Byzantium

63

My mind squirmed like an eel caught in the eagle's grasp. Upset by Brynach's talk, disturbed, angry, I walked a long time, watching night descend through a ruddy desert sky, trying to regain my peace and composure. The more I walked however, the more agitated I became-but obscurely so: I did not know what I was anxious about, nor could I discern the source of my aggravation. All the while, my thoughts spun and shifted, flitting first one way and then another, but never finding rest.

Once, I felt as if I were about to burst with a sudden blazing insight. I waited, almost panting with anticipation. But nothing came, so I made my way back to camp and found a place to be alone with my troubled thoughts. Was it, I wondered, something Brynach had said that now sat so ill with me?

Tossed by the turmoil of my unsatisfactory meditations, I heard, but did not attend, a soft, strangled sound. It came again, and I turned to see Dugal, his head bent, shuffling towards me, hands covering his face. Even in the darkness, I could see his broad shoulders curved down as under an unseen burden. He came to where I sat on my solitary rock a short distance from camp.

"Dugal?"

In a moment, he raised his face. I expected tears, but his eyes were dry. The torment he felt was etched in every line of his face, however, and his voice was raw when he spoke. "Christ have mercy!" he said. "It is all because of me."

"Sit you down," I told him sternly. Still preoccupied by my own concerns I had no inclination towards gentleness and understanding. "Tell me now, what ails you?"

"All the evil that has befallen us-" he said, his voice cracking with regret, "it is all because of me. God have mercy on my soul, I am the cause of our afflictions."

"Tch!" I clicked my tongue at him. "Listen to you, now. Even if you were the Devil incarnate, you could not have wrought such havoc."

In his shame, he bent his head to his hands, and covered his face, murmuring, "Jonah…I am Jonah."

Rising to my knees, I leaned towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hear me, Dugal," I said firmly. "The fault is not yours. The misfortunes which have befallen us are the work of a zealot who shrinks not from murder, or any other crime, to further his wicked purpose."

"The man you describe is me," came the muffled reply. "I am that Jonah."

"Do not be a fool," I told him bluntly. "The man I describe is Komes Nikos. The iniquity is his alone."

Dugal, however, would not be comforted. "You do not understand," he said, his cry a very wound. "From the beginning-before ever we left Eire…" He shook his head, overwhelmed by misery.

"Stop that, Dugal. Look at me." I spoke severely, trying to brace him with sharp speech and firm purpose. "Look me in the eye, man, and tell me what you did."

Slowly, a man crushed by his burden of guilt, Dugal raised his head. There were tears in his eyes now. He pushed them away with the heels of his hands.

"Well? I am waiting."

"I cheated my way onto the ship," he said at last.

"What ship?" I could not imagine what he was talking about.

"Our ship-Ban Gwydd," he said; once loosed, the words came tumbling out. "I knew I would never be chosen like you, Aidan. But I knew also I could not let you go on pilgrimage without me. So, with God as my witness, I schemed and plotted night and day for a way to get aboard that ship. I steeled myself to do whatever vile thing came to hand so that I might be included with you. The Devil placed the chance in my hand and I seized it." Dugal gazed forlornly at me with damp eyes. "God save me, I did the deed without thinking twice."

"You pushed Libir on the path," I said, remembering our leave-taking, and the slippery rocks leading down to the little ship.

The change in Dugal's demeanor was wonderful to behold. The pain in his eyes passed through bewilderment and arrived at amazement. "You knew?"

"Dugal! I have always known!"

"You knew," he said again. "Yet, you never breathed a word."

"Of course, I knew. Listen to me now: Libir was old; he could not have endured the journey-he would have died in the shipwreck, and if not then, he certainly would have been killed any number of times after. Most likely, you saved his life."

Dugal stared, not willing to believe what I was saying.

"Did you really think God would curse us to ruin because you took an old man's place in a boat?" I demanded.

"But I hurt him," he replied dully. "I hurt him, Aidan. Our misfortunes came upon us through my prideful sin."

"Put that out of your mind," I told him. "Whatever happens in this world happens. That is all. The only misfortune is thinking God cares. Hear me, Dugal: He does not care. Still less does He intervene in our affairs one way or another."

My words stung him; I could see it in his eyes. He did not expect such venom from me, and was shocked by what I said. After a moment, he said, "I would feel better if I confessed."

