The Sea Wolves responded to this, not by releasing their burdens, but by striving still harder. I saw one of them stumble and fall, pulling his partner down with him, and tripping up the two behind. Those following on were somehow able to avoid tumbling into the heap, but the accident slowed them all.
I looked to the gate and saw that the gap was now merely two men wide. And the first of the run-amok slaves had almost reached the last pair of straggling Danes.
“The gate is closing!” I called again and again. “Run for it!”
As before, my pleas met with no greater heed.
I heard a voice beside me and looked to see Dugal leaning into the gate. He had left his burden on the other side, and returned to lend his hand to halting the gate.
“Dugal!” I shouted. “Get you free, man! Go on! Go!”
He merely grimaced and bent his strength to the hopeless task.
Will no one do what I tell them? I wondered. “Go, Dugal! Save yourself!”
The gap was now but wide enough for one man to slip through. Very soon, it would close completely, and the first of the Danes was still fifty paces or more from reaching the gate.
Kyrie eleison! I muttered through clenched teeth. God help us!
More curse than prayer, I confess; it was merely the last gasp of a drowning man, as it were. But, lo and behold! the groaning timbers abruptly jolted to a halt.
I looked and saw Amir Sadiq on horseback, just beyond the opening, a rope from his saddle tied to a cross-timber of the gate. The horse was rearing, the rope taut.
Harald Bull-Roar appeared, sweat pouring down him like rain. Throwing down his bundle, he cried encouragement to his men, all but pushing them to freedom.
The gate groaned and shuddered, the top of its tall timbers quivering.
We held the great door while Harald muscled his men through the gap. The first of the fleeing slaves had reached the last of the Sea Wolves and had overtaken them. Heedless of all else, they threw themselves headlong at the door, jamming the opening and blocking the escape.
With a roar, Harald waded into them, seizing slaves and shoving them right and left. He cleared the pinched passage even as he pushed his own men through to freedom.
“Ya’Allah!” cried Faysal, the sinews in his neck and arms standing out like cords of rope. “We cannot hold it much longer!”
“Heya!” bellowed Harald. “We are free! Hurry!”
I looked and saw Harald and two other Danes, arms stretched wide holding the gate for us. The oncoming mob raced nearer.
Turning to Faysal and the others, I cried, “It is done! They are free!”
I had to repeat this in Irish for Dugal, but no one needed a second prod. In an instant, we were all of us diving for the slender opening. Faysal, Bara, and Musa squeezed past the Sea Wolves and out. But just as Dugal and I reached the opening, the gate gave out a grating sigh and juddered ahead. The Danes, unable to hold it any longer, fell back.
The timbers slammed shut with a heart-stopping crash.
Before we could even halt our steps, the enormous gate rebounded on itself and gaped open again. Shoving Dugal ahead of me, I flung myself through. I landed, sprawling on my face in the dust on the other side. Behind me, the gate banged closed once more.
Sadiq, his mount still straining at the rope, called a warning. I heard a crack like that of a whip and looked up in time to see the rope recoiling through the air. Sadiq’s horse, unbalanced by the sudden snap of the rope, toppled over backwards. The amir, unable to quit the saddle, was pressed to the ground as the horse rolled over him.
My feet scarcely touched the ground as I flew to him. I snagged the reins and jerked with all my might—raising the wild-eyed, flailing animal by strength of will alone. The horse got its feet under it and, with a lurching spring, stood, shaking its head and mane.
“Amir!” I shouted, throwing aside the reins. I leaped to his side, but Sadiq did not move.
PART FOUR
Black in sin is yonder house,
Blacker still the men therein,
I am the white swan,
King over them.
I will go in the name of God,
In likeness of deer, in likeness of bear,
In likeness of serpent, in likeness of King,
In likeness of my King will I go.
The three shielding me and aiding me,
The three each step aiding me.
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The amir lay as dead, his eyes half-open. The breath had been squeezed from his lungs and he was unconscious. Two of his rafiq, who had been likewise manning ropes at the gate, rushed to help me. “Gently! Gently!” I told them, as together we rolled him onto his side; we were rewarded with a long, ragged gasp as air filled the amir’s lungs. He coughed and moaned, and began breathing again.
