Kathleen Kirkwood & Anita Gordon - Heart series (40 page)

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The choir of Blues and Greens took up a new song as the doors of the
gynaekeion
swept smoothly open and the bride appeared with her retinue.

Lyting
’s blood stirred as he left the center of the procession and proceeded forward to claim Ailinn. Coming to stand before her, the ladies in attendance raised her veil so he might look upon his bride.

Ailinn
’s beauty stole his breath away. Their gazes touched — a brief kiss that set his heart to pounding. Even as the women lowered her veil, Lyting could scarce pull his eyes from her. Moving to Ailinn’s side, he offered his arm and felt a slight tremor there. He admonished himself for responding like a green, smitten lad. Green, no.
Smitten,
the word didn’t even approach his feelings for Ailinn.

Lyting led Ailinn aside while the ladies-in-waiting parted into double columns.
Zoë appeared at the far end. Emerging from the
gynaekeion
, she progressed with Imperial grandeur, commanding the attention of all.

As planned, she drew interest upon herself, hoping to divert the assassins
’ regard from the child who would impersonate her son, as well as from the other innocents in the procession, such as her ladies.

For that, Lyting was especially grateful, for the procession included Ailinn. Yet,
being the bride, Ailinn was already at the center of interest. She glittered with every movement she made and was equally as entrancing as the empress. Because of her association with him, Lyting worried that she, too, might be a target for revenge.

Zoë
did not meet Lyting’s gaze as she passed, but he saw her eyes held no fear, only dauntless determination to see this night through. All had been set to motion, the varying rumors circulated throughout the day. Now they must wait for the “scorpion” to attempt his sting and the “spider” to bite.

A contingent of Varangians met
Zoë. Dressed in their ceremonial best, they bore lances and great scarlet shields. Each wore the famed
rhomphaia
, single-edged swords of heavy iron, suspended on a leather strap from their right shoulders. From their left shoulders hung battle-axes.

Lyting took reassurance in the Guard
’s well-armed presence, particularly since he was still denied his own sword. ‘Twas prohibited for the groom to bear weaponry into the church.

Lyting and Ailinn followed seven paces behind
Zoë as the Varangians escorted them to the head of the procession, then conducted the bridal party toward the Sigma Palace.

Ailinn
’s hand warmed atop Lyting’s. She’d felt a distinct tenseness enter his arm when the empress appeared. It bided there still.

She cast her glance sideways. Due to Lyting
’s height, she could see no higher than his chin. She would be forced to tilt her head conspicuously to read his eyes. Instead, she lowered her gaze to the crimson brocade that covered his chest, its silver threads and scattered gemstones gleaming in the torchlight. Her gaze then shifted to their hands. Unexpectedly he turned his hand and caught the tips of her fingers with his, giving them a gentle squeeze.

Ailinn
’s gaze flew to his face and found his smile. Yet, ‘twas a smile shadowed with concern. She took a small swallow, but against what she did not know.

As the procession converged on the Sigma Palace, a second gathering greeted them, composed of high court officials and officers, prelates, musicians, and additional guards
— both Byzantine and Varangian.

The emperor waited upon a small throne, beneath a canopy of purple silk. Arrayed in full regalia, he wore the
paludamentum,
a lavish purple robe bearing the jeweled encrusted
tablion
, much like his mother’s but marking his rank as emperor. Upon his head, he bore a heavy diadem comprising eight enameled gold plaques. In his hand he held an orb, surmounted by a cross, and upon his feet he wore slippers of purple, embroidered with pearls.

Lyting studied the chil
d imposter, amazed at the resemblance. He consoled his misgivings with the knowledge that the real emperor was safe within the palace, protected by senior officers of the Guard, headed by the Acolyte, and including, at his own request, Thord. Still, he hoped this child would come to no harm.

