Byzantium

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “Did you see the emperor?”

  “No,” he shook his head slowly, “we never did. Cadoc and Brynach were told by palace officials that our request would take time to be recognized. We were welcome to stay with the monks at Christ Pantocrater, so we settled in to wait. After a time, a man of the court came to see Cadoc. He asked to see the gifts we had brought, and was most helpful. The bishop showed him the book and lamented the loss of the silver cumtach. This man said that our appeal would be more favourably looked upon if the gift were restored. He said he would try to help us replace it.”

  “And did he?” I wondered, scenting the unmistakeable whiff of treachery.

  “Indeed,” Dugal affirmed readily and without rancour. “He arranged for us to go to Trebizond where, it was said, the finest silversmiths in the empire would help us make a new cover for the blessed book.”

  “Who was to help you in Trebizond?” I asked, growing excited. “His name—what was his name?”

  “I do not think I ever heard it,” Dugal replied with a shrug. “He was something called a magis…” He paused, struggling for the word.

  “Magister?” I suggested. “Magister Sergius?”

  “The very man!” cried Dugal. The memory of unhappy events intruded and he concluded solemnly, “We came in sight of Trebizond, but never reached the city. Sarazen pirates attacked our ship just off the coast. Those of us who were not killed outright, were brought here.” He looked at me and a smattering of his former spirit returned. “I never thought to see you here, Dána. Truly, it is a wonder.”

  “And the other man, the one who arranged for your journey—his name, was it Nikos?”

  “Aye,” confirmed Dugal, in a tone of amazement. “How is it that you know this?”

  “It is less a wonder than you think, Dugal,” I replied bitterly. “The same men were helping us, as well. I see now that they were helping themselves from the beginning.”

  “Are you saying they betrayed us?” Dugal’s incredulity was genuine. The possibility had never occurred to him. “You are certainly wrong, Aidan. I cannot think why anyone would wish to betray a handful of poor monks.”

  “Nor can I, Dugal.” I agreed, and told about how we had been attacked by men lying in wait for us on the road. “It was Nikos who led us there, and only Nikos escaped. Indeed, he fled before the slaughter began.”

  The big monk shook his head in bewildered resignation. “If I had known the book would be the death of so many, I would have thrown it in the sea with my own two hands. And to think I have protected it through all things…”

  It took a moment for Dugal’s meaning to come clear. “But does it yet survive?”

  “That it does,” confirmed Dugal, glancing darkly towards Gunnar. “Despite its shameful treatment, and no thanks to some.”

  “Are you certain? You know this to be true?”

  “Yes, the book endures. Cadoc keeps it; he has it hidden away.”

  “You cannot mean that it is here!”

  “Indeed, I mean that very thing.”

  “Here?” I persisted. “In this hell hole?”

  “Where else should it be?” he asked. “Never fear, the book is safe and will remain so. No one knows we have it.”

  Just then, Gunnar groaned and woke up. He struggled upright. “Heya!” he shouted, fighting against the chains.

  “Peace,” I soothed. “Be still. They are gone for the while. Rest yourself.”

  He looked around, blinking his eyes, taking in our predicament. He saw Dugal, frowned, and slumped back against the rock, but said nothing.

  Dugal’s eyes narrowed. “How is it that you can speak to this—” he hesitated, “this murdering barbarian?”

  “Hear me, Dugal,” I declared seriously. “Gunnar is my friend. He has saved my life not once or twice only, but many times—often to his own hurt. He is a barbarian, true, but he is also a believer and that must be accounted to his favour. I trust him as I trust you.”

  Dugal frowned and looked away. “No doubt you have a different view of things,” he conceded. He was silent for a moment; I saw his lips moving, and after a moment he said, “I still would know how you came to be here, brother.”

  “It is a long and tedious story, Dugal,” I said, despair yawning before me like a chasm black and deep. “Are you certain you want to hear it?”

  “And does the sun still rise in the sky?” he said. “Come, brother, we are together now, but who knows how this day will end?”

