Ironhand

by Hilary Green

  Beppo gripped the rail, looking shorewards, then turned to Franciso. 'Tell them to increase the stroke rate.'

  Below the drum beats quickened and the rowers responded.

  'How long can they keep this up?' Ranulph asked.

  'Not long – but enough to bring us into Modon, let us hope.'

  Ranulph thought with sympathy of the rowers. He had made a point of getting to know them, and had once persuaded them to let him try. One of the men had yielded his place on the bench and Ranulph had soon felt the strain on even his battle hardened muscles. When his oar fouled another, he was not sorry to be politely asked to hand over. Now he wondered if human bodies could withstand the increased rate of stroke for more than a few minutes.

  The sky darkened further and a flurry of rain struck his face. He saw that the helmsman was struggling to control the tiller and jumped to his side to lend his weight to hold it steady. Beppo made his way forward along the bucking deck to the prow, where he stood straining his eyes through the curtain of rain.

  'There! To larboard!' His voice came back to them. 'Bring her head round!'

  Ranulph and the helmsman threw their combined weight against the tiller and the galley's prow swung to the left. The rain eased briefly and he saw ahead of them calm water and the outline of a fort. The rowers hauled on their oars and for a moment it seemed as though they would reach the haven unharmed; but just as they came to the harbour entrance a freak gust hurled them sideways, towards the mole that guarded it. There was a splintering crash, as the oars on the larboard side of the ship struck the wall and the galley lurched violently and keeled over. For a breathless heart beat Ranulph thought they were going to capsize, but then she righted herself with a shudder, like a dog shaking water from its coat.

  Beppo was yelling. 'Backwater! Oars on the starboard side backwater!'

  Finely trained, the rowers reversed their stroke, dragging the galley away from the mole, and a wave carried them forwards into the calm waters behind it. Beppo made his way back along the deck to meet Francesco coming up from below.

  'What damage?'

  'Half a dozen oars shattered, and one of the planks has sprung.'

  'And the men?'

  'Two broken arms, one man thrown backwards off his bench and knocked unconscious. Some nasty cuts from the splintered ends, but nothing too serious.'

  'Well, we're in the right place to get all this seen to. Modon is one of the best harbours on this coastline. Can we man the remaining oars for long enough to get us alongside?'

  'Yes, no problem there. I'll see to it.'

  As the galley limped into the harbour Beppo screwed up his eyes and swore. 'Hell and damnation! The Venetians are here before us.'

  Ranulph followed his gaze and saw a magnificent galley moored at the quayside. 'Does that matter?'

  'They are like vultures, picking up the choicest morsels wherever they go. If there is anything worth having here, you can be sure they have already grabbed it.'

  'But we didn't intend to trade here, did we?'

  'No, but if they reach Antioch before us we shall have be content with their left overs. And if their ship needs repairs you can be sure they have already commandeered the services of the best carpenters and requisitioned the finest materials. Watch them, Ranulph. They are not to be trusted.'

  An hour later the Santa Christina was safely tied up to the quay and the injured men had been helped ashore and given into the care of a surgeon. Ranulph looked up from coiling a rope and saw a small party approaching. Half a dozen men-at-arms escorted another in a long black robe with a black cap on his head.

  'Someone is coming,' he warned Beppo.

  'Ah, that will be the calliparius, the imperial tax collector, coming to look at the cargo and assess what harbour dues we owe. We must be on our best behaviour. These Byzantines are sticklers for formality.'

  Beppo went ashore and Ranulph saw him greet the official with a deep bow. Then he brought him on board and seated him under the awning in the stern, calling to one of the boys to bring a flask of the best Burgundian wine. Two clerks had followed him on board and were escorted below by Francesco to check the cargo. Ranulph followed but found himself at a loss. The conversation was conducted in a language he recognised as Greek, but not the Greek he had begun to learn from Alessandro.

  When the formalities were complete the calliparius left with his escort and Beppo said, 'Put on your best clothes. We are invited to stay with the strategos, the ruler appointed by the emperor in Constaninople.'

