A Burning Sea

by Theodore Brun

The rest of the Arab fleet had all but abandoned its rearguard, although what damage the smaller Byzantine craft could do to those monsters, Erlan couldn’t imagine. Even so, he saw the Arab marines on board scatter. It looked a lot like panic.

  ‘What’s happening?’ asked Gerutha.

  The little Byzantine ships drove forward, the tempo of their oars increasing while the wooden monsters whaled ahead of them.

  ‘This is madness,’ Erlan said. ‘They’ll be smashed into kindling.’

  ‘Just watch.’ Lilla’s gaze was welded to the hardy little boats. The galleys were banking round to meet these Byzantine upstarts. Erlan could see Arab marines now lining the gunwales, their spear-tips catching the light of the morning sun.

  A trumpet blast rippled down the Byzantine line and at the signal a jet of flame suddenly shot out from the bows of the lead ship. This was quickly followed by the others, liquid fire arcing through the air, dousing the war-ships’ broadsides like paint. Erlan was astonished. The flame-jets roared again, fierce as the fire-breathing worms of old, spraying death and terror over the floundering Arab galleys.

  At once flames raced up the sides of the ships, catching at the rigging and buffeting sails. The Byzantine fire-ships moved in closer, now raining their deadly streams onto the ranks of Arab sailors.

  The screaming started.

  Hundreds of voices in one soul-rending cry, wailing for mercy or respite. But there was none to be had. The pitiless fire clung to their clothes, their armour, their weapons, swirling about them in a hot maelstrom, devouring everything in its blind hunger.

  Men hurled themselves into the sea, human torches blazing through the smoke, but even the water offered no escape. The flames burned on, inextinguishable, dragging them under to a hideous death below the waves.

  The sound of the furnace came swirling on the wind, mingled with the triumphant yells of the Byzantine crews and their countrymen cheering from the walls. With the noise came the smell – that sick-sweet stench of burning flesh and something else, something stronger than woodsmoke, the sharp stink of whatever dark concoction fuelled those terrifying tongues of fire.

  It was horrifying. . . and yet he could not look away. He felt Lilla’s long light fingers slip into his hand. ‘Do you see it, my love?’ he heard her murmur. ‘There. That’s the edge that we need.’

  Words that made his blood run cold.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Abdal-Battal raised the goblet to his lips.

  The man drinks wine at least, thought Katāros. He knew there were some among Prince Maslama’s host who refused even that. Warrior-monks. Some even used to be Christians, he had heard. Ascetics, no doubt bored by their stylites or hermit caves, who had heeded the call of the mullahs in the Cilician wastelands and come to pluck the ripe fruit of Constantine’s city to lay upon the altar of their austere god.

  Except they had not found the fruit quite ready for plucking.

  ‘I congratulate you on your victory, Your Majesty,’ the envoy said to the emperor in his sharp nasal voice. ‘Your little fire show will surely hearten your people.’

  ‘No doubt.’ A subtle smile played around the emperor’s lips.

  ‘That is, of course, until they consider that our fleet numbers a hundred times what your fire destroyed this morning. But when the full might of our forces fall on this city, it will be flattened like a rivet under a hammer-blow.’

  ‘You paint a vivid picture, Abdal-Battal.’

  ‘You are cut off. No help is coming. God has abandoned you. If you continue to resist, your people face only two outcomes. Starvation. Or slaughter.’

  ‘My people are no fools, Lord Battal. Today they saw that we can resist if we choose to. Morale is high.’

  So the exchange went on. Katāros listened while the envoy did his best to impress on the emperor what an impossible position the city was in, how they had no choice but to submit, and so on, and so on. Good God, if the Arab could have put it to music he would have! Leo danced this way and that to the envoy’s song, but Katāros could see he was taunting the young warrior. He watched the envoy’s almond-shaped eyes cloud with anger and frustration. Handsome eyes, nevertheless; his mother must have been a rare beauty. One of those desert flowers which the Syrians were so fond of keeping out of sight.

  The audience ended badly.

  Katāros escorted the envoy from the emperor’s presence, breathing in the fumes of his frustration. Outside, they had time only for a brief exchange. ‘You must attack at once,’ Katāros said in a quick, low voice. ‘Do not squander the chance I have given you.’

