Byzantium

43

The gates of Trebizond were open wide and the road stretched out before us. It was a little past midday, the sun bright in a late winter's sky; the air was cool, but the sun warm on our faces and backs. The road to Sebastea was a well-travelled path-deep-rutted owing to the rains, and the recent invasion of visitors attending the fair.

Nikos travelled on horseback, and the eparch rode in an enclosed wagon, pulled by a two-horse team; three additional wagons and teams brought the provisions. The Sea Wolves, over a hundred in all, marched in two long columns either side of the wagons, spears and axes in their hands, shields on their backs.

Although Nikos kept insisting that we did not need so many, the eparch had decided to take the largest body-guard at his command. Leaving behind only enough men to guard the ships, Harald, glad for the change of routine, had formed a veritable army to escort us to Sebastea. And there were others with us, too: a fair few of the traders and merchants attending the pagan fair-regarding the free use of an armed bodyguard as an opportunity too valuable to miss-decided to make their return journey a few days early, swelling our ranks considerably. Thus, we formed a body of perhaps two hundred or more altogether.

The first two days the weather remained good: fair and bright, the sky cloudless. The third day dawned grey, with a thin, miserable rain lashed by a rough north wind. The Sea Wolves seemed not to mind the cold and wet, singing now and then, and talking to one another in loud, raucous voices. The wagons themselves rumbled along with much groaning and shouting from the drivers, sometimes in the road, more often out of it, for the ruts often became too difficult for the horses.

I kept my place behind Jarl Harald, who walked beside the eparch's wagon. Tolar and Thorkel had been left behind with the ships, but Gunnar had been chosen to go with us, and he walked with me sometimes, and we talked. The chatter, though trivial, occupied the tedium, but did little to keep my mind from the cold. I had become used to the mild winter weather and the icy damp seeped into my bones and made me shiver despite my cloak and mantle.

We marched from daybreak to midday, and then stopped to rest and eat at a place where a river crossed the road. The stream-little more than a muddy rivulet this time of year-became a torrent in late spring, it was said, and eventually joined the Tigris far to the south. Across the river, the road divided. Theodosiopolis lay two days' journey to the east, and Sebastea four or five days south and west.

After we had eaten and rested, we forded the stream and continued on. The small sheep-herding villages grew fewer and further apart as the land gradually became more rugged; the hills became steeper, the valleys deeper. Small trees and sparse grass gave way to rocks and prickly shrubs of various kinds. The wind began to screech and moan as it scoured the bare rocky hills, making a cold, lonely sound. The travelling company, so spirited the first few days, sank into silence and melancholy.

The next day was worse. The rain settled into a dull, spitting patter and continued through the day. I wrapped my sodden cloak around me and thought about the warm security of the scriptorium aglow in the ruddy blaze of a peat fire. Ah, mo croi!

Day's end found us in a cramped little gully between two steep hills. Having just made one arduous climb, and not yet ready to face another, we stopped to make camp, grateful at least for the respite from the wind. The ground was rocky and uneven and, except for a few diminutive, bedraggled-looking pines, devoid of vegetation. A stony cliff rose sheer from one side of the road; on the other, a narrow, deep-sided ravine contained a stream which was beginning to flow swiftly now due to the recent rain.

There was nothing to use for firewood, and what little fuel we had was needed to cook our evening meal, thus we spent a cold night huddled close to the rock face where the rain could not get at us so easily. Just before dawn, I was awakened by water dripping on my neck, leaking down from a rock directly above, so I got up and stumbled to the eparch's wagon and crawled beneath it.

This, I believe, is what saved me.

I had only closed my eyes again, when I heard a sound like the cracking of tree roots in the earth. I listened for a moment, and it came again-but from a direction I could not discern. Then I heard a rumbling sound like thunder, but closer and sharper. I opened my eyes. The sound instantly became a loud clattering crash and heavy objects began striking down, shaking the very ground.

