Byzantium

65

It would be best," Theodore was saying, "if no one remained inside the tent while the cheirourgia is performed."

Glancing at Kazimain, pale and drawn but determined, I said, "We will stay."

"Then you must remain silent," Theodore replied. "I warn you now, there will be an issue of blood. Do not be frightened at this; it is a feature of the procedure."

I relayed the physician's words to Kazimain and she nodded, never taking her eyes from the amir's prostrate form. Sadiq's hair was clipped short and the back of his head shaved smooth; he had been given a strong, soporific drug called opium made from the juice of certain flowers common in the east. Turned face down on a bed of cushions, Sadiq now slept soundly, with Ddewi at his head on one side and Theodore on the other. The amir's arms were bound to his body with cords, and his legs were also tied together.

Selecting a small, razor-like knife from among the various tools spread upon a cloth-covered brass platter beside him, Theodore nodded to Ddewi, who took the amir's head between his hands. "We begin," he said.

With deft, unhesitating strokes Theodore pierced the skin at the base of the amir's skull and opened a circular flap of skin, which he lifted and pinned up out of the way with a needle, much as a tailor might do with a scrap of cloth. Kazimain folded her hands and pressed them to her lips.

Blood ran freely from the wound as Theodore replaced the knife and regarded his handiwork for a moment. Apparently satisfied, he then took up a small powdery stone and applied it to several places along the edge of the cut he had made, and the bleeding diminished considerably. A look of wonder appeared on Ddewi's face.

Selecting another, longer-bladed knife, Theodore leaned forward and began gently scraping at the wound, and I soon saw the glimmer of white bone. "Since you are here," the physician said, speaking with slow concentration, "you might as well be of use to me. Come and hold the lamp a little higher."

With a look and a nod, Theodore positioned me and directed the light where he wanted it to fall. I held the brass lamp as he bent to the study of his work, probing now and then with the tip of the long blade held lightly in his fingers.

After a few moments, he breathed a whispered, "Ah, yes!" To Ddewi, he said, "You were right, my friend. It is a small fragment of bone which has become dislodged and has caused the bleeding inside the skull."

Replacing the knife upon the tray, Theodore took up a strange tool; shaped like a pair of miniature tongs, but with elongated pincers at the end, it had loops for his thumb and finger with which he operated it. Using this, he bent to his work and in a moment I heard a wet, sucking sound and he raised the instrument into the light. A nasty, jagged piece of pink-white bone the size of a man's thumbnail glistened between the pincers' jaws.

"Here," he announced, "is the source of the amir's infirmity." Dropping the bit of bone onto the brass tray with a pattering chink, he said, "Now his healing can begin."

Replacing the tongs, he took up another cloth, doubled it and spread it carefully over the cushion beside the amir's head. "We will turn him now," said Theodore, and together Ddewi and the physician rolled the amir onto his side. Black blood oozed from the wound onto the cloth. The healer watched the flow with satisfaction, remarking to Ddewi on its colour and turgid consistency.

"You may replace the lamp," Theodore told me. "There is nothing more to be done until the wound has drained. That will take some time, I think. Refresh yourselves, my friends. I will summon you when the procedure commences anew."

"Very well," I said, and moved to where Kazimain was standing, her hands still clenched to her chin. "Come, we will walk a little before I go."

"I am staying," she said, shaking her head.

Leaving her to her vigil, I stepped through the tent flap to find Faysal hovering just outside. "All is well," I told him. "They are nearly finished."

"Praise be to Allah," he sighed with audible relief.

Glancing at the dusky sky, I said, "We must leave or the gates will be closed. Is everything ready?"

"Seven have been sent into the city already," he replied. "The rest ride with us. I have saddled one of the pack horses for Exarch Honorius. We await your command."

The setting sun shone red as it disappeared below the horizon; away to the east, a new-risen slice of moon gleamed dully and two stars had begun to glow. It would be a warm, clear night, with enough light to make our way without torches.

"It is a good night for an escape," I said, touching the handle of the knife tucked into my belt. "Come, the governor is waiting."

A few moments later, Faysal and I and the three remaining rafiq were riding towards Sebastea, leaving the Sea Wolves behind to guard the camp. Jarl Harald had all but begged to be allowed to undertake the raid, but I considered the Danes were not yet fit enough to fight. Also, their appearance would have roused undue suspicion in the city. "It is but a small errand," I told him, "and we need someone to guard the camp, after all. Nurse your strength for the battle to come."

Thus, we proceeded to the city gates, leading a pack horse burdened with bundles of straw wrapped in sacking. Appearing as merchants arriving late to the city, we passed easily through the gate without so much as a glance from the guards squatting around their little cooking fire in the shadow of the gateman's hut.

"Getting into the city is easy," I had told Faysal on my return from the city. "But getting out again-that will be difficult."