"You have already confessed," I pointed out, my anger subsiding.

"Would you hear my confession, Aidan?"

"No," I told him. "But confess by all means, if it will make you feel better; get Brynach to shrive you. I want no part of it."

Dugal nodded glumly and climbed to his feet. I watched as he approached Brynach; the two talked, whereupon the elder monk led Dugal a little apart, and the two knelt together to pray. God help me, I could not bear to see them, so turned my back, pulled my robe around my shoulders, lay down and tried to sleep. The cool desert air was still and soft, the sky bright, and my mind kept circling, circling endlessly, unable to alight and unwilling to rest.

In the end, I gave up and simply stared at the stars. Even that was no good. For, though I watched the glowing opalescent sky, I saw only the black chain of deceit stretching back and back-to Byzantium. I thought of Nikos and his treachery, but instead of allowing myself to renew my rage and hatred-which is what I always did whenever his memory crossed my mind-this time I considered him dispassionately: a riddle to be solved, rather than a serpent to be killed.

Strangely, my mind ceased flitting restlessly from thought to thought, and a profound calm eased into my spirit. I began to see the difficulty in a cool, clear light. It came to me that both Eparch Nicephorus and Bishop Cadoc had been betrayed by Nikos. Why? Neither man, so far as I knew, had ever so much as heard of the other, and yet Nikos went out of his way to destroy them. What was it that united the two men as objects of Nikos's treachery?

Well, there was only one answer: both men knew Governor Honorius. Indeed, both had been going to see him, and both had been attacked. Honorius, then, lay at the centre of this mystery.

So then, what was it about the governor that Nikos feared? Whatever the answer, I reasoned, it must be terrible in its import: hundreds of people had died to keep it hidden-and those were just the ones I knew. How many more had been sacrificed, and why?

Try as I might, I could not get beyond the why?

Gazing up at the glowing sky-vault above me, my mind turned again to my vision of the afternoon: Amet standing in the centre of the marketplace, hailing me, calling me. Come to Sebastea, he had said. Sebastea…

I was on my feet before I knew it, and stumbling through the sleeping camp. Kneeling over the sleeping Brynach, I took him by the shoulder. He came awake at my touch.

"How did you know the governor was in Sebastea?" I said, my voice shaking with excitement.

"Peace, brother," he said, and made to rise.

"Answer me! How did you know?" I demanded, already guessing what he would say.

"Nikos told us," Brynach replied. "He said the governor always spent the summer there."

A thin, icy chill trickled along my ribs. Oh, Nikos was cunning as a viper and just as poisonous. He knew, even before setting foot in Trebizond that the governor would not be joining us there. He had sent the monks, not to Honorius's home in Trebizond, but to Sebastea where he knew the governor could be found; and, when the eparch had concluded the treaty, then Nikos diverted us to Sebastea, too.

Nikos was, it seemed, always sending people to Sebastea, but none of them ever arrived. Why?

My quick-kindled excitement died. I had thought myself close to solving the riddle. But the more I probed, the more the mystery deepened, and now I was no nearer a solution than before. I returned to my sleeping place, dispirited and disgusted, to wrestle with thoughts that would not yield.

A pale white dawn found me awake still, unrested and aching in head and heart. Slowly, the camp began to stir; I lay listening to the idle talk of the amir's warriors as they built up the fires once more. Thus, I was already alert when I heard Kazimain approach, her footfall soft in the dust.

"Aidan," she said tentatively. Her voice quivered.

"My love," I replied, rolling over to look at her. She appeared to have slept no better than I; her hair was unbound, and the corners of her eyes were red. "Kazimain?"

"It is Lord Sadiq." Her hand was shaking, so I grasped it; her fingers were cold. "I cannot wake him."

I was beside the amir in an instant. In swift steps I entered the tent, knelt over him and pressed my hand to the side of his neck, much as Farouk had done to me countless times. The amir's skin was warm to the touch, and I could feel the rapid flutter of a strong pulse beneath my fingertips; his breath was quick and shallow. He seemed to sleep, but it was a false repose. There was a faint mist of sweat on his brow.

Touching his shoulder, I jostled him gently, but firmly. "Lord Sadiq," I said, "wake you now." I repeated this three times, but the amir made no sound, neither did he move.

