The iron lance cc-1

by Stephen Lawhead

  'I beg your pardon,' said Murdo, putting on his most polite demeanour. The man glanced at him and started back into the inn. 'I am looking for Orin Broad-Foot's ship. Can you tell me where it is?'

  The fellow grunted at Murdo, but did not turn aside. 'Am I the harbour master now?' he growled without looking back. 'Get you gone!'

  Rebuffed by the fellow's unaccountable rudeness, Murdo nevertheless seized upon the notion of searching out the harbour master. He continued his circumnavigation of the square, moving along the edge, watching all that passed before him, but failed to see anyone who might be called the master of the port and its disorderly commerce.

  There were, he determined, a hundred or more men-many in clumps of three or four together, a fair few in larger groups, and the rest hastening about their errands alone; but, whether talking loudly and drinking freely, or pursuing their various chores, everyone seemed wholly preoccupied and oblivious to Murdo's presence as he walked here and there, apparently idly, but listening all the while to each group for the accents of speech that would tell him he had found the Norsemen.

  Upon reaching the earthen bank once more-here built up and faced with timber to better accommodate the loading and unloading of larger ships-Murdo saw a group of seven big men talking loudly and drinking ale from a large stoup. Behind them, eight others were shifting a small mountain of bundles, bales, and wooden boxes from the bank to the deck of a sleek, low-hulled, longship. The high stern and prow swept up gracefully from the knife-sharp keel; the prow was carved with the head of a dragon with round staring eyes painted red, and long curved teeth painted white.

  The men working and drinking were dressed in leather and homespun, and most wore their long hair tied and braided. Murdo slowed to hear better, and the sing-song lilt of their voices confirmed what he already knew: Norsemen, without a doubt.

  He paused for a moment to decide how best to approach them, and was still trying to work out what to say, when one of the group-a brawny bare-chested seaman with a thick braid over his shoulder, saw him. 'You there!' the man growled. 'You find something funny to look at maybe, hey?'

  The man's accent was so thick that, though Murdo recognized the words, it took him a moment to work out what he meant. 'Beg pardon?' he muttered.

  'He deaf maybe,' suggested another of the group as they all turned to stare at him.

  'Please,' said Murdo, plucking up his nerve and stepping forward. 'I am looking for Lord Orin Broad-Foot's ship. Could you tell me if it is here?'

  The men looked at one another, but appeared reluctant to reply. Murdo was about to ask again when a voice boomed out behind him. 'Who is it that asks of Orin Broad-Foot?'

  'I do, myself,' replied Murdo quickly.

  He turned around to see who had addressed him, and saw a swarthy, bull-necked Norseman with arms as big as hams stuffed through a sleeveless tunic of undyed leather. His breecs were heavy sailcloth dyed the colour of rust, the legs of which were rolled to the tops of his tall boots – made from boar's hide which still displayed the hair of the beast. A large purse hung from a wide belt made of the same stuff. His beard was long and dark and, like most seagoing men, he kept his hair out of his face by tying it back with a leather string. He wore a broad-linked chain of silver on his neck, and a fat gold ring on the first finger of his left hand.

  The eyes that watched him were clear and keen beneath a high smooth, sun-browned brow. Good straight teeth flashed white as the newcomer demanded, 'What's your business with Broad-Foot?'

  Wary of revealing too much, Murdo replied, 'It is said Lord Orin is sailing for Jerusalem.'

  'Aye, he goes with his king on pilgrimage.' The man regarded Murdo, looking him slowly up and down-as if placing a value on a beast of burden, and that value was not high. 'What is it to you, boy?'

  The man was blunt, Murdo decided, but not malicious. 'I also am pledged to go to the Holy Land,' Murdo announced boldly. 'I have come to ask a place in his boat. I know about ships, and I can work. Also, I have a little silver; I can pay my way, if need be.'

  'Can you now!' the man said, his mood lightening somewhat.

  'I would thank you kindly if you could tell me where I might find Lord Orin – or his ship, at least.'

  The dark-haired man drew himself up full height. He was a big full-fleshed man, and his shoulders were wide and strong. 'You come looking for Orin Broad-Foot, and you come to the right place,' he declared, 'but you come too late. He sailed two days ago on the morning tide.'

  Murdo's heart sank, and he felt bleak futility descending over him. He thanked the man, turned away, and began walking back to where Peder waited with the boat.

