through to the concourse belowthe great dome – the dome that Solveig had thought was floating halfway between earth and heaven when she first saw it.
    The concourse was packed too, and everyone was talking, shouting, pointing, laughing. When the eunuchs had led the girls to their places, Solveig gazed all around her, trying to accustom her eyes to the shining gloom, incense-thick and incense-sweet, lit by candles and oil lamps.
    Then she saw someone in the middle of the throng. Waving. Waving at her and calling, ‘Solveig! Solveig!’
    But although Solveig stared and stared, and could see one pink hand waving, she wasn’t at all certain who it was.
    It could be, she thought. I mean, it might be! Solveig smiled a little secret smile. Well, it won’t be Grimizo, anyhow!
    Now there was a flourish of trumpets from the trumpeters stationed high up in a gallery.
    The great crowd below began to draw back, even to jam themselves against the people behind them, until there was just room enough for a stream of priests to flow between them, carrying silver crosses and caskets and chalices, swinging their censers, singing-and-saying prayers.
    Very last in this long gold-and-silver procession came the Empress and Emperor themselves and, as they passed, many people in the milling crowd tried to get to their knees but were unable to do so, let alone press their foreheads against the cold, shining tiles.
    â€˜That purple!’ whispered Solveig. ‘That purple they’re wearing. I’ve never seen such a colour.’
    Empress Zoe and Emperor Michael stepped up on to a white marble plinth. They sat down on two golden chairs and surveyed the vast crowd.
    Then Empress Zoe raised her right hand and at once a man stepped forward. A very tall man.
    â€˜Harald!’ said Solveig in a husky voice.
    Harald Sigurdsson strode up to the plinth and prostrated himself.
    He has to do that? Even Harald, thought Solveig.
    â€˜Shhh!’ whispered Maria, as if she could hear the thoughts inside Solveig’s head.
    Now everyone in the concourse fell silent, many with heads cocked or half-turned, straining to hear what the Empress had to say.
    â€˜Harald Sigurdsson, this is what we require of you. You are to lead my Varangian guard across the Sea of Marmara, across the Great Sea to the island of Sicily. You are to clean the whole island of filth. All the filthy Saracens who’ve swarmed in from north Africa.