Servants of Miklagard

By R. Hyslop

Ethelwulf arrives in Byzantium and become embroiled in the intrigues of the court of Basil II. Unwittingly they upset the schemes of the Eparchos and become reluctantly accepted as the genesis of the Varangian Guard. Whether it’s kidnap by a religious fanatic or attempted murder in the bed-chamber of an imperial princess,, danger stalks the Wanderer. Then a sudden discovery of treasure leads remorselessly to the final virtual destruction of his band.
With extensive End-Notes
Part 8 of a nine part series set in the 10th century Viking world. Here the background is at the Byzantine Empire in its last days of power where warfare and intrigue vie to destroy the Wanderer and his band.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bob Hyslop
• Release date: Nov 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9780993438974

R. Hyslop

I am a retired teacher, absorbed by History since I learned to read. I graduated in History from King's College, London in 1963, specialising in Medieval History. I wrote 'The Wanderer' trilogy at odd times 1992-2008 when I self-published it. The main effort came with the research. For more details see under 'Bob Hyslop'.

Book preview

Servants of Miklagard

(The Wanderer’ Part 8: Byzantium 990-98)

By R. Hyslop

Published in Great Britain 2008. 2015

(previously as Part 2 of ‘Varangian’ the third of ‘The Wanderer’ Trilogy)

by Cuthan Books (http://www.cuthanbooks.co.uk/ )

Copyright R. Hyslop

The right of R. Hyslop to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

ISBN: 9780993438974

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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To medieval heroes and tellers of tales

as well all those in the modern world who study and love them

Cover Illustration: Reverse side of a rune inscription near Stockholm of a returning Vara

It says: "runa rista . lit . rahnualtr .huar a . kriklanti . uas . lis . forunki "

Or: The runes be cut let Ragnvaldr. He was in Greece, was the host’s leader.

With acknowledgement to [e-mail]

As elsewhere in ‘The Wanderer’ the introductory passages are mainly drawn from the rich vein of Anglo-Saxon poetry. Biblical quotations are based on a translation of the Latin Vulgate version of St. Jerome. Obviously, Greek versions would have been used within the Byzantine Empire.

Throughout this work ‘Miklagard’ is the Russ term for Byzantium which is also known as the Eastern Roman Empire.

(This novel has extensive endnotes. Before accessing End-Notes PLEASE NOTE YOUR RETURN POINT as you will be taken to SET points in that long section (245 entries). Then scroll down to the relevant End-Note.

For example, in the TEXT click on [62] & you’ll go to a SET point (60) in End-Notes. Scroll down to End-Note 62 & read it.

To RETURN enter [62] in the file’s FIND Process (it may produce several so check you have the right 62), & you’re back where you were in the TEXT – or use if available .)

Table of Contents

The Story So Far

CHAPTER 1. Imperial Favour

CHAPTER 2. Crete

CHAPTER 3. The Paper Chase

CHAPTER 4. Revelation

CHAPTER 5. The Whore’s Murder

CHAPTER 6. The Bulgar Gold

CHAPTER 7. The Turkish Horseman

Afterword: Servants of Byzantium

Map showing places featured in ‘Servants of Byzantium’

Family Tree of Ethelwulf the Wanderer

Endnotes for ‘Servants of Byzantium

About the Author

&&&

The Story So Far

This is Part 8 of the Trilogy entitled ‘The Wanderer’ set in the northern world of the late 10th century. Here is the story so far.

Ethelwulf, Thane of Arne in Dorset, witnesses the murder of King Edward at Corfe in March 979 and, blamed for the crime, is driven into outlawry and then exile along with his cousins, Edwine and Morkere. After a brief stay on Jersey they sail for Ireland in 981 where they they tumble into the struggles between Gael and Viking and are expelled from the island.

Arriving in Iceland (984) they immediately become embroiled in a blood-feud and and making more enemies than friends are expelled (985). They sail to Denmark and help savage Wends destroy brigands before themselves being almost destroyed by the pagans. Forced to join Styrbjorn in his disastrous attempt to seize the Swedish throne (986) they slip eastwards to Gotland and Finland. Here they clash with Viking groups exploiting the natives, first in the far north and then on the shores of Lake Ladoga. Again they flee (988) towards the Viking powers of Holmgard (Novgorod) and Kenugard(Kiev), dominating the area called Gadarike (Russia). Once again their actions arouse enmity and they are forced to escape southwards to Miklagard or Byzantium – on the way, Edwine, the Wanderer’s cousin, is killed by Pechenegs.

