Page 117 of The Viking’s Captive

Thorvald said nothing, just held his chin high as he held the gaze of the equally arrogant emperor.

Adam stepped in then. “Let me add this, Romanus. My uncle Tykir, Jarl of Dragonstead, is a warrior of great repute in Norway, and my uncle Eirik is Lord of Ravenshire in Britain. Both of them would join me in a trice if I called on them to help recover this woman.”

Romanus waved a hand airily. “You would still be far outnumbered.”

Adam shrugged. “Yea, we would be. But do you really want to risk a war over a mere woman?”

Several of the Byzantine advisers of high rank rushed up to the emperor and engaged him in hasty conversation, too low to be heard from their position at the bottom of the steps. Soon Romanus announced, reluctantly, “I apologize for the treatment of Tyra, Warrior Princess, whilst in my land. I put my troops at your disposal to help recover her.”

The empress looked as if she might be choking on her tongue as her husband spoke. She must take his words as an indirect slap at her.

Adam and Thorvald nodded their acceptance of Romanus’s apology and his pledge of help. What else could they do?

“Well, it would seem we are off to the Eastlands,” the king pronounced in a voice that brooked no argument, not even from an upstart emperor half his age, nor from a devious empress.

Oh, Tyra, where are you?

Off to rescue a princess bride …

Tyra was in a harem. A harem, for the love of God!

Adam didn’t know whether to laugh, or cry, or both.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” he told Rashid, “if that randy desert sheik has dared to lay a hand on her, I will cut it off.”

“Best you drop your anger and concentrate on getting inside the harem compound,” his assistant advised him. “‘Tis said that only a man without balls may enter a harem.”

Adam was about to snarl something sarcastic to Rashid, but really, the man had been invaluable to him with his Arab contacts. He had arranged for Adam—and Adam alone—to enter the sacred confines of the women’s quarters with a contingent of physicians who would be giving the houris their annual examinations. The examinations would involve checks for continued virginity in some, resulting in a death sentence if it was missing; sexual diseases in others, which also resulted in a death sentence since it indicated adultery; and various everyday complaints, like rashes, which could also mean death, depending on how they had been contracted.

Thorvald and a troop of one hundred Norse soldiers—both Varangians and regular everyday mercenaries—would be waiting for him and Tyra a half-mile away from the palace. Assuming they were able to escape, that is. Among the men-at-arms were the guilt-ridden Gunter and Egil and the Stoneheim troop, who suffered much personal regret that they had not protected Tyra better. General Phocas had been forced to help them in every way possible on orders from the emperor.

Adam donned his Arab robe, pulled up the hood, and tugged one side across his face so that only his eyes were visible. Under his robes, he was fully armed with sword and dagger. He mounted his horse then and was about to ride over to join the five other physicians, who were similarly attired.

“Allah be with you,” Rashid called out.

“May Odin watch your back, and Thor lead your sword arm,” Tykir added.

“Bring my daughter home, I pray thee,” Thorvald directed, gruffly.

“Please, God,” Adam concurred in prayer. And he was off.

Her knight in shining… robe? …

“If any of you lackwit doctors think you’re going to stick a finger inside me to check for a maidenhead, you are sorely mistaken.”

The other harem houris shrunk away from her. She was always getting in trouble, and they probably feared contamination by association. Or else they thought she was demented … which she very well might be.

The Arab physicians who had entered the harem a short time ago probably didn’t understand a word she’d said, although she could have sworn one of them chuckled, but she announced, “Here is some news for you. I am not a virgin anyhow.”

The chuckling doctor chuckled some more behind his hood.

Kareem wasn’t chuckling, though. He hissed a warning from behind her and waved his little whip.

They were in the round tower of the castle. The women would be led, one at a time, into separate rooms off the central reception area where they stood now. Each of the rooms opened onto a balcony that encircled the entire tower and looked down over a beautiful fountain garden. The serene picture was deceptive. The garden was pretty, and ‘twas true there were no iron-grilled windows on this balcony, but it was a prison just the same … like a gilded cage. Beyond the bright flowers and tall bushes were high stone walls and iron gates. It was an impregnable fortress, not a pleasure place, as far as Tyra was concerned.

When Tyra’s name was called, four eunuchs had to prod her with pointed spears into the appropriate examining room. She balked, but to no avail. Well, she might not be able to fight off the eunuchs, who were bowing out of the chamber, but there sure as hell was going to be a physician with a broken finger if that appendage meandered into forbidden territory.

“Listen, I have about had it up to my gullet with this harem business,” she said to the hooded doctor, “so let us not make something you do be the last straw. I am a warrior, you know, and …”