In the dim half-light of an overcast dawn, I saw the sheer cliff-face in motion: rocks and stones, falling, sliding, collapsing, tumbling down upon us. I rolled further under the wagon, drew up my legs and cowered behind a stout wheel just as a huge stone struck the back of the wagon and shoved it sideways.

Men caught in the slide awoke screaming in terror and alarm as the rocks fell upon them. Many, however, were crushed in their sleep, never knowing what killed them.

The fall subsided almost as soon as it had begun. The last stones thudded to the ground and then all was still, and deathly quiet.

The silence gave way to the moans of the injured. I crept from the shelter of the wagon to see that the base of the cliff had been obliterated by the rockslide. I stood slowly and peered through the murk of the dust-thick air; all around me lay misshapen heaps of shattered stone.

I moved cautiously forward, trying to see if there were men I might help. I took two steps and heard far above me the pattering clatter of loose pebbles raining down. Fearing the rockslide had begun again, I glanced up and glimpsed instead a figure moving quickly back from the edge of the clifftop. In the same instant, I felt, rather than heard, a swift surge of movement and I jumped aside as a horse clattered by. There was someone in the saddle and it was Nikos. He blew past me like an evil wind, and disappeared into the dust and murk behind.

There was no time to wonder about this, for I heard a loud shout, which was answered at once by the roar of a multitude, or so it seemed. I turned to see swarms of men running down the steep hill before us.

The camp slowly stuttered to life. The eparch appeared. I ran to him. He stared at me in the dusky light. "Where is Nikos?" he demanded angrily.

"I saw him riding away," I answered, pointing out the direction behind me. "We are being attacked!"

Out of nowhere, King Harald appeared, long-axe in hand, leaped onto the nearest wagon and began bellowing his battle-call. Within moments there were Sea Wolves everywhere-though far fewer than there had been before-running, shouting, calling their swordbrothers to rise and fight.

Weapons glinting dully, the warriors raced to join battle as the first foemen reached the camp. The ring of steel on steel and the shouts of fighting men filled the valley and echoed through the ravine. I had no weapons-and would not have known what to do if I had-but determined to stay with Eparch Nicephorus and protect him if I could. This proved no easy chore, since he insisted on rushing directly into the thick of the fight to lend his aid.

"Here! This way!" I shouted, pulling him back from the toiling bodies before us. Indicating a supply wagon nearby, I said, "We can see best from there." Hastening to the wagon, I paused to help the eparch into the box, and then climbed up myself. We stood together and watched the fearful clash.

The enemy were not large men-at least, not when set against the Sea Wolves-but they were many and dressed in dark cloaks and turbans, making them difficult to see in the pre-dawn light. Even so, in those first desperate moments of battle, it seemed as if the superior strength and battle-skill of the Danes would win out. For the Sea Wolves stood to their grim work, shoulder to shoulder, each man protecting his neighbour's unshielded side, forcing the oncoming enemy back and back, one step at a time.

"You see, eparch!" I cried. "They are driving them away!"

The eparch, keen-eyed in the murk, said nothing, but gripped the sides of the wagon and stared at the dread battledance before us.

I looked in vain for Gunnar; I could not see him anywhere, and feared he must have been among those killed in the rockslide.

The Danes howled their full-throated battle cries, and I understood why they were called wolves. The sound was uncanny, striking fear into the heart, and weakening even the most stalwart will. Jarl Harald was fearless, standing in the front rank, his axe swinging with practised and deadly accuracy. Men fell before him-some shrieking in agony, some toppling silently, but all with startling rapidity. The axe-blade bit deep, its appetite insatiable.

As the first flush of battle passed, it became increasingly apparent that the Danes were even more sorely out-numbered than my first estimate. It may be that more and more enemy were arriving-reserves held back from the initial attack were perhaps being committed now-for it did appear that the numbers of dark-cloaked foe were swelling.

Slowly, painfully, the flow of battle turned against us. The eparch and I stood in the wagon and watched with growing horror as the Sea Wolves were inundated and engulfed by the ever-growing tide.

"Pray for them, priest!" Nicephorus cried, seizing me by the arm. "Pray for us all!"