"You see how he is," Kazimain said, peering over my shoulder.

"Where is Faysal?"

"He did not eat anything last night," she replied. "He said he was not hungry…It is not like the amir to sleep so long…"

"Kazimain," I said sharply, drawing her back. "Where is Faysal?"

"Out there-" She gestured vaguely behind her. "I did not-" She looked at me, frightened now. "I woke you instead."

"Wake him now and tell him to bring some water."

She nodded and backed from the tent. Straightening the amir's head, I began to gently remove his turban. So far as I knew, he had not changed it since the incident at the gate. As the long strip of cloth unwound, I held my breath, fearing what I would find.

As the last length came away, I put the cloth aside and examined the amir's head. To my relief there was no injury that I could see; so I began to search, lightly lifting his matted dark hair to see the scalp beneath. By the time Kazimain returned, I had completed my examination, finding nothing unusual.

Kazimain knelt beside me, worried still, but better composed. Faysal appeared a moment later, with a jar of water. He poured from the jar into a small bowl, and brought it to the amir's lips. I placed my hand behind the amir's head and raised it to receive the water. As I lifted, the amir moaned, as if in pain, but he did not wake.

"Wait," I told Faysal. "There is something here." To Kazimain I said, "Let us turn him over."

Half-lifting, half-rolling, we placed the amir on his side, and I quickly found the place my fingers had touched.

The wound was little more than a deep-coloured bruise at the base of his skull. But when I probed with my fingers, rather than solid bone beneath the skin, I felt pulpy flesh. "Here," I said, guiding Kazimain's fingers to the place. "But gently, gently."

The amir moaned again as Kazimain touched the wound; she pulled back her hand as if she had burned her fingers. "The bone is crushed," she gasped, her voice dwindling to a whisper.

"Faysal," I commanded, "ride to Amida. Bring a physician at once."

He stared at me. "I do not think there is a physician in Amida."

"Go, man," I snapped. "Hurry!"

Faysal inclined his head in acknowledgement of the command-a gesture I had seen him make a thousand times, but always to Lord Sadiq, never to anyone else. He left the tent, and Kazimain and I attempted to get the amir to drink some water, but succeeded only in wetting his chin and the side of his face.

"Stay with him," I told Kazimain, "I will fetch Brynach. He is learned in many things; he may know what to do."

Upon emerging from the tent, one of the rafiq met me and announced that Kazimain's escort had arrived and was ready to take her away. I looked to where the warrior pointed and saw six men on horseback. "Tell them they must wait," I said, and hurried on.

Brynach, Dugal, and Ddewi had risen and lit a fire to take the chill from the morning air. Upon hearing of the amir's distress, Brynach nodded and said, "Have no fear for Lord Sadiq. We have among us one who is many-gifted in the healing arts." He put out his hand to Ddewi, who sat with hand extended before the crackling fire, his features placid.

"You cannot mean-" I protested.

Brynach nodded.

"But he is not himself. His mind-he does not even know where he is. Sure, he cannot do anything."

"Are you God now that you know what a man is capable of doing?" There was no rancour in Brynach's tone. He turned to regard Ddewi with satisfaction. "He is hiding within himself. We have but to coax him into the daylight once more."

"Your faith is laudable," I said, struggling to keep the contempt out of my voice. "But it is the amir-I fear for his life. And if any ill should befall him at Ddewi's hands…"

Brynach blithely waved aside my objection. "It is right to bear concern for one another, but your fears betray a lack of faith."

"It is not a matter of faith," I declared harshly, "but one of expedience. Ddewi does not even remember his own name. What if I were to entrust to him the care of the amir, and Lord Sadiq died?"

Brynach placed a hand on my shoulder in a fatherly way. "O, man of little faith, trust God, and see what he will do."

In my experience, all that came of trusting God was that matters went from bad to worse-and usually so rapidly as to steal the very breath away.

Despite Brynach's faith-blinded confidence, I would not have allowed Ddewi to so much as sit quietly in the amir's tent, if Faysal had not returned to camp with the unhappy word that there was no physician in Amida.

"No one?" I growled.

He shrugged. "A few old women sit with those who are ill."

Dugal, having seen Faysal's lathered horse, joined us, and as Bryn explained what was happening, I asked, "What happens when someone falls seriously ill?"