  “Very well,” I agreed with a sigh, and began to tell him about my sojourn among the Danes, how I came to be first Gunnar’s and then King Harald’s slave, and the Sea Wolf king’s grand scheme to raid Constantinople. I told him about meeting the emperor, and about how Jarl Harald had given the silver cumtach to Basil as a token of surety in a legal dispute, and the Viking longships had become part of the imperial fleet.

  I spoke a long time, pausing now and then to relate what I was saying to Gunnar, who grunted his rough agreement. Oh, it was a fine thing to speak my mother tongue once again. I talked more in that short time than I had in many a day. I told Dugal briefly about my few days in the city and Harald’s bargain with the emperor, and more, and at last concluded, saying, “We were sent to Trebizond to serve as bodyguard to the Eparch Nicephorus, who negotiated peace with the Sarazens.”

  Likely, we would have gone on talking endlessly, but the sun’s heat became oppressive and our tongues cleaved to the roofs of our mouths for lack of water. Gunnar, his head hurting him terribly from the blow he had endured, cautioned us to preserve what little strength remained us, so we closed our eyes and lay back against the rock and waited.

  The day ended in a white blaze which gradually turned deep yellow as the sun fell behind the ragged hill line. The shadows crept out and covered us, and night slowly folded us into its dark heart. We remained chained to the rock through the night. I slept fitfully, sometimes waking to stare up at the immense star-dazzled skybowl. It seemed to me that all the eyes of heaven gazed down upon us, pitiless, cold, and silent. No cheerful light bathed or soothed us; a hard, merciless glare, stark in judgement, mocked our pains instead.

  I recalled the times I had prayed beneath these selfsame lights, imagining them angels eager to bear my prayers to the throne of heaven. But no more. The pain in my shoulders and on my livid flesh was nothing compared to the torment of my soul. Had it done any good, I would have poured out my agony to the Lord of Souls. Ha! Sooner plead to the stars, Aidan, and beg mercy of the wind; either way, the answer will be the same.

  Misery, I have learned, is not content. It is restless and multiplies without ceasing. If I, for the merest space of a heartbeat, imagined that my tribulation was soon to cease, the truth soon struck me hard in the teeth: my torment was only beginning.

  They came for us at dawn.

  46

  Six guards and the pit overseer that Dugal had man-handled arrived as the sun rose on another blistering day. The overseer, one side of his face bruised and discoloured, glared down upon us with a malicious sneer; he spoke out a lengthy discourse which we could not understand, then motioned to the guards with him. They leapt forward, unshackled us, and bound us each separately; our hands were crossed and tied together at the wrist. Then, passing their staves through our arms with a guard on either end, they half-carried, half-dragged us away.

  We were brought to a large dwelling at the edge of the guards’ settlement. In the bare yard outside the whitewashed dwelling stood a thick wooden post with an iron ring fixed to its top. Leaving Gunnar and Dugal in a heap to one side, they threw me against the post and, taking a long leather rope, tied my hands to one end and put the other end through the ring. The whipping post was half again as tall as a man, so that when the rope was pulled taut, I was stretched full height, with my weight resting only on the tips of my toes.

  As this was happening, I noticed that the chief overseer of the mines came out from the dwelling to stand looking on, his arms crossed over his chest. Under
his gaze, I was stripped naked, and the guards then began to bludgeon me with their wooden staves—slowly at first, alternating their strokes, taking it in turn to hit me, first one and then another, striking wherever they would. Oh, but they were thorough. Very soon there was not a single place on my body that had not been pummelled—save for my head; I suppose they did not care to knock me senseless, so they avoided hitting my head lest I pass from consciousness, and thus beyond their torture. Neither did they break the skin, for loss of blood would have had the same effect, and it was clear they wished to prolong the agony as much as possible.

  With the aching sting of the first blows, I felt the helpless frustration of the victim; futility, potent as pain, overwhelmed me, as I experienced the most wretched helplessness. My soul recoiled in horror at my own weakness. Tears came to my eyes, and I was ashamed of myself for weeping. I bit my lips to keep from crying out, wishing with all my soul that the ordeal would stop.