"Leave it to me," he replied. Faysal had made most of the preparations for our night raid-and with such efficiency, I wondered at his skill. And then I remembered how he had rescued me, and reflected that where such furtive activities were concerned, Faysal did not lack practice.

Once past the gates, we made our way quickly to an inn near the marketplace that Kazimain and I had identified on our visit that morning. There we joined the warriors who had entered Sebastea earlier; four of them were sitting outside the inn, and the other three were standing in the street a little distance away. At our approach one of the rafiq raised his eyes and gave an imperceptible nod. Faysal dismounted and summoned the man, and the two spoke together quietly for a moment.

"Sayid has found a small gate on the northern wall," Faysal said when he returned. "He believes it will serve our purpose."

"Good," I said, looking towards the inn. "We might as well have something to eat-it will help the time go more quickly."

We lingered over our meal, sitting unobtrusively in a corner of the main room, until the innkeeper closed his shutters for the night. Then, leaving a silver coin on the table, Faysal and I quit the inn and proceeded quickly and quietly to the forum. Several prostitutes hailed us as we passed, offering their services from the shadows of the pillars. I had not anticipated this, and worried that their loud solicitations brought attention to us. Even so, Sebastea's citizens were used to the noise they made, for the few people still about in the streets paid us no heed.

Creeping along the dark and narrow streets, we came to the governor's house. I did not see the warriors, but Faysal assured me they were hidden nearby, watching for the signal. "We can stand over there," I said, pointing to a niche in the wall formed by a disused doorway. We had planned merely to watch the house for a while, to make certain everyone was asleep inside. The house, as I have said, fronted directly onto the street and, as we passed by, I saw that the door was open.

"This is better than I could have hoped," I told Faysal, already revising the plan in my head. "I will go alone."

"Wait!" he warned. "This is not right." He turned around and made a gesture with his arms. In a moment, we were joined by three warriors, blades in hand. "Now we will go in," Faysal said. "The others will keep watch outside."

We slipped silently into the shadowed doorway. I put my hand to the door and pushed-it swung open easily and I stepped into the vestibule. Someone had thoughtfully left a lamp burning on a stand beside the door, but there was no one in the room. We stood for a moment, listening, but heard not a sound. I glanced at Faysal, who shrugged, unable to think why the door should be unsecured.

Taking up the lamp, I led the search of the house, which, in the Byzantine manner, comprised two floors, one atop the other joined by stairs. I did not know which of the many rooms might be the governor's, but decided to look for Honorius on the upper floor first, reasoning that if I were holding a man a captive in his own residence, I would keep him as far away from the front door as possible.

From my previous visit, I knew the stairs were not to be found beyond the large door that opened onto the vestibule, so I turned and went through a smaller archway which led onto a short corridor. Once in the corridor, I saw two more arches: the left opened onto a small courtyard, and the right gave onto stairs.

Motioning to Faysal, I indicated that I would go up first. Keeping my lamp low, I climbed the steps quickly, and paused at the top to listen. The house was silent; it might have been a tomb. Satisfied that we had not yet alerted the guards to our presence, I gestured to the rest to follow.

The room at the top of the steps was a smaller copy of the vestibule below, but with a door leading to interior rooms. As below, so above: the door was open. I stepped to the door, put my hand to the polished wood, and was about to push it when Faysal put his hand to my arm. "Allow me," he breathed, drawing his long knife from his belt.

Without the slightest sound, he slipped into the room. I heard a muffled grunt of surprise, and then the door swung wide. Faysal motioned me inside. "Now we know why there are no guards," he said, taking the lamp from my hands.

In the fitful light I saw Honorius lying on a bed soaked in blood. Eyes wide and bulging, his mouth open in a final, silent scream, his throat had been sliced open from ear to ear. The room stank of urine and faeces, and the sickly-sweet odour of blood. Everything was deathly silent, save for the droning buzz of flies gathering in the darkness.

Sitting next to the body was an old woman. She looked impassively at Faysal and me, then turned her eyes once more to the governor.

"He is dead," she said softly, and I recognized her then as the washerwoman I had met earlier in the day. "I brought his clothes."

"Woman, how long have you been here?" I asked, squatting down beside her.

"They killed him," she said, and put a plump red hand to her face. I heard an odd, strangled sound; she was sobbing.

Leaving her for the moment, I put a hand to the corpse's cheek; the skin was cold to the touch. Even in the dim and flickering lamplight, I could tell the blood had begun to congeal. His murderers had left nothing to chance: hands bound behind him, his throat had been cut to keep his screams from being heard, and he had been stabbed several times in the chest for good measure.

"He has been dead some time," Faysal observed.

"I told him we would come for him," I said, remembering our brief meeting. "He said no one could save him-that it was too late."

