Byzantium

45

Dugal!" I rolled to my knees, straining up at him. "Dugal, it is myself-Aidan! It is Aidan here." I lurched towards him. "Do you not know me, man?"

Dugal stared at me as if at a monster risen from the bowels of the earth. "Aidan!" he cried, leaning closer. "Sure, I knew it was you! I heard you cry out and I knew it must be Aidan. But…but, you-" Words failed him.

"The same and no other," I replied, and made to stand, but my legs would not hold me and I fell again. Tears came to my eyes and I wept like a child to see my dearest friend once more.

Dugal gave a shout of triumph so tremendous that the whole mine reverberated with the sound. In one swoop, he raised me up and enfolded me in a fierce hug. The touch of his hands on my raw shoulders made me cry out in pain, whereupon he dropped me to my feet again.

"Dana!" he cried. "Christ have mercy, brother, what are you doing here?"

"Dugal, I can hardly believe it is you," I said, dashing tears away. "I was certain you were killed…the battle-I saw you fall."

"That I did, but the blow was never fatal." He beamed at me with such joy, it warmed my heart to see it.

Gunnar, still lying on the ground, climbed to his feet to stand beside me-as we were still chained together, he had nowhere else to go-and he gazed at Dugal with an expression of slightly amazed admiration.

"This is Dugal," I told him, "my brother monk from Eire."

"I remember him," replied Gunnar.

"God bless you, Aidan," murmured Dugal, gripping my hands tight in his own. "And here was I thinking you were lost forever. Oh, but it is a fine thing to see you again."

"And you, Dugal." I hugged him to me, feeling the solid flesh and bone beneath my clasp, as if to make certain that it was no mere phantom. "Ah, mo croi, I have so much to tell you, I cannot think for wanting to say it all at once."

We fell silent, just looking at one another. Dugal's hair and beard, like my own, had grown long and shaggy. I had never seen him without his tonsure, and long hair made him look more like a Sea Wolf than a monk. His clothes, like mine, were little more than filthy rags, and he was powdered with rock dust head to heel, but had he been covered in mud with a beard to his knees, I still would have known him as my own reflection.

There came a shout from some of the slaves looking on across the way. Gunnar prodded me in the side and said, "I think our trouble is not finished yet."

Into the pit rushed five or six additional guards; the Arab with the wooden stave led the way, pointing to us, and to the pit overseer still lying crumpled on the floor where Dugal had hurled him. Before we could move, the guards seized us by the arms and dragged us out of the pit and into the bright sun outside. It had been many days since I had had the full light of a noonday sun in my eyes, and it was a fair few moments before I could see.

I stumbled over rocks and fell, pulling Gunnar down with me; we rolled and writhed, regaining our feet only to fall again as the guards dragged us down the hillside. Battered and bruised, cut in a hundred places, we were finally brought to a huge chunk of stone which surmounted a heap of jagged rock shards discarded from the mines. At various places, iron spikes had been driven into the stone to which chains and shackles had been affixed to iron rings. The three of us were chained to the rock and left to bake and swelter in the heat.

As the sun was directly overhead, there was not so much as a shadow wherein we might find refuge. So, we sat with our eyes squinted tight against the blinding light, sweating, our pallid, sun-starved skins slowly turning fiery red.

"I am sorry," Dugal apologized after awhile. "I have brought this misery upon us. If I had not seized the guard, we would not be here now."

"That may be so," I answered. "But if you had not pulled the madman off me I might have been killed. At the very least, we would never have found one another."

"True," he allowed. "That is very true."

"What will they do with us, do you think?" I wondered.

"God knows," replied Dugal. "For myself, I do not care what happens. It is the Red Martyrdom for me, one way or another." He paused, dismissing the thought from his mind. "Ah, well, we are in God's hands, Aidan. He will see us right whatever ill befalls us."

At his words, anger welled up inside me. But as I did not care to contradict him, I said, "Tell me, Dugal, how did you come to be here? Tell me everything; I want to hear it all."

