Ivar followed her like a shadow, which was amusing, really, since he was so big and the shop so small. She could tell by his flushed face that he was embarrassed to be bending and shifting to avoid knocking anything over. When they went upstairs to Ianthe’s private quarters, Ivar was convinced to stand outside the door.
Upon entering, Drifa clapped her hands with delight. “Oh, this is lovely.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Ianthe probably thought that being a princess, Drifa had been exposed to many more luxurious female living quarters. She had been, and the palace was a far cry from this relatively humble abode, but Drifa loved it for its beauty in such a small space.
A thick Eastern carpet covered the floor with warm colors of deep red and cream and azure blue. Situated about the room were several low couches and tables.
Of a sudden, Drifa wondered how long Sidroc had known Ianthe. And how well. Oh nay! Surely he was not involved with Ianthe back when he proposed marriage to me. On the other hand, knowing the cad, mayhap he had been.
Drifa’s attention was drawn then to a far corner where incense was burning in front of a picture painted on wood of the Virgin Mary with the Christ child. “How pretty!” Drifa remarked.
“We Greeks venerate icons. Windows to Heaven, we call them. You will see them throughout the city, and not just in the palace or churches. Some of them are plain on wood, others are crafted out of enamel or ivory, even with precious jewels on them. They can be huge, like those in the Hagia Sophia cathedral, and others are portable.” Ianthe put a hand over her mouth and grimaced. “I talk too much. Sidroc says that betimes I chatter like a monkey he saw one time in far-off lands.”
Sidroc! Another reminder that the man who had been betrothed to her for a short time, the man who threatened to take her to his bed, the man who was father to a child she loved, was this woman’s ... what? Protector? Lover?
“I enjoy hearing all this, Ianthe. Please do not stop on my account.” Or on the advice of he-whose-word-is-worthless.
Ianthe smiled sweetly and motioned toward a back door. “Since you love plants and flowers, I thought we might dine on the balcony overlooking my humble garden.”
Drifa gasped at what she saw. The balcony on which they stood, protected by a black iron railing, overlooked a lovely courtyard down below. The area was not even the size of a large bedchamber, but every space was filled with trees, flowers, bushes, and walkways, all situated around a small fountain in the center. “Oh my gods and goddesses, this is exactly what I wanted to see here in Byzantium. The palace gardens are grand, but this is the type of setting I would like to construct back at Stoneheim. Not using the same plants, of course, since many would not survive our harsh climate. Still ...” She turned to Ianthe and said, “See, you are not the only one who can ramble on.”
“I enjoy your enthusiasm. Would you like to go down and look around? Irene is not yet done setting out our meal.” She pointed to an elderly woman who was placing platters of sliced fruit, cheese, olives, and honey bread, along with the cups of some beverage, on a round table, beside which were several chairs.
“Oh, yea, I would,” she said, and followed Ianthe down a set of steep steps, apparently the only entrance into the garden. Urns sat along the balcony and on every other step, spilling ivy and an aromatic type of trailing rose.
Although it was early morning, the air was already hot and very humid. Good for the plants but not so good for the body. Ianthe, her hair parted in the center and coiled off either side of her face, was dressed appropriately for the weather in a chiton, the traditional sleeveless, ankle-length tunic favored by Greek women, today in a pretty shade of sky blue. The garment appeared cool, with the shoulders, neck, and arms exposed. Drifa, on the other hand, was sweltering in her long-sleeved, ankle-length gunna, covered with an open-sided apron. Even though her hair was pulled off her face in a single braid, she could feel perspiration beading along her hairline and under her arms. She determined then and there to purchase cooler garments today in the marketplace, or buy fabrics to have them made.
The gurgling fountain and a flowering fig tree gave the garden a welcoming aura. In addition, on one side there was an odd tree with heart-shaped leaves. The tree was not much taller than one of her Viking guardsmen, with gnarled widespread branches as wide as it was tall.
As Drifa’s brow furrowed studying the tree, Ianthe said, “We call this the Judas tree. Supposedly the same tree from which Judas Iscariot, the betrayer of Christ, hanged himself.”
“I love the dark rose flowers.” Some of the flowers grew right out of the trunk of the tree.
Ianthe pulled several pods, resembling long pole beans, off the tree and handed them to her, but not before opening one of them and showing her the seeds inside. “ ’Tis said that the flowers of this tree were once white, but turned dark with shame after Judas sinned by taking his own life on it.”
A fanciful story. If she took the seeds back to the Norselands, which she would definitely do, the Vikings would no doubt invent their own Norse myth, perchance involving Baldr, who was similar in many ways to the One-God religion’s Jesus Christ.
As they walked about, Drifa noted lilies, roses, and many, many irises in colors from white to blue, purple, and bright yellow. Ianthe explained that she had a particular liking for the strong-rooted flower. Friends who traveled about the world often brought her roots from any new species they saw. As a result, she now had fifty or more varieties. “It occurs to me, Drifa, that this flower would grow well in your homeland. Once mine are done blooming, I could separate the roots and give you some samples of each different color to take home.”
Drifa was touched by her generosity. “You would do that for me?”
“With pleasure.”
Guilt swamped Drifa suddenly because of her association with Sidroc, even though it was Sidroc who was the guilty party. She squeezed Ianthe’s arm. “I will come and help you dig them up. Let us say two sennights from now?”
“Oh, I do not know. It does not seem appropriate for a woman of your high station to be digging in the dirt.”
Drifa put a hand on each hip. “Who do you think does all the digging in my gardens at home? Certainly not my father. And I would not trust the servants with my precious flowers. They do not know a rose from a radish.”
They were back up on the balcony eating the lovely first meal, which was fortunately not too heavy in the heat, when Drifa brought up a subject that had been nagging at her. “Do not be offended, Ianthe, but are you able to support yourself independently here?”
Ianthe smiled. “You mean, must I depend on Sidroc’s support? Nay, do not be blushing so. I’m sure others wonder the same.”
“ ’Tis not just curiosity on my part. I come from a family of independent women, and betimes I have wondered what it would be like to live on my own. I am no longer a young maid, obviously, but still my father pushes me toward marriage.” She could have bitten her tongue for revealing so much.
“The answer, my dear, is that I can definitely support myself, and well, but that was not always the case. Sidroc set me up with this shop. He discovered me working as a jeweler’s assistant three years ago. To say that the master jeweler was cruel would be an understatement. Sidroc beat the man bloody and took me away, on the spot.”