Byzantium

46

Six guards and the pit overseer that Dugal had man-handled arrived as the sun rose on another blistering day. The overseer, one side of his face bruised and discoloured, glared down upon us with a malicious sneer; he spoke out a lengthy discourse which we could not understand, then motioned to the guards with him. They leapt forward, unshackled us, and bound us each separately; our hands were crossed and tied together at the wrist. Then, passing their staves through our arms with a guard on either end, they half-carried, half-dragged us away.

We were brought to a large dwelling at the edge of the guards' settlement. In the bare yard outside the whitewashed dwelling stood a thick wooden post with an iron ring fixed to its top. Leaving Gunnar and Dugal in a heap to one side, they threw me against the post and, taking a long leather rope, tied my hands to one end and put the other end through the ring. The whipping post was half again as tall as a man, so that when the rope was pulled taut, I was stretched full height, with my weight resting only on the tips of my toes.

As this was happening, I noticed that the chief overseer of the mines came out from the dwelling to stand looking on, his arms crossed over his chest. Under his gaze, I was stripped naked, and the guards then began to bludgeon me with their wooden staves-slowly at first, alternating their strokes, taking it in turn to hit me, first one and then another, striking wherever they would. Oh, but they were thorough. Very soon there was not a single place on my body that had not been pummelled-save for my head; I suppose they did not care to knock me senseless, so they avoided hitting my head lest I pass from consciousness, and thus beyond their torture. Neither did they break the skin, for loss of blood would have had the same effect, and it was clear they wished to prolong the agony as much as possible.

With the aching sting of the first blows, I felt the helpless frustration of the victim; futility, potent as pain, overwhelmed me, as I experienced the most wretched helplessness. My soul recoiled in horror at my own weakness. Tears came to my eyes, and I was ashamed of myself for weeping. I bit my lips to keep from crying out, wishing with all my soul that the ordeal would stop.

As the beating continued, however, it soon became apparent that my torturers had merely been warming to their task; the blows became sharper, and more keenly judged. Again and again, I was struck in the places where I was certain to feel the most pain: forearms, shins, knees, elbows, ribs. At the same time, the rope was pulled even tighter and I was lifted off the ground entirely, so that I could not brace myself even by so much as a single toe.

With each blow, my body jerked and swung uncontrollably-only to be struck again while still swinging. The guards laughed at this. I heard their voices, ringing in the yard and any sorrow I had felt for myself vanished utterly, consumed in a sudden surge of white-hot rage.

Never had I known such anger. Had it been a flame, the entire mining settlement would have been scorched to ashes, every house and all the inhabitants: men, women, and children. I ground my teeth on my lips until the blood ran down my chin and onto my chest, and still I did not cry out. Far away, as if from a great remove across a vast distance, I could hear Dugal praying out loud for me, beseeching God on my behalf. The exercise was but a meaningless act born of desperation, and I scorned his useless prayers.

When at last they took me down, all my wounds had spread and fused into a single massive bruise which pulsed agony through me with every gasping, rattling breath. Blinded by pain, I could not see properly; I was conscious, though-some small part of my mind remained aware. I knew that my limbs were intact and that none of my bones were broken. I knew that Dugal was now undergoing the same torture I had just received.

I knew also that I was a changed man, for the insane rage had consumed me from within, and my heart was now as cold and hard as a spent cinder.

When they had finished with Dugal, and then with Gunnar, they bound our hands behind our backs and tied them to our ankles. We were made to kneel in the sun like this during the hottest part of the day. My awareness drifted; sometimes I knew where I was and what had happened, and other times I thought I was alone in a coracle on the sea. I could even feel the waves undulating beneath me, now lifting my little boat high, now dropping down once more.

It seemed to me as I lay in the bottom of the boat, a solitary cloud drifted in front of the sun; the shadow passed over me and I opened my eyes to see that the cloud had an unusual shape and solidity. Roused by this curiosity, I looked again, and saw that the cloud had the face of a man, and that its white billows were the folds of a turban; two dark eyes in that face regarded me with deep apprehension and concern. This baffled me, for I could think of no reason why my torturers might distress themselves over my plight.