&&&

Chapter 1. Imperial Favour

‘Never is aught easy in this world,

This earthly state is tightly held by fate.

Here fleeting goods and fickle friends

Ensure the world’s a wilderness.’ (‘The Wanderer’)

The dwarf blinked up at the brilliance of the light reflected from the white-washed tower above his head. Why had his master placed him up here, so far away from the bustle and the magic of the streets below? What good would it do to keep him here, staring out westwards up the Bosphorus towards the home of those half-heathen devils? Still, any order of the Quaestor [1] John had to be obeyed. The dwarf nervously fingered the lobe of his left ear; he wouldn’t like to lose an ear for disobedience.

Of course, his master was interested in anything those barbarians might do. Ever since the Autokrator[2] had sent his reluctant sister, Anna, into the wild northern wastes his master had been interested.[3] His master had been there when those barbarians stood firm against the onslaught of the double-damned Phocas[4]and so had given victory to the Autokrator.

Nicias had to admit he’d not chosen to be there on that glorious day. What good would his stunted form have been in preserving the sanctity of the throne? No, he’d have spent a very pleasurable time among the ladies of the alley-ways near the Hippodrome. There he could discover all those little secrets and whispers which oiled the process of the court. He’d known the Autokrator had had enough of the Grand Chamberlain,[5] even before the Autokrator himself had. That had been several years ago; now his master wanted to know how placed was the City Prefect [6] to wield power through the young Autokrator.

The Autokrator had been showing disturbing signs of independence lately. For most of his life he’d been content to follow the will of others.[7] However, for the last few years he’d started upon a risky course; the destruction of the power of his uncle had been one thing, how he disposed of the office of Grand Chamberlain was another. Nicias knew how anxious his master was that any responsibilities connected with the central office of administration should be shuffled into the control of the Quaestor and not go to bolster the regime of the City Prefect.

For a time, Nicias had considered slipping across to the quieter waters of the household of Alexius Euergetes, but his subtle hints had been rudely snubbed. So be it; let the City Prefect look to friends among the Guilds. He had helpers among the alley-ways and quays of Kynegion.

The dwarf brought his mind back to reality as his keen sight caught a glimpse of three sails coming from the north. Lately, travellers and traders had arrived in growing numbers from the territories of Kenugard and Novgorod. Nicias didn’t like their stories of dark, snow-covered woods and months of icy darkness. They were a cruel and barbaric race, scarcely fit to walk the streets of the New Rome. However, their weapons had proved useful in the past and they’d the naivety of the innocent clamouring for guidance from those wise in the ways of world. Nicias knew his master would welcome early news of three such boatloads of potential allies. Besides, it’d get him away from this infernal roof and down among the cooler shade of the streets and alleys below.

&&&

Morkere looked mournfully northwards, towards where the body of his twin had been laid to rest in the borders of the land terrorised by the Pechenegs.[8] Ethelwulf didn’t like seeing his cousin in such a black mood. He’d left part of his own heart up there among the labyrinth of the Kuban Delta. They’d been forced to escape from the power of Kenugard and gambled on the Pechenegs' movements taking them well away from the river. They’d believed Pechenegs could be given the slip among the rivulets, islands and marshes of the mouths of the river Kuban. In all this they’d been wrong.

Morkere had scarcely spoken to his cousin since they’d burst out into the open sea several weeks ago. It had been an easy voyage - that is, as far as the weather went. The wind had been brisk and steadily driven them south-east towards Miklagard. They’d scarcely bothered to stop at Bosporus[9] being so anxious to quit those regions of the north which had held such disasters. With hindsight he regretted their haste; at that outlying possession of Miklagard they should have picked up an interpreter or two. Sven might know the way to Miklagard, but he didn’t know the ways of Miklagard. Such ignorance could lead to catastrophe.

Now they’d left the open sea itself for the more restricted approach to Miklagard. He looked suspiciously at the hills on either side as the three ships passed unchallenged through the sea-way separating Europe and Asia. If only Edwine had lived to share in this approach to the Queen of Cities!

