Chained to the Barbarian. Carol TownendЧитать онлайн книгу.
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Daphne was being fed. The wet-nurse glanced William’s way without embarrassment and nodded at him.
‘As you see, the children are safe.’
William swallowed, but his throat was so parched it was well nigh impossible. Grimacing, he massaged his throat.
The woman leaned towards him, offering the goblet. ‘Wine?’
Clumsily, for his hand did not seem to be obeying him the way it ought to, William grasped the goblet and sipped.
‘I hope it is to your taste, it is watered,’ she said, lowering her voice and leaning towards him. Beneath her veil, he caught a glimpse of wavy brown hair. ‘I thought perhaps, you have not taken … refreshment for some time.’
Giving a jerky nod, William drank. He drank deep. The wine might be watered, but the flavour was richer and smoother than any he had tasted in his entire life. When he had emptied the glass, he sank back against his pillows and peered in amazement at the few remaining drops. Excellent wine served in a Venetian glass, a pillow softer than thistledown, a chamber that is the size of a knight’s hall, huge windows fluttering with silk draperies …
He cleared his throat. ‘Where? Where am I?’ His voice sounded like an unoiled hinge.
She gave him another of those tentative smiles. ‘In Princess Theodora’s apartments in the Boukoleon Palace.’
‘The Palace! This is the Great Palace?’ His head throbbed, the glass wavered in his grasp. A rush of emotion ran through him, confusing in its intensity.
Here, almost a quarter of a century ago or thereabouts, his reclusive mother had met his father. His irresponsible, careless father, the unknown Norman lord who had refused to marry his mother and had never acknowledged William’s existence. Having spent most of his life outside the Empire, William had never thought to set foot in its capital Constantinople, never mind the Great Palace.
‘Yes, you are in the Great Palace.’
Bile stung the back of William’s throat. Holy Heaven, finally, he had come to his mother’s birthplace. As a slave. ‘And the other woman, the one who was with you in the … market—she is Princess Theodora?’
The woman gave a jerky nod and the precious goblet was plucked from his fingers.
William glanced down the length of the chamber, the girls looked happier than he had ever seen them. Paula was still smiling, Daphne still feeding. Relaxing into the pillows with a sigh, he closed his eyes and willed his head to stop throbbing. He needed to think, but not about his mother, not yet. First, he had to get out of the Palace.
‘You are hungry?’
He opened his eyes. Hungry? His stomach growled.
The smoky grey eyes were anxious. ‘I have ordered beef. Would you like some?’
Briefly it crossed William’s mind that this might be a new torment his previous owner had devised for him. Beef. His mouth watered. He levered himself into a sitting position, almost choking on a sudden rush of saliva. Bruised muscles screamed in protest. Another pillow was thrust behind him and a bowl was handed over, smelling fragrantly of meat and herbs. When William reached for the spoon, he was shamed to see his hand was shaking, he was practically drooling.
She, bless her, pretended not to notice.
Beef. Lord. And bread.
William forced himself to eat slowly, but he did not pause until the bowl was empty, even going as far as to mop up the gravy with a chunk of bread.
She gave him a measure of privacy while he ate, flinging the odd remark to the other women in the chamber. ‘The baby feeds well, Sylvia?’
‘She is fine, my lady.’
My lady. She was no maidservant then, but why was she wearing such plain clothes? In the auction hall, Princess Theodora had been dressed equally simply. Had they been trying to conceal their status? But why should they want to do that? Were Imperial princesses forbidden to leave the Palace? Were they hedged about by rules? Certainly they had not gone to the slave market unaccompanied—dimly, William remembered a small escort. There had been that burly young man who might have been a bodyguard, as well as a couple of other men with a military look to them.
‘More beef?’
‘Please.’
The meat was tender and melted in his mouth, it was a struggle not to moan with delight.
Outside the tall windows, the mew of gulls told him that this part of the Great Palace was close to the sea. William racked his mind to recall what he knew of the Imperial Palace, but for the most part, his mind remained unhelpfully blank. His mother had not wished to speak about her time here and he suspected that what he had learned later in his life was closer to myth than reality.
The Norsemen had their own name for Constantinople—to them it was Miklagard. The greatest City in Christendom, the Imperial vaults—hidden somewhere beneath the Palace—were said to be crammed with the wealth of several hundred years of Imperial rule.
Smoky grey eyes were watching him.
Why was this woman, this lady, helping him? Why was she being so kind? It made no sense. She wants something from me.
‘Lady Anna?’ The wet-nurse spoke from across the room. She had finished feeding Daphne and was setting her down in a willow basket, cocooning her in wrappings.
William marked her name. Anna.
‘Yes, Sylvia?’
‘Do you wish me to remain in the apartment, my lady? Or shall I return to the servants’ quarters?’
Rising, Lady Anna left William’s side, moving with quiet grace across the marble floor. Lady Anna was tall and shapely, the brown veil fluttered with the sway of her hips. Joining the wet-nurse by the gilded stool, she smiled tenderly down at the sleeping baby. ‘The Princess would like you to remain here,’ she said. ‘Your duty is to care for these children.’
Sylvia wrinkled her brow. ‘Even though they are slaves?’
‘Yes, even so.’ Lady Anna’s voice was firm. ‘I do not believe they will be slaves for long.’
The wet-nurse’s jaw dropped. ‘The Princess is thinking to adopt them?’
Lady Anna’s gaze shifted and came to rest on a closed door, a slight frown formed on her brow. William wondered what lay behind that door, it seemed to unsettle her.
‘I believe so,’ she said. ‘When the Princess joins us, I am sure she will make her wishes plain.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘In the meantime, Sylvia, do your best for the children, you are in charge.’
Sylvia curtsied. ‘Yes, my lady. It is an honour to be serving the Princess. I shall not let her down.’
Giving the wet-nurse a look that William was unable to interpret, Lady Anna returned to stand by his pallet. Her expression was troubled, something in her exchange with the nurse had wiped the smile from her face. William could not imagine what might upset one of the Princess’s ladies, and he wasn’t going to dwell on it. The key point was that, finally, Daphne and Paula had come to a safe harbour. At last he could leave them, freedom was within his grasp.
William had a vague recollection of the Princess murmuring in his ear at the slave market, he was uncertain whether it had really happened. He might have dreamed it, but a chilling echo was sounding in his mind …
‘I have bought you for Lady Anna,’ the Princess had said. ‘It is she who owns you.’
Did he dream it? Did a mind fevered with exhaustion and ill treatment put words in Princess Theodora’s mouth? Did Lady Anna own him? He rubbed his temple. He was a knight—he should never have been enslaved in the first place! If only he