  'Pilgrim!' the man called after him. 'How much silver?'

  Murdo turned, not certain he had heard correctly. 'What?'

  'You have silver,' the Norseman said. 'How much?'

  Murdo hesitated, uncertain what to answer. The seaman eyed him shrewdly, awaiting his reply. 'Ten-ten marks.'

  'Bah!' the man said, flapping a huge hand at him. 'Go away, liar.'

  'No, wait!' Murdo protested. 'It is true-I have ten marks.'

  'Let me see it,' the man demanded.

  Murdo, against his better judgement, reached into his shirt and tugged out the little leather bag. He started to untie it, but the Norseman snatched the bag from his fingers. 'Stop!' cried Murdo. 'Give it back!'

  'If there is ten marks in here,' the rough seaman told him, 'you have nothing to fear. If there is more, or less, I keep the silver and cut out your tongue for a liar.'

  Murdo, smouldering with rage, watched as the man opened the bag and poured the coins into his fist; he then counted them back into the bag one by one.

  'Ten marks,' the Norseman confirmed.

  'I am no liar,' Murdo told him. 'Now, give it back.'

  'I thought you wanted to go to Jerusalem,' the seaman said, bouncing the purse on his palm. 'Ten marks pays your passage.'

  Murdo, outraged at being robbed, and aghast at the audacity of the thief, sputtered in protest.

  'Stay or go-the choice is yours, but it must be made quickly,' the Norseman told him. 'Skidbladnir is ready, and the tide is on to turning.'

  Murdo regarded the ship: a goodly-sized vessel of the kind the Norsemen excelled at building-sleek and low, easily manoeuvred and fast; it could hold thirty fighting men. From where he stood, he could see that many of the rowing benches had been removed to accommodate the small mountain of cargo, and the tented platform behind the mast.

  'I will go with you,' Murdo answered, making up his mind. 'But I will give you five marks only.'

  'Impossible,' replied the seaman. 'Seven, or you stay behind.'

  'Six,' countered Murdo confidently.

  The Norseman hesitated, hefting the bag in his hand.

  'The tide is running, and you are leaving,' Murdo pointed out. 'It is the last silver you will see until Jerusalem.'

  'You are not so stupid, I think,' the Norseman allowed, extending his hand. 'Six marks it is.'

  Murdo took the offered hand. 'Three marks now, and three when we reach Jerusalem.'

  'Done!' said the Norseman. He counted out three marks and tossed the bag to Murdo.

  'I must fetch my belongings,' Murdo said. Tucking the purse quickly out of sight, he started off along the bank.

  'Here now!' The seaman called him back. 'If you are sailing on my ship, we can come to an understanding first.'

  'Very well,' Murdo agreed.

  'Hear me: I am King Magnus' man, and I am joining his fleet as soon as we quit this harbour. I will gladly cleave you crown to chin if you cause me trouble,' the seaman vowed, fondling the hilt of the very large knife in his belt. 'But just you stay out of trouble, and you will find me a most agreeable companion.' Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, 'This is my pledge to you. What is your pledge to me?'

  'You will never have cause to raise your voice to me, much less your blade,' Murdo told him solemnly. 'I will cause you no trouble, and do as I am told. This I pledge you.'


  'You'll do, boy!' The big man grinned suddenly, and Murdo saw that one of his lower front teeth was missing, and a fine, almost invisible scar creased his lip and chin, making his smile a wry, lop-sided, yet curiously compelling thing. Murdo smiled, too, in response, and felt his heart lift for the first time in many days.

  'I am Jon Wing,' he said, clapping a huge hand to Murdo's back, 'and I mean to watch you like Odin's eagle.'

  'Though you watch me night and day, you will find nothing you do not expect to see,' Murdo told him. 'I mean to make myself useful.'

  'Be about it then,' Jon Wing said, and turned to the men on the bank and began calling commands. Turning back to Murdo he said, 'Well? Get on, boy! The tide is flowing, and we are away with it.'

  Murdo raced along the top of the earthen bank to rejoin Peder, who was sitting on a stump, braiding the ends of a length of rope. He hailed the old seaman, and hastened to explain. 'The king has already sailed,' he said, 'but one of his men is still in harbour. The ship is called Skidbladnir, and the master has agreed to take me.'

  Peder nodded. 'A good name for a ship. When do you sail?'

