As if in answer to his name, the great hound barked once and sped between two Norsemen. One of the men lunged at the dog with his spear, missed, and fell onto his knees as the animal raced by.
'Come, Jotun!' shouted Murdo, dragging himself up. 'Jotun! Here!'
All four Norsemen were on the beach now, and two were wading into the water as if they might give chase. The dog, swimming mightily, passed out of reach, but the intruders, having lost the boat and its passengers, appeared reluctant to allow the animal to get away, too. Picking up stones from the beach, they threw them at the dog and at the retreating boat, venting their frustration in curses and crude abuse.
Gripping the rail, Murdo leaned over the water and called encouragement to the hound. Jotun paddled with renewed fervor, but it was clear the animal could not overtake the boat. 'Stop rowing, Peder!' called Murdo. 'He cannot reach us.'
So saying, Murdo, rope in hand, plunged over the side once more and swam to meet the dog.
'Murdo!' screamed Niamh, striking the rail with the flats of her hands. 'He'll drag you down, son!'
The invaders, seeing Murdo in the water once more, redoubled their efforts. The stones came thick and fast. One of the foemen dived into the sea and began swimming towards the youth and his dog.
Ignoring his mother and the commotion on the beach, Murdo swam to Jotun, seized a handful of wet fur at the nape of the beast's neck, and shouted, 'Pull us in!'
Upon reaching the boat, Murdo gripped the rail and tried to lift the dog out of the water; the animal was too heavy-it took both Peder and Lady Niamh to drag the soggy hound into the boat. Murdo followed, slithering over the side like an eel. He then had to brave Jotun's wet and happy welcome, while Peder and his mother stood looking on.
As the dog licked his master's face with great lashes of his tongue, Murdo took his head in both hands and tried to hold him back. 'Down! Jotun, down!'
Suddenly, a tremendous splash sent water cascading over the rail. 'They's on the cliff!' shouted Peder, taking up the oars once more.
Murdo raised his eyes to the promontory high above them and saw three Norsemen raising an enormous chunk of stone. They swung it once… twice… and let it go. The rock tumbled slowly as it sank, striking the cliff-face and spinning out into the air to smash into the cove a mere hairsbreadth from the stern.
'Row!' shouted Murdo, leaping to the bench. Settling himself beside Peder, he took an oar and began pulling with all his might.
By the time the third stone struck the water, the boat was moving again, slowly, edging away from the cliff. Two more stones were thrown – each further away than the last, and Murdo knew they were finally out of reach.
They gained the mouth of the cove and Peder, shipping his oar, dashed to the tiller, calling, 'Up sail, boy!'
Murdo leapt to the mast, quickly untied the loosely-secured line, and dragged it towards the prow. The yard rose slowly and came around as the sail unfurled; he then pulled for all he was worth, and when the yard gained the top of the mast, he quickly ran to secure the line once more. For a few agonizing moments, the sail flapped idly, slapping the mast in an uncertain wind. Peder gave a few mighty heaves on the oars, and the boat came clear of the cove. All at once the lank sail snapped smart, filled, and the boat lurched forward, the prow biting deep into the swell.
'Hruha!' cried Peder. 'Hruha-hey!'
Murdo, sweating and exhausted, stood and watched the figures on the shore and sea ridge dwindle away, and even when he could no longer see them, he still watched. Niamh came to stand beside him. Neither one spoke, until Peder, manning the tiller, called out to know what course he should set.
'Hrolfsey,' Niamh told him. 'We will return to Cnoc Carrach, and hope we can warn them in time.'
'They will have taken those lands, too,' Murdo pointed out. 'They have taken everything.'
'Maybe,' allowed his mother. 'But I do not see what else we can do.'
ELEVEN
Hugh, Count of Vermandois, arrived in Constantinople well ahead of his army. Owing to a nasty shipwreck, the unfortunate young lord had lost his horse, armour, a few hundred good men, and most of his coin, and was therefore relieved when an imperial escort arrived two days later. While he was borne swiftly to the capital, his army – reprovisioned at the emperor's expense, and led by a regiment of Pecheneg mercenaries-undertook the long march through Macedonia and Thrace.
