Blood of the South

FOURTEEN

‘If I try to get you out via the gates in the land walls,’ the big man said, ‘we won’t stand a chance, and both of us will fetch up in the emperor’s dungeons in neighbouring shackles while they decide how best to wrest the truth out of us. Yes, I know you’re no threat and have no terrible secrets to reveal.’ He spoke over Rollo’s interruption. ‘But if they are convinced you’re a spy, then that’s how you’ll be treated, and, believe me, you don’t want that fate.’

‘And you think they’d deal with you the same way?’ Rollo asked.

‘There’s no think about it,’ Harald replied grimly. ‘If and when they finally decide we’re telling them the truth, there won’t be much left of us that’s still in one piece, and we’ll wish we were dead.’

Rollo didn’t want to dwell on that. ‘So, we’ll get away by sea.’

‘You will,’ Harald corrected. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ His expression saddened. ‘This is my home, for better or worse, and I’ll live out my days here.’ He gave a deep sigh, as if the prospect pained him. Then, with a visible effort, he looked up at Rollo and said, ‘As it happens, I know someone who’s sailing west in the very near future.’

‘Sailing west?’ Rollo echoed. What did that mean? He needed to get back to England; if he couldn’t share the intelligence he’d gathered so laboriously with Alexius in exchange for some hint as to the emperor’s intentions, then he must return to King William and reveal the discoveries to him.

Harald smiled briefly. ‘Just a turn of phrase. Everything’s west, to us out here in the east. This man is going to England.’

‘You’re sure?’ Rollo persisted.

‘Yes, yes,’ Harald replied impatiently, waving a hand as if to brush away the question. ‘That’s where he came from, so that’s where he’ll return.’ He paused. ‘It’s odd, because, now I come to think of it, you’re not the first man I’ve encountered recently who claims kinship or acquaintance with people in the east of England. This man I’m thinking of-’ But he stopped, shaking his head. ‘It’s not surprising, I suppose, when we still get so many arrivals who have sailed down the old route.’

Rollo was hardly listening. The prospect of a saviour, ready and waiting to take him away and out of danger, was all-absorbing. ‘What sort of vessel?’ he demanded. ‘Merchantman?’

Harald gave him a sly glance. ‘Not exactly.’ Before Rollo could ask more, Harald said, ‘First things first. You only got up out of your sick bed yesterday, so you ought to test yourself to see if your strength is returning. It’s not going to be easy getting you down to the harbour, and I don’t want you collapsing on me.’

For the rest of that day, Rollo alternated spells of increasingly demanding activity – Harald seemed to know a lot about putting a man through a strict drill – with periods of lying, panting, sweating and spent, on his bed. His appetite increased, and Harald fed him well. By evening, he felt he was starting to return to his usual form. The wound in his arm was healing, and his fever had not returned. He reckoned he was ready.

Harald agreed. ‘We’ll spend tomorrow as we spent today,’ he said, as Rollo prepared, with great relief, to turn in for the night. ‘Then, once darkness falls, I’ll get you down to the quay.’

‘Will this man be expecting me?’ Rollo asked. ‘And is he willing to take an extra passenger?’

‘He is,’ Harald said. ‘I saw him this morning when I went out for provisions. He was reluctant, but finally saw the benefits.’

Instantly Rollo was suspicious. ‘What do you mean, benefits?’

‘Never you mind,’ Harald said. ‘Get some sleep.’

The next day tested Rollo’s nerves to the limit. Knowing he was about to get away made him desperate with impatience, and the hours crept by with unbelievable sloth. He was also apprehensive: he and Harald would be out after curfew, and the prospect of evading the watch as the two of them made their stealthy way down to the shore was little short of terrifying. At one point, unable to restrain himself, he asked why they didn’t go in the daytime, but Harald merely said, ‘Leave it to me. I know what I’m doing.’

Harald had cleaned the blood off Rollo’s tunic and mended the rent in his shirt where the knife had cut, and Rollo was touched to see that the old man had also polished his boots. Not that the small kindnesses came as a surprise; in the many hours they had spent in each other’s company, Rollo had learned a great deal about Harald.

As Rollo lay on his bed in the late afternoon, trying to obey Harald’s injunction to rest while he could, he thought about the man who had so readily cast himself in the role of Rollo’s saviour. Harald was a generous man, and he had opened his heart to his unexpected guest. Rollo had learned many things: some that had shocked him, some that had moved him to deep pity; some that, when he came to reflect, he sensed he had known all along. And in the end, when the two men who had so recently been strangers had finally finished the last of their long, soul-baring conversations, Harald had made a request, and Rollo had promised to do his utmost to fulfil it.