As they drew near,
Zoë stiffened. In the same moment Lyting spied Thord among the guard that flanked the child. Lyting’s gaze sprang back to the false emperor and fixed on his features. Lyting vented a breath. No imposter sat upon the throne. ‘Twas Constantine, himself.

Ahead, he saw
Zoë’s hands clench into knots. But she did naught. Said naught. Evidently she intended to carry through their plans, knowing, as he, ‘twas likely they were already watched by those they hoped to entrap.

Four distinguished-looking men crouched down beside the throne, and Lyting saw now that they meant to take up the litter positioned beneath it and the emperor. This, too, was another
change of plan, for the child would offer an easy target if carried high. As the men elevated Constantine, Lyting prayed these men were carefully chosen, for he recognized none of them.

He did, however, recognize the four officials who now took up the canopy, upholding its four poles and carrying the silk trapping aloft, over the emperor
’s head. It gave him no comfort to see the very men he most suspected capable of treachery: the Drungarius, Romanus Lecapenus; the Domesticus, Leo Phocas; the Logothete, Leonites Byrennius; and the Strategos, Andronicus Styliane.

Lyting noted that the Eparch, Sergius Bardanes, was absent from the gathering.
Mayhap, in investigating the Minister of Trade and his court of concubines, the Byzantines found something they disliked about the Eparch as well. Hakon also dragged on his thoughts. Though expelled from the city, he was a determined and cunning man. He’d find his way back in before long.

The bridal procession, now double in its length, slowly crossed the palace grounds, moving toward the Chalice Gate accompanied by the choir
’s song.

Dignitaries walked to the fore of the cortege, carrying lighted candles which flickered like a sea of stars. Units of the Imperial regiments followed, then prelates carrying icons and
richly embellished holy books before the emperor — “God’s representative on earth.”

Next came the Varangian Guards, flanking the Imperials and the bridal couple. Constantine reigned over the moment from his litter, and the Augusta
Zoë walked slightly behind, succeeded by Lyting and Ailinn. Finally came the ladies-in-waiting and choir, again bearing lighted tapers.

Thord dropped back to walk alongside Lyting and Ailinn.

“The boy refused to be excluded from the ceremonies,” he gruffed. “Threw an Imperial tantrum. Being emperor, we could not disobey his direct charge, and his mother was not present to countermand him.”

“
And the litter? Whose idea was that, and why do guards not carry it?”

“
Again, ‘twas Constantine’s doing. Only the highest peers of the realm may carry the Imperial personage. To have guards bear him would be an insult. Such a breach of etiquette would also signal our trap.”

Lyting nodded his understanding, but wholly distrusted the turn of things.
“Mayhap someone should have checked their shoulders for scorpions,” he muttered. “But I imagine that, too, would be an unforgivable insult.”

“
Take heart,” Thord rejoined. “If the empress truly doubted those bearing her son, she would not allow us to take another step.”

Lytin
g fell to a reflective silence, then glanced to Thord and set his jaw. “If aught should befall me, protect Ailinn. See she returns safely to Ireland and give her all that is mine.”

Hearing her name, Ailinn
’s eyes drew to Lyting. He looked straight ahead but his expression caused her breath to catch. Foreboding seeped into her heart. Instinctively, her hand tightened on his.

The procession passed through the
“Brazen Entrance,” then advanced along the outside of the enclosure wall and entered the Augustaeum. Startlingly, an enormous crowd jammed the forum, awaiting the bridal cortege. Ailinn pressed closer to Lyting as they progressed across the square. Lights burned bright in the Hagia Sophia, and for a moment Ailinn wished their steps were directed there. ‘Twas so near.

Passing onto the
Mesê, the procession turned left to follow the street along the Hippodrome. Despite her unease, Ailinn could not help but be caught up with the gaiety and excitement surrounding them. The street and balconies overlooking the route were festively decorated with carpets and silk hangings. Onlookers hailed them with enthusiasm, raining petals of violets and roses upon them.