The excubitori hastened their noble charge along the Egnatian Way, sweeping through the Golden Gate and into the streets of the most magnificent city Count Hugh had ever seen. There were buildings of such size and grandeur as to make the castles of his brother, Philip, King of the Franks, appear little more than cow byres.
He saw men wearing long robes of costly material, and women aglitter with gold and jewels, walking about unattended and unarmed. He saw men astride elegant horses, and beautiful dark-haired women borne through the streets in chairs, their slaves better arrayed than himself. Everywhere he looked a new wonder met the eye: churches with domes of gleaming copper, topped with crosses of silver and gold; basilicas of glazed brick; statues of emperors, some carved in stone, others cast in bronze; victory columns and triumphal arches erected to celebrate commanders and conquests unknown in the west; long, broad avenues paved with stone radiating out from circular plazas in every direction as far as the eye could see.
Count Hugh was given no time to savour these sights, but was conveyed straight away to the emperor's palace, where, still breathless from the relentless chase of the last days, and dazzled by the prodigious wealth and power he saw all around him, he was led stiff-legged with wonder into the imperial throne room. There, seated on an enormous chair of solid gold, he was received by God's Vice-Regent, the Equal of the Apostles and Emperor of All Christendom, Alexius Comnenus.
The magister officiorum indicated that the young count was to prostrate himself before the throne. He did so, pressing his fevered brow to the cool marble floor with a profound sense of relief and thanksgiving.
'Rise, Lord Hugh, and stand before us,' Alexius commanded genially in impeccable Latin. 'Word of your recent misfortune has reached our ears. Perhaps you would allow us to offer you a small expression of our commiseration over your loss.'
Lifting a hand, the emperor summoned a half-dozen Varangi, who stepped forward, each bearing an item of armour, which they placed at the much-impressed Count Hugh's feet. He saw a fine new mail hauberk and steel helm; there was a splendid sword, belt, and scabbard, and a handsome dagger to match, and a long spear with a gleaming new blade. A sturdy round shield with spiked silver boss was laid atop the rest.
.'Lord Emperor, I thank you,' Hugh gushed. 'Indeed, I am overwhelmed by your generosity and thoughtfulness.'
'Perhaps you would bestow on us the inestimable honour of being our guest during your stay in the city,' Alexius said.
'I am your servant, Lord Emperor,' Hugh replied, not quite believing his remarkable good fortune. After a disastrous beginning, it appeared his pilgrimage was at last coming right. 'But, if it please you, lord, a humble bed in a nearby abbey or monastery would suit me. My needs are simple.'
'Come now,' the emperor cajoled gently. 'You are our esteemed guest. We cannot allow you to wander the streets alone. You will, of course, reside here in the palace with us.'
Hugh acquiesced with good grace. 'Nothing would please me more, Lord Emperor.'
'So be it,' Alexius said. 'Magister, conduct our friend to the apartment prepared for him. We will expect to see him at table tonight where we will share wine, and he will relate the tale of his recent adventures.'
Hugh, still overcome by this surprising turn of events, bowed low and backed away from the throne. Upon reaching the carved marble screen before the door, he turned and followed the magister officiorum from the reception hall.
When he had gone and the doors were closed once more, Grand Drungarius Dalassenus stepped beside the throne. 'Do you trust him, Basileus?'
Alexius pressed his fingertips together and l
eaned back in his great chair. 'I think so, but time will tell,' he replied, tapping his fingers against his lips thoughtfully. 'Still, if I have an ally among the western lords, it will be easier to deal with those who come after. This one is harmless, I think. He is the Prankish king's brother; he has lost everything in the shipwreck and is therefore needy. We will make him beholden to us, and see if he will repay his debt.' Turning to his commander, the emperor asked, 'How many soldiers remain to him?'
'Only a few thousand,' answered Dalassenus. The emperor glanced at him sharply, so he amended his reply accordingly. 'Four thousand mounted troops, and maybe half again as many on foot. They should arrive in Constantinople sometime in the next three or four weeks.'
'The others will have arrived long since,' Alexius observed dismally.