Alas, I could not. God had forsaken me, and I knew my prayers would fall like infertile seed on the hard ground of God's stony heart. For all the good my prayers would do, I would have a better chance of saving us all by taking up a spear, and I knew well what a sorry warrior I would be.

I was spared further meditation on my worthlessness, however, by the sudden appearance of a grim-faced warrior waving a bloody war hammer. "What are you doing?" shouted the warrior. "Get out of there!"

I was jerked off my feet and pulled bodily from the bed of the wagon, then hurled to the ground where I lay squirming in an effort to get away. The eparch likewise was hauled kicking from the wagon and dropped, scarcely less gently, beside me.

"Aeddan!" shouted Gunnar, "you will be killed standing up like that." Before I could say anything, he shoved the eparch and me beneath the wagonbed. "Get under there," he instructed sternly, "and stay until I come back for you."

He was gone again before I could speak a word to him. The eparch asked, "What did he say?"

"He said we are to keep out of sight until he returns."

"But I can see nothing from here," complained the eparch. He endured the ignominy of our position for but a moment or two longer, and when there came a great shout from the battleline, Nicephorus bolted from beneath the wagon, shouting, "I will not be seen hiding like a coward!"

I ran after him, seized him, and pulled him back to the wagon. We did not go under it again, but we did stand beside it to watch the battle. What we saw, however, filled our mouths with bile. Everywhere, the Danes were being driven down. The ranks of the enemy had swelled the more, and were in danger of overwhelming all resistance.

Even as we watched, there came another great shout and the dark foe surged as one, throwing back the defenders ten paces at once. Another shout, another surge, and the forerank buckled and gave way. The resistance was breached and our defences in imminent danger of being overwhelmed.

Harald was a canny battlechief; he would not allow himself to be surrounded so easily. Realizing the peril, he raised his bull roar and began calling the retreat. The Viking warriors fell back and soon were passing along the road. Gunnar ran to us. "The battle is lost," he said, breathing hard. "We must flee while we can. This way. Go!"

So saying, he spun me around and began pushing me ahead of him. "This way!" I shouted to the eparch. "He will protect us!"

Back along the road we fled, past the broken mounds of rock which now marked the graves of Danes, merchants and their families, running for our lives. The traders who survived, having seen how the fight was turning, were already fleeing up the hill; I could see them before us, bent beneath the burdens they sought to save.

The first of the traders reached the crest of the hill and fled over the top. Seeing their escape, we all ran the harder to make good our own.

Alas and woe! It was not to be.

No sooner had the escaping merchants vanished from sight than they reappeared once more, flying down the hill and screaming for everyone to turn back. Not comprehending the significance of their screams, we proceeded on a few more paces. Two heartbeats later there arose before us an enemy host as great or greater than the one that came behind. They seemed to spring up out of the hilltop to sweep swiftly down upon us.

"Stay down!" cried Gunnar, pushing me to the ground even as he ran to engage the attackers. Reaching up, I pulled the eparch down beside me, and we hunkered there, half-crouched by the roadside, as merchants and traders streamed back wailing in terror as they ran. Some still carried their wares on their backs.

Caught between two enemy forces-one behind and an even greater one before, the Danes had no choice but to fight on to the last man, or surrender.

It is not in the Sea Wolves to surrender.

Harald rallied his men-now numbering fewer than eighty, I reckoned-and renewed the fight. Bellowing like a mad bull, he called on Odin to witness his valour, then he and his remaining karlar rushed to meet the new threat with such ferocity that the enemy was momentarily staggered. The onrushing ranks halted and were in some places thrown into confusion as howling Sea Wolves, gripped by the blood-lust of battle, drove headlong into them. The sound of the clash was deafening-men screaming, cursing, crying as they fought and died.

