‘Stay still,’ Erlan snarled, then reached down into his boot where his hand found Gerutha’s knife. Quick as he could he slashed through the straps of Arbasdos’s armour and pulled it off, then it was his tunic. Further down the hellish oil still burned as strong as ever. Arbasdos wailed, half-mad with pain, while Erlan tore at the wool until it was off him. The remains floated to the surface, burning more weakly, although the oil on his leg seemed mercifully to have gone out. The broken arrow-shaft still protruded from his shoulder. ‘Hold on,’ Erlan gasped. ‘Whatever happens, hold on.’
There were hulls aflame all round them. Men burning in the water, charred bodies bloated with death drifting by, the dross of battle bobbing with the choppy waters. If he could somehow kick them clear of it all. . . but he was confused and could see no sign of the sea walls nor any other marker in the blazing black.
‘Northman—’
‘Save your breath, damn you!’
‘Behind. . . behind. . .’
Erlan’s head turned to see, not twenty yards away and heading straight at them, a massive iron-clad keel. ‘Breathe!’ he screamed in horror, then, tearing Arbasdos off the oar, he plunged them both down and down and down into the pitchy deep.
I will live, he’d told Lilla. It seemed like a damn thin promise now.
Far below in the silent depths, he looked back up and saw the great hulk of the ship passing overhead like a storm cloud, trailing flames in its wake. Above him was like some dreadful vision of Ragnarök – when the Final Fires would destroy all things and the Nine Worlds would meet their doom. The ships, the sky, the sea. . . burning. Everything, burning.
He turned away and dragging the general with him he swam and swam until his lungs were nearly bursting and he was sure they must be clear of the fires above. Only then did he rise, kicking away the darkness below, kicking towards the memory that suddenly sprang into his mind . . . His father’s hand reaching under the surface of the waves as the last of the air burned in his lungs, reaching, reaching for him, lifting him out of the stormy depths. . . his father. . . Father!
They burst through the surface in a shower of spray. They were clear. Clear and drifting with the current out into the Marmara Sea. He kicked to keep their heads above water, kicked till his thighs grew leaden with fatigue. Kicked for hours, it seemed, or maybe only minutes, he couldn’t tell. All the while his limbs grew colder and stiffer. He was aware only that the sounds of strife grew fainter. Silence slowly filled his ears. And then, out of the silence, spoke a voice as blunt as an old axe. ‘Christianós?’
Erlan thought he must be dreaming.
‘Christianós?’ again.
He twisted his head and there was a little boat. A strange face leaning out of it. ‘Rhōmaios?’
‘Yes!’ he gasped, half-choking with relief. ‘Eímaste Rhōmaioi! Rhōmaioi!’
The man laughed. ‘Ahaa, friends!’
Moments later they were pulled over the side of a skiff manned by one of the deserter crews from the Egyptian fleet. Erlan flopped onto his back, exhausted, his chest heaving. ‘Your ships,’ the seaman cried gaily, ‘they are winning!’
Erlan pulled himself upright and looked where the man was pointing. He could see the fire-runners still manoeuvring, jets of flame devouring their prey. Only a few of the Arab fleet remained. Most were going under or already burning. To the south, the remnant of the Egyptian fleet was also aflame.
The caliph’s last roll of the dice had failed.
Beneath him, Arbasdos groaned. ‘The ship. . . I lost the ship.’
‘Aye. But you won the battle,’ Erlan murmured. Not that the son of a bitch deserved it.
And all Erlan could think of then was his sword lying at the bottom of the sea, and his fat friend wreathed in fire.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
‘Is it over?’ asked Anna.
‘The fighting isn’t. But the battle is decided.’ Her father was still gazing out over the carnage on the Bosporus.
Lilla had watched with Gerutha from a neighbouring battlement, mixed feelings stirring in her all the while. To die by that fire was a horrible fate for any man to suffer, whether friend or foe. But its effectiveness was undeniable. She’d seen some Byzantine ships go down and could only pray that Erlan was not on them. Even if the battle was won, her heart would have no peace till she knew Erlan was not among the dead.
The few surviving Arab galleys had pulled back to the north when their surprise attack failed. Meanwhile, the little fire-runners had pushed on around the point towards Chalcedon. She could only imagine what terror they were causing there. That was where her ship should have been, though it had been many months since she had any word of their fate. ‘Is the city safe, then?’
