‘What I look is bloody ridiculous.’ The fat man tugged miserably at the leather bindings under his chin which were squashing the cheek-guards against his face. They were both garbed in the scale armour, tall spiked helmets topped with white feathers, and the milk-white cloaks of the imperial guard. ‘You feeling better?’

Erlan nodded grimly. ‘I’ll do. Greek food, huh?’

‘Food, my arse! What about the blood, boy? There was enough there for a bath-day.’

‘Old wounds,’ grunted Erlan evasively. ‘Ain’t the first time I’ve had one open up. Bad timing.’

‘You can say that again! I thought Alexios was going to have a fit.’

The friends’ conversation was cut short when Alexios himself shot them a disapproving look from the parapet.

A few strides in front of them was gathered a select company of senators, palace officials, military worthies, and the sundry cockless attendants that seemed to trail the basíleus like flies at the back end of a horse.

‘My guess is they will try to force the Gate of St Romanus,’ Emperor Leo was declaring to his entourage. ‘That’s where I would concentrate my forces if I were Maslama. Not that it would do me any good,’ he added with a dry chuckle.

There were a few obliging smiles. But any mirth was shortlived. Erlan couldn’t help thinking most of these highborns looked damned uneasy, their rich olive skin washed pale with fear. Or at least with anticipation. All except the eunuch, Katāros, who stared out with a cool eye over the human tempest brewing to the south.

‘They may, of course, try for the Rhesios Gate, Majesty,’ worried another flabby official known as the eparch, dabbing at his face. Erlan gathered this man held some position over the running of the city. Despite the early hour he was already streaming with sweat. ‘Should they take that, the city will open up like a gutted fish.’

‘Have confidence, Lord Daniel!’ cried Leo. ‘I tell you, they’ll never break through.’

‘Rhesios, Romanus, Karisios. All these bloody gate names are giving me a headache,’ grumbled Einar in Norse.