From the far side of the towering gate came the wails of the wretches who had not been able to get out in time. The shrieks turned to screams of terror as those who stood at the gate were crushed against it by the mass of those pushing from behind.
Faysal ran to my aid. Kazimain’s horse raced to where we stooped over the amir; sliding from the saddle, she rushed to her kinsman’s side. She grasped his hand and began rubbing it briskly, trying to wake him. Bending to his ear, she murmured softly, her voice trembling with anxiety.
I could not make out what she said, but in a moment, the amir stirred and tried to raise his head. Kazimain bade him rest easy. “It is done,” I told him. “We are free.”
“Can you stand, lord?” asked Faysal.
The amir looked around, as if to ascertain who spoke. His wits returned to him then, for he nodded, and Faysal and I helped him to his feet. He swayed as if dizzy, but objected when we made to steady him. “It is nothing, it will pass,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Where is my horse?”
Faysal retrieved the animal and brought it to stand before his lord. As Sadiq climbed into the saddle, the massive gate behind us began to throb and shake. My stomach squirmed as I heard the dull cracking thud of human bodies breaking against the barrier: the slaves were hurling themselves at the unyielding timber in their despair. It was a hideous sound, and one I hope never to hear again. But there was nothing to be done for them, and we were not certain of our own safety until we were far from that place.
“We must not linger here,” said Faysal, glancing warily over his shoulder.
“Lead the way,” Sadiq commanded. “The rafiq and I will follow.” He called his warriors to him and hastily formed a phalanx to guard our escape. Faysal, meanwhile, led us swiftly away. We hastened after him, scrambling down the trail as best we could, until we came to the place just out of sight of the gate where the pack horses and supplies waited. There we paused to assemble ourselves and better order our departure.
“The chief overseer will hold you to blame for setting his slaves to riot,” the amir said; he sat on his horse, watching the former captives limping towards us. “I had no idea you had so many friends.”
Indeed, there were several dozen more than I had set out to free, for those who had forced their way out through the gate were now making their way to where we waited. “I am sorry, Lord Sadiq,” I started, “they all—”
But the amir waved aside my explanation. “It would not have happened if the slave master had kept order. We will find a way to deal with them,” he said, then cast an eye towards where the Danes stood sweating and panting around the bundles they had, risking all, borne from their captivity. “Your Sea Wolves appear to have acquired a few belongings while they toiled for the khalifa,” Sadiq observed.
Jarl Harald saw the amir’s appraising glance, and knew well what lay behind it. He bent to the bundle on the ground between his feet and untwisted the knots. Brynach and Dugal, their own bundle slung between them, came to stand beside me. We all watched as Harald opened the folds to reveal a mass of dull, misshapen lumps of rock, pale and watery in colour.
“Silver!” exclaimed Brynach. “Christ have mercy!
They risked their lives for silver?”
“To the Danefolk, silver is worth more than life,” I explained. “They risk everything for it whenever they sail beyond sight of home. Besides,” I added, looking at all the sacks, “it is a fine abundance of silver.”
Retrieving one of the colourless chunks, Harald marched boldly to the amir’s horse and gave the lump to Sadiq, who took it in his hand, hefted it, and nodded sagely before passing it back to the Dane.
“It seems the amir approves,” I observed to Harald. “The Sea Wolves will keep their treasure.”
Just then, the slaves who had squeezed themselves through the gap in those confused last moments saw us and rushed forward, crying out to be allowed to journey with us. They whined most piteously: “Do not leave us! We will die in the desert! Be merciful! Take us with you!”
Sadiq and Faysal held hasty council, whereupon Faysal returned to address them. “The Lord Sadiq is moved by your pleas. In exchange for your promise to leave us in peace, we will see you safe as far as the Amida road, but no further.”
