Byzantium

47

I felt my body lifted up and lowered to the ground. The mist cleared from my eyes and I saw that I was now sitting on the blood-soaked ground with my back against the block; a stranger stood over me, brown-skinned, dressed in a long blue robe and cloak, and white turban.

My mind was beclouded; I could make nothing of what was happening around me. I heard someone speaking rapidly and looked around to see a man sitting on a fine white horse, spear in hand, his face hard and angry. With him were four mounted warriors in blue turbans, holding spears and long blue-painted shields.

It came to me that this was the same man I had seen the previous day. Apparently, he had returned and was not well pleased with what he saw; he sat on his horse, berating the chief overseer in a loud voice. They were arguing in Arabic so that I did not know what they said, but the chief overseer was shouting and shaking his fists at the stranger on the horse.

The white-turbaned stranger, grim-faced, eyes narrowed, turned in the saddle and gestured to the warrior standing over me. At once the warrior began untying my wrists and ankles. He was quickly joined by another warrior and together they raised me between them. I could not stand, so they were forced to bear me up.

Livid with rage, the chief overseer started towards the two warriors supporting me. He took a quick step, and I saw the glint of a blade in his hand. Another few steps and he would reach us. There was nothing I could do to prevent the attack. Indeed, I had not the strength or wit to so much as cry out to warn my protectors.

Then a curious thing happened: as the chief overseer drew back his arm to strike, a sharp-angled metal point appeared in the centre of his chest. He shuddered forward a step or two, and then stopped to look down as a bright red bloom of blood spread from the protruding point. The knife fell from his hand, and he clawed at the thing in his chest, raking his fingers against it.

The chief overseer staggered forward one more step and then crashed to his knees. Staring at me, he gave a choked cry and pitched forward face-down in the dust. The long shaft of a spear stood upright in the centre of his back. The slaves began shouting as one, ecstatic that their tormentor had been struck down.

The white-turbaned man moved his mount to where the fallen overseer lay and retrieved his spear without so much as rising from his saddle. Spear in hand, he called in a warning voice to the guards and slave drivers who stood looking on, and then motioned for the two warriors holding me to follow. They carried me to a horse and hoisted me onto it. I could not sit upright, but slumped on the animal's neck and clung on with the last of my strength. Soon we were racing headlong down through the narrow streets of the mining settlement towards the gate-one warrior leading my horse, and another riding alongside, keeping me in the saddle. The flight was almost as painful as any of my beatings and I cried out with every jolting step.

I do not know how far we fled-once beyond the gate, I swooned and cannot remember anything more until I awoke in a dusky twilight. The stranger in the white turban was kneeling beside me, pressing a wet cloth to my forehead. When he saw that I had wakened, he held a cup to my lips and gave me water to drink.

"Allah, Most Merciful, be praised," he said, "you awake in the land of the living."

I gazed at the man's face as he spoke, and I remembered where I had seen him before-with the amir, in Trebizond. "I know you," I told him, my voice a rasping whisper in my ears.

"I know you, too. I am Faysal," he replied. "I have been looking for you."

"Why?" I asked.

"That is for Lord Sadiq to tell," he replied.

"My friends-" I said, remembering Gunnar and Dugal suddenly. I tried to sit up; pain burst behind my eyes and I fell back, panting with the effort. My shoulder felt as if it were being prodded with white-hot irons.

"I know nothing of your friends," Faysal replied bluntly. "But tell me, is Eparch Nicephorus dead?"

Unable to speak, I nodded.

"We are taking you to the amir. He is in Ja'fariya, which is several days' ride from here."

I roused myself to protest. "Please," I gasped, "I cannot leave my friends."

Faysal seemed not to hear. He rose, saying, "Rest now and regain your strength."

Though I slept the remainder of the day, by nightfall my condition had worsened. I could no longer lift my head, much less stand, and it hurt to breathe. My whole body pulsed with pain, especially my shoulder and deep in my chest. Waking by firelight, I found Faysal sitting beside me, his dark eyes shadowed with worry.

"Drink this," he said, offering me a cup. "I have brought you some food also."

I raised my hand and reached for the cup and pain seared me from elbow to neck. Tears came to my eyes. I lay back groaning and gasping for breath.

"Please," Faysal said, and proceeded to loosen my clothing. Though he worked most gently, even the smallest movement caused me to cry out. He took one quick look and sat back on his heels. "It is not good," he told me. "The bones of your arm have been separated from their place. I can help you if you will allow me-though I warn you, there will be much pain."

As I could not imagine anything more painful than that which I had already endured, I gave my silent assent. Faysal left me then, and I heard low, urgent voices for a moment before drifting into unconsciousness again. Returning some while later, he roused me and said, "It is best done quickly."

Kneeling before me, he motioned to two of the men with him to attend me. They lifted me to a sitting posture, and one put his arms around my waist and the other held me about the chest. "Put this between your teeth," Faysal instructed, placing a tight-folded cloth in my mouth. When he was satisfied with these precautions, Faysal took my arm between his hands and slowly raised it until it was level with my shoulder; I winced and bit into the cloth, but did not scream.

Slowly, slowly, Faysal rotated my arm. Pain burst in bright fireballs; I felt him tighten his grip on my arm, and I closed my eyes.

Without the least warning, he pulled my arm straight out. In the same moment, the man holding my chest pulled me back. I heard a grating pop as my arm gave way. I thought I would swoon with the pain. Instantly, Faysal released his grip and the pain ceased. "There," he said, taking the cloth from between my teeth, "the bone is returned to its proper place."