"I wish there was more to tell. In truth, we had an easy time of it-for the most part, that is." He opened one eye to a narrow squint and regarded me. "But you, Aidan, you must have tales worth hearing. Tell me how you have fared."

"I will, and gladly, but after you, brother. Now then, after the Sea Wolves attacked the village and I was carried off-what happened?"

Casting his mind back, he began to tell me about all that had taken place since I had last seen him. He described the night raid and its aftermath, saying, "We lost two only: Brocmal and Faolan were killed; Faolan died outright, and Brocmal followed a day or so later. We buried them at Nantes and continued on, taking three brothers from the abbey to complete our number. Forgive us, Aidan, we reckoned they had taken you for a slave."

"Truly, that is what they did."

"I wanted to go and search for you, but Bishop Cadoc said you were in God's hands now and that we would never find you again."

"Cadoc! Is he still alive? Where is he?"

"He is alive, yes, and he is here," Dugal told me. "We are all here-leastwise, those of us left."

Although I dreaded the answer, I had to know. "How many-how many are here?"

"Four only," came the reply. "Cadoc, Brynach, Ddewi, and myself."

"And the rest?"

"Dead…all of them dead."

My heart sank within me as the faces of my brother monks passed once more before my inward eyes. I saw them again as I had seen them in life, each smiling and laughing, calling to one another greetings of fellowship and good will. I saw them and regretted the loss of their lives. They were gone: Mael, Fintan, Clynnog, Brocmal, Connal, Faolan, Ciaran, Gwilym-all of them gone.

"A friend in Constantinople told me that ten of you had been there."

"Aye, we were," confirmed Dugal gloomily. "Would that we had stayed there; the monks were good to us, and we were learning many things from them-and teaching them as well."

"What happened?"

"I do not know the whole of it," he answered. "Bishop Cadoc made application to see the emperor-to present him with the book, and to put forth an appeal regarding some other concerns which the Britons had prepared. I cannot say what these concerns might be, but Brynach knows."

"Did you see the emperor?"

"No," he shook his head slowly, "we never did. Cadoc and Brynach were told by palace officials that our request would take time to be recognized. We were welcome to stay with the monks at Christ Pantocrater, so we settled in to wait. After a time, a man of the court came to see Cadoc. He asked to see the gifts we had brought, and was most helpful. The bishop showed him the book and lamented the loss of the silver cumtach. This man said that our appeal would be more favourably looked upon if the gift were restored. He said he would try to help us replace it."

"And did he?" I wondered, scenting the unmistakeable whiff of treachery.

"Indeed," Dugal affirmed readily and without rancour. "He arranged for us to go to Trebizond where, it was said, the finest silversmiths in the empire would help us make a new cover for the blessed book."

"Who was to help you in Trebizond?" I asked, growing excited. "His name-what was his name?"

"I do not think I ever heard it," Dugal replied with a shrug. "He was something called a magis…" He paused, struggling for the word.

"Magister?" I suggested. "Magister Sergius?"

"The very man!" cried Dugal. The memory of unhappy events intruded and he concluded solemnly, "We came in sight of Trebizond, but never reached the city. Sarazen pirates attacked our ship just off the coast. Those of us who were not killed outright, were brought here." He looked at me and a smattering of his former spirit returned. "I never thought to see you here, Dana. Truly, it is a wonder."

"And the other man, the one who arranged for your journey-his name, was it Nikos?"

"Aye," confirmed Dugal, in a tone of amazement. "How is it that you know this?"

"It is less a wonder than you think, Dugal," I replied bitterly. "The same men were helping us, as well. I see now that they were helping themselves from the beginning."

"Are you saying they betrayed us?" Dugal's incredulity was genuine. The possibility had never occurred to him. "You are certainly wrong, Aidan. I cannot think why anyone would wish to betray a handful of poor monks."

"Nor can I, Dugal." I agreed, and told about how we had been attacked by men lying in wait for us on the road. "It was Nikos who led us there, and only Nikos escaped. Indeed, he fled before the slaughter began."