I heard a voice like the buzzing of an insect, and realized that the man whose face hovered above me was speaking. He seemed to address me, but I could not understand what he was saying. Then he raised his head and spoke to someone else. Yes, he addressed someone else; his face contorted in anger as he looked away from me. Someone shouted, and the man shouted back in reply as he disappeared from view. I had not the strength to raise my head and see where he went. But even as he vanished, it came to me that it was a face I knew-I had seen this man before-he had a name, and it was a name I knew, but could not say. Who was he?

This question gnawed at me through the day; I kept remembering the face and thinking about it until the sun began to sink low in the dust-hazed sky, and the guards returned to give us another beating. As before, we were hoisted up onto the post, and set upon with wooden staves. The only difference was that this time they struck flesh already bruised and wounded, and which had had ample time to swell. Thus, the second battering was even more painful than the first.

The hard place within me refused to yield, however; I did not cry out. Neither did I endure the full brunt of the punishment, for after the torture began in earnest, the pain became too great and I passed into blessed oblivion. The next thing I knew, water was being poured over me, to revive me. I awoke to throbbing agony, every muscle and bone aflame with pain. When the first wave of pain had passed, I found that the sky was dark, and that we were receiving the attentions of a small man in a large black turban. The fellow gave us each a drink of water, holding our heads for us so that we would not drown when the water gushed down our throats. After easing our thirst, he examined our limbs. Where the skin had burst from swelling, he rubbed a soothing salve into the wound.

This was done under the silent scrutiny of the chief overseer, who stood before his house watching all that was done for us. Satisfied that no bones were broken, the little man turned to his superior, bowed once very low and departed, muttering to himself.

The guards bound us hand and foot once more and left us to our anguish for the night. The pain of my bruised body kept me awake all night, and I lay on my side in the dust-too sore to move, but too aching to lie still-thinking that death would be a mercy, and one we would certainly be denied.

I thought, too, that the punishment we were enduring was far in excess of any crime we might have committed. We had laid hand to a guard, I do not deny it, but that we should be subjected to such savage punishment, was an absurdity I could not understand. It made no sense to me, but then, I reflected, very little of what happened in this world made any sense at all. To believe it did…that was absurd.

At dawn the next morning, we were roused by the blowing of a horn-a trumpet, I think. From somewhere on the hillside came the dull bell-like tolling of someone beating a length of iron. In a little while the whole of the mining settlement was astir. People came from their houses to assemble on one side of the dusty square outside the chief overseer's dwelling. I heard someone moan beside me, and turned my head to see Gunnar awaken and take in the gathering throng.

"It seems we are to have witnesses to our torture today," I remarked.

"It is not our torture that brings them," replied Gunnar. "They have come to see us die."

He was right, of course. In a little while the other slaves began arriving, taking their places opposite the settlement dwellers on the other side of the square, where they stood in ranks behind the guards who had brought them. I looked for Cadoc and the other monks, and for Harald and the Sea Wolves, but I could see none of them in among the crowds.

When everyone had taken their places, the chief overseer appeared, accompanied by the pig-eyed underling who had directed the previous day's torture. This fellow walked about with upraised hands until everyone became silent; then he deferred to the chief overseer, who stepped forth to speak out a short address. At its conclusion, the master of the mine clapped his hands. Out from the throng of onlookers stepped three men. Two of them carried a wooden block, and the third a curved sword twice the size of an ordinary weapon. This great sword's blade was burnished so that it gleamed in the morning light.

"At least we will not have to suffer another day of beatings," Gunnar observed. "I do not think I could tolerate that."

He made it sound as if he had come to the end of his good temper. In truth, he had come to the end of his life. We were not to be given a quick, painless death, however. No sooner had the block been set up nearby, than two horses were led out into the square. I could not understand what it meant, but Gunnar knew.

"I have heard of this," he said, and explained that the victim was tied to the two horses, which were then driven in opposite directions, thereby stretching the condemned man's body between them. When the bones of the back separated sufficiently, the sword was used to hack the poor wretch in half. "The unlucky one sometimes does not die all at once," he added.

Dugal had not stirred, and I made to wake him, but thought better of it and let him sleep on. Let him enjoy the little peace he has left, I thought; at least he will enter glory well rested.

As it happened, his rest ended almost at once. For as soon as the horses were brought to stand either side of the block, four guards came to where we lay and laid hands to Dugal, jerking him awake violently. He gasped in pain at his rough handling, and his head fell limply forward.