‘For now,’ replied Leo. ‘Thank God.’ Out on the straits slicks of liquid fire were still burning, drifting south with the current. Anna came up to Lilla and huddled up under her cloak. ‘I’m cold,’ she said softly. ‘Do you mind?’
There was a sound on the stairs. They turned and saw the guard challenging some newcomer standing in the gloom. ‘I carry word from the empress,’ said a husky voice.
‘Yana?’ said Lilla in surprise, recognizing her servant’s voice.
‘I’ve a message for Princess Anna. From Her Majesty the Basílissa. It’s urgent.’ This last to the guard, and pointedly.
‘Well, come on – let the girl through,’ said the emperor. ‘What is it? Is the empress all right?’
‘Erm. . . no, Majesty. The physician said she is in much pain. He fears the worst. For the child, I think he means. She is asking for the princess.’
‘I must go to her,’ said Anna, squeezing her father’s hand.
‘Of course, at once,’ said Leo, his face paling. ‘Tell her my prayers are with her. And with the child.’
Anna kissed him on the cheek. ‘Will you come too, Lilla?’
‘I don’t wish to crowd the empress—’
‘She won’t mind that.’
‘And I hoped to see the fleet return safe to harbour.’
Anna clasped her hand earnestly. ‘It would mean a lot to her, I know. And me. . .’
Lilla frowned. She was reluctant to leave her lookout even though she knew she could not hope to know Erlan’s fate for some hours yet.
‘Please.’
‘Very well,’ she sighed. ‘Gerutha will come too. Her healing lore is vast. She may be able to help.’
Anna gave a little yelp of joy then kissed her father again and hurried to the stairs. Yana followed and behind her Gerutha, leaving Lilla to cast a last look out to sea.
‘Go with them,’ Leo ordered the guard. ‘See they reach there safely.’
The sentinel bowed and followed the other women down the stairs. Lilla and Leo were momentarily alone. ‘Farewell then, Majesty,’ she said and made to leave, but Leo caught her arm.
‘If anything should happen to Maria. . . if. . .’ He fixed her with his strong, steady gaze. ‘I will have need of you, Queen Lilla. Do you understand me?’
‘Need of me?’ Lilla flushed with sudden searing anger. ‘You mean as all men of power have need of me. Listen, Basíleus. There’s something you should understand. I’m barren,’ she hissed. ‘My womb is fallow. A man like you has no need of a woman like me.’
Leo’s cheeks darkened, then his jaw grew hard, but before he could answer she had pulled her arm free and left him standing there. To savour his victory, alone.
Erlan had done all he could for Arbasdos, either from spite or from folly. Only the gods knew which. The general’s left leg was a blistered, bleeding swell of meat. The arrow wound had been cleaned, but was still suppurating dark blood. His breathing was shallow and he was delirious. Despite all this, the physician told Erlan that he should still live – after some time on a bed of sickness, of course.
Maybe it’ll teach the fool some humility, thought Erlan. Although knowing Arbasdos, probably not.
Erlan had burns himself and a wound across his hip which the physician had
a servant dress for him. After that he left Arbasdos in the physician’s care, taking a sword he found in the general’s private chamber. Some dark nagging instinct told him he still might need it.
As he left the general’s mansion, he had only one thought in mind: to find Lilla. Out on the street, the change in the mood of the city was unmistakable. He heard shouts and whoops and the sound of merrymaking from the poorer quarters that lay west of the general’s gate. Higher up the hill, the sound of singing rose through the windows of the basilicas of the Holy Wisdom and the Holy Peace.
His body was crying for rest but he trudged up the hill towards the Augustaion, forcing his limbs onward. His hand was shaking. He kept seeing flashes of fire in his mind’s eye, kept hearing the shriek of dying sailors. Two youths came running down the hill. ‘Did you hear?’ they yelled excitedly. ‘The Arabs are finished! The Bulgars massacred them to a man. The siege is over!’
He caught the older boy by the arm. ‘Are you certain? They’re finished?’
‘Massacred, I tell you! The Bulgars won a great victory!’
‘The city’s saved,’ whooped his mate.