The big monk shook his head in bewildered resignation. "If I had known the book would be the death of so many, I would have thrown it in the sea with my own two hands. And to think I have protected it through all things…"

It took a moment for Dugal's meaning to come clear. "But does it yet survive?"

"That it does," confirmed Dugal, glancing darkly towards Gunnar. "Despite its shameful treatment, and no thanks to some."

"Are you certain? You know this to be true?"

"Yes, the book endures. Cadoc keeps it; he has it hidden away."

"You cannot mean that it is here!"

"Indeed, I mean that very thing."

"Here?" I persisted. "In this hell hole?"

"Where else should it be?" he asked. "Never fear, the book is safe and will remain so. No one knows we have it."

Just then, Gunnar groaned and woke up. He struggled upright. "Heya!" he shouted, fighting against the chains.

"Peace," I soothed. "Be still. They are gone for the while. Rest yourself."

He looked around, blinking his eyes, taking in our predicament. He saw Dugal, frowned, and slumped back against the rock, but said nothing.

Dugal's eyes narrowed. "How is it that you can speak to this-" he hesitated, "this murdering barbarian?"

"Hear me, Dugal," I declared seriously. "Gunnar is my friend. He has saved my life not once or twice only, but many times-often to his own hurt. He is a barbarian, true, but he is also a believer and that must be accounted to his favour. I trust him as I trust you."

Dugal frowned and looked away. "No doubt you have a different view of things," he conceded. He was silent for a moment; I saw his lips moving, and after a moment he said, "I still would know how you came to be here, brother."

"It is a long and tedious story, Dugal," I said, despair yawning before me like a chasm black and deep. "Are you certain you want to hear it?"

"And does the sun still rise in the sky?" he said. "Come, brother, we are together now, but who knows how this day will end?"

"Very well," I agreed with a sigh, and began to tell him about my sojourn among the Danes, how I came to be first Gunnar's and then King Harald's slave, and the Sea Wolf king's grand scheme to raid Constantinople. I told him about meeting the emperor, and about how Jarl Harald had given the silver cumtach to Basil as a token of surety in a legal dispute, and the Viking longships had become part of the imperial fleet.

I spoke a long time, pausing now and then to relate what I was saying to Gunnar, who grunted his rough agreement. Oh, it was a fine thing to speak my mother tongue once again. I talked more in that short time than I had in many a day. I told Dugal briefly about my few days in the city and Harald's bargain with the emperor, and more, and at last concluded, saying, "We were sent to Trebizond to serve as bodyguard to the Eparch Nicephorus, who negotiated peace with the Sarazens."

Likely, we would have gone on talking endlessly, but the sun's heat became oppressive and our tongues cleaved to the roofs of our mouths for lack of water. Gunnar, his head hurting him terribly from the blow he had endured, cautioned us to preserve what little strength remained us, so we closed our eyes and lay back against the rock and waited.

The day ended in a white blaze which gradually turned deep yellow as the sun fell behind the ragged hill line. The shadows crept out and covered us, and night slowly folded us into its dark heart. We remained chained to the rock through the night. I slept fitfully, sometimes waking to stare up at the immense star-dazzled skybowl. It seemed to me that all the eyes of heaven gazed down upon us, pitiless, cold, and silent. No cheerful light bathed or soothed us; a hard, merciless glare, stark in judgement, mocked our pains instead.

I recalled the times I had prayed beneath these selfsame lights, imagining them angels eager to bear my prayers to the throne of heaven. But no more. The pain in my shoulders and on my livid flesh was nothing compared to the torment of my soul. Had it done any good, I would have poured out my agony to the Lord of Souls. Ha! Sooner plead to the stars, Aidan, and beg mercy of the wind; either way, the answer will be the same.

Misery, I have learned, is not content. It is restless and multiplies without ceasing. If I, for the merest space of a heartbeat, imagined that my tribulation was soon to cease, the truth soon struck me hard in the teeth: my torment was only beginning.

They came for us at dawn.