I decided then what to do. Drawing together what little strength I possessed, I pushed myself up onto my knees. Black waves of pain broke over me as I raised my head. Placing one foot flat on the ground, I gritted my teeth and stood, tottering and wavering like an infant. The agony of that simple act brought tears to my eyes; I heard a roaring boom in my head, and somehow lurched forward a pace.

"Take me!" I said, my voice a raw rasp.

The guards turned to stare at me; one of them said something I did not understand, and the others returned to their task and dragged Dugal away.

"Leave him alone!" I shouted, almost collapsing with the effort. "Take me instead."

Another shout met my own. From across the yard the chief overseer called to the guards and pointed at me with his staff. The four guards dropped Dugal at once and started for me instead. I turned to Gunnar. "Farewell, Gunnar Warhammer," I whispered with the last of my strength. "I am glad I knew you."

"Say not farewell, Aeddan," he said, struggling to his knees. "Wait for me in the otherworld. We will go to your God together."

I nodded, looking my last upon my battered friends. Then the guards seized my arms and hauled me to the block. We passed the place where Dugal lay. I saw that he had lost consciousness again. "Farewell, brother," I said, though I knew he was past hearing. "You were ever a true friend to me, Dugal."

We reached the block whereupon I was thrown to the ground, and they began lashing my hands together. They had almost finished the chore when a commotion arose from across the yard where the slaves were assembled. I heard shouting, and to my surprise I recognized both the voice and the words.

"Stop!" cried the voice. "Let me take his place."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the figure of an old man hobbling forth as quickly as his wracked body would allow. After a moment, I realized that it was Bishop Cadoc. Gone were the robes and cloak, and gone the eagle-topped cambutta, but his voice was strong and powerful as ever. One of the guards ran to thwart him, but the chief overseer gestured to the man to allow him to come forth.

"Take me instead," Cadoc said quickly, puffing with the effort of crossing the yard. I saw then that he was ill, for his eyes were hazy and his breath a laboured wheeze. He stepped nearer, gesturing to the chief overseer to help explain his words. "I will take his place. I will take all their places. Take me, and let them go," he said, offering himself.

"Please, Bishop Cadoc, it is better this way," I pleaded. "I am content and ready to die. God has forsaken me, and I have nothing left. Let it end now."

The mine overseer looked from one to the other of us, and decided, I suppose, that he would get more work out of me than out of Cadoc, for he uttered a gruff command and the guards took hold of the bishop. Taking the rope from me, they tied the old man instead.

"Cadoc!" I began, "It is not right that you-"

"Listen to me, Aidan," he said, gently. "There is not much time." I made to protest to the chief overseer, but Cadoc stopped me, saying, "I am dying, Aidan. I am nearly gone."

"Bishop Cadoc…" I cried in agony.

"Peace, brother," he soothed. "I have reached the end of my life and I am ready to join my king. But you, Aidan, must live. There is much to do and your life is just beginning."

His hands tied now, they pulled him roughly to the ground and bound his feet. Cadoc seemed oblivious to the mistreatment. "You were well chosen, brother. Never doubt that. God will not forsake those who call upon his name. Cling to him, Aidan. He is your rock and your strength."

They lifted him to the block and lay him over it, face down, his thin shoulders and legs falling to either side. A rope was passed through the tight leather bonds joining his hands, and another between his ankles; these were then tied to the horses' harnesses.

"Always remember," he said, turning his face to me for the last time, "your life was bought with a price. Remember that when doubt overtakes you. Farewell, Aidan."

He then turned his head and closed his eyes. I heard the familiar drone of the Lord's Prayer.

The chief overseer spoke out a command, and the pit guard, whip in hand, stepped to the block, pushing me aside. I could not stand and fell to the ground where I rolled in torment on my bruised back. Another guard, a tall, well-muscled dark-skinned Sarazen, took his place on the other side of the block. He reached out his hand and received the curved axe.

At a nod from the chief overseer, the pit guard gave out a cry to the horses. His whip uncurled in the same instant and the crack echoed in the yard. The slaves all shouted at once. The horses started forth. Poor Cadoc's body snapped taut like a scrap of rag. The whip cracked again as the pit guard lashed the horses to their work.

There came a hideous popping sound from Cadoc's body as the very bones and sinews gave way. Hearing this, the tall guard swung his axe up over his head and down again in one swift motion. The blow was ill-placed, however, for the blade bit deep into the good bishop's side just above the hip, opening a terrible gash. Out spewed blood and entrails.