'Yes, Basileus,' Dalassenus concurred. 'Our Pecheneg watchers tell us they are but ten days' march from here.'
'Ten days…' Alexius frowned. It was not much time. 'Well, there is nothing to be done about it. We must take them as they come and, God help us, deal with them as best we can.'
Two days later, after receiving numerous gifts of gold, as well as a handsome and well-trained horse from the emperor's own stables, the ail-but delirious Count Hugh, having been feasted and shown the treasures of Byzantium, was once more summoned before the throne. He entered to find the emperor dressed in purple and surrounded by a contingent of Varangian guardsmen wearing helmets with horsetail plumes, and carrying spears with broad leaf-shaped blades.
'Greetings, in Christ's name, Lord Hugh,' the emperor said. 'Come closer, friend, and learn the subject of our latest meditations.'
'If it pleases you, Lord Emperor,' replied Hugh, utterly beguiled by the affable and compact Alexius. He stepped to the very foot of the throne and awaited his benefactor's sage reflections, glancing now and again at the fearsome Varangi, standing tall and silent in their ranks a few paces behind the throne.
'We have been thinking about this pilgrimage, this Holy Crusade which the pope has decreed,' the emperor began. 'It would seem to us a difficult task to bring so many men from so many different nations to Jerusalem.'
'It is our duty and our joy,' replied Hugh confidently. 'As good Christians we happily obey God's will.'
'Of course,' agreed Alexius, 'and it is laudable that so many have answered the call of this duty-laudable, yes, but difficult nonetheless.'
'The hardships are insignificant in view of the glory to be obtained,' Hugh remarked. 'What are earthly travails compared to Heaven's treasures?'
'Indeed,' said the emperor. 'Yet, we find we have the power to alleviate a few of those hardships for you. The matter of supply and provisioning, for example, weighs heavily on all competent commanders. Soldiers and animals must be fed and watered, after all. Weapons and equipment must be maintained. We have ready stores of grain and oil, wine and meat, and so forth. These could be made available to the armies that pass through imperial lands.'
'It would be a blessing, Lord Emperor,' replied Hugh, impressed yet again by the emperor's incomparable largesse.
'Good,' cried Alexius jubilantly. 'We will cause orders to be given to establish provisioning stations along the way for the armies yet to come. Further, some arrangement must be made to promote harmony and unity of purpose among men arriving from such diverse lands and realms. It would seem that as we assume the burden for supplying these armies, we also accept the responsibility for encouraging their accord.' The emperor regarded his guest placidly. 'Is that not reasonable?'
'Entirely reasonable, Lord Emperor,' replied Hugh readily. 'It is wisdom itself.'
'What better way to bind the disparate members of this unruly body,' Alexius continued, 'and remind them of their common purpose, than to bring them under the authority of the one who shoulders the burden and responsibility?'
Hugh, entirely agreeable, nodded his support for the notion.
'Therefore, we propose a declaration of allegiance, recognizing the supremacy of the imperial throne,' Alexius concluded. He smoothed his purple robe with battle-hardened hands and gazed benignly upon his guest.
'Does the emperor envision the form this declaration might take?'
Alexius pressed his mouth into a thin line and held his head to one side-as if considering this question for the first time. 'A simple oath of fealty should suffice,' he answered equably, then added a satisfied: 'Yes, that should serve us nicely.'
Before Hugh could reply, the emperor continued, 'Naturally, the noblemen who lead this pilgrimage, and benefit from the empire's protection and provision, would take the oath, binding them one to another under the dominion of the imperial throne.'
Recognizing what was required of him, Count Hugh happily complied. 'Might I beg a boon, Lord Emperor? I would deem it an honour if I were allowed to be the first to take this oath.'
'Oh, indeed, Lord Hugh,' the emperor replied. 'Take it, you shall.'
TWELVE
Murdo recognized every twist in the muddy track rising from the harbour to the cathedral. Retracing his steps for the sixth time in as many weeks, each lump and puddle had the tediously familiar look of a much-detested chore. A chill rain splattered down over him as he slogged along beside his mother, the low grey sky making for a day as dismal as his mood. In five attempts they had yet to obtain an audience with the bishop; even the abbot was so overwhelmed by the imperative duties of his office that he could not fight free long enough to discuss their petition.
