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“Dost think so?” Finn sank down onto a bench and braced one foot on the other knee, examining his toenails, which looked fine to Sidroc.
“Aren’t you going to wipe off all that oil?”
Finn looked surprised. “Nay. The whole point is to keep the skin soft.”
A Viking with soft skin? “You’ll slip off your horse.”
“ ’Tis not a horse I intend to ride forthwith.”
“Really, with all that oil, you’ll blister liked a greased pig in the sun here.”
“Speaking of that ...” Finn stood and showed him his backside. “Lita pointed out to me that—”
“Lita?”
“The houri who just massaged me.” He waved a hand dismissively. “She pointed out that I am not sun-bronzed all over.” He pointed to his white arse. “She suggests I lie in the sun naked for a while to even out my bronzing, front and back.”
“Finn, you are a lackwit.”
His friend grinned.
Betimes Sidroc could not tell when Finn was jesting or not. “We are becoming too soft, Finn.”
To his surprise Finn nodded and began to wipe some of the oil from his body. “When we were in the Norselands, ’twas not uncommon to bathe in an icy fjord.”
“Recall that one winter when we had to break the ice afore jumping in,” Sidroc added. ’Twas odd the things one missed when far from home. When he was back in a smoky, drafty longhouse, he would no doubt miss the beauty and warm sun of Byzantium.
“I’m going to ask the emperor to release me from my duties,” Sidroc informed his friend while he was dragging on a pair of braies ... not those ludicrous big-legged braies the Varangians wore whilst at court.
“If you leave, so do I.”
It was a subject they’d discussed numerous times before. Sidroc still kept a longship here in Miklagard with a minimal crew of seamen. Leaving would be no problem. Leaving with permission and an extra pouchful of gold was another matter entirely.
“You will ne’er guess who is coming to court,” Finn said of a sudden.
“Someone is always coming to court,” Sidroc said.
“Yea, but this someone is different.”
Noting Finn’s expression of impending doom, Sidroc braced himself, just arching a brow in question.
“Princess Drifa of Stoneheim is coming to the Imperial Court.”
Sidroc’s eyes went wide. “Here? To Miklagard?”
Finn nodded, gleeful with his news. “She has come to study flowers, of all things.”
Sidroc cared not why Drifa was coming here. At last, at long last, he was to be given his opportunity. In a bit of fanciful musing, he imagined himself the spider and her the unwary bug about to be drawn into his web.
With a wicked grin, he closed his eyes again and murmured, “Princess Drifa, you are about to pay.”
Fancy meeting you here, dearling ...
The longships drew closer to the wharves lining the deepwater harbor. In fact, the city was built on an elevation surrounded on three sides by water— the Golden Horn to the north, the Bosphorus to the east, and the Sea of Marmosa on the south, all of which provided natural defenses against enemies.
A retinue of well-dressed Greek men could be seen approaching down the stone steps from the parapets in the sea wall of one of the many palaces. Their welcoming party, she assumed. Her father would have sent word ahead ensuring she would be treated according to her rank during her sojourn.
Once they emerged onto land, she, flanked by her four-hersir escort, was greeted with solemn ritual by a short, balding man wearing the most opulent jade silk robe she’d even seen on a man. It was edged and belted with gold. He wore rings on several fingers, one of them having a ruby the size of a pigeon egg. “I am Senator David Phocas, here on 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.”
