Chained to the Barbarian. Carol Townend
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him, the clouds were falling apart and the morning sun was breaking through. It was exactly what William needed. If the Great Palace was walled all around, surely it was reasonable to assume there would be more than one gate? He knew the Sea of Marmara lay to the south so … he would head north-east, there was bound to be a gate in the eastern wall.
Using the sun as his guide, William pressed on, hugging the side of a great hall, skirting one courtyard and another. He had no idea why the Palace was so quiet, but it was an unexpected blessing.
Some buildings looked to have been abandoned. He walked swiftly by and at last found a gate manned by four sentries. They were well equipped with helmets and mail tunics, with swords and spears …
William tried not to look too obviously at their arms. They were not Varangians, they had no battleaxes.
Again, his luck was in. Grave-faced, the guards had their heads together and were deep in discussion. William strolled languidly towards them. Concerned that the bruising on his naked chest and the bandage on his arm might cause comment, he drew the cloth firmly about him and prayed they were too preoccupied to notice that his cloak was a drying cloth from the Palace bathhouse. His pulse rate speeded up.
‘Surely General Alexios won’t fight it out in the streets?’ one was saying. ‘It’s tantamount to treason.’
Another guard shook his head and made a sucking sound with his teeth. ‘You don’t think so? The General has been acclaimed Emperor by the army and he has the backing of half the Court. Emperor Nikephoros is too weak to object.’ Absently, he waved William through.
‘Yes,’ a third man chimed in as William forced himself to walk casually past, ‘Emperor Nikephoros has alienated far too many. Wouldn’t be surprised if …’
William stepped into a paved street and the voices faded. God be praised, he was free! Likely the guards would have been more disciplined and demanding if he had been trying to enter the Palace, but, thank God, he was out.
Free!
Heaving a sigh, William released his grip on his makeshift cloak. He knew the drill—he must walk naturally, he must walk as though he knew where he was going.
Head up, he turned briskly into a broad avenue. The rain had stopped. He had only gone a few paces when he noticed a fifth sentry outside the Palace. The man was facing the wall a few yards from the gate, a puddle at his feet. Adjusting the tunic beneath his mail coat, he gave William a sheepish grin. His gaze sharpened when he noticed William’s discoloured chest. ‘Sir?’
‘Guard?’ Dear God, it would take but one shout for this man to alert his comrades at the gate.
‘Would you mind telling me your business, sir?’ The sentry’s hand hovered over his sword hilt.
William glanced quickly about him, the street, like the Palace, was largely empty. Let the games begin. Snatching off his makeshift cloak, William dived. He had the cloth round the man’s head before the sword was unsheathed.
The guard struggled and pain shot up William’s arm. Gritting his teeth, William held on grimly, cracking the helmeted head against the Palace wall. The man grunted and went limp.
William snatched the sword and was haring down a side street before a bemused passer-by raised the alarm.
‘Guards!’ Behind him came a shout. ‘Guards!’
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