Ethelwulf looked across at Gunnar leaning forward towards the prow of ‘Niflheim’s Envoy’ to his right. Now there was another moody one; dangerous when drunk and silent - and not much safer when sober. Ethelwulf had cherished a great affection for the lean warrior since the days they’d battled against the wild Gaels in the Hall of Clonmel.[10] Even so, he’d rather have left Gunnar behind in the fens of the Kuban and had Edwine with him now.

On his left ‘Ran Cheater’ cut through the waves with careless ease; its commander was Thorgeis Green-Eye, a fearsome red-bearded Varangian whom Ethelwulf had first met at Kenugard. He’d no love for Thorgeis and knew the feeling was returned. However, he was a natural fighter with either hand and there’d never be any fear of desertion as long as he gained enough silver.

It was good to have a fine vessel beneath one's feet, even though ‘Brimfugol’[11] was not the equal of ‘Alsvid’. Never again would he trust himself or his men among marshes and rivers. He smiled as it seemed his whole life had been directed towards this journey to Miklagard. Would he be welcome here? Vladimir's expedition two years before had returned to Kenugard full of tales of the wealth, the luxury (and the treachery) of the Greeks. Some, usually with minds befuddled by the strong beer brewed in Holmgard, had muttered about taking their swords there to seek employment.

Greeks like other men to fight their wars, sneered Snorri Green-Cloak, spilling the last of his draught down his chin. For that they'll pay gold - there was a murmur of surprise from some of his hearers who hadn’t heard his tales before. Yes, gold not the silver pennies which the kings and jarls of the north think are worth a brave man's life!

Ethelwulf had put the information into the back of his mind. To know where weapon-skills could earn good pay was useful, but it was far away and there must be many weary miles and hostile tribes in the way. Then he’d felt safe and secure in the stronghold of Kenugard – confident that Oleg, Lord of Aldeigjuborg, would have too much to busy himself with in Karelia than seek revenge.[12] Then he’d been forced to break with Prince Vladimir and flee south chiefly to put off pursuit, partly due to the treachery of Thorgrim the Short but chiefly the result of events in Khazaria.[13] Only later did he recall Snorri's words and use them to keep his men going. Thorgeis had already planned to serve the Greeks; raiding Pecheneg villages or robbing Khazar traders had little to recommend it.

Three days ago they’d left the open sea and entered the narrower sea-space Sven said the Greeks called Bosphorus. Soon according to the promises of Sven they’d come to Miklagard itself. He was pleased Sven the Far-Sighted had followed him from Finland; the little man had earlier journeyed south to trade with the Greeks. He was a shrewd fellow, constantly keeping eyes and ears open for useful information; a perfect spy.

Ahead of them lay - what? Perhaps he’d made a mistake, another error of judgement. Something, however, told him there’d be work here for any force of nearly one hundred warriors. He knew the Greeks had given such fighters a name Varaggoi, he smiled. The word meant 'men who have given their word' and somehow the Greeks had picked it up from the followers of Svjatoslav years ago.[14] Strangely that gave him some form of comfort. The Greeks obviously expected men from the north to give their word and keep it. Well, he’d served in too many armies to have any second thoughts about making promises.

Now he could just make out buildings, white and gold in the sun. It wouldn’t be long before he was among them.

&&&

The Gate of Hebraike had been a surprise. After their ships had put in at the Harbour of Phospherion, Ethelwulf found himself hustled along by persistent men, dressed in the azure-striped uniforms of customs officials, through the Gate of Hebraike into one of the older parts of the city. He’d secured the company of both Gunnar and Thorgeis - the latter insisting as an independent captain he should know all decisions immediately.

Ethelwulf had tried out his half-remembered Latin but had been shrugged away by a fat, bald-headed man. Life would have been impossible had not a wizened trader, whom Thorgeis instantly recognised as one of those whining Khazar thieves stepped forward and offered to interpret for the newcomers. He introduced himself as Yakub in a strange, tuneless variation of Rus,[15] but seemed able to be understood readily by the fat official and that was all that mattered.

