Byzantium

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “The Romans kill everyone on the cross,” Orm replied, enjoying his superior intelligence. “They cannot all become gods.”

  Hnefi had grown impatient with the talk. “The Shaven Ones are going down the hill,” he said, indicating the priestly procession. “We will follow them—perhaps they will lead us to the harbour.”

  The priests moved slowly, and we followed at a short distance, keeping them in sight by the light of their candles. As I walked along, I began thinking how I might speak to these priests. We were, after all, brothers in Christ, and having come all this way it seemed important that I should declare myself in some way to the leaders of the church. And then it struck me that perhaps, by some priestly means, they had word of my brothers. At this prospect, my heart beat a little faster.

  We followed the procession down the long hill, past more houses, their upper windholes glowing from within with warm yellow light; we passed another market square, empty now save for a few homeless dogs fighting over scraps. At one place we passed alongside a truly large aqueduct, around the walls of which were clustered a number of crude shelters that appeared to be made of discarded wood and refuse, thrown together anyhow. Before some of these people sat hunched over small fires, cooking bits of food on twigs. They watched us silently as we passed.

  The stars were bright in the sky by the time the priests arrived at their destination: another church, somewhat larger than the last, with a rounded roof and rows of glass windholes high up in the walls. Candlelight flickered on the glass, beckoning me inside. A pang of longing arrowed through me, and I yearned to go inside and observe the eventide Mass. Just to be among others of my kind would have been bliss. But the Sea Wolves had got the scent of the harbour in their nostrils now, and would not stop long enough to allow me to go inside the church.

  “Perhaps I should ask someone the way to the ships,” I suggested to Hnefi, though I could smell the dank fishy scent of the water. “I could go into the church and speak to one of the priests. Maybe one of them could lead us, and then we would not get lost.”

  “Nay,” replied Hnefi, starting off down another dark street. “I can find the harbour now. This way.”

  “But it is growing dark. We may yet lose our way.”

  He gave a grunt by way of reply. “Move along, slave,” Orm said, stepping behind me and shoving me forward.

  “Let him be,” Gunnar said on my behalf. To me he added, “Come, Aeddan, do not anger them. As it is, I think Jarl Harald will not be pleased when he learns how we have fared this day.”

  Hnefi’s unerring nose led us to the harbour. The city gate was closed, but a four-man guard stood watch at the small door and upon presentation of our copper disci, they allowed us through. The bay was dark and calm; the water glimmered with the lights of cooking fires and lanterns from the ships laying at anchor. The small boats had vanished, however. We walked up and down the quay looking for a boat to take us out to the ship, but there were none to be seen anywhere.

  “We will have to swim,” declared Hnefi.

  “But we do not know which ship is ours,” Orm pointed out. “We cannot swim to every ship in the bay.”

  They fell to discussing how best to proceed, when Gunnar said, “Listen! Someone is calling.”

  There came a voice from the water. Stepping to the edge of the quay, we looked down to see a single small boat with a man sitting at the stern holding a small lantern on a pole. I recognized the upturned face.

  Upon seeing us, he called out again, and I answered, “Greetings, Didimus. Do you remember us?”

  “I remember everyone, my friend. Especially those who do not pay.”

  “That was unfortunate,” I replied. “I am truly sorry. But perhaps we are in a better disposition now. Will you take us back to our ship?”

  Hnefi pushed in beside me. “What is he saying?”

  “He says he will be most happy to take us back if we pay him.”

  “How much?” asked Hnefi suspiciously.

  “Twenty nomismi,” Didimus answered when I asked him.

  “Two coins,” I reported to Hnefi. “But we must pay before he will take us.”

  “It is better than swimming,” Orm pointed out hopefully.

  “Heya,” agreed Hnefi. “Tell him we will pay. One coin now and one when we have come to the ship.”

  “Come to the steps then,” said Didimus when I relayed the Dane’s offer to him.

