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“Finn!” she and Ianthe protested.
“Oh come, you must admit she is not at all comely. And that is being kind.”
True, but it seemed mean to say it aloud, even if they were speaking in the Norse tongue that the Greek servers could not understand. Wulf was able to speak and understand the language because Norse and Saxon English were so similar, and Ianthe must have been with Sidroc long enough to learn his language.
And it was rude, of course, to make mock of the guest of honor for whom the feast was being held. But these were men, and men ofttimes cared little for the niceties, like politeness.
“Apparently beauty is not one of the criteria that the emperor seeks in his new consort.” If Wulf was trying to be kind, he failed miserably.
“Obviously. After all, he could have wed the beauty Theophano, the previous empress, long ago, if he chose. In fact, he led her to believe he would as he openly visited her bedchamber nightly,” Sidroc said. Then in a whisper, he added, “Why else would she help him kill her husband, Nicephorus, John’s uncle, to help him gain the throne?”
“In a most brutal fashion, by the by. Stabbing and decapitation in his bedchamber,” another of the Varangians disclosed, also in a whisper.
Finn and Sidroc nodded.
“And then he exiled her to a convent,” the Varangian added.
“No doubt she walloped him over the head with a pottery pitcher or promised him one thing or another, then reneged,” Sidroc decided. “Not to be trusted, like some other woman we know.”
He and Finn both turned to stare at Drifa on that happy note.
“Hey, I had good reason,” she protested.
But no one was listening.
“I heard that Polyeuctes, the church patriarch at the time, levied a huge penance on John for all his sins, which included the political marriage and the exiling of his mistress,” Wulf said, demonstrating what Drifa already knew. Court gossip spread faster than chaff on the wind. “Theodora is after all the daughter of Constantine VI and aunt to the two young emperors Basil and Constantine. The churchman would not allow John to enter his church and be crowned until he complied.”
“Personally, I think beauty should be its own dower,” said Finn, who was far-famed for his vanity.
“I agree, I agree,” piped in Thork and Jamie, who did not suffer from an excess of humility, either.
“How would that work?” Alrek wanted to know. His question was met with groans from the rest of them.
“I’m glad you asked, Alrek,” Finn said. “Methinks beautiful persons should not require a dowry, whereas ugly persons should have to pay someone to wed them.”
“Mayhap you should wed yourself, Finn,” Drifa remarked.
“I would if I could,” he replied with unabashed conceit, not recognizing, or choosing to ignore, the sarcasm of her words.
The subject was changed as the entertainment began. There were musicians, who moved from one spot to another so that all might enjoy their talents. Acrobats flipped and jumped here and there. Contortionists bent their bodies in such a manner that they appeared boneless. And dancers, both male and female, drew ooohs and aaahs. In some cases the men linked arms over the shoulders and didthese joyful moves that required great agility as they bent their knees at the same time they kicked outward. Then there were the partners, male and female, who did dances where they moved seductively about each other, casting sultry glances, teasing and then touching, teasing and touching.
Because of all the wine consumed, some of the men went off to the lavatories, where communal facilities allowed them to piss to their hearts’ content, with the waste water being immediately washed away.
Then Ianthe was called over to another table by a friend, leaving Drifa alone, which she did not mind. She relished this solitary moment when she could observe the vast wonders around her.
But then the biggest wonder of them all eased himself down to the divan beside her, thigh to thigh. With a smile, which did not reach his eyes, he said, “So, Drifa, I understand you harbor a secret.”
Chapter Seven
It was a sticky subject ...
Sidroc leaned back on the divan, one arm across the back behind Drifa, and watched with interest the abject fear that crossed her pretty face.
Whoa! What is this? He could understand a little embarrassment over his discovery that she’d borne a child outside of wedlock, but not terror. In fact, she backed away from him a bit as if she feared he might strike her. Who or what has made her fear physical attack?
“Secret? What secret? I have no secret.” The wringing of her hands in her lap and a tic at the side of her mouth told a different story.
You lie like the rushes on a longhouse floor. “Not even Runa?”