Thorgeis was against trusting the man, but Ethelwulf insisted they needed an interpreter - and this man was the only one readily available. Unfortunately, the discussion between the two captains took place in Rus. So Ethelwulf wasn’t surprised when, after agreeing to accept the services of the man, he was promptly told the charge would be five ortug of hack-silver.[16] At this Gunnar gripped his axe more tightly and promised to give the Khazar enough metal in his skull to satisfy the greed of even such a thief as himself. Yakub blanched at this threat, for nobody who stared into the blood-shot eyes of the Gall-Gael[17] fighter could doubt savagery was only just controlled. He hurriedly cut the price to three ortug.

The newcomers had no choice but to pay the sum. The fat official started fidgeting, sensing the squabbling developing in front of him would prove an unnecessary distraction. Ethelwulf promised to hand over the sum AFTER the interview. For a moment the yellow-skinned trader wondered whether he could accept the word of this tall stranger; then he caught sight of Gunnar's fingers tightening on his axe and knew he’d no choice. He offered his hand to the barbarian from the north; after a puzzled half-smile the newcomer grasped it. Yakub wasn’t sure whether he relished the strength of purpose in the grip.

Ethelwulf was concerned to find the trader walking ahead of the three newcomers in animated conversation with the fat man. He didn’t like the way the trader pointed to the ships and then to the south; the squeaking tones of the unknown tongue of Miklagard set all sorts of anxieties going somewhere in his stomach. Ethelwulf determined to start learning Greek before he was much older.

&&&

The slim aloof official greeting them in the large building just within the Gate of Hebraike proved surprisingly friendly. At first he found something at which to snigger when the fat official ushered in the trader and the three strangers. Then catching the glare in Gunnar's eyes, he glanced nervously at the four Tagmatikoi[18] lounging discreetly in the background. For once he was glad the Eparchos[19] had such a suspicious nature; having an ever-present coterie of spies sometimes had its uses.

John Angelus found he could listen with surprising patience to this barbarian's offer of military service as transmitted through Yakub. At least that was how he'd understood what the skinny intermediary had whined into his ears. He noticed it took the barbarian three attempts before he was satisfied the Khazar had properly conveyed what he was trying to say. What strange sounds the barbarian used. However, he liked the keen-eyed honesty that commandeered his features; and he looked admiringly at the broad sword which hung so confidently over the stranger's shoulder. The Quaestor glanced across at the Prefect's spies, straining to hear the ill-phrased jabbering of the Khazar interpreter. These warriors from the north could have their uses.

Meanwhile, Ethelwulf casually dismissed the four heavily-armoured strangers who so clearly had a keen interest in what was being said to this grey-haired official sitting in the silk-cushioned chair. He listened carefully to the Greek used by the merchant, surprised at the variation of sound and language which seemed to form each of the virtually identical statements in Rus. Was the Khazar cheating them? Ethelwulf doubted it; the man seemed to be honestly concerned at getting across the request. He noted the answering sounds from the official seemed to differ; with time and practice Ethelwulf had acquired an excellent ear for tongues.

The Quaestor found himself naturally giving the answer everyone expected - wait and see. He then turned to the Khazar and spoke rapidly to him. The trader blinked rapidly, clearly not too happy at these new instructions from so powerful an official of the Empire. At first he made no attempt to translate. Thorgeis spotted the blatant failure on the part of the interpreter and loudly remarked to Gunnar that clearly the Khazar had used up whatever value he had. At this the Khazar turned and fixed Thorgeis with a contemptuous sneer.

The Quaestor John has graciously offered to pay for you to learn to escape from the fetters of your barbarian tongue, he coldly remarked, but then added. However, he insists the Imperial Treasury can only pay for one week of my time.

Yakub paused, awaiting a rush of enthusiasm from the three Varangians and was disappointed when none was forthcoming. He could have pointed out they’d get nowhere - NOWHERE - if they continued to gabble in that noise they called language in the north. However, he didn’t for he had other work to do, and the Quaestor was noted for being neither prompt nor generous in his payments. Both he and the Quaestor knew the Postmaster General[20]had his own staff of interpreters that could solve the problem; however, it was clear the Quaestor wanted to delay any firm communication between the strangers and others in the imperial government.

Ethelwulf turned to Gunnar and deliberately shut out both Thorgeis and the Khazar by speaking rapidly in that version of Norse which was the common means of communication in Ireland.

This would be a great advantage to us, Gunnar, he paused. However, we must ensure by the end of a week we’ll be able to talk to these Greeks as they would wish, even if as little children.