  'On the tide,' Murdo answered.

  'Then farewell it is,' Peder replied, rising from the stump. Descending the bank and climbing into the boat, he stooped and hefted up the bundle Murdo had left behind. 'Here now,' he said, passing the bundle to Murdo over the side. 'As the tide is running, I will be going myself. Give us a push, Master Murdo, and I am away.'

  Murdo untied the rope from the stump, coiled it quickly, and tossed it into the boat. Then, he put his shoulder to the prow and shoved the boat away as Peder settled himself at the oars. Murdo called farewell, and watched the old seaman work the oars, turning the boat with deft, efficient strokes.

  'Tell my mother the journey is well begun,' Murdo called. 'Take care of her, Peder. See she does not worry overmuch.'

  'Oh, aye,' vowed the old helmsman. 'Never fear. Just you keep a sharp weather eye, lad.'

  'That I will,' answered Murdo, not wanting to take his eyes off Peder or the boat until both were out of sight. A long, rising whistle from the direction of Jon Wing's ship called him away, however, and Murdo took up his bundle and ran to secure his place aboard the waiting ship. Four rowers, long oars in hand, pushed the craft away from the bank as Murdo clambered over the rail.

  He found a place among the rowers, took up an oar from the holder, and settled himself on his bench. He fell into the easy rhythm of rowing and watched the settlement of Inbhir Ness slip slowly away as the ship moved out onto the estuary.

  Murdo saw Peder again a little while later as the ship entered the wider water of the firth. Murdo called across the water and exchanged a last farewell with the old pilot as the larger ship overtook the smaller. A short while later, Skidbladnir turned, heading east along the coast, and the Orkney boat continued its northerly course. A small square of buff-coloured sail was the last Murdo saw of the boat and its lone occupant. He then turned his face to the dragonheaded prow and looked out on seas and lands unknown to him-merely the first of many he would gaze upon in the days to come.

  SEVENTEEN

  Bohemond, astride his dun-coloured stallion, lifted a hand to the vast camp and the enormous walls towering over it. 'See here, Tancred! This is how I remember the city.' Rising beyond the walls, three of Constantinople's fabled seven hills could be seen, white palaces gleaming in the midday sun. 'It is just like the last time I saw it.'

  Lord Tancred, reining in his favourite bay mare, gazed upon the jubilant rush of men towards the imposing walls of Constantinople. 'Your father's siege was not successful, I believe,' he replied dryly, lifting his voice above the shouts and cheers of the soldiers.

  'Alas, no. He ran afoul of the infernal Venetians who believe they own the sea. He beat them back at the cost of half his fleet, and came on to Byzantium in the spring.' The prince paused, thinking back over the years.

  'It was fever took him in the end, was it not?'

  Bohemond nodded without taking his eyes from the glimmering hills. 'Fever broke out in the camp. I myself was taken ill and sent home to recover. In the end, the count was forced to abandon the siege. He died soon after.'

  'A pity,' remarked Tancred. 'Especially as he had so much to gain.'

  'Yes,' agreed Bohemond, 'and now I have returned to claim what he could not. Come, let us learn the measure of this Emperor Alexius.'

  Godfrey and Baldwin rode out to greet the newcomers, and conducted them to their tents where a small feast had been prepared along with two or three tuns of wine to help the newly-arrived wash the dust of the arid Byzantine hills from their throats. The princes and lords, and their upper-ranking noblemen, ate and drank and regaled one another with tales of their travels. The two brother lords entertained their noble guests with the best of the limited hospitality at their command, falling over themselves to relate all they had seen of the city in the past two days.

  'You have no idea of the wealth amassed in this place,' Baldwin assured them. 'It is far more than you can imagine.'

  'Truly,' Godfrey added, 'and if Constantinople's riches stir you, just think what treasures await us in Jerusalem.'

  'You have met this Alexius, I presume?' Bohemond inquired. Oh, yes, the brothers replied enthusiastically, they had met with the emperor: twice, once in his palace, and once in this very camp. They knew the emperor well, and held him in highest esteem. 'Tell me about him,' invited the Prince of Taranto.

  'He is a shrewd and cunning dog,' Baldwin replied. 'His fortunes are beyond counting, yet he goes about a very beggar by comparison. He is a small, pig-eyed man with a skin like an Ethiope.'