  We walked to the steps where Didimus met us with the boat. Hnefi pulled five or six of the bronze coins from his pouch. Selecting two, he gave these to me and directed me to pay the boatman.

  “Hnefi says I am to give you one now,” I told Didimus, placing the coin in his outstretched hand. “I am to give you the other when we have arrived.”

  Holding the coin to the light, he saw the K mark and said, “But it is too much.”

  “I am certain he wants you to have it,” I lied. “He thanks you for waiting.”

  “May God be good to you, my friend,” said the boatman, tucking the coin away.

  We climbed into the boat and settled ourselves as before. The Sea Wolves remained silent, but Didimus, pleased with his reward, felt like talking. “I knew I would see you again,” he said. “Your first day in the City of Gold—did you fare well?”

  “It is a very great city,” I answered.

  “Perhaps more brass than gold, though.”

  “Perhaps,” I agreed. “Have you been waiting all day for us to return?”

  “Not all day,” the boatman replied, smiling at his own ingenuity. “But I knew you would return to your ship sooner or later, never fear. So, I watched the gate until it closed.”

  Working the long oar with swift, efficient strokes, the boatman quickly brought us to the longship. Hnefi hailed those aboard; some of the men leaned over the side to haul us up. As the others climbed into the longship, I gave Didimus the second part of his payment. “May God reward your patience and perseverance,” I told him.

  Holding the coin to the light of the lantern, his face arranged itself into a wide grin of pleasure. “My friend,” replied Didimus happily, “he has done so already, never fear.”

  Raising my hands, I was pulled up the side of the ship and dragged over the rail. “Until tomorrow, my barbarian friends,” called Didimus as I turned to face an extremely angry king.

  29

  Jarl Harald Bull-Roar, King of the Danes of Skania, could not understand why he had been made to stand waiting aboard his ship all day while we roamed the city spending his coins. How difficult could it be, he thundered, to locate the treasure? To the hiss and flicker of torches, he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, frowning mightily, demanding an answer to this mystery. Gunnar and I remained silent before his simmering wrath, while Hnefi and Orm strove to explain.

  “It is very difficult, Jarl Harald,” Hnefi said. “This Miklagård is far larger than we knew. It is not easy to find a treasure house.”

  “But finding a drinking hall is not so difficult, heya?”

  “We found no drinking hall, jarl,” replied Orm. “We could find only wine.”

  “So! You have been drinking wine,” growled the king dangerously.

  “Nay, jarl,” put in Hnefi quickly. “We were looking for the chief treasure house, as you commanded us to do. We saw very many things, including many fine dwellings. I am certain they contain much plunder.”

  Harald liked the sound of this, so Orm embellished it. “It is true, Jarl Harald. There are hundreds of these houses—thousands, perhaps. The treasure they hold is more than we could carry away though we had ten ships.”

  “You saw this treasure?” inquired the king. “You saw so much gold and silver?”

  “Nay, Jarl Harald,” replied Orm, “we did not see the gold or silver. But these dwellings are surely the halls of kings.”

  “The halls of kings!” scoffed Harald. “In their hundreds and thousands, you say. But I ask you: how is it that Miklagård contains so many kings?”

 
“Perhaps they are not all kings,” allowed Hnefi judiciously, “but they are wealthy men. For who else can build such palaces?”

  The king scowled at his scouts, and tugged at the ends of his moustache as he tried to determine what to do. Finally, turning to Gunnar and me, he said, “Well? What have you to say to this?”

  “It is as Hnefi and Orm have told you, Jarl Harald,” replied Gunnar. “There were too many palaces to count, and some of them must contain treasure worth plundering.”

  “Some of them, heya,” grunted the king in gruff agreement. “That is likely the way of things. What else?”

  “We drank no öl, nor even wine,” Gunnar said, “although we did eat a little bread and some meat grilled on sticks. Also, we saw a market to make Jomsburg and Kiev seem like pig wallows.”