What Harald had asked explained, in part, why he was prepared to lay his neck on the block to help Rollo get away.

Harald prepared a good, sustaining evening meal, but now, his tension rapidly increasing, Rollo had little appetite. The daylight faded and darkness deepened. Finally, Harald looked at him and said, ‘Ready?’

‘Yes.’

Harald handed him a heavy cloak made of grey wool, its hood bordered with braid. ‘The watch wear similar garments on chilly nights,’ he said. He didn’t elaborate.

Rollo’s apprehension deepened.

They stepped out into the night. For the first time, Rollo saw the outside of the house where his life had been saved. It was built of small reddish bricks, some courses of which had been laid in decorative patterns. He spotted a series of chevrons and a herringbone design. The house was modest in size, but no expense appeared to have been spared. As in the interior, the best materials and craftsmen had been used. It was situated up on one of the city’s hills, high above the tumultuous tangle of streets far below, and soaring over the towers and domes of the glorious imperial buildings and the many churches.

For a few moments, Rollo simply stood and drank in the beauty of the Queen of Cities spread out beneath him, her stonework glimmering pale and silver in the moonlight against the backdrop of the deep navy sky. Then Harald gave him a nudge, and muttered, ‘Come on. We should keep moving.’

The street descended steeply, in places turning into a flight of stone steps. Rollo wondered how Harald had managed to carry him up to his house; perhaps he’d had help. He should have asked …

Harald was moving swiftly but with great caution, darting from one patch of shadow to the next, his eyes everywhere, staring ahead, behind, and to the side in a repetitive pattern. He seemed to be leading them down on the opposite side from the Golden Horn. Wherever the ship awaiting Rollo lay at anchor – unless Harald planned to double back on himself – it must be on the Sea of Marmara side. So much the better, Rollo thought. Less far to sail under the watchful eyes of those up on the sea walls.

Presently he caught sight of those sea walls. They were battlemented, and along their city-facing side ran a long parapet from which defenders would fire down on attackers. He was about to make some comment to Harald when suddenly, breaking the night’s stillness, came the sound of boots on stone: five, maybe six, marching men.

Quick as a snake, Harald stepped into a narrow, dark alley, dragging Rollo in behind him. Already the light of the watchmen’s flaring torches was splashing against the walls rising on either side of the street. With a violent gesture, Harald dragged Rollo’s hood over his face, pushing his head down into his chest.

Rollo could hardly believe he had forgotten his training. Usually it was automatic to cover his head, knowing as he did that the pale oval of a face glowed in the dark, and the bright, liquid surface of a pair of eyes caught and reflected the light like a sheet of glass.

Once again, it seemed, Harald had saved him from disaster.

The watch passed – far too close – and Harald held Rollo back for a long time after they had gone. ‘Varangians,’ he said very softly, right in Rollo’s ear. ‘Three of them I know very well.’

When at last they stepped out on to the street once more, Rollo’s sense of vulnerability had greatly increased. He could make out the sea walls quite clearly now, and they were a formidable obstacle. He had no idea how Harald proposed to get him past them: through one of the gates? But surely there would be sentries, primed to be on the lookout for a man answering Rollo’s description.

They edged down a wider street, then branched off down a very steep, narrow alley; little more than a crack between two tall buildings rising high on either side. The alley’s sides seemed to be closing in, and Rollo feared they would not be able to get through. Then, abruptly, Harald turned to his right, bending double to crawl beneath a low archway, its sides and top faced with bricks. In pitch darkness, he led the way onwards for perhaps a dozen paces, then stopped again. It was too dark for Rollo to see but, from the sounds, it seemed Harald was feeling along the brickwork that formed the sides of the tunnel, searching for something.

With a grunt of satisfaction, he found it. There was a series of metallic sounds – Rollo caught the chink of keys – and a scratching sound as Harald thrust open a heavy wooden door, slightly lower than the arch through which they had entered the passage. He pushed Rollo inside, then crawled in after him, turning to close and re-lock the door. Having no idea where he was, nor on what he was standing – it could have been the edge of a precipice, or the top of a flight of steps – Rollo stayed very still. There was the rasp of a flint, and then a light flared, very bright in the utter darkness.

‘Now we can risk a flame,’ Harald said, satisfaction in his voice. ‘It won’t be spotted in here.’ He held up the torch, and Rollo stared round in amazement.