Oh, it was a dreadful slaughter. The Danes fought with astonishing courage, time and time again performing startling acts of savage and wonderful daring. I saw Hnefi-arrogant, prideful warrior that he was-fight without a weapon when the broken stub of his sword was struck from his hand. Rather than retreat to find another blade, he darted forth, grabbed his foe, lifted him high, and threw the man into a knot of advancing enemy. Four men went down and Hnefi leapt upon them and slew them all with their own spears.

Another Dane, surrounded by six or more foemen, his spear broken and knowing he faced his death, took hold of the edge of his shield and, with a loud cry of defiance, began spinning around and around, the shield forming a wide arc. Two ambushers who tried to dart in under the shield to stab him with their spears had their skulls cracked by the iron rim; another lost his own weapon and darted aside just in time. The three that were left retreated to a safe distance and then threw their spears at once. The Viking was struck twice, but turned one of the spears on his attackers and killed one and wounded another before he succumbed.

Gunnar I glimpsed in the killing heat of the fray, leaping and whirling like an enraged animal, his hammer a blur of steel and blood about his head. I heard the awful sound of bones snapping and breaking beneath the fury of his blows. He charged and charged again. Two of the dark enemy fell to a single smashing stroke; he felled a third before the second struck the ground.

The dark adversary swarmed all around us, straining to the fight, their shrill voices keening as they waved their slender swords. The eparch and I hugged the earth as the onrushing enemy flowed over and around us. More and more pressed in from every side, and the valiant Sea Wolves strove to hold them off. Never did men fight and die with such abandon. If the battle could have been won with fearlessness alone, the Danes would have stood unchallenged on the blood-soaked ground in the end. But there were simply too many attackers, and too few defenders. One by one, the brave Danes were dragged down and killed.

The last thing I saw was Harald Bull-Roar staggering under the weight of two assailants on his back. With a mighty shrug he threw them off, but two more leapt upon him, and then two more, and he crashed down. The dark-cloaked adversary overwhelmed us and the battle was over.

For a moment all was quiet, and then the enemy raised their victory chant. They stood on the battleground, weapons lofted high, cheering themselves and jeering at their victims. One look at the hillside, however, told me there was nothing worth cheering about. The dark ones had paid a fearful price for their dubious victory.

The enemy dead lay in heaps upon earth stained with their blood. The wounded, and there were scores, lay moaning where they had fallen, or stumbled dazed and shaken over the corpse-strewn hill with bewildered expressions on their ashen faces; still others sat and wept into their wounds.

The chanting stopped and the victors turned their attention to searching the bodies. Instinct told me to remain perfectly still. I thought that if I appeared as merely one more corpse among so many, I might be overlooked. Cautiously, carefully, I put my mouth next to the eparch's ear to tell him my plan.

"Do not move," I whispered. "They may think us dead and leave us alone."

He did not hear me, so I whispered a little louder and gave him a surreptitious nudge with my arm. "Did you hear me, eparch?" I asked, looking at his face. His eyes were open, and he was still watching the hilltop where the battle had been fiercest. "Nicephorus?"

It was then that I saw the spear protruding from between his shoulders and knew that he was dead. I stared at the wicked spear in disbelief. How is it possible, I wondered, for a man to die so quietly? Why him and not me?

In the turmoil of battle, his life had been violently taken and I, lying right beside him, had not even noticed. I felt shame and disgust and outrage all at once. I wanted to leap up and start running-to run and not stop running until I had put the hateful battle and the blood-soaked earth far behind me.

Unaccountably, I began to tremble. My limbs shook, my body jolted, and I could not stop the shaking. Seized by paroxysms I shuddered and convulsed uncontrollably. It was all I could do to press my face into the dirt and hope the enemy would pass me by.

Someone must have seen me shaking, for the next thing I knew, my arms were gripped and I was jerked upright and dragged up the hill between two attackers. We came to a place where a number of enemy were standing in tight ranks around a group huddled on the ground. The ranks parted and I was thrown in among those kneeling there. I saw King Harald, head down, bleeding from his nose and mouth, and realized that these few, myself included, were the last left alive.