  ‘We shall see whether what you have given me proves its worth. But it is not enough.’

  ‘Not enough? I’ve given you the keys to the city!’

  ‘If the key fits the lock,’ returned Abdal-Battal. The almond eyes narrowed. ‘In any case, we want more.’

  ‘What more?’

  ‘Find us the secret of that fire of Shaitan.’

  ‘What? Have you lost your mind? There’s no more closely guarded secret in all the empire.’

  ‘Our fleet is as good as defenceless without it, though I would never say so in there.’

  ‘But not four men in the whole city know it.’

  ‘That’s your concern. But if you mean to collect on the price we agreed, then find a way to get it. Bring me that,’ the envoy smiled, ‘and you shall have all the gold in Damascus.’

  ‘An assault is now certain, Majesty.’ Having regained his composure, Katāros had returned to the Chrysotriklinos and now stood before the throne.

  ‘That’s the idea, my friend. Let them break their bones against our walls for a while. And meanwhile I shall continue to send messages of love to my brother prince, eh?’ Leo took a long quaff from his wine cup. ‘Maslama! Ha! The poor fool. If he’d been a woman I wanted to seduce, I could have done it. I don’t suppose he’d have refused me anything I desired.’ Leo laughed at that and Katāros tasted bile. The man’s complacency rankled like a hair shirt. Still, Katāros assured himself, he would not have to suffer it much longer.

  ‘Our northern guest,’ said Leo abruptly. ‘What has become of her?’

  As a chamberlain of the palace, Katāros was always ready to switch subjects. ‘She waits upon your leisure, Majesty. I heard she succeeded in obtaining her countryman from Arbasdos after all.’

  ‘Has she, by God?’ Leo chuckled. ‘Her charm must be formidable indeed to twist his brawny arm. I should like to see her again. And this man for whom such a beauty would cross half the world. Bring them to me.’

  ‘At once, Majesty.’ Katāros bowed, and left the emperor to his scheming.

  The king of kings was not as Erlan had imagined him. He was a shortish man, broad-shouldered, plain to look at. In some ways, he looked like every shopkeeper in the city. But when he fixed his gaze on you, you felt his authority. The strange costumes, the headdress, the purple and gold everywhere you looked, seemed superfluous to the man himself. He wore it all as a necessity, but beneath it, Erlan felt he saw a man who knew what he was about.

  Erlan was happy to let Lilla exchange formalities, some further pleasantries about the palace and what she had seen. He was surprised the man had time for them with the city beset on all sides. But he was a cool one, to be sure.

  ‘This is your countryman, then,’ the emperor said at length.

  ‘It is.’ Lilla turned to beckon Erlan forward. Her Greek was solid but simple and Erlan had followed everything so far, impressed by the equal standing on which this high lord received her.

  ‘He limps,’ observed the emperor.

  ‘He is one of the greatest warriors in all the North, Majesty.’ That was some claim, Erlan thought ruefully. He wondered whether it was true.

  ‘Then why is he here?’

  A fair question. When Lilla hesitated, Erlan came to her rescue. ‘My king was murdered, Majesty. My oath to him, undone. I resolved to serve the greatest lord in all the world.’ He kneeled. ‘I am ready to serve him now.’<
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  The emperor pulled himself to his feet and came down from his dais. ’You speak our language.’

  ‘Some,’ he replied. ‘Enough to kill for you.’

  ‘God’s blood, man! Hah! Peace, my friend, peace! We need not speak of killing yet. Besides, duty prevents my standing in the battle-line as I would have in the past. These days, death is more likely to find me in a poisoned cup or a dagger in the back while I slumber on silk sheets.’ He raised a thick eyebrow.

  ‘I’m ready to protect you against threats from any quarter. My lord.’ All just as Lilla had briefed him.

  ‘You are eager. I like that.’ The emperor circled behind him, apparently intrigued.

  ‘Put him to the test, Majesty,’ interjected Lilla, perhaps sensing her moment. ‘I promised you what help I could. I can offer nothing of greater value to you than this man. And with him one other.’

  ‘Two of them! You spoil me, Queen Lilla.’

  ‘I give them both willingly. They are both capable of proving the mettle of our people.’

  The emperor smiled. ‘The other can at least walk, I trust.’