Lyting
’s gaze continuously roamed the crowd. ‘Twas obvious the people loved their young emperor and equally so their empress. Zoë was at the height of her popularity, he had been informed, having affected a great victory this year over the Persians. The mood of the populace confirmed her high favor, but Lyting knew not everyone loved the Macedonians.

It concerned him anew that beneath the purple canopy, Constantine provided an easy mark for an assassin. The
“scorpion” was clever in using others, and, as in Rurik’s day, ‘twas likely he and his men held close to the emperor. Lyting withdrew his searching gaze from the crowd, leaving that matter to the guards and the Imperial spies. Instead he concentrated on those nearest the boy and his mother.

Continuing along the crowded street, the choir sung hymns, and the p
relates swung their censers. Saint Euphemia’s stood halfway down the side of the Hippodrome. Just before it a street opened off to the right, running along the opposite side of the church and extending behind the Mesê.

As they
neared it, something flashed brightly on one of the balconies, and a clamor went up there. A ball of fire engulfed it. In the next moment several more balconies burst into flames, then a racket sounded from the direction of the Hippodrome. People began to run, screaming. Someone had loosed two of the lions kept there for the games.

Panic seized the crowds, and they began to
disperse. Meanwhile, Lyting saw the shadows come to life in the side street as wraithlike figures, dressed in black, poured from their concealment and pressed hurriedly in the direction of the procession.

The Varangians closed ranks around the Imperials and the bridal couple, creating a wall with their overlapping shields and drawing on their axes. The Byzantine units dealt with the furor surrounding them as did the Imperial forces hidden in the masses.

Lyting shuttered his mind to the chaos, certain ‘twas but a diversion from the real deed intended. If the “scorpion” wished to put an end to the house of the Macedonians, then ‘twas Constantine he would need kill.

Lyting drew Ailinn rapidly forward with him. Tossing court formalities to the wind, he caught the empress by the arm and propelled her to the ground and Ailinn with her.

“Thord, watch over them!” he shouted back, at the same time sharpening his eyes over those holding the canopy and litter. Another distraction escalated off to the right, but he ignored it and held his gaze firm.

The dignitaries quickly lowered Constantine to the ground and, much shaken, crouched there. Constantine twisted around and sought his mother, his eyes huge and filling with tears. The child
’s look tore at Lyting. He bolted forward, intent on plucking him from the throne that yet marked him and delivering him to Zoë.

The four officers still upheld the canopy, though the Drungarius and the Domesticus began to free a hand and reach for their swords. Lyting
’s pulse quickened, fearing their next move, but Romanus and Leo turned toward the crowd. Lyting’s eyes skimmed to Leonites and Andronicus. His glance shot back to Leonites Byrennius, the Logothete, just as a knife dropped from his sleeve into his palm and he cast himself toward the boy, releasing the pole that upheld the canopy.

Lyting vaulted, hurtling himself through the air and crashing down atop Leonites. They skidded beneath the canopy, disappearing beneath the silk trappings.

Ailinn gasped as she watched the canopy billow and heave as the men roiled beneath, the emperor and dignitaries trapped there, also. Andronicus grappled with the shifting length of fabric, then thrust beneath to join the fray.

The silk shot upward, looking momentarily like a small mountain with a peak. But in the next instant a gleaming blade ruptured the peak and split the fabric. Two arms appeared, straining over the knife. Ailinn recognized Lyting
’s at once. Fear rioted through her.

The mountain disassembled as the men plummeted to the ground and rolled in the cloth. Romanus and Leo scrambled to pull the canopy free, managing to fell Andronicus in the effort, who swore blackly beneath the cloth.

Lyting and Leonites strained over the knife. Suddenly there were hands — Romanus’s and Andronicus’s intervening, dragging them upward to their feet. Lyting gripped tight the neck of Leonites’s tunic, but as the Logothete struggled, it tore, exposing a scorpion branded on his shoulder.