Faysal touched my arm and indicated the old woman. I looked and saw that she was clutching a small white packet to her bosom with her free hand. Bending to her once more, I said, "Mother, what have you there?"

Reaching out, I put my hand to the packet. The old woman raised her face, fearful now. "I am an honest woman!" she cried, growing suddenly agitated. "Three years I have worked in this house! Three years! I have never stolen so much as a thread!"

"I believe you," I said. "What do you hold there?"

"I am no thief," she insisted, clutching the packet more tightly. "Ask anyone-ask the governor! He will tell you I am an honest woman."

"Please?" I asked, tugging the packet gently from her.

"I found it," she told me. "It was there," she said, pointing at a pile of clothing folded neatly on the floor. "He left it there for me to find. I swear it! I took nothing! I am no thief."

"Peace, old woman," I said, trying to soothe her. "We make no accusations."

"They try to trick you sometimes," she told me breathlessly. "They leave things for you to find, and then they say you steal them. I am no thief." She shook a finger at the packet in my hand. "I found it. I did not steal it."

Faysal brought the lamp near, and I bent to my examination. "It is parchment," I said, turning it over in the light, "bound with a strip of cloth…and, here-here is the governor's seal." Above the seal, written in a thin, spidery hand were two words: the first was basileus, I could not make out the second. "It may be for the emperor."

Slipping the cloth band from the packet, I made to break the seal. Faysal counselled against it, saying, "I think we should leave before someone finds us."

The old laundress had begun sobbing again. "Three years I have worked for this house!" she moaned. "I am an honest woman. Where will I find another house?"

"Come," Faysal urged, "we can do nothing here."

Stuffing the packet into my belt, I turned to the old woman. "You do not have to stay here. You can come with us if you wish."

She looked at me with her damp eyes, then glanced at the governor's body. "I wash his clothes," she said. "I am an old woman. I will stay with him."

Stepping quickly to the door, Faysal motioned me to follow. I rose slowly. "The danger is past," I said. "I do not think the killers will return. You can get help in the morning." The old woman made no reply, but turned her gaze once more upon the bloodied body lying beside her.

Back down the stairs, through the corridor and into the vestibule, we fled. With trembling hand, I returned the lamp to its stand, and crept to the door. I put my hand to the handle, pulled open the door slightly, and slipped out.

Sayid appeared at once, stepping from the shadows to motion me forward. "Swiftly!" he hissed. "Someone comes."

Glancing to where he pointed, I saw a man ambling towards us; he was, perhaps, thirty paces away. Even as I looked, the man halted. "He has seen us," Faysal said. "Hurry! This way!"

Faysal turned and fled down the street. In the same instant, the man began shouting. "Thieves! Robbers!" he cried, his voice echoing down the empty street. "Help! Thieves! Robbers!"

We ran to the inn where we had left the horses under Nadr's vigilant eye; he passed me the reins to my mount and I swung up into the saddle. "Lead the way," I called. "We are behind you."

At a sign from Faysal, Sayid rode out; I could still hear the fellow crying for help as we clattered back along the deserted street-passing the startled man once more. Despite his cries of robber and thief, the streets remained empty and quiet; save for a skulking dog or two that barked as we passed, Sebastea slept undisturbed.

Upon reaching the north wall, we turned off the main street and continued along a narrow passageway until we came to an unused guard tower, beneath which a small, lean-to hut had been erected beside the low wooden gate. Sayid dismounted before the hut, and slapped the crude door with his hand. A thin weasel of a fellow poked out his head, squinted at the mounted warriors and complained, "I never agreed to so many!"

"Be quiet!" warned Sayid. "Open the gate."

"But you never said there would be so many," the gateman protested, stepping cautiously out of his hut.

"You are well paid for the work of a moment," Sayid said. "Now open the gate."

The gateman withdrew his keys reluctantly. "Opening the gate is, as you say, the work of a moment," he allowed. "Forgetting what I have seen this night…whether such a thing is possible, I am far from certain."

"Perhaps," said Faysal, jingling coins in his hand, "these will help you to perform the impossible." Leaning from the saddle, he extended his hand.

The gateman reached expectantly towards the offered coins. Faysal raised his hand. "When the others are through the gate," he said. "Not before."

"The others?" wondered the gateman, his eyes growing wide. "I see no one here. Oh, already I am becoming so forgetful."

The oily fellow turned to his task and, in a few moments, the gate creaked open. A steep road led away from the wall, blue-white in the moonlight against the black of high-mounded banks. The gateway was narrow and low, forcing us to bend double in the saddle. Once beyond the wall and its banked-earth ramparts, the road swung towards the east. We rode west, however, and made our way more slowly across fields and grazing land, arriving back at camp as the last light of a setting moon traced the domes and spires of the city in lingering silver.

When daylight transmuted night's silver to morning's red gold, I would, I believed, at last hold the answer to the mystery of Nikos's betrayal.