Gunnar coughed and glared at the Khazar trader. You might well pick up a smattering of words, Ethelwulf, he conceded, as we all know you’ve an ear for strange tongues but...

Thorgeis grew ominously silent after failing with Rus and Swedish to grasp what his two companions had said.

That’s enough! cut in the captain of ‘Ram Cheater’.

Ethelwulf turned to Yakub and bluntly said, Please thank his Excellency, the Quaestor John, for his kind offer. We accept. Then he added in a quieter voice. If at least one of us can speak to the Quaestor in his own tongue, however simply, in that time, we’ll add ten ortugs to whatever the Greek pays.

He saw the Khazar's eyes glint briefly with greed. He was sure no mention would be made of this second source of income. Hurriedly Yakub blurted out the acceptance by the strangers of the kindness of the Quaestor. John Angelus didn’t like the man, rejecting the too-obviously assumed confidentiality of the Khazar. The sooner he could dispense with the trader's services the better. He found himself drawn to these strangers and that was just why he didn’t want any of his colleagues to get involved - yet. In the end the Autokrator would welcome these men, he was sure of it; however, he wanted to ensure they’d be introduced through the offices of the Quaestor and no one else.

The three strangers and the Khazar found themselves ushered out of the room, noticing one of the lounging eavesdroppers also slipped away. As they walked slowly out into the sunlight, Ethelwulf turned to the Khazar and solemnly handed him the promised fee for his services. Without a word of thanks Yakub quickly thrust the silver into his purse; only then did he promise to meet the Varangians for their first lesson later that day, after he’d taken the opportunity to put his brother in temporary charge of his business. Ethelwulf breathed his thanks for the man's efforts and then smoothly commented, If, Khazar, we fail to talk to the Greek at all in seven days, you’ll receive payment in axe-silver from Gunnar.

The trader stopped and his mouth fell open. Was this barbarian threatening him? If so it would be the easiest of actions to disappear into the alleys of the city and never be seen by such ruffians again. Then he remembered he’d accepted the commission of the Quaestor; he couldn’t abandon these strangers. He may not like his new pupils, but he’d certainly have to make sure they passed their examination.

&&&

The Khazar proved to be a good teacher, or rather Ethelwulf made an excellent pupil. In the last ten years he’d acquired a good knowledge of the variations of Norse heard in Waterford, Breidavik, Hedeby, Ladoga and Kenugard; in addition he possessed a smattering of Norman, Wendish and Rus.[21] The trader's other pupils, however, proved less adept. Gunnar remained limited to a collection of nouns and Thorgeis simply grunted some distortions of stock phrases. Morkere had been added to the class and showed a facility with the tongue of the Greeks which surpassed even that of his cousin.

Within a week the small party, with Morkere replacing the reluctant Gunnar, returned to the Tribunal of the Quaestor and was greeted by the official with seeming impatience.

We say some words now, said Ethelwulf, and he noted the quick exchange of glances between the Quaestor and their teacher. Again I say we want your soldiers be.

A slight smile appeared on the face of John. This was certainly not good Greek, but quite creditable for a barbarian with only a week's practice. He asked who the newcomer was and was surprised the barbarian leader answered before the Khazar had a chance to translate.

He name Morkere. I name Ethelwulf. England come. No Rus.

This last statement was a surprise. The Quaestor John had assumed all such barbarians came from the domains of Prince Vladimir of Kenugard. Where was this Angleland he asked and received another surprising answer.

Rome call England Britannia. My people take country. Long way. There was a pause as Ethelwulf noticed the Quaestor was trying to come to a decision. Morkere tell more.

At that Morkere stepped forward and said, We fight like Rus but we not Rus. If we promise we your soldiers, we always fight for you.

Interesting thought the Quaestor, especially that more than one has started to learn Greek, even if he murders the language slightly less than his leader. Like other citizens of the Empire he’d been impressed by the fighting abilities displayed by the followers of Prince Vladimir when they’d helped the Autokrator smash the forces of Phocas. However, he’d also noted an independence of spirit; one didn’t want too much independence in hired-soldiers, they had to take orders without question. Quaestor John Angelus began to form some idea of how to make use of this gift of God; however, he didn’t notice one of the ever-present watchers slip off.