Still, Lady Niamh was determined to enlist the church's aid in regaining their estate. It was said, and widely believed, that King Magnus and his son, Prince Sigurd, were God-fearing men, baptized into the faith, and generous supporters of the church. Indeed, on two of their five visits the bishop could not attend his usual office of supplication because he was closeted with the young prince, who was receiving Christian catechism from the senior churchman himself.
'We will not leave,' Niamh vowed, for the fourth time since starting out, 'until we have spoken to Bishop Adalbert in the very flesh, and he has heard our petition.'
Murdo made no reply. It seemed to him an empty vow. Five times they had come, and five times failed. He saw no reason to think that this visit would be any different. The bishop, he decided, was avoiding them. This neither surprised nor dismayed him. He had long since relegated the church and its leaders to the perdition preserved for grasping clerics and their smarmy ilk who preyed on the credulous and gullible. His mother, he knew, was neither gullible nor credulous, and this was precisely why the churchmen refused to see her. What Murdo could not understand was why she insisted the bishop should be involved in this dispute.
The track rose sharply as it joined the path leading to the sanctuary entrance. The great doors were closed, but the smaller entry cut out of the right-hand panel was open. They entered the dim, shadowed vestibule and paused, allowing their eyes to grow accustomed to the murky interior. The tall pillars stretched up into the darkness above, their broad bases lit by pools of quivering candlelight. A few monks chanted away near the altar, their voices echoing from the cavernous vaults of the roof, making it seem as if moaning angels hovered far, far overhead like desultory doves.
On their previous visits, Lady Niamh had presented herself to the first monk who met them, and requested an audience with the bishop. On each occasion, the entreaty was duly channelled along lines of proper authority and they were politely conducted to the cloistered gallery outside the house where the bishop held consultation with those members of his flock seeking his advice on matters both temporal and spiritual. There they were asked to wait until the bishop could receive them.
Five times they had sat and waited, and five times they had departed without so much as a glimpse of the elusive churchman. The first three times, after a lengthy wait, a monk had come to inform them that the bishop's previous consultations had run overlong and that he begged to be pardoned but he would not be able to see them. They were, with all cordiality, invited to please come again next week; the
bishop would certainly see them then. On their fourth visit, they were informed, after another long and tedious wait, that Bishop Adalbert had been suddenly called away on a matter of utmost urgency and that he would not return for several days. Then, last week, after waiting through most of the day, they had at last been forced to leave when the bells rang vespers and the cathedral was closed to visitors. No explanation was offered for the bishop's failure to see them.
With each disappointment, Murdo watched his mother's fortitude weaken a little more. It hurt him to see her losing her resolve, and he determined that he would not allow her dignity to be stolen, too. The waiting, he concluded, was meant to wear them down, to make them so grateful for their audience, should they finally receive it, that they would gladly accept whatever sop the bishop deigned to offer them.
Now, here they were, for the sixth time, and Murdo decided it would be the last.
As before, they were met by a monk who conducted them to the house door where they were asked to wait. The monk bade them sit and indicated the wooden bench, then turned, opened the door, and made to step inside. Murdo, however, moved in swiftly, seized the door and held it open. 'I think we have waited long enough,' he told the monk.
'Please! Please! This is a holy place. You cannot force-'
Murdo shoved the door wider. 'Coming, Mother?'
Niamh, overcoming her reluctance, joined her son. 'Yes, I think we have waited long enough,' she told the monk. To her son, she whispered, 'Be careful, Murdo,' and gave him a sharp warning glance as she passed.
They entered a long dark cell. A single narrow window high up in the wall allowed a little sunlight into the room; otherwise, the few candles scattered here and there provided the only light. Five or six clerics toiled at a large table beneath the window; they looked up as the visitors entered, but then resumed their work. To Murdo, the scratching of their quills sounded like rats scrabbling hi the dry husks in the barn; and there was something decidedly vermin-like about the brown-robed clerics and their bristly, half-shaven heads and narrow eyes held close to their work.
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