Historical fiction, Scottish; Scotland -- In literature
"An hour had elapsed, during which we heard, from time to time, the
noise of battle, when a mounted Varangian presented himself at the side
of the Emperor's litter. The horse was covered with foam, and had
obviously, from his trappings, the fineness of his limbs, and the
smallness of his joints, been the charger of some chief of the desert,
which had fallen by the chance of battle into the possession of the
northern warrior. The broad axe which the Varangian bore was also
stained with blood, and the paleness of death itself was upon his
countenance. These marks of recent battle were held sufficient to
excuse the irregularity of his salutation, while he exclaimed,--'Noble
Prince, the Arabs are defeated, and you may pursue your march at more
leisure.'
"'Where is Jezdegerd?' said the Emperor, who had many reasons for
dreading this celebrated chief.
"'Jezdegerd,' continued the Varangian, 'is where brave men are who fall
in their duty.'
"'And that is'--said the Emperor, impatient to know distinctly the fate
of so formidable an adversary--
"'Where I am now going,' answered the faithful soldier, who dropped
from his horse as he spoke, and expired at the feet of the
litter-bearers. The Emperor called to his attendants to see that the
body of this faithful retainer, to whom he destined an honourable
sepulchre, was not left to the jackal or vulture; and some of his
brethren, the Anglo-Saxons, among whom he was a man of no mean repute,
raised the body on their shoulders, and resumed their march with this
additional encumbrance, prepared to fight for their precious burden,
like the valiant Menelaus for the body of Patroclus."
The Princess Anna Comnena here naturally paused; for, having attained
what she probably considered as the rounding of a period, she was
willing to gather an idea of the feelings of her audience. Indeed, but
that she had been intent upon her own manuscript, the emotions of the
foreign soldier must have more early attracted her attention. In the
beginning of her recitation, he had retained the same attitude which he
had at first assumed, stiff and rigid as a sentinel upon duty, and
apparently remembering nothing save that he was performing that duty in
presence of the imperial court. As the narrative advanced, however, he
appeared to take more interest in what was read. The anxious fears
expressed by the various leaders in the midnight council, he listened
to with a smile of suppressed contempt, and he almost laughed at the
praises bestowed upon the leader of his own corps, Achilles Tatius. Nor
did, even the name of the Emperor, though listened to respectfully,
gain that applause for which his daughter fought so hard, and used so
much exaggeration.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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