  As the beating continued, however, it soon became apparent that my torturers had merely been warming to their task; the blows became sharper, and more keenly judged. Again and again, I was struck in the places where I was certain to feel the most pain: forearms, shins, knees, elbows, ribs. At the same time, the rope was pulled even tighter and I was lifted off the ground entirely, so that I could not brace myself even by so much as a single toe.

  With each blow, my body jerked and swung uncontrollably—only to be struck again while still swinging. The guards laughed at this. I heard their voices, ringing in the yard and any sorrow I had felt for myself vanished utterly, consumed in a sudden surge of white-hot rage.

  Never had I known such anger. Had it been a flame, the entire mining settlement would have been scorched to ashes, every house and all the inhabitants: men, women, and children. I ground my teeth on my lips until the blood ran down my chin and onto my chest, and still I did not cry out. Far away, as if from a great remove across a vast distance, I could hear Dugal praying out loud for me, beseeching God on my behalf. The exercise was but a meaningless act born of desperation, and I scorned his useless prayers.

  When at last they took me down, all my wounds had spread and fused into a single massive bruise which pulsed agony through me with every gasping, rattling breath. Blinded by pain, I could not see properly; I was conscious, though—some small part of my mind remained aware. I knew that my limbs were intact and that none of my bones were broken. I knew that Dugal was now undergoing the same torture I had just received.

  I knew also that I was a changed man, for the insane rage had consumed me from within, and my heart was now as cold and hard as a spent cinder.

  When they had finished with Dugal, and then with Gunnar, they bound our hands behind our backs and tied them to our ankles. We were made to kneel in the sun like this during the hottest part of the day. My awareness drifted; sometimes I knew where I was and what had happened, and other times I thought I was alone in a coracle on the sea. I could even feel the waves undulating beneath me, now lifting my little boat high, now dropping down once more.

  It seemed to me as I lay in the bottom of the boat, a solitary cloud drifted in front of the sun; the shadow passed over me and I opened my eyes to see that the cloud had an unusual shape and solidity. Roused by this curiosity, I looked again, and saw that the cloud had the face of a man, and that its white billows were the folds of a turban; two dark eyes in that face regarded me with deep apprehension and concern. This baffled me, for I could think of no reason why my torturers might distress themselves over my plight.

  I heard a voice like the buzzing of an insect, and realized that the man whose face hovered above me was speaking. He seemed to address me, but I could not understand what he was saying. Then he raised his head and spoke to someone else. Yes, he addressed someone else; his face contorted in anger as he looked away from me. Someone shouted, and the man shouted back in reply as he disappeared from view. I had not the strength to raise my head and see where he went. But even as he vanished, it came to me that it was a face I knew—I had seen this man before—he had a name, and it was a name I knew, but could not say. Who was he?

  This question gnawed at me through the day; I kept remembering the face and thinking about it until the sun began to sink low in the dust-hazed sky, and the guards returned to give us another beating. As before, we were hoisted up onto the post, and set upon with wooden staves. The only difference was that this time they struck flesh already bruised and wounded, and which had had ample time to swell. Thus, the second battering was even more painful than the first.

  The hard place within me refused to yield, however; I did not cry out. Neither did I endure the full brunt of the punishment, for after the torture began in earnest, the pain became too great and I passed into blessed oblivion. The next thing I knew, water was being poured over me, to revive me. I awoke to throbbing agony, every muscle and bone aflame with pain. When the first wave of pain had passed, I found that the sky was dark, and that we were receiving the attentions of a small man in a large black turban. The fellow gave us each a drink of water, holding our heads for us so that we would not drown when the water gushed down our throats. After easing our thirst, he examined our limbs. Where the skin had burst from swelling, he rubbed a soothing salve into the wound.

