"To hel with their harbour master," growled Harald. Whirling away, he ordered the rowers to proceed up the channel along the northern shore.

We continued on our way, more slowly this time, and accompanied by a score of small craft, each with boatmen shouting and hailing us in shrill voices. Numerous vessels, large and small, thronged the way and it was all Thorkel could do to steer us through the obstruction without colliding with one or another of them. Hence, we proceeded with much shouting and cursing and waving of arms, using the oars as much for shoving other craft out of the way as for rowing. The commotion accompanying our tedious progress was deafening, the upset complete.

The ships had not travelled very far, however, when we came upon an enormous iron chain. Fixed to gargantuan rings set in the wall, the chain-each link as big as an ox!-stretched across the entire channel from one bank to the other, closing the waterway to all larger craft. Small boats could pass easily under this chain, but the longships of the Sea Wolves were halted within sight of many fine houses and several palaces.

Perplexed, frustrated, Harald Bull-Roar, King of the Danes, gaped at the chain in disbelief. Not knowing anything else to do, he ordered some of the warriors to destroy it. Leaning from the rails, the barbarians began chopping at the nearest links with their axes. The attack made no impression on the ponderous barrier, and the men soon gave up altogether. Even prodding it with oars, they could not so much as make the great chain swing.

King Harald commanded his pilot to turn the ships and follow the shoreline south, thinking to find some weakness in the city's defences the other way. The rowers renewed their labour, although with somewhat less zeal than before, for the inner waters were far more crowded with ships and boats. Pushing through them all was a torturous tactic, but the Sea Wolves persevered, and eventually rounded the peninsula to find a busy port with not one but three or more harbours, and the largest of these was, like the rest of the city, protected by high walls.

Harald ordered Thorkel to make for the first of the harbours, and we soon came within sight of the quay, but could go no further for the number of ships and small craft jamming the harbour entrance. The king was still puzzling what to do next when a large, square-hulled boat approached. This boat contained ten or more men dressed in fine red cloaks, and carrying spears and small round shields; they wore ornate helmets of burnished bronze on their heads, and short red breeches which ended just above the tops of their tall leather shoes.

The foremost man of the group was a short man who made himself appear taller by way of a high horsetail crest on his helmet; he stood at the prow of their boat holding a rod with a bronze ball on the end. This fellow began hailing us and gesticulating with the rod; those with him called out in loud angry voices.

Some of the Sea Wolves laughed at the presumption of these men; thinking they had come to fight us, the Danes began taunting them, shouting, "Is this the mighty warhost of Miklagard?" and "Who are these maidens we see before us? Have they come with kisses to greet us?"

Squinting with suspicion, Jarl Harald glared at the men in the boat. "Find out what they are saying," he demanded, shoving me roughly towards the rail.

I hailed the leader of the men in Greek, and he made a reasonable reply. I thanked him for speaking simply and slowly, for my tongue was not accustomed to such speech, and told him I would convey his words to the king.

"I am the quaestor of Hormisdas Harbour," the man said importantly, and told me simply and directly what to tell the king.

"Well?" rumbled Harald impatiently. Sweat was running down his face and neck, for the sun had climbed past mid-morning and now shone as a hot, dirty disk in a grey-white sky.

"The man says you must pay the harbour tax," I said, and explained that the men in the boat were part of the harbour guard charged with collecting money and keeping order.

"But did you tell them who I am?" growled Harald.

"I told them. They say it makes no difference, you must pay the harbour tax like everyone else."

"To hel with their harbour tax!" roared Harald, giving vent to his frustration at last. "We will lay siege to the city and starve them into submission!"

This sentiment brought grunts and growls of approval from barbarians looking on. They, like their lord, were frustrated and anxious. The size of the city dismayed them, and they sought release for their consternation in familiar, if foolish, action.

"A siege is a fine thing, of course," observed Thorkel mildly. "But it is such a large city, Jarl Harald, and we have only a hundred and sixty men with us. Even if we had ten times as many, I fear we would be hard-pressed to surround it."

Harald, glaring hard, made to dismiss his pilot, but one of the king's house karlar spoke up. "Perhaps it would go better with us," he suggested gently, "if we were to pay this tax and seek entry into the treasure houses some other way."

"I am a king!" bellowed Harald. "I receive tribute from jarls and free men. I pay tribute to no one."

Nodding sympathetically, Thorkel stepped near his lord. "Nay, jarl," he suggested, "do not say it is tribute. Think of it as casting a little grain to fatten the goose for the feast."

Harald looked at the enormous walls, and cast an eye over the wide sweep of the busy bay. There then came the sound of something heavy knocking against the hull of the ship. I peered over the rail to see the harbour guard striking the side of our ship with his ball-tipped rod.

"We cannot stay here all day," he said. "Pay the tax or I will summon the guard ship."

I replied that we were discussing how best to make this payment, and asked for a few moments in which to make our decision. To the king I said, "They are demanding an answer, Jarl Harald. What will you do?"

He stood paralysed by indecision, gazing up at the city walls which seemed to loom over us like a high range of mountains barring our destination. After a few moments, the guard resumed his assault on the hull of the longship.

He shouted words to the effect that we were rousing the wrath of the emperor, and stood in danger of increasing the tax by our refusal to pay. This, I told to the king.

"Agh!" cried the king in frustration. "A man cannot think with all this din. How much?" he shouted. "How much to send them away?"

Leaning over the rail once more, I asked how much was required. "Four hundred and fifty nomismi," answered the guard. "One hundred for each of the small ships, and one hundred and fifty for the large."

Harald agreed reluctantly, and gave me a silver coin which he pulled from his belt. "Ask him its worth," the king ordered, and summoned one of his karlar to bring a purse from his trove box.

I stepped to the rail and held up the coin. "We are ready to pay the tax now," I said. "Please, tell me how much this silver coin is worth."

The quaestor rolled his eyes elaborately and replied, "I will come aboard your ship." So saying, he and two of his men, assisted by others in the boat, climbed to the rail and were soon standing before the barbarian king.

"The coin," demanded the tax collector, thrusting out his hand, "give it to me."

Placing the coin in his outstretched hand, I said, "The man you see before you is Harald, King of the Danes of Skania. He has come to pay his respects to the emperor.

The harbour guard made a sound through his nose as if this information meant nothing to him. "He may pay what he likes to the emperor," replied the man, examining the silver in his hand, "but first he must pay the quaestor." Holding up the coin, he said, "This silver denarius is worth ten nomismi."

I counted out the twenty coins Harald had given me, and then turned to the king. "We have paid two hundred," I told him, "we must pay two hundred and fifty more."