Sure, they all agreed readily, and, after everyone was given water and something to eat, we started off in two long columns. Sadiq and Kazimain led the way, followed by Ddewi on my horse, with Brynach walking beside him—Ddewi was not fit enough to walk and required someone to help him keep his saddle. Dugal and I walked behind them, carrying the bishop’s bones, and the Sea Wolves came next, having divided their mass of treasure into many smaller bundles and distributed the weight evenly among all eighteen. Behind came the pack animals bearing the supplies, with the other slaves after them; the amir’s mounted rafiq came last.
What a long, slow line we made. And it stretched out longer and moved slower as the day wore on. We camped early; the sun was not yet down when we stopped, and we had travelled but a short distance. But the newly-freed captives could go no further. Still, we were away from the hateful mines, and the valley stretched invitingly before us.
The amir made his camp a little apart from the others, and went to sleep almost as soon as he had finished his evening meal, saying that he thought he had taken too much sun. I was eager to hear how my friends had fared, and mentioned as much to Kazimain, who said, “Go, my love. Renew your friendship. You will have much to tell one another.” She turned to where, despite the still-warm dusk, Sadiq lay rolled in his robe beside the little campfire. “I would sit with the amir a little,” she said.
So, I made my way to where the monks had made their camp among some great smooth, flat rocks beside the trail. Dugal and Brynach reclined, exhausted, on the rocks, and Ddewi, hunch-shouldered, sat splay-legged beneath them placidly feeding twigs and small knots of dry grass to a tiny fire.
Settling myself on a broad ledge-like stone, I said, “Well now, Dugal, here was I thinking you had given up waiting for me.”
“Aidan, man,” Dugal said in a lightly reproving tone, raising his head slightly, “look at you now. How were we to know it was you and not the very prince of Sarazens?”
“And who else would be coming for you?”
“Oh, it was a sweet surprise,” he remarked, rolling onto his elbow, “to see you striding out so brave and bold. Where did you get that knife, Dána?”
Withdrawing the blade from my belt, I handed it to him. “It is called Qadi,” I explained. “The amir gave it to me.”
Dugal ran his fingers over the jewelled weapon, making appreciative noises. “Did you see this, Bryn?” he said, flourishing the gleaming blade in the air. “Had I a daigear like this, I might have rescued us myself. Ah, but you put the overseer in his place, I believe; so you did.”
Ddewi laughed at this—a soft chuckle only, but it was the first indication I had that he apprehended anything of his surroundings. I looked to Brynach, who said, “Oh, he comes to himself a little sometimes. Perhaps he can recover.” His gaze shifted from the younger monk to me. “I am still wondering how you came to be among these Arabs.”
“That is easily told,” I replied, and explained about my sojourn in Trebizond with the eparch, and the ambush on the way to Sebastea which led to my enslavement at the mine.
“It happened to us the very same way,” remarked Brynach.
“Aidan believes it was no accident,” Dugal informed him, and went on to describe for Brynach my assumption that the emperor’s courtier had personally arranged the disasters which had overtaken us.
“But it cannot be,” objected Brynach. “Nikos befriended us; he never had reason to betray us, or wish us harm.” He shook his head slowly. “I am certain he was merely trying to help. The holy book was without its cover, and he—”
“The book!” What with one thing and another, I had forgotten all about Colum Cille’s holy book and left it behind.
“Calm yourself, Aidan,” Dugal said. “We have it still.” He indicated Ddewi, idly playing with the fire.
“Ddewi,” said Brynach gently, “Stand up and show us the book.”
Though he gave no indication of having heard, the mute young monk rose from his place and turned towards us. Looking more closely, I saw the square shape of the cambutta beneath his ragged mantle. Taking the hem of his garment in both hands, he raised it to reveal the leather bag, its strap slung around his neck and over one shoulder; he was wearing the book on his chest.
I resisted the temptation to have him take it out of the bag, to open it and examine its pages once more; but this was neither the time nor the place. “Thank you, Ddewi,” Brynach said, and he sat down again, once more as far away from us as his shattered thoughts allowed.
“Cadoc gave it to him as we stood in the yard that day,” Brynach explained; I knew well which day he meant. “Poor Ddewi has not breathed a word to anyone since. I do believe that what little wit remains him he owes to the book.”