Still trembling, I quickly scanned the group and counted twenty-one; of those I knew, only Harald and Hnefi numbered among the survivors. Twenty-one left from more than a hundred warriors, and who knew how many merchants-all dead. Alas, the killing was still not finished.

One of the dark-cloaked victors, his sword notched and dripping red, strode to the nearest Dane, grabbed a handful of the man's hair, jerked back his head and cut the victim's throat-much to the amusement of the ambushers looking on. The Sea Wolf slumped to the ground, closed his eyes and died without a whimper. The warrior next to the dying Sea Wolf, unwilling to lay down his life for the delight of the enemy, struggled to his feet and threw himself upon the man who had killed his friend. Somehow, he succeeded in getting his hands on the foeman's throat. The Sea Wolves urged him on enthusiastically. It took three hard sword chops on the back of his neck to kill him.

After the third Sea Wolf had his throat slit, the others stopped cheering and resigned themselves to their fate.

This is how I shall die, I thought. This, finally, is how I shall die-murdered with barbarians by an unknown enemy.

"Christ have mercy!" I muttered. The words were out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying-a reflex trained by long habit only. I no longer believed, nor even expected that the Lord Christ would even hear my prayer, much less answer it.

The man kneeling next to me heard my outburst, however, and said, "You pray to your god, Aeddan. That is good. I think only your Christ can help us now."

I looked at the man, stared at him; the voice I recognized, but the battered face I no longer knew. "Gunnar?" One eye was horribly bruised and blood trickled down his face and neck from a gash in his scalp; his lips were split and bleeding, one ear was all but torn away, and there was a hideous blue-black knot on his forehead. "Gunnar…" I hardly knew what to say. "You are alive!"

"For a little yet," he whispered, wiping blood from his eyes. "But if your Christ saves us this time, then I, too, will worship him."

Just then, a fourth prisoner was yanked to his feet so that the dark-cloaked foe could impale him with a spear. Two enemy warriors held the Sea Wolf while a third put a spear through his belly.

"No one can save us now," I said bitterly.

"Then farewell, Aeddan," Gunnar said.

The unfortunate Dane was still twitching on the ground when the leader of the dark ones arrived, seated on a brown horse. I suppose he had directed the battle from a safe distance, and now that it was over, felt sufficient courage to come and inspect the spoils, such as they were.

He rode directly to where the prisoners were being slaughtered and slid from the saddle. Taking hold of the man who had murdered the last prisoner, he struck the warrior twice in the face, and shoved him away hard. Then he turned and began shouting at the others; I watched the mirth disappear from their faces. They put up their weapons and the killing stopped at once.

"He works fast, this Christ of yours," whispered Gunnar knowingly. "What is that one saying?"

"I do not know."

"They are Arabs?"

"Maybe," I answered. "But they do not speak like the amir and his people."

The leader of the dark ones shouted some more commands, and then climbed back onto his horse and rode away. The few remaining prisoners were then bound hand-to-hand, one to another, with rope made of leather strips. We were prodded to our feet at spearpoint and made to stagger back down the hill over the still-warm corpses of the fallen.

The dead lay in very heaps on the ground: whole families cut down as they ran, Danes in tight battle groups, toppled over one another. It was as if a forest had been laid waste, the trees levelled and left where they dropped. Women and children and merchant men lay in silent scores upon the bloody ground, ridden down and slaughtered, their bodies hacked, split, broken and discarded. The stink of blood brought bile to my mouth; I retched and gagged, and closed my eyes to shut out the sight.

My God, I wailed within myself, why?

I lurched blind over the uneven ground, stumbled, and fell over a battered corpse-a mother with her infant clutched tight in her arms, both pierced with the same spear. Christ have mercy! I cried. But there was no mercy for them, or for anyone else that day. God had abandoned them, like he abandoned everyone in the end.

I passed the body of the eparch, still lying with the spear in his back, an expression of contemplation on his face. I heard the strangled call of a crow and looked to the corpse-strewn hillside where the carrion birds were already commencing their cruel feast. I hung my head and wept. Thus, I began my long torturous walk to the caliph's mines.