Would you take my orders - acting on the authority of the Autokrator, of course? he added, giving half-a-glance to the spies of the City Prefect. He frowned as he realised there were only three there now. His frown deepened as he noticed the look of incomprehension on the face of the barbarian leader; however, he saw the one called Morkere whisper something rapidly to him even as the Khazar began a translation. Perhaps that other one could be trained further; he liked the dark looks of the young man and a question about the sadness of his expression came and died on his lips. It was the leader who spoke first.

We fight for you; we fight for emperor. We good fighters! and he glared at the three eavesdroppers as if daring any of them to challenge that judgement.

Quaestor John summoned the Khazar closer and rapidly settled his account. He didn’t want any more ears than necessary to take in the rest of the conversation. It was a risk but once he’d enrolled these men - he suddenly stopped, realising for the first time he actually didn’t know how many barbarians there were. He fired this question to Yakub who was securing a purse to his belt. The Khazar admitted he didn’t know, and, without asking permission, turned and asked the barbarian leader. Quaestor John was annoyed; that information would be better kept to himself alone. However, he was pleased when Morkere indicated ninety and seven. Almost enough for three Pentekontarchies.[22] Could he get more, perhaps enough for a whole Bandon? He asked this question and there was some confusion among the barbarians. Quaestor John's suspicions were aroused. Why did they hesitate? Surely they could simply send back to Kenugard and bring more warriors like themselves. He nervously drummed the fingers of his left hand against the arm of his red-upholstered chair, while the barbarians all seemed to try to speak to the Khazar at once. The trader was obviously at a loss as to what to say and nervously looked at the door, wishing he'd been able to escape before this problem had come up. He saw the Quaestor stiffen, looking from the barbarians to the interpreter and back again.

At last Yakub started nervously trying to explain; interrupted now by one barbarian then another. He pointed to Thorgeis glaring up at the imperial official as if challenging him to question his honesty. This man insists, Nobillisimus, there’d be no problem. He rapidly questioned the red-bearded barbarian and was answered in a flood of unintelligible gibberish. He says he could send messages to his cousins in Kenugard and Holmgard and within a year could get whatever men you require.

Now the Khazar found himself grabbed by Ethelwulf who, thrusting his face very close to the alarmed trader, bluntly stated, Don't you realise, you load of ass-dung, we can’t contact Kenugard at all. He paused, forgetting how much or how little the trader knew of their background. Then he decided on the truth; better that than caught out later. We - we quarrelled with the Lord of Kenugard and -

He doesn't know we’ve come to Miklagard! finished Morkere. A thin smile flittered across the features of the Khazar. Knowledge was power; perhaps he could find some way of turning that titbit of information into silver the next time he travelled to the Cherson. Ethelwulf noted the brief light in the eyes and his grip on the trader tightened. Tell the Quaestor what I’ve just said, son of a toad!

Yakub shook himself free from the Varangian's grasp and faced the Quaestor once again. Quickly he explained it appeared that some of the barbarians were running away from Kenugard. John frowned; he didn’t like news like that. Any further discussion was prevented by the noisy arrival of the absconding spy. The man swaggered into the room, gave a curt bow to the Quaestor and then loudly demanded the barbarians be taken immediately to the emperor. John cursed, realising by the emperor was also meant the City Prefect. However, he could still save some recognition by a slight distortion of the truth.

These men have offered me their swords and I’ve accepted them, he paused noting the disappointment on the braggart's face with some satisfaction. I intended to form a small corps of these Varangians and then offer them for service with his imperial majesty. An unbelieving smirk began to appear on the lips of the messenger. John killed the smirk, I’ll take these men myself to his imperial majesty so I can offer him their service immediately.

With that he turned to the Khazar, ordering him to stay for the interview as a required witness. He then told him to instruct the barbarians to be silent and follow him to the emperor. He was pleased the Khazar's interpretation of his words seemed to find favour with all the barbarians.

&&&

Ethelwulf was struck by the blueness of the ceiling and the gold of the angels disporting themselves in various attitudes above his head. He’d seen wondrous illuminations in the manuscripts at Wareham and in Waterford but they’d been nothing to this. Even the ikons which the Princess Anna [23]had brought to Kenugard as part of her bridal-price couldn’t match the strength, the majesty of those figures His mouth fell open and he suddenly felt his cousin's elbow in his ribs. A procession was entering