‘Does this ruin have a name?’
‘St Mary’s.’ Captain Brand cleared his throat, opened his mouth, appeared to think better of it and closed it again.
‘There’s more, isn’t there? Come on, man, out with it.’ Brand was struggling to keep a straight face. Like Ash, Brand was an Anglo-Saxon from England and Ash could read him as he might read a brother, particularly when, as now, they were speaking in English.
‘Yes, sir. St Mary’s is renowned hereabouts.’
‘St Mary’s doesn’t look as though it would be renowned for anything except the wretched state of its masonry.’
‘It takes in women, sir…women who choose to leave the world because they repent of their former way of life.’
Ash raised an eyebrow. ‘The Princess has taken refuge in a convent for fallen women?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The Princess must be desperate.’
‘Sir?’
‘Why else run to Dyrrachion, to a convent for fallen women—she really doesn’t want to marry Duke Nikolaos, does she?’ Briefly, Ash spared a thought for the woman they had tracked to this remote outpost.
‘Why should marriage to the Duke of Larissa be so repellent, sir?’
‘Lord knows.’ Ash had never met Duke Nikolaos, he knew him only by repute. Accounts spoke of a fine soldier, a brilliant commander. A man of honour. ‘The Duke of Larissa’s holding is at the heart of the Empire; he is of the old elite, the military aristocracy. She could hardly hope to do better—her reservations about marrying him are odd, to say the least.’
‘Wasn’t Princess Theodora’s first betrothal to an outsider?’
‘Yes, she was betrothed to one of the Rascian princes. The rumour is that she grew fond of him—that must explain her reluctance to marry Duke Nikolaos.’ Ash grimaced. ‘But the Rascian prince is dead, she has to forget him.’
Brand rubbed his chin. ‘That may be easier said than done, sir.’
‘Nevertheless, she must forget him.’ Ash knew that Greek princesses usually viewed marriages made outside the boundaries of the Empire as something of a penance. He also knew that Greek princesses were highly sought after all over Christendom, possibly because such contracts rarely took place. ‘Prince Peter was only a minor prince. Her new fiancé, Duke Nikolaos of Larissa, is of a different order altogether—he is one of the most powerful men in the Empire. The Emperor considers this marriage important, Princess Theodora will not be allowed to wriggle out of it.’
Ashfirth glanced at the convent. The Princess might be reluctant to return home, but his priorities were clear. As Commander of the Varangian Guard, Ashfirth answered to the Emperor and to no one else.
Back in the Great Palace in Constantinople, the ageing Emperor had summoned Ash to a private audience in an apartment where the walls glittered with golden mosaics from floor to ceiling.
The Emperor, arguably the most powerful man in Christendom, had slumped in his throne like a man sapped of strength. There he had sat, much withered by age, seemingly diminished by the trappings of power that surrounded him. There was the double-headed eagle on the Imperial standard; there were the Imperial robes. It had struck Ash that never had that standard looked more forlorn. And as for the robes, it seemed that they were wearing the man. Surely it ought to be the other way around, surely the man should wear the robes?
The voice was creaking and tired. ‘Commander, the Rascian prince who was betrothed to my niece the Princess Theodora is dead,’ Emperor Nikephoros had told him. ‘You are to bring her home.’
Strictly speaking, Princess Theodora was not the Emperor’s niece; in truth, she was the niece of the previous Emperor, Michael Doukas. But it would not have been tactful for Ash to have pointed this out because the new Emperor—despite his advanced years—had married Emperor Michael’s young and beautiful wife. This made the question of Princess Theodora’s relationship to him a moot point.
‘My niece has been living among barbarians for too long,’ Emperor Nikephoros had gone on to say. ‘In the Palace she may reacquaint herself with more civilised ways and prepare herself to meet her new betrothed, Duke Nikolaos.’
Which was how Ash came to be thousands of miles away from his quarters in the Boukoleon Palace, and now found himself near the port of Dyrrachion, staring at the gate of this out-of-the-way convent.
A convent for fallen women.
The gate looked sturdier than the walls; it was made of seasoned oak bleached by many summers. A small barred window had been cut into it at eye level. At present it was shuttered fast, but a bell-pull hung alongside it.
Unstrapping his battle-axe, Ash hung it over his pommel alongside his helmet. He caught Brand’s eye. ‘You, too, Brand—there is no sense in frightening the ladies.’
Unless we have to. Frightening the ladies might be the only way to get the Princess to accept his escort back to Constantinople.
‘Yes, sir.’
While Brand disarmed himself, Ash gave a final glance at the lichen-splotched walls and approached the gate. The walls would not present much of an obstacle if the Princess balked at going with them; in truth, his men would likely relish a minor challenge after being cooped up on board ship. But he must start with a diplomatic approach; she was a member of the Imperial family.
Brand was watching him, reading his mind. He eyed the walls. ‘We could get in that way easily, sir.’
‘Save that thought, we might need it later.’ Ash gestured at the gate. ‘In the meantime, see if you get someone’s attention, the place appears to be deserted.’
Brand grinned. ‘Perhaps they ran out of fallen women.’
‘With the city and port so close?’ Ash gave a short laugh. ‘Not likely. The Princess and her entourage are in there, I am sure of it. All we have to do is extract her, then we may be back at the Palace by Easter.’
Nodding agreement, Brand heaved on the bell-pull.
Ash shifted, taking the weight off his bad leg. Lord, but it ached—the Princess had better hurry; the thought of a massage from his body-servant Hrodric was becoming more attractive by the moment.
The shutter in the gate clicked open. Ash squared his shoulders.
Princess Theodora might have had him chasing all over the Empire, but finally he had found her. He might feel like wringing her neck, but since she was the Emperor’s niece and a member of the powerful Doukas family, it was probably treason even to think such a thought. So, when a pair of brown eyes—very beautiful brown eyes—came into view on the other side of the grille, Ash had a smile ready.
‘Good day,’ he said, switching effortlessly to Greek. ‘I should like to speak to Princess Theodora.’
The eyes widened. Doe’s eyes.
Ash thought he heard a woman’s voice, and for a moment those doe’s eyes slid sideways.