They then crossed my arm over my chest and bound it there with a long strip of cloth torn from one of their cloaks. This finished, I fell back sweating and shaking with exhaustion. Faysal covered me with a cloak and I slept until dawn when they brought me water and a little bread dipped in honey. I was able to swallow a bit of it, and felt somewhat revived.

I could not stand. Every limb had been bludgeoned and every joint cruelly twisted. The bruises on my flesh were dark, angry blue-black in colour, and there was not a solitary patch of skin that was not discoloured; due to the swelling, the skin had burst in several places. Faysal did not like the look of my wounds and told me so. "I fear for you, my friend," he said. "I think we dare not stay here any longer."

Since I was in no way fit to sit a horse, they constructed a carrier of sorts made of a wide piece of stout cloth slung between two horses and tied somehow to the saddles. Into this sling I was placed, like a baby bundled into a cradle, and we set off.

Clearly, Faysal was anxious to reach Ja'fariya, for we did not stop all that day, and only once the next day. I lay in my sling, drifting in and out of consciousness. The riders were such masterful horsemen, that I rarely suffered the slightest bump or jolt, but swung gently to the rhythmic swaying of the horses.

The incessant, drumming ache in my joints and muscles-every part of my body had either been bludgeoned or stretched-increased through the second day. My right shoulder still throbbed, and the pain in my chest was gradually replaced by a burning sensation which made breathing difficult. My periods of awareness grew shorter and my sleep deeper; I could rouse myself, but only with extreme effort, and as time passed that effort no longer seemed worthwhile. During my brief periods of lucidity, I reckoned we were travelling rapidly, but could not tell in which direction. We rested only briefly during the hottest part of the day, and pushed on well into the night.

Once, I awoke, opening my eyes to see the full moon hanging like a glowing face above me, perfectly round and ablaze with pale gold light in a sky of deepest blue. Stars in their hundreds of thousands gleamed like so much silver dust scattered by a wildly generous hand. I did not know if I was still in my sling, or lying on the ground, and felt a distinct urgency to learn which it might be, but soon passed into unconsciousness without discovering the answer to this mystery.

Another day passed-or, then again, it may have been the same day, or one of a long succession of days, for all I could tell-and we arrived at the amir's palace. I cannot say which way we had travelled, nor how long the journey lasted-two days, four, or maybe less or more-such was beyond my ken.

All I can say with certainty is that I awoke suddenly to find that I was being carried along a panelled corridor to the accompaniment of hushed voices. They brought me to a small, bare cell of a room where I was placed on a covered pallet. Sunlight slashed into the room through a narrow slit of a windhole; dust motes swirled lazily in the sharp shaft of light. Those who had carried me to the room departed and I was left alone for a moment.

My head felt as if it were made of lead-covered stone; I tried, but could not raise it, and the effort brought waves of black dizziness besides. I closed my eyes-only for a moment, or so I thought-and when I opened them again, my clothes had been taken away and I was now covered by a thin white cloth. My arm was still bound to my chest with a winding cloth, and what little I could see of the rest of my body was grossly swollen and discoloured; the blue-black bruises were turning a hideous purple colour. A clear fluid oozed from the places where my skin had burst from the swelling. My mouth was dry and my eyes burned-indeed, I felt as if I were being slowly roasted from the inside.

I heard a movement beside me, and Faysal appeared; he squatted at my bedside, peering doubtfully into my face. "You are awake, my friend?"

I opened my mouth, and made to answer, but no sound came out. Faysal, seeing my difficulty, raised my head and brought a shallow bowl to my lips. The bowl contained honey water which I drank, and it seemed to free my tongue. "Where am I?" I asked; the voice I heard was not my own; at least, I no longer recognized it as mine.

"Lord Sadiq's palace," he answered. "Do you have much pain?"

It took me a moment to think about this. Yes, I decided, there was pain-a continual, insistent pulsing ache in every limb and muscle-but I had become used to it. "No more than before," I answered in the same husky, wheezing, unfamiliar voice.

"The amir wishes you to know that he has sent a messenger to bring a physician from Baghdat. He will arrive tomorrow, if it pleases Allah. Meanwhile, we will do all that may be done to preserve your life. You must help us in this by eating and drinking what is given you. Do you understand what I am saying?"

I nodded.

Faysal sat for a moment, an expression of keen appraisal on his face; had I been a horse, I do not think he would have given much for me. "It is important to the amir that you live," he said, as if I might require persuasion. Finally, he rose to go, but as he stepped to the doorway, he said, "Kazimain is skilled in healing. Lord Sadiq has ordained that she shall attend you until the physician comes. Do whatever she says."

He left me then, but I heard him speaking to someone in the corridor outside. After a moment, the voices stopped and a young woman entered the room. She carried a small brass platter with flat bread and fruit, and small brass bowls. Kneeling, she placed the platter beside me, and began tearing the bread between her long fingers.

When she finished, she took a bit of bread, dipped it into one of the bowls, and held it to my mouth. I opened my mouth and she fed me; the bread was soft and the sauce sweet. I chewed and swallowed, whereupon the process was repeated until I had finished. She then gave me another drink, and prepared to feed me some more bread. All at once I was overwhelmed by exhaustion; sleep, like a rolling billow of the ocean, pulled me down into its dark depths. "No more," I murmured, fighting to keep my eyes open.

The young woman replaced the bread, picked up the brass tray, and stood. "Thank you, Kazimain," I whispered in my own tongue.

My use of her name surprised her, I think, for she paused to look at me curiously before turning and vanishing from my sight. That expression of surprised curiosity occupied my shattered thoughts for a goodly while-indeed, for far longer than anyone might have imagined. It was the last thing I saw, or remembered seeing, for a very long time. During the night, late and alone, I lapsed into a fevered sleep from which they could not wake me.