  Ranulph shook his head. 'I fear I shall disgrace you, sir. I thought I knew a little Greek, but I cannot understand the speech of these people.'

  Beppo smiled. 'You may find yourself more at ease with the strategos. There are two forms of Greek. I suspect you have been taught High Greek, the form used for literary works but still spoken by the best educated on formal occasions. What you have heard just now is a simpler form, the Greek of the demos, the ordinary people. But you would do well to learn it. It is the language of trade all through the Byzantine territories, and beyond.'

  'Can you teach me?'

  'Alas, I fear my command only stretches to basic formalities and to buying and selling. But I will teach you what I can. For tonight, I think you will find the strategos has a good command of Latin.'

  'Are you sure I am included in the invitation?'

  'Oh yes. I told them you were a young man of good birth and education, travelling as my secretary. That seemed a more fitting description of your talents than a simple bodyguard.'

  It was true that, as the preparations for the voyage progressed, Ranulph had fallen back into the habits he had learned with Piet, making lists of needful items, keeping inventories of goods purchased, tallying up prices. He was glad to know that Beppo had come to appreciate his efforts.

  He opened his sea chest and took out the clothes Beppo had insisted on buying for him before they left Amalfi. Indeed, he had been in no position to refuse, since all he possessed were the clothes he had been wearing for that last battle, minus his armour. Now he put on a clean shirt and a tunic of good dark green wool, with hose and a cloak of sky blue. Beppo, too, changed into his finest clothes and was resplendent in a scarlet tunic with a black cloak trimmed with the fleece of a black lamb. Leaving Franceso to arrange the necessary repairs to the galley, they walked up the steep streets to the castle of the strategos at the highest point of the town. As they went, Beppo explained that this man was in command of the whole region, or theme, of the Peloponnese, and as such was second only to the Emperor himself.

  'His name is Leo Laskaris. Normally he's based in Corinth, but he happens to be here on a visit of inspection, which may or may not be lucky for us. We shall see. Now, there are forms of behaviour to be observed. Watch me, and do as I do.'

  The palace was all Ranulph expected, and more. They passed between tall columns flanking the entrance into a courtyard, where lemon trees stood around a pool with a fountain in the shape of a sea god. Beyond that was a terrace paved with marble, and more columns guarded a door leading into a spacious hall. He drew in his breath in wonder at the sight of the floor, which was worked in a mosaic depicting hunting scenes, where men on horseback pursued animals the likes of which he had never seen. The lower portion of the walls were covered in mosaics, too, showing flowers and trees and exotic birds. He was so fascinated by them that he almost failed to see the man who rose from a grand chair at the far end of the room to greet them, until Beppo's elbow dug into his ribs.

  Beppo swept off his cap and went down on one knee and Ranulph copied him. Then, at a word from the strategos, they both rose and moved forward.. He extended a hand, and Beppo knelt again to kiss it.

  'Welcome, gentlemen. I am glad to see you safely delivered from the storm.' The voice was musical and Ranulph was relieved to find that some of the Greek words, at least, were familiar.

  A hand was extended to him, and he did as Beppo had done. It was only as he rose that he saw that the strategos was
not alone. Grouped a little to one side were four men richly dressed in Italian style. These, he assumed, must be the Venetians.

  Leo Laskaris was a tall man, slim built but with a swordsman's shoulders. His complexion attested to a life spent mainly out of doors and an old scar running down one cheek drew the corner of his lips into a permanent half smile. He was dressed in a long, pure white silk tunic, ornamented at the hem and at the ends of the sleeves with gold embroidery. Over it, he wore a robe of midnight blue, richly embellished with more embroidery and studded with jewels. Even at Alessandro's court Ranulph had never seen anyone so resplendently attired.

  The strategos was making introductions. The leader of the Venetians was introduced as Ser Giovanni di Vilardino. The other's names he forgot as soon as they were mentioned.

  'And this?' Laskaris turned to him.