  'Be that as it may, he has nevertheless agreed to provision us,' Godfrey pointed out benevolently. 'And that-what with upwards of a hundred thousand men and forty thousand horses-is no small matter. He asks nothing in return, save that you sign an oath of loyalty recognizing him as emperor, and agreeing to return any conquered lands and such to the empire.'

  'Sign an oath of loyalty!' hooted Bohemond. 'On my word, I will do no such thing.'

  The duke shrugged. 'That is up to you, of course, Bohemond, dear friend. But the benefits of doing so are not inconsiderable.'

  'Did you sign it-this oath of loyalty?'

  'We did,' Godfrey declared, 'and gladly.'

  Baldwin frowned, but said nothing. There was no need to mention the unfortunate riot in the marketplace, and the resultant loss of fifty-six men.

  'The Greeks are infamous for their treachery,' Bohemond observed. 'There is certain to be some deception in it. I will go to the devil before I pledge fealty to that black dog of an emperor.'

  Godfrey glared at Bohemond, who stared back in fierce defiance, as if it was he and not Alexius insisting on the pledge.

  'This hot, and it is but April,' complained Tancred, lifting his cup and draining it. Holding the empty vessel at arm's length, he instructed his steward to refill the cup and to keep the jug full and ready. 'At least,' he mused, returning the cup to his mouth, 'the emperor's wine is better than his reputation.'

  Baldwin and some of the noblemen laughed, easing the strain of the moment.

  'The duplicity of the Greeks is well known, of course,' sniffed Godfrey peevishly. 'But as we are only to remain in Byzantium a day or two longer at most, I saw no harm in signing the oath. He is the emperor, after all.'

  'We have only just arrived,' Bohemond said imperiously. 'I have no intention of rushing off so soon. The men are exhausted, and the horses must be rested. We have been on the march continuously since Avlona. It will take more than a day or two before we can consider moving on.'

  'The emperor is even now devising plans to help us move our armies across the Bosphorus where a camp has been prepared at Pelecanum,' Godfrey informed the prince, happy to see him squirm. 'Our armies have been waiting weeks now, and our men are more than ready to press on to the Holy Land.'

  'Perhaps,' suggested Baldwin, 'you might persuade the emperor to allow you to wait until Count
Raymond and Duke Robert arrive.'

  'I wonder they are not here already,' Tancred mused. 'What the devil can have happened to them?'

  'Ah,' Godfrey replied, 'I have it that they tarried a while in Rome at the pope's request. Apparently, Urban, despite his zeal for the success of the pilgrimage, is not well enough to undertake the journey himself. Thus, he has appointed a legate to lead the crusade in his stead.'

  Bohemond stiffened. 'Do we know this legate?' wondered the prince in a slightly strained voice.

  'We do not,' admitted Godfrey. 'But he is said to be a churchman-a bishop, I believe-of scrupulous honour and highest repute.'

  'Well,' allowed the prince, growing easy once again, 'so long as he keeps his reputable nose out of affairs that do not concern him, I have no objection.' Raising his cup, he cried, 'God prosper us, my lords! Hey!'

  'God prosper us!' replied the assembled noblemen. They all drank then, and the feast proceeded in good spirit-so good in fact, that the arrival of a messenger with a summons for Bohemond to attend the emperor went unremarked and unresented. The prince allowed himself to be conducted to Blachernae Palace alone and unaccompanied by any but Tancred and eight of his closest noblemen.

  Alexius received the son of his former enemy in the Salamos Hall of Blachernae Palace from which he had removed all its portable furnishings and treasures. Any that could not be moved, he had hidden beneath tasteful, but not unduly ornate Damasc-cloth coverings. He desired the room to present a suitably imposing, yet somewhat austere display, so as not to inflame his visitor's notorious greed.

  For the reception, the emperor arrayed himself in his best ceremonial robes, but added to the imperial purple his breastplate, sword, dagger, and greaves: not the high-polished gilt armour he used for formal occasions, but the battered pieces he wore on the field. Alexius remembered, and dreaded, Bohemond's superior size and height, and wished to even the scales as much as possible by showing himself a man of daring and action. Likewise, he commanded the full complement of palace excubitori to attend him in battle gear used in previous campaigns. In this way, he hoped to gently remind his rogue of a guest that the emperor was a commander of armies, and well-used to the harsh fortunes of war.