  Lilla gave a little shrug and smiled. ‘He is strong, brave and loyal. I trust him with my life.’

  ‘It’s a wonder you can do without them,’ replied Leo, with another sardonic flick of his eyebrow. At length he nodded, making the little crosses hanging from his diadem jingle. ‘Very well. We shall test your northern mettle. Do you swear an oath to me then, before Almighty God?’

  ‘I know nothing of your god, Majesty,’ said Erlan. ‘An oath before him would mean nothing. But I’ll swear according to our ways. The goddess Var is witness to our oath.’

  ‘No Christian emperor can accept a pagan oath. . . On the other hand, I suppose one soldier can accept the word of another. Come then! Swear on this Var of yours and begin your service.’

  ‘Before I do, I ask one condition, Majesty.’

  ‘Condition?’

  ‘When the siege is at an end, if I have served you well, that I be released from my oath to return to the north. Queen Lilla has unfinished business there. My place is beside her to see it accomplished.’

  ‘Hm,’ he grunted. ‘You know many would not dare speak to an emperor like that.’

  ‘I meant no offence.’ His eyes flicked to Lilla. ‘But without your assent to this, I cannot serve you.’

  ‘I see your queen means much to you.’

  ‘I owe her much already, Majesty.’

  Leo gave an abrupt snort. ‘You’re right, Queen Lilla. This one is loyal indeed. . . Although I heard he holds few qualms for those to whom he owes nothing.’

  ‘Majesty?’

  ‘Lord Katāros tells me you slew Arbasdos’s best spatharios. The general will not love you for it.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he does. The fight was his choice, my lord.’

  ‘No doubt.’ The emperor nodded thoughtfully. ‘Did you know you had a friend in the general’s household?’ So saying, he signalled to an attendant. The man vanished into one of the recesses surrounding the huge octagonal hall and returned quickly. In his hands was an object Erlan knew only too well.

  Wrathling.

  ‘Silanos sent this here. A gift for his emperor, he said. Although he must have known I have no need of it. I believe he meant it to come back to you.’ He took it from the servant and held it out to Erlan, hilt first. Erlan took it and felt a thrill of recognition as his fingers curled around its grip.

  ‘It suits you well.’

  Erlan dropped to his knees. ‘Majesty.’

  ‘Come, Northman. On your feet – please. There’s time enough for grovelling.’ He nodded to Lilla. ‘Well, Queen Lilla. So be it. Your man shall serve me till death, or else the siege is ended. Whichever comes the sooner.’

  ‘Majesty,’ she murmured, bowing her head, but not before her eyes had flashed in triumph at Erlan.

  As for him, his heart swelled with new purpose, and for a moment he was overcome with such gratitude to his new lord that it came close to love. And yet, no sooner had he felt this in the depths of his heart than a cold and bitter splinter entered there too. . .

  Vassili’s words. You must drink his blood.

  Or else be bound by the Watcher’s curse for ever.

  A riddle too strange, or too dark, to fathom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  After the requisite backslapping and bear hugs when first they were reunited, Einar took the news that he was now in the service of an emperor as he took most things: lubricated with a jar or two of the city’s finest.

  ‘So you’re saying if I want to help Queen Lilla and get back home before I lose the last of my teeth, then I have to spend the foreseeable future kissing the arse of this golden prince?’ Einar tugged at the braid hanging off his chin and took another massive gulp from his wine cup.

  ‘Something like that,’ conceded Erlan.

  ‘Sort of an arse-cheek each, is it?’

  ‘Hm! You can have first pick.’

  ‘Delightful. Though I can’t say I’m in a mad hurry to get home. I expect what’s waiting for us back there – that is, if we ever get home –’ he slurred, ‘will be a sight less cosy than what this city has to offer.’

  ‘Beginning to like the place, are you?’ Truly, the Fat-Bellied looked as happy as a pig in slurry.

  Einar wrinkled his nose. ‘It has its diversions.’

  ‘Long-haired ones, I’m guessing.’

  ‘A man’s got to eat. So to speak.’

  ‘Well, Fat-Belly,’ said Erlan, giving him another slap on the shoulder. ‘Personally, I don’t know what to make of this place. But Lilla has her plan. And whatever she thinks she can get out of this Leo fellow, she’s counting on us.’