  'My name is Ranulph, lord.' He was suddenly ashamed that he could not offer a patronymic, or even a place of origin to call his own.

  'You are a man of the north, by your colouring. A Viking, perhaps?'

  'An Englishman, lord.'

  'Indeed? Then we have a common enemy. It is only in the last month that our beloved Emperor Alexios has succeeded in driving the Norman invaders out of Illyria. If Guiscard had not died …'

  'Guiscard is dead?' The interruption burst from Ranulph before he could prevent it. 'Forgive me...'

  'You did not know? A fever, I believe. It is a cause for thanks to God for both of us, perhaps. But as an Englishman your quarrel is with another of that accursed tribe. I have met some of your countrymen in Constantinople on my visits there, men driven out of their lands by William. They form the Varangian Guard, the Emperor's most trusted bodyguards.'

  'Indeed, lord? I did not know of this.'

  'They are formidable warriors, I am told.'

  Beppo intervened. 'As is my young friend here. He is generally known as Ranulph Ironhand. He is my protector as well as my secretary.'

  Laskaris bent his head in acknowledgement. 'You are both welcome.'

  He clapped his hands and servants appeared to set the table for dinner. The meal was as elaborate as the costumes and Ranulph was glad to find himself seated at the lower end of the board, where he could observe the manners of his superiors and imitate. He was placed next to a junior member of the Venetian group, a young man of about his own age, whose name was Jacopo. It was clear that Ranulph's embarrassment about his origins had not been lost on him, and he spent most of the meal expatiating on his own illustrious ancestry. Ranulph developed a hearty dislike for him.

  Over the meal, the conversation naturally turned to the storm and its effects. The Venetians had arrived in time to miss the worst of it, but had suffered the loss of their mast because they had not seen the danger and struck sail in time. This meant that both vessels were in need of repair and there was an undertone of competition in the exchanges, since both captains were eager to be the first to put to sea.

  As the last sweetmeats were served there was a stir at the back of the room, where a door had opened to admit three women. As they advanced Ranulph felt the blood surge to his face and then drain away. He had been astonished by the glories of the room and the opulence of the strategos's clothes, but the sight of the woman who led the way towards him took his breath away. She was, quite simply, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. A face of alabaster purity was dominated by huge dark eyes, slightly slanted at the outer corners. The nose was straight and delicate, above full, curving lips. Her hair was hidden under a turban of rolled silk, wrapped with ropes of pearls, and more pearls hung down by her ears. She was dressed from head to foot in robes of the deepest crimson. The long tunic was embroidered with gold and jewels, and over it she wore a stole of lighter fabric, the folds of which were drawn up over the turban to frame her face. Even as he gasped at this apparition, Ranulph's merchant instincts, sharpened in the markets of Bruges, assessed the colour and recognised that dyes that deep only came at the highest cost.

  Laskaris turned to greet her with a bow and she made the smallest obeisance in return. 'My friends,' he said, 'may I present the Princess Viviana, wife of Philocales, the strategos of Cyprus, and a cousin of our noble emperor. She has been on a visit to Venice, and is travelling back to her husband under the escort of these gentlemen.' He turned towards her. 'Lady, I trust you are recovered from your ordeal?'

  If 'ordeal' it had been, Ranulph reflected, the perfect face showed no sign of it now. She smiled and inclined her head towards the Venetians. 'Thank you, sir. I have been admirably cared for and protected from all harm.'

  Laskaris continued. 'Allow me to introduce our new arrivals from Amalfi. Signor Benvenuto is the captain of the vessel which we watched with such apprehension entering the harbour, and Master Ranulph is his secretary. He is from England.'

  Viviana offered her hand to Beppo to be kissed and turned to Ranulph. He was acutely aware of being studied and, instinct told him, approved. 'A secretary? Surely not. A warrior! A young Achilles, no less.'

  There was a general buzz of amusement but Ranulph detected under the light laughter a hint of hostility. The Venetians were not pleased to see him singled out. Jacopo, in particular, was pouting like a sulky child. His own primary reaction was gratitude for the education he had received from Alessandro. At least he knew who Achilles was.