In spite of all the rest, this at least was welcome news, if true. Though with Einar gone, it felt like a bitter victory. But whatever Erlan felt, the mood across the First Hill was euphoric. The Augustaion was lit with a hundred flares and swarming with people: monks, shopkeepers, soldiers, patricians, house-slaves, senators – all laughing and drinking and dancing together. He pushed through them all, wanting to run but unable, wanting to scream, to clear a path, to draw his stolen sword and hack his way right through them. Anger squeezed tighter and tighter in his throat.
But even he had wit enough to recognize the battle-heat still in him. So his sword remained sheathed and he put his shoulder forward and hurried through the throng as best he could.
Yana led them through the palace gardens, keeping stride with the sentinel and at such a pace that the other women hardly had breath to talk. Although Anna tried. She kept asking Lilla whether she thought her mother would be all right but Lilla had little to reassure her. Of course, she had her own reasons for hoping the empress would recover.
Yana raced up another flight of steps, urging on the sentinel, up to the platform terrace where the Golden Hall stood. Its bulbous dome rose above them, a black shadow against the midnight blue of the sky. Reaching the top, Yana looked back down to check the other women were following.
Why Yana? thought Lilla suddenly.
Why would the empress send such a lowly servant to fetch them and not one of her ladies-in-waiting, or else another palace guard? Lilla reached the top of the stairs. She was about to call Yana’s name when several shadows peeled away from the bushes.
‘Stay where you are!’ exclaimed the sentinel. ‘Declare yourselves!’ But even before he could level his spear, two of them had sprung forward. There was a hack, a groan, a ripping noise, and the sentinel slumped to the pavings without another murmur, blood puddling quickly around his lifeless body.
‘The perils of protocol,’ said a voice that chilled Lilla to the marrow. ‘It does so slow one up.’ Katāros stepped out of the gloom and peered down at the sentinel’s leaking corpse.
‘You,’ Lilla scowled. ‘What hole did you crawl out of?’ She glanced over her shoulder for an escape but the other men had already circled around behind the women. The eunuch smiled, his face pale as the moon. He was dressed in soldier’s garb and looked altogether different. Manly. Almost war-like. The others were dark, but all were armed with swords.
‘Lilla.’ Anna clutched for Lilla’s hand. ‘What’s happening?’
‘This is the man who betrayed the city. He’s a traitor.’
‘You murdered Alethea,’ snarled Gerutha. ‘She was innocent, you bastard. They were all innocent.’
‘Please,’ he scoffed, ‘who is ever innocent, really?’
But he must have been shocked when Gerutha didn’t pause to answer; instead she stooped and snatched the sentinel’s fallen spear. She had drawn it back and was within an eye-blink of plunging it through the eunuch’s chest when one of his comrades darted in front of him and knocked the spear aside easily, then drove the point of his sword into Gerutha’s side.
‘Grusha!’ cried Lilla.
But her friend had already fallen to the ground and lay quite still. Her killer now levelled the bloody point of his sword at Lilla before she could move.
‘Enough of this foolishness, we have little time,’ snapped one of the other men, with a hard-lined face and an air of authority. ‘Which is Leo’s daughter? I hope for your sake, eunuch, that it was not her.’
Katāros seemed to have recovered from his shock. ‘Abdallah al-Battal, it’s my pleasure to introduce to you Basílipoúla Anna, daughter of Basíleus Leo, third of his name.’ The eunuch took a languid slap at the princess’s rump with the flat of his sword, making her squeal.
‘Bind her then.’
One of the Arab underlings spun Anna around and tied her wrists. She was shaking. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘Nothing too taxing. Your company will suffice.’ Katāros smiled. ‘Now your father has had his little victory, we shall see what he’s willing to concede for you. Speaking of which. . .’ he tossed a leather purse through the air. Yana caught it. ‘Thirty solidi. As agreed.’
‘You treacherous little bitch!’ snarled Lilla in Norse.
‘On the contrary,’ smiled Katāros. ‘She has been most loyal.’
‘We’re wasting time. We need to get her to the boat.’ Abdal-Battal seized Anna’s arm but the princess cried out and started struggling. The Arab casually punched her in the stomach and she doubled over, gasping at the affront to her person as much as the pain.
‘Gently, my lord, gently,’ urged the eunuch. ‘Precious goods and all that. . . What with this other one?’