"They die."

"No doubt," put in Brynach, "this has come about that God's glory may be increased."

"No doubt," I muttered sourly.

"Be of good cheer, brother," Dugal exhorted. "It may be that this will be the saving of them both."

With that, everyone turned to me expectantly, awaiting my decision. "Where else," I asked Faysal, "can we find a physician?"

"Samarra or Baghdat," he answered.

But, strange to say, it was not Faysal's voice I heard; it was Amet's, calling me across the marketplace. Come to Sebastea…

Oh, Brynach was right, it was a matter of faith-not as he imagined it, however. It was not God, or even Ddewi, who vied for my faith. The question was this: could I trust my vision? I had trusted once, and it had proven false. If it proved so again, the amir would pay with his life.

Samarra was a long way behind us now, and Baghdat further still. Even if we rode night and day, we could not reach either place before many days had passed and, looking at him now, I doubted whether the amir could endure the journey. Well, the choice was clear at least, if not easily made.

I felt a touch at my arm. "Aidan?" Faysal asked. "What are you thinking?"

"Faysal, listen. There may be another choice. What about Sebastea?"

He considered this for a moment. "It may be closer," he allowed. "It is a sizeable city."

"I think we should go there."

Faysal hesitated; I was on the point of urging again when Kazimain spoke up. "We must do what is most expedient," she said. "We do not know how long he can endure."

"Very well," replied Faysal. "I yield to your judgement."

Turning to Brynach, who was bending over Ddewi, whispering in his ear, I said: "Bring Ddewi to the tent. I will allow him to tend Lord Sadiq until we get to Sebastea. However, Kazimain will remain with him to see that he does no harm."

Dugal and Brynach, each taking an arm, raised the unwitting monk between them, and led him towards the tent, Brynach speaking low to his young charge the while. It was not a sight to inspire the highest confidence. I watched them walk away, misgiving deep and dire rising within me. May God help us all, I thought, but it was a cold-hearted wish with neither hope nor faith in it at all.

After escorting Ddewi to the amir's side, Dugal returned to where I stood talking to Faysal about how best to proceed. "Never fear, Aidan," Dugal told me, "all things work together for the good of those who love God."

Faysal, regarding the big monk curiously, asked, "Please, what is he saying?"

"He said not to worry, that God ever toils for good," I translated roughly, if enthusiastically.

"We have a similar saying," Faysal replied. "The Faithful say, 'All is as Allah wills.' It is the same thing, I think."

Faysal began to organize the arrangements which would enable Sadiq to travel, doing for the amir what he once did for me. "We may leave for Sebastea shortly; I will let you know when we are ready, he told me."

While Faysal undertook the required preparations, I went to Jarl Harald and explained to the Danes why we yet lingered in camp. Gunnar, Hnefi, and some of the others crowded around to hear the news. I told them Lord Sadiq had fallen ill in the night, and that we were going to Sebastea to find a physician. Harald accepted this with good grace, saying that he would personally carry the Arab jarl on his back if it meant he could recover the sooner. "We owe him a great debt of honour," he said, and meant just that.

Then, having set the Sea Wolves the chore of breaking camp, I returned to Sadiq's tent. Brynach and Ddewi knelt beside the amir; Kazimain, who stood over them, turned to meet me as I entered. "It is remarkable," she said. "Already Lord Sadiq rests more easily."

"What did he do?"

"He merely touched the amir with his hands while he prayed."

I did not doubt her, but attributed the observation more to her own desire to see her kinsman healed than anything Ddewi might have done.

"God willing, he will sleep now," Brynach informed us.

"He was sleeping before," I retorted. I cannot say why I took offence at the monk; I know he meant only good. But his assurance rankled me, and I bristled at his unquestioning confidence: it made of the amir's injury a trivial thing. And, of course, nothing is simple.

Brynach gazed at me curiously. Forcing a more reasonable tone, I said, "Make him ready. I have already given orders to break camp."

Leaving the tent, I hastened to where Kazimain's escort was waiting. "Our plans have changed," I told the head man. "You are no longer needed. Thank the shaykh and tell him that the amir wishes you to keep the money you have been paid. Lord Sadiq may have need of your services another day."

For good or ill, the decision was made. I turned my face towards Sebastea.