  This was done under the silent scrutiny of the chief overseer, who stood before his house watching all that was done for us. Satisfied that no bones were broken, the little man turned to his superior, bowed once very low and departed, muttering to himself.

  The guards bound us hand and foot once more and left us to our anguish for the night. The pain of my bruised body kept me awake all night, and I lay on my side in the dust—too sore to move, but too aching to lie still—thinking that death would be a mercy, and one we would certainly be denied.

  I thought, too, that the punishment we were enduring was far in excess of any crime we might have committed. We had laid hand to a guard, I do not deny it, but that we should be subjected to such savage punishment, was an absurdity I could not understand. It made no sense to me, but then, I reflected, very little of what happened in this world made any sense at all. To believe it did…that was absurd.

  At dawn the next morning, we were roused by the blowing of a horn—a trumpet, I think. From somewhere on the hillside came the dull bell-like tolling of someone beating a length of iron. In a little while the whole of the mining settlement was astir. People came from their houses to assemble on one side of the dusty square outside the chief overseer’s dwelling. I heard someone moan beside me, and turned my head to see Gunnar awaken and take in the gathering throng.

  “It seems we are to have witnesses to our torture today,” I remarked.

  “It is not our torture that brings them,” replied Gunnar. “They have come to see us die.”

  He was right, of course. In a little while the other slaves began arriving, taking their places opposite the settlement dwellers on the other side of the square, where they stood in ranks behind the guards who had brought them. I looked for Cadoc and the other monks, and for Harald and the Sea Wolves, but I could see none of them in among the crowds.

  When everyone had taken their places, the chief overseer appeared, accompanied by the pig-eyed underling who had directed the previous day’s torture. This fellow walked about with upraised hands until everyone became silent; then he deferred to the chief overseer, who stepped forth to speak out a short address. At its conclusion, the master of the mine clapped his hands. Out from the throng of onlookers stepped three men. Two of them carried a wooden block, and the third a curved sword twice the size of an ordinary weapon. This great sword’s blade was burnished so that it gleamed in the morning light.

  “At least we will not have to suffer another day of beatings,” Gunnar observed. “I do not think I could tolerate that.”

  He made it sound as if he had come to the end of his good temper. In truth, he had come to the end of his life. We were not to be given a quick, painless death, however. No sooner had th
e block been set up nearby, than two horses were led out into the square. I could not understand what it meant, but Gunnar knew.

  “I have heard of this,” he said, and explained that the victim was tied to the two horses, which were then driven in opposite directions, thereby stretching the condemned man’s body between them. When the bones of the back separated sufficiently, the sword was used to hack the poor wretch in half. “The unlucky one sometimes does not die all at once,” he added.

  Dugal had not stirred, and I made to wake him, but thought better of it and let him sleep on. Let him enjoy the little peace he has left, I thought; at least he will enter glory well rested.

  As it happened, his rest ended almost at once. For as soon as the horses were brought to stand either side of the block, four guards came to where we lay and laid hands to Dugal, jerking him awake violently. He gasped in pain at his rough handling, and his head fell limply forward.

  I decided then what to do. Drawing together what little strength I possessed, I pushed myself up onto my knees. Black waves of pain broke over me as I raised my head. Placing one foot flat on the ground, I gritted my teeth and stood, tottering and wavering like an infant. The agony of that simple act brought tears to my eyes; I heard a roaring boom in my head, and somehow lurched forward a pace.

  “Take me!” I said, my voice a raw rasp.

  The guards turned to stare at me; one of them said something I did not understand, and the others returned to their task and dragged Dugal away.

  “Leave him alone!” I shouted, almost collapsing with the effort. “Take me instead.”

  Another shout met my own. From across the yard the chief overseer called to the guards and pointed at me with his staff. The four guards dropped Dugal at once and started for me instead. I turned to Gunnar. “Farewell, Gunnar Warhammer,” I whispered with the last of my strength. “I am glad I knew you.”

  “Say not farewell, Aeddan,” he said, struggling to his knees. “Wait for me in the otherworld. We will go to your God together.”