They were indeed at the top of a flight of steps. Carved out of stone and perilously steep, they descended into the darkness below. ‘Where are we?’ he whispered.

Harald grinned, pale teeth flashing amid the heavy beard. ‘This joins up with a passage leading from beneath the palace,’ he replied. ‘The palace is that way -’ he pointed ahead – ‘and we need to turn south and a little west. There’s a series of these passages,’ he added, ‘running from the walls back into the heart of the city.’

‘How did you know that door was there?’

‘Privileged information.’ Harald tapped the side of his nose. ‘I was a Varangian guard, remember. We who defend the emperor need to know how to get him out of danger, in any and every way we can devise.’

‘You just said the passage runs from the walls,’ Rollo said as they began the long descent. ‘It’s not going to help us if we emerge on the city side, is it?’

Harald sighed. ‘Use your head,’ he said. ‘Do you imagine I’d be bringing you down here in the subterranean dankness and darkness if I didn’t know a way to get you out safely? On the other side of the sea walls?’

‘But such a route, evading the walls, surely makes the defences vulnerable?’ Rollo protested.

With exaggerated patience, Harald said, ‘Not if nobody knows about it except the emperor’s personal bodyguard.’

That made sense, Rollo thought. Very good sense: if ever an enemy succeeded in bursting through Constantinople’s formidable defences and breaking into the palace, then it was wise indeed to have a secret way of getting the emperor out to safety.

‘You Varangians appear to have thought of everything,’ he remarked.

‘We try,’ said Harald modestly.

There followed a long time of slipping and sliding down endless steps, scrambling over unseen obstacles and crawling through impossibly tight tunnels lined with cold, damp stone. At one point they emerged into a vast open space, in which a series of deep stone-lined cisterns extended under a vaulted roof. ‘Emergency water supply in case of siege,’ Harald said. ‘The Romans built them.’

At last they reached the end of the passage. For the final hundred paces or so, they had hurried down a long incline to a lower depth – Harald said they were going under the sea walls – and, just as abruptly, steep steps had risen up again. Rollo had been aware of passing through a succession of strong iron grilles, one at the start of the tunnel under the walls, one in the middle and one at the far end. Each had opened with a clang and a clatter as Harald wielded his keys and removed the chains that bound them shut.

Now they stood close together in a small, cramped space, the opening of the tunnel behind them and, before them, a wall made of huge blocks of stone. Harald slapped it with the palm of his hand. ‘The outer skin of the sea wall,’ he said. ‘Hundreds of years old, and as impregnable as the day it was built.’

Turning away, he bent low, and again there came the sound of jingling keys. Then, perhaps half a man’s height from the base of the wall, a small round aperture appeared, about the size of the top of a barrel. There was a sudden and very welcome inflow of fresh air. It was cool, and scented with the salt of the sea and the tang of seaweed. Rollo filled his lungs, once, then again. Looking up at him with a grin, Harald said, ‘There’s plenty more of that outside. Give me your pack – I’ll throw it out after you. Off you go,’ and indicated the hole.

Rollo folded his shoulders forward and thrust himself through the gap. But Harald grabbed his arm, holding him back. ‘Best go feet first,’ he advised. ‘There’s a bit of a drop.’

That, Rollo thought as he landed hard, instinctively bent his knees and landed in a heap on his side, was an understatement. He struggled to his knees, then fell back again, suppressing a cry of pain, as his pack landed on his head. A short time later, Harald jumped down beside him.

Rollo stared up at the vast walls soaring up behind them. There was no sign of the hole through which they’d just emerged. ‘Where’s it gone?’ he whispered.

‘I shut it up again,’ Harald replied.

‘But – but I can’t even see it!’

‘That’s the general idea,’ Harald remarked. Then, suddenly serious, he added, ‘Don’t imagine the possibility of enemies gaining access that way didn’t occur to the men who made that tunnel. At the landward end, there are great tanks of sea water, and if ever an invader managed to discover that opening -’ he jerked a thumb up at the sea wall – ‘the tunnel would instantly be flooded.’

An image filled Rollo’s head: men struggling through that dark, rough, narrow gap; single file, hampered by the weapons they bore; shouts and curses. Then a sound from hell: water, broiling and rushing down to engulf them. Panic as those in the front desperately tried to turn, to push back against the men crowding behind them. The first overwhelming attack of the water …

‘The tanks are always kept full,’ Harald said. ‘But, fortunately for you and me, they are very well maintained and they don’t leak.’