Cadoc cried out. The whip cracked again, and the horses stretched him further. "Kyrie!" he screamed, his great voice crying not in pain but victory. "Kyrie eleison!"

Unable to look away, I stared in horror as the curved blade slashed again, this time catching Cadoc in the small of the back. The bones severed with a snap and the horses stumbled forward. I saw a gush of bright, bright red, brilliant in the sunlight, as the bishop's body split in half.

Cadoc gave a last cry as the fore-half of his severed trunk, suddenly free, slewed forward. "Kyrie!" he gasped as the breath of life fled his lungs.

The Arab onlookers raised a shout-a word that sounded like "Bismillah"-calling over and over again. The slaves, ranged opposite the cheering crowd, fell into a sullen silence as the two halves of the good bishop's corpse were loosed from the horses and dragged off to one side, leaving a dark trail in the dust. My mouth filled with bitter bile and my stomach heaved, but there was nothing in my gut to throw up. I gagged instead.

Reeling, I felt my hands caught up and quickly lashed together with a strong leather thong. Numb horror stole over me; I raised my eyes to meet the triumphant, mocking sneer of the pit guard, and the truth broke over me: Cadoc's sacrifice was meaningless and I was next to die.

The chief overseer had no intention of showing mercy; he killed an old man who had outlived his usefulness as a slave and, just as surely, he would now kill us. The bishop's gesture, so grand and selfless, an expression of ultimate compassion, was shown to be the act of a blundering old fool. That was the truth, brutal as the Sarazen sun beating down upon the white dust square, blighting all beneath its unrelenting gaze.

My mind squirmed with dread. I was to die like Cadoc, hacked in half like a meatbone, my inward parts spilled out onto the dusty ground. "Bastard!" I spat at the chief overseer, rage flaring through me with the intensity of the white-hot sun above. "Satan take you all!"

The smug Arab only laughed, and gestured his men to tie my feet. They pushed me to the ground, and took hold of my legs. I tried to kick at them, but my legs were bruised and stiff from the torture I had endured, it was all I could do to bend them, and the next thing I knew, I was slung up into the air and placed upon the blood-stained block.

I heard Gunnar shout something, meaning to instill bravery, I think, but I could not hear what it was. All I could hear was the sound of my own heart wildly pounding in my ears. I felt the ropes being passed between my wrists and ankles, and made secure. All I could think was that this was not my fate; my death was otherwise ordained. That I should leave life so miserably was a monumental injustice.

The ropes snapped tight.

My arms and legs stretched taut. In a moment the horses would be driven forth and the wicked blade would slice into my side.

Images cascaded through my mind in a mad, meaningless rush. I glimpsed the green hills of Eire, and the faces of my brother monks going up to the chapel. I saw Dugal striding across the pasture, carrying a lamb, and laughing. I saw Eparch Nicephorus peeling an orange with his long fingers. I saw Gunnar's son Ulf, running with his fishing pole down the path to the pond, and Ylva feeding geese on meal held in her apron. I glimpsed Harald Bull-Roar standing beneath the handsome prow of his dragon ship, and the purple hills of Byzantium misty in the distance. Lastly, I saw my own hand working over a leaf of close-copied vellum at my desk in the scriptorium, pen quivering in the candlelight.

The crack of the pit guard's whip brought me to myself once more, and to the sudden, searing ache in my shoulders and back. I felt the sinews in my sides stretch. The ropes groaned as the horses pulled the harder.

I heard the whip crack again, and liquid fire spurted into my veins. Instantly, every muscle and bone was aflame. I cried out, and my voice sounded strange in my ears-like the hoarse blat of a ram's horn when it is blown. The sound came again and I thought, How strange to make such an undignified noise at the moment of death.

Another voice wormed its way into my consciousness-Gunnar or Harald, I could not tell which-was shouting for all he was worth. The words were odd, though, and I could not make out what he was saying. A thick black cloud descended over me then, and I took a deep breath, and another, greedily, knowing it would be my last.

I felt the axe-blade strike my back. Oddly, it did not hurt. Indeed, it seemed a relief, for the terrible straining tension went out of the ropes.

Ah! I thought, this is how it ends. The pain simply stops and then you die. Perhaps I am dead even now. If so, why do I still hear the shouting?