The Arab turned his pitiless eyes on Lilla. He raised his sword-point, pricking under her chin, forcing her face from side to side. ‘This one is of some value, I think.’ He snapped another order in a language she didn’t understand, and soon she was bound as tightly as Anna.
‘And that?’ Katāros pointed at Gerutha lying on the ground.
‘Leave her. She’s finished.’
‘No,’ cried Lilla, stretching for her friend’s body. ‘Grusha! No!’ But her captor clamped a stinking hand over her mouth and pulled back her head.
‘Enough,’ said Katāros smoothly. ‘We go that way.’ He pointed south. ‘We must hurry.’
‘And me?’ asked Yana, her voice a husky bleat. ‘What shall I do?’
The eunuch cast her a last disdainful look. ‘Whatever you damn well please.’
The hallway was silent as a grave. The oil lamps on the walls had long guttered to darkness. Duties had been neglected. Most of the guard would be on the sea walls, or drafted into the defence of the Land Walls and not yet returned, and the servants were out celebrating in the squares and streets like everyone else.
Erlan’s eyes were well accustomed to the dark but there was an eerie feeling seeping through the deserted palace like a bitter perfume. He arrived at Lilla’s quarters and without knocking went inside. It was dark there, too. The curtains moved like a murmur in the night air. Quickly he went to the heavy silk drape that divided the rooms and threw it aside.
The second room was as empty as the first.
He cursed. They could be anywhere in the palace for all he knew. His heart sank with disappointment. It had taken all the will in him to haul his half-roasted carcass up there. Now he was at a loss what to do. He was about to lie down on the bed when he heard a soft, low whine.
‘Aska?’
Beyond the bed, a familiar shadow rose. But the dog didn’t come to him. Instead he dropped his head and whined again. Erlan hobbled around the foot of the bed and saw Aska prodding his long nose at another shadow stretched out beside the bed. He dropped to his knees and pushed Aska aside, seeing at once that it was a woman. And then he recognized the streak o
f white in the fan of black hair. He rolled her over and swore.
Gerutha’s abdomen was glistening darkly. He put his ear to her mouth. She was alive but her breathing was dangerously shallow. Where was Lilla? Where was anyone? He snatched a pillow and eased her away from the side of the bed, then lay her head upon it. His hands were wet. He looked down. Blood. A lot of it. ‘Grusha, can you hear me? Gerutha?’ He gently moved her head from side to side, trying to rouse her. ‘Grusha, it’s me, Erlan.’
She uttered a soft moan and opened her eyes. ‘Erlan. . . I knew that you would come here. . . that you must come. . . I crawled. . . Lilla. . .’
‘Easy, easy. Tell me what happened?’
‘Katāros. . . He took them.’
‘Took who? Lilla?’
‘Yes. And Anna.’
‘The princess? Where?’
Her eyes rolled backwards.
He shook her, more violently than he meant. ‘Grusha, where did he take them? Where!’
‘I don’t know,’ she groaned. ‘Away. Out of the city. He. . . they attacked us.’
‘Attacked you? Here?’
‘No. . . the steps. . . below the Golden. . . Hall.’
Erlan’s mind was a tempest. Then his gaze fell on Aska. Yes, Aska. . .
‘The steps by the Golden Hall,’ he repeated. He knew the place and next moment he was on his feet. There was a chest by the wall. He threw it open and recognizing a shawl of Lilla’s lying on top, he seized it and tore it in two. He pressed one half to Gerutha’s wound. ‘Hold it as tight as you can.’ He took her hand and put it on the shawl. ‘Keep pressure on it, like this. Now look at me, Grusha. I’ll come back for you, all right? I promise. I’ll come back for you!’
She gulped hard and nodded. Then he grabbed the rest of the shawl and unsheathed his stolen sword. ‘Aska,’ he hissed. ‘With me.’
Gerutha lay there for an age after he had gone, her whole will focused on stemming the blood leaking from her side. The wound was deep. She didn’t want to die. Her hand rose to the hollow at the base of her throat, her bloodstained fingers fumbling for the little gold cross there. She wanted to cry for help but didn’t have the strength for it. Instead her lips moved with the only word that came to her mind. ‘Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. . .’
A Burning Sea Page 37