Rollo shook the pictures of horror out of his mind. Then, firmly turning his back on the sea walls, he took his first proper look at the scene before him.

They were right at the south-western end of the long shore that faced the Sea of Marmara, and the city rising up on its hills seemed already distant. Spinning round, he stared back along the quays and the many harbours, and the impression was of a stretch of water full of seagoing vessels of every kind. Many of the quays were well-lit and guarded, but the spot where he and Harald stood was in deep shadow. It was very still and quiet. Rollo could hear the sound of small waves splashing as they broke on the shore, and a soft rasp of pebbles as the water receded again.

‘You’ve brought me to a beach!’ he said in an angry whisper, turning to glare at Harald. ‘No ship can tie up here.’

Harald grinned. ‘Not just a beach.’ He pointed, and, stretching out into the smooth water, Rollo saw the dark silhouette of a wooden jetty. ‘See?’ he added quietly. ‘I told them exactly where to meet us.’

Hurrying forward, Rollo peered out into the darkness, hardly able to credit what lay alongside the jetty.

It was a sinuous, graceful shape, perhaps twenty paces long, riding low in the water. The end nearest to the shore rose up in a narrow curve, tapering into a curl. The front end soared higher, and was topped with the long, slim, stylized head of a fearsome creature … a serpent? Rollo narrowed his eyes. No: a boar, its cruel tusks extending in sharp points that glistened in the starlight. Halfway along the vessel was a tall mast, the lines of its rigging stretching fore and aft to prow and stern, and from these lines hung down sheets of canvas, presumably sheltering those on board.

‘The Gullinbursti,’ Harald said beside him. Totally absorbed by the incredible beauty of the ship – and by the miracle of its presence out there on the water, waiting for him – Rollo had momentarily forgotten about Harald. ‘The name means Golden Bristler,’ Harald went on, ‘which was what they called the famous boar made by the dwarves Brokk and Eitri out of pigskin and golden wire, and given to Freya. Gullinbursti was fastest of all creatures, both over water and in the air, and the light that shone from him was like the sun’s rays.’

It was hardly the time for myth-telling, Rollo thought. As his initial wonder had faded, it had been replaced with dismay. ‘This boat is so small,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe its master means to sail it all the way to England. You must be mistaken, Harald.’

But fiercely Harald shook his head. ‘I don’t make mistakes like that,’ he said indignantly. ‘Gullinbursti may have arrived here in Miklagard via ways other than the open seas, but there is nowhere she cannot sail, and she will go wherever her master directs her.’

With a sick feeling of dread, Rollo remembered the storm that had blown his ship so far off course when he had tried to sail to Constantinople from Sicily. That had been a merchantman, and huge in comparison to the sleek and slender craft that now lay on the calm sea before him.

‘It looks so frail,’ he murmured. But, even as he spoke, something about the small craft seemed to be reaching out to him …

‘Don’t be deceived by the size,’ Harald replied. ‘In the hands of an expert mariner and a loyal, stalwart crew, such ships have travelled the known world.’

‘But-’ Rollo was quite sure he had other objections; sensible, practical comments to do with his great need to hurry urgently back to England, and his serious doubts as to this diminutive vessel’s ability to get him there. But, somehow, as he stood drinking in its beautiful lines, the objections seemed to fade from his mind.

‘You don’t have much choice, to be honest.’ Harald’s down-to-earth tone brought him out of his reverie. ‘Most of the other quays and harbours are manned, and the watch regularly patrols the most important ones. To buy your passage on a merchant ship sailing your way, I’d have had to pay for so many men’s silence that it’d have required you to sell your soul. Even then, one small slip and you’d have been discovered.’

Slowly, Rollo nodded. Harald was right. ‘So what must I pay for my passage on this ship?’ he asked. He still had plenty of coins; the master who had sent him on this mission expected the best and was prepared to pay for it. Nevertheless, Rollo had been travelling for a long time, and his purse was not bottomless.

‘Ah,’ Harald said. Rollo spun round to stare at him, and saw that, for the first time, the old man looked discomfited. ‘Didn’t I explain?’

‘You’ve said virtually nothing about my voyage,’ Rollo said coldly. ‘When I asked if you’d found me passage on board a merchantman, you said, as far as I recall, not exactly.’

‘Well, that was true!’ Harald protested. Then, in a rush, as if he was reluctant to say what he must and wanted to get it over with: ‘You’re not travelling as a passenger, but as one of the crew. The master lost men on the way here, and can’t sail on until he makes up the complement.’

