Thunder rumbled, lightning picking out the details of the darkened streets. Hardrada, hood pulled over his face, hurried with shoulders hunched, moving swiftly along the slight incline towards the harbour. Some hours ago a meeting with a ferryman proved fruitful. At least for the ferryman. Hardrada, a bag of gold coin lighter, knew it was his only sure way to get out of the Kontoskalion Harbour and cross the Marmara Sea to the island of Principus.
Although not late, the rolling time of year meant the Iron Gate, which separated the harbour from the city, had already closed. The guards, preparing a brazier against the chill, jerked their heads when Hardrada drew closer. As hands moved to swords, the gigantic Viking held out yet another bag of coin. “Evening lads,” he said.
“And where might