“He keeps the book,” Dugal observed, “and the book keeps him.”
“We were to get a new cover made,” Brynach lamented, “but that will not happen now.”
“There are silversmiths enough in Constantinople,” I remarked. “Whyever did you think to go to Trebizond in the first place?”
“Did I say we were going to Trebizond?” Brynach wondered.
“No, Dugal told me,” I replied, remembering our brief conversation at the mines. “He said you wanted to go there to get a new cumtach made for the book.”
“Well,” Brynach allowed, “it is true we would have made harbour in Trebizond, naturally. But we were on our way to Sebastea; Cadoc wanted to see the governor.”
A thin chill snaked down my ribs. “What did you say?” Although I had heard him quite plainly, I made him repeat it word for word. “You are certain—Cadoc wanted to see the governor?”
“Aye, he did,” answered Brynach. “It seems the two had met once when this Honorius was a Procurator in Gaul.”
“And was it before this desire was known,” I asked, “or after that Nikos became interested in helping you?”
The canny Briton stared at me for a moment. “Ah, I see which way your mind is working, brother, but you are wrong,” he answered with satisfaction. “I know for a fact that the voyage was Cadoc’s idea entirely. He was set on going before anyone ever laid eyes on Nikos. Since we were travelling to Sebastea anyway, the bishop merely asked if anyone could be found in that place who might help us restore the book.”
“Were you with them when they spoke?” I asked, my voice rising to a demand. “Did you hear Cadoc say this?”
“I was and I did,” Brynach answered firmly. “And that is why I know you are wrong to think the worst of Nikos. He was trying to help us.”
Despite his insistence, my suspicions remained; but nothing would be gained by hammering at Brynach, so I left the matter for the present. On the face of it, his explanation seemed logical enough: Nikos did not send the monks to Trebizond; Cadoc had it in mind to go there before Nikos became involved. Even so, the thing did not sit well with me.
Talk turned to the rigours ahead and, as night deepened around us, Gunnar appear
ed out of the twilight to say that Harald was asking for me. Regarding the Britons a little awkwardly, he said, “Jarl Harald would speak to you, Aeddan. If you are willing.”
“Of course, Gunnar.”
“I know you would rather stay with your brothers,” he said doubtfully.
“Nay, nay,” I answered, rising, “I should have come to you sooner. Let us go speak to him.” As the monks declined to join us, I bade them good night and walked with Gunnar the short distance to the Sea Wolf camp.
There, I found men sprawled over the ground where they had fallen, exhausted by the day’s exertions. I had seen Danes in similar circumstances before, of course, but this time, at least, they had not drunk so much as a single drop of öl. I looked with pity on their once-hale bodies, now wasted thin from poor food and killing labour.
Harald was leaning against a rock with his head back and his eyes closed. At my approach, however, he roused himself and made to rise. “Nay, jarl, be at ease,” I said. “Please, sit and rest.
But he would not hear it. Instead, he climbed shakily onto his feet and embraced me like one of his own karlar. What is more, he called to the others and bade them to rise also, but only one or two made the attempt. “Ah, Aeddan,” he breathed, and smiled, placing his arm around my shoulders. His face was sun-blasted, haggard and lined, and his eyes were dull with fatigue, but the voice he raised still held something of its former bellow when he called aloud for everyone to attend him: “See here, all you Danes!” he shouted. “This is our good friend. We are free tonight because he would not see us go down to death in the pit.”
This brought not so much as a yawn from any of the Sea Wolves who might have been awake to hear it. Turning to me, King Harald said, “I would we had a sea of öl to drink your health. But, hear me, Aeddan. I, Harald Bull-Roar make this vow: half the silver we have obtained, I give to you. For without you, we would be slaves still and our wealth would avail us nothing.”
“You are too generous, Jarl Harald.” This pleased him and he smiled. “As it happens, I cannot accept even so much as a single lump of your silver.” This pleased him still more. “What I did, I did for reasons of my own. Your freedom is all the reward I seek, and I have that.”
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