  To his relief, attention was turned away from him when a steward came hastily into the room and spoke in an undertone to Laskaris, who rose immediately to his feet.

  'Gentlemen, it seems fighting has broken out between your crews. I shall order my men-at-arms to break it up but it would be best if you were on hand to deal with the offenders.'

  There was a general rush for the entrance, while Laskaris shouted orders. Ranulph, being nearest to the doors, was among the first out, and without waiting for Beppo he ran at top speed down the steep cobbles towards the harbour. As he came in sight of the quay he saw a swaying mass of bodies. With a 100 toughened rowers on each side, or possibly more from the Venetian ship, the fight was not going to be quelled quickly. The conflict seemed to be centred on an inn, and he could see benches and tables being overturned and broken up for use as weapons, while a man in an apron, presumably the inn keeper, gesticulated wildly in frantic attempts to protect his property. As Ranulph arrived on the scene he saw one of the combatants seize a plank and make a swipe at the man's head, felling him to the ground. The attacker stood over him, aiming vicious kicks at his prostrate body. Ranulph's sword was already in his hand and he plunged into the mob, using the flat of it to force his way through and yelling at the men to stop. Some of his own crew, recognising him, drew back, suddenly aware of the arrival of authority, but the Venetians paid him no heed. He reached the prone body of the inn keeper, who had curled into a ball in an effort to protect vital organs from the kicks which his attacker still rained down on him.

  'Stop it, you fool!' Ranulph yelled, brandishing his sword. 'Stop it, unless you want my blade in your guts!'

  The man drew back, panting and shoving hair out of his eyes. It was clear at a glance that he had been in the grip of battle rage, so strong that he scarcely knew friend from foe, and Ranulph was relieved to see that he was not one of the crew of the Santa Christina.

  'Stand back!' he commanded. 'You've no quarrel with this man. Calm yourself, in Christ's name.'

  The strategos's men-at-arms had arrived by now and all round the fight was being brought under control. Men slumped to the ground, nursing bruised heads and fists, or stood panting and looking about them as if waking from a nightmare. Beppo came to Ranulph's side.

  'Well done, lad. It looks as though you may have saved this man's life. The last thing we need is the death of one of the locals laid at our door.'

  'It wasn't one of our men,' Ranulph said, pointing. 'That's the one to blame.'

  'He over charged us for wine like piss!' the aggressor claimed.

  'That's no reason to kill him,' Beppo returned grimly. He turned his eyes to Ranulph.
'It wouldn't signify which ship he came from. We shall all be held responsible.'

  Ranulph soon saw the force of his argument. Order was restored, but several men from both crews, seen, for reasons he failed to comprehend, to be the instigators of the unrest, were marched off to the dungeons below the castle. Back in the room where they had been received, Laskaris's face was grim.

  'This kind of disorder cannot be tolerated. I shall keep the men arrested in custody until we can discover who is responsible for starting the fight, and neither ship will leave harbour until full restitution has been made.' He turned to Ranulph. 'I understand that one of our people owes his life to your intervention. I am grateful.' Then, to the assembled company, 'You will, of course, continue to be welcome guests until this matter is resolved. For now, I think it best if we bid each other goodnight.'

  18.

  A steward conducted Beppo and Ranulph along the colonnade to their allotted rooms on the far side of the courtyard. Left alone, Ranulph looked around his chamber. Even here, the floor was of mosaic, in a design of sea creatures, and the bed was provided with a feather mattress and rich coverings. There was a ewer and a basin containing water in which rose petals floated. He took off his cloak and boots and unbuckled his sword belt and rinsed his face and hands. His blood was still up from the fracas on the quayside and he did not feel ready for sleep.

  He was about to pull off his tunic when there was a soft tap at his door. He opened it, expecting a servant with, perhaps, some further refreshment. Instead, he found one of the princess's waiting women. Her eyes were wide with something he could only interpret as excitement and she laid her fingers to her lips.