“Someone told me—­it may have been you, Olaf, or another—­that once you did more, challenging a heathen god for the sake of one you loved, and defeating him.  It was added that this was for a man, but that I do not believe.  Doubtless it was for the sake of Iduna the Fair, of whom you have spoken to me, whom it seems you cannot forget although she was faithless to you.  It is said that the best way to hold love is to be faithless to him who loves, and in truth I believe it,” she added bitterly.

“You are mistaken, Empress.  It was to be avenged on him for the life of Steinar, my foster-brother, which he had taken in sacrifice, that I dared Odin and hewed his holy statue to pieces with this sword; of Steinar, whom Iduna betrayed as she betrayed me, bringing one to death and the other to shame.”

“At least, had it not been for this Iduna you would never have given battle to the great god of the North and thus brought his curse upon you.  For, Olaf, those gods live; they are devils.”

“Whether Odin is or is not, I do not fear his curse, Empress.”

“Yet it will find you out before all is done, or so I think.  Look you, pagan blood still runs in me, and, Christian though I am, I would not dare one of the great gods of Greece and Rome.  I’d leave that to the priests.  Do you fear nothing, Olaf?”

“I think nothing at all, since I hewed off Odin’s head and came away unscathed.”

“Then you are a man to my liking, Olaf.”

She paused, looking at me even more strangely than before, till I turned my eyes, indeed, and stared out at the sea, wishing that I were in it, or anywhere away from this lovely and imperious woman whom I was sworn to obey in all things.

“Olaf,” she said presently, “you have served me well of late.  Is there any reward that you would ask, and if so, what?  Anything that I can give is yours, unless,” she added hastily, “the gift will take you away from Constantinople and from—­me.”

“Yes, Augusta,” I answered, still staring out at the sea.  “In the prison yonder is an old bishop named Barnabas of Egypt, who was set upon by other bishops at the Council while you were away and wellnigh beaten to death.  I ask that he may be freed and restored to his diocese with honour.”

“Barnabas,” she replied sharply.  “I know the man.  He is an Iconoclast, and therefore my enemy.  Only this morning I signed an order that he should be kept in confinement till he died, here or elsewhere.  Still,” she went on, “though I would sooner give you a province, have your gift, for I can refuse you nothing.  Barnabas shall be freed and restored to his see with honour.  I have said.”

Now I began to thank her, but she stopped me, saying: 

“Have done!  Another time you can talk to me of heretics with whom you have made friends, but I, who hear enough of such, would have no more of them to-night.”