  ‘Best not fuck it up for the lass then, hey?’ Einar bashed his cup against Erlan’s and a shard of pottery went flying. ‘Drink up.’

  Once they had been equipped with the uniform of the emperor’s personal guard – white tunic, white cloak, white-plumed helm, polished scale armour that would have cost a small fortune in silver back in the north, and white shield – they reported to the commander of the palace guard. A tall, efficient man, as spare of frame as he was with his words, his name was Alexios. ‘We carry spear and shield. Then again,’ he added, ‘we shouldn’t have to fight. Not unless every soldier in Byzantium is already dead.’

  ‘That’s good to know,’ said Einar approvingly. ‘But if I do have to fight, it’ll be with this old fellow.’ The Sveär tapped the tip of his battered axe. The long handle was scored with old marks and cuts, each one a memento to another man’s attempt to kill him. But its blade was nearly a foot long, polished to a mirror and sharp as sin. Alexios peered at the weapon doubtfully. ‘An axe?’

  ‘Aye, a bloody axe,’ barked Einar. ‘I can paint the thing white if it makes you happier.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. And you?’

  ‘I have this,’ said Erlan, touching Wrathling’s hilt. ‘But I’ll use a spear if I must. A man can’t carry too much steel. In my experience.’

  ‘I know something of your experience,’ replied Alexios. ‘You killed Georgios.’

  ‘Georgios?’

  ‘He was Arbasdos’s best spatharios. Some say the best in the city. And a friend of mine.’

  ‘Someone should have told me.’

  The guard commander held Erlan’s gaze for a long moment, his face calm and unreadable. ‘I would have done the same,’ he said at length. ‘In your position.’

  ‘Not that it’s worth much. . . but I’m sorry you lost your friend.’

  Alexios grunted. ‘We all die. Not everyone lives when they have the chance. But he did. . . at least until you came along. . . Now, most of your immediate duties will be ceremonial.’

  ‘Ceremonial?’

  ‘He means mostly we’ll be standing around,’ explained Einar.

  Erlan nodded. After his time in the hole, standing around in bleached finery sounded sweet to him.

  ‘The word from the l
and walls is that the Arab army has been drawing up its lines for an attack,’ went on Alexios. ‘The emperor expects them to test our defences any day now. The patriarch has called the whole city to a day of repentance.’

  ‘Re—pen—tance? What’s that?’ Erlan looked over at Einar for an explanation but the fat man only shrugged.

  ‘A mass. We humble ourselves before God,’ said Alexios. ‘Without his aid, the city is already lost.’

  ‘You mean a sacrifice?’

  Alexios frowned. ‘I suppose. Of a kind.’

  Unbidden, Erlan’s memory conjured those nine bodies hanging from the Sacred Oak in Uppsala, hoarfrost glistening on their lovely, lifeless faces. That had been Queen Saldas’s sacrifice – her ‘contribution’ to her king’s victory in those bitter days of winter.

  ‘What does it involve?’ he asked.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘It’s all rather solemn, don’t you think?’ said Princess Anna in a conspiratorial whisper to Lilla.

  ‘Hush, daughter,’ murmured her mother Maria before Lilla could answer. Instead Lilla raised a complicit eyebrow at the young Basílopoúla and was rewarded with an elfin smile.

  She couldn’t account for the way that the Princess Anna had taken to her. She had only met her twice. This was the second time. The first when the Empress Maria – doubtless to see this northern curiosity for herself – had summoned Lilla to her chambers. Lilla had passed a pleasant, if stilted, hour in their company, answering questions about her homeland and her journey and the customs of her people. She was happy enough to satisfy their interest and found herself curious in turn about what life was like for them, to live entombed in all this gilded splendour.

  Princess Anna was a vivacious little creature, her attractiveness now in its full bloom with her sixteenth year, but Lilla fancied it would not endure. Her hair was dark like her mother’s, and her eyes still bright with innocence, but she had something of her father’s plainness about her too, her shoulders a little too broad, her legs a fraction too short. In short, she was still a girl. And her girlishness only made Lilla feel the guiltier for the secret she had to keep from her. Not that she would have acted any differently: Erlan was too important to her. Anyway, Anna would soon have to learn the ways of the world, as all women must. Or at least learn the ways of men. With a husband like Arbasdos, the lessons would not be long in coming.