Rollo made himself take a couple of deep breaths. Then he said, ‘So I’m going to have to row myself back to England?’

‘Not all the way!’ Harald protested. ‘There’s a sail – see the mast? – and, whenever the conditions are favourable, you can all have a rest and let the wind do the work.’

Rollo was beginning to accept the inevitable, but, before he gave in, he said, ‘Is there really no alternative?’

‘No,’ Harald said firmly. ‘And you’re only being taken on as one of Gullinbursti’s crew because the master has no choice. He’s desperate to start the voyage, and is prepared to do you a favour in return for one from you. It suits you both – you need each other!’ he said, his voice rising in frustration. ‘Can’t you see?’

Rollo turned to him, aware suddenly that he was being very ungrateful. ‘Of course I can,’ he said. ‘And thank you, Harald, from the bottom of my heart, for this and all that you have done for me.’ He put out his right hand, and Harald clasped it, gripping tightly.

‘No need for thanks,’ Harald said gruffly. Then, meeting Rollo’s eyes: ‘You’ll do it, then? You’ll sail with the dawn aboard Gullinbursti?’

‘I will, and gladly.’

Harald let out a sigh of relief. After a moment, he said quietly, ‘And once you are safely back in England, you’ll do what I ask of you?’

‘Yes. You have my word.’

Harald nodded. ‘Thank you.’

Both men fell silent. The air between them was full of many emotions, and Rollo could think of nothing to say. Eventually Harald muttered, ‘I should leave you. I’m not proposing to return the same way we got here. Most of the watch know me, and I’ll have no trouble entering the city through the gates. All the same, I’d like to be safe back within my own four walls by daybreak.’

‘Yes, I understand.’ Rollo glanced into the east, where the indigo sky was beginning to lighten. ‘You’ll have to hurry.’ He picked up his pack, then followed Harald along the stony path that ran along behind the strip of beach, down to where the jetty angled out into the water.

‘They’re expecting you,’ Harald said quietly, ‘and, indeed, the lookout will undoubtedly already know we’re here.’

They were on the jetty now, both walking soft-footed to keep the noise to a minimum. As they approached Gullinbursti’s high stern, the canvas awning was twitched aside and a face appeared in the narrow gap.

‘Is that you, Harald?’ a low, deep voice called.

‘Yes. I’ve brought your new crewman.’

In the swiftly waxing light, Rollo stared at the man. The man stared right back, his intent blue eyes alive, as if fire burned within them. From what Rollo could see, he was a very big man; broad in the shoulder, barrel-chested, his bare arms thick with muscle. He had abundant, flowing hair and a long, bushy beard, and both were light coppery red.

‘You take the watch yourself, master?’ Harald said lightly.

‘I take my turn with my men,’ the man replied brusquely. ‘This morning, I was awake anyway. I have tarried here far too long, and I am eager to set sail and leave.’ He turned the hot blue eyes to Rollo, as if the delay had been his fault.

‘If I may step aboard,’ Rollo said courteously, ‘then I will detain you no longer.’

The man gave a curt nod, pushing the awning back further to allow Rollo access. Rollo turned to Harald, and, in the moment of parting, put his arms round the old man in a hug. Harald returned it, then, disengaging himself, gave Rollo a light shove. ‘Go on, then,’ he said. ‘And may God go with you.’

Rollo stepped down on to Gullinbursti’s wooden planking, Harald’s last words echoing in his head. He’d spoken softly, and Rollo wasn’t entirely sure what he’d said: it might, he reflected, have actually been, May the gods go with you.

‘Stow your gear there,’ the master said shortly, pointing to where a wooden chest stood beside an oar hole, presently covered by its wooden flap. ‘Not superstitious about taking a dead man’s place, are you?’

‘No,’ Rollo replied. He opened the box, putting his pack inside. The box, presumably, doubled as a seat for when the ship was under oars.

The big man was heading back to the stern of the ship, rummaging in another, larger chest. ‘I’m going to rouse them,’ he said, nodding towards the shapes lying well-wrapped along the sides of the ship. ‘We’ll take a quick bite, then be on our way.’

Rollo was relieved to hear it. ‘What should I do?’ he asked.

‘For now, nothing. Sit and watch, and see how we do it. Then you can join in, and, with any luck, do so without getting in anyone’s way.’

It made sense. Rollo sat down on his chest, staring along the length of the ship as the crewmen were wakened from sleep. As the copper-haired man passed beside him, he said, ‘What do I call you, master?’

The blue-eyed stare flashed down on him. ‘Skuli.’