  “That I should like to see,” muttered Harald.

  “Truly, this Miklagård is the greatest city ever known,” put in Orm enthusiastically. “It is like no other on this earth.”

  The king gave the warrior a dark look, preferring Gunnar’s more plausible account. Turning once more to Gunnar, he said, “Even I, who did not go into the city, can see that it is a large settlement. Are there many soldiers guarding the gates?”

  “Jarl, there are more people of every kind than I have ever seen in one place before, and there are guards at every gate: eight at least, and I do not doubt there are many more elsewhere.”

  “If this is so, how did you gain entrance?”

  “We were made to pay to enter the city.” So saying, Gunnar brought out the copper disk he had been given. The king took it and examined it closely.

  “It cost ten nomismi,” Gunnar explained.

  “And that is another thing you should know,” Hnefi said suddenly. “It happens that the silver coins we carry are worth a hundred nomismi, not ten.”

  The king swung from Hnefi to Gunnar for confirmation. “It is true, jarl,” replied Gunnar. “They told us this at the gate. Ask the Shaven One; he spoke to them about this very thing.”

  Harald’s face clenched like a fist as the enormity of the theft practised against him became apparent. “Is it true?” he asked, his voice husky with pent-up rage.

  “Yes, lord,” I told him, and explained what the soldier at the gate and the Prefect of Law had told me.

  “I will nail the thief’s head to the mast,” growled the king. “I, Harald Bull-Roar, make this vow.”

  All thoughts of plunder were quickly forgotten as the discussion swung to how the king might best carry out his revenge on the dishonest harbour master. There quickly emerged a crude, but effective plan which the Sea Wolves were only too able to carry out. In celebration of their loathsome scheme, the king shared out öl, and everyone drank his fill. I did not drink with them, however, but hunkered down beneath the dragonhead prow and watched the barbarians stoke their courage with liberal lashings of ale.

  A little after sunrise, the harbour of Hormisdas began to stir and one of the Sea Wolves climbed the mast, establishing himself at the topmost part to search for ships which might be making entrance to the harbour. But there were no ships on the horizon, so he climbed down again and we waited. After a while, Harald ordered him aloft once more and the search was repeated, with no greater success than before.

  After the third search, the king said, “We will not wait any longer.” He then gave the order for the anchor to be brought up and, using the oars, the Danes steered Harald’s longship towards one of the nearer craft the king had marked out. They moved the vessel in a most stealthy manner, giving the impression it might be drifting of its own accord. They did this so that they would not arouse suspicion, for what they had in mind was wicked and cruel.

  When we had come close enough to the neighbouring ship, they threw out iron hooks to secure the vessel, whereupon six Sea Wolves leapt onto the deck of the captured ship and, using firebrands lit for the occasion, immediately set its sail ablaze.

  Fortunately, there were few people aboard the other ship, the merchant, pilot, and most of the crew having gone into the city with tradegoods the day before. The flames and smoke woke the remaining crewmen, however. Up they rose to see their sail alight and their vessel overrun by barbarians. Severely outnumbered, the strangers were in no mood to resist, and put up no fight whatsoever. They simply sat down on the deck and gave themselves up to their fate.

  This pleased Harald, for he was not interested in losing any men. The burning sail gave off black smoke, which pleased the king even more. “Heya!” he cried. “See here! They are coming! Loose the ropes!”

  As the king expected, the harbour guard, alerted by the fire, raced to the disturbance in haste, arriving in time to see the Sea Wolves return to their own ship and push off from the other. Observing that the harbour guard was coming to aid them, the crew of the burning vessel leapt up and began calling for the guard boat to arrest the barbarians’ escape.

  Harald made a show of trying to turn his ship, as if to flee, but was easily overtaken by the boat of the harbour guard. They came alongside, shouting at the Sea Wolves and shaking their spears.

  “Shaven One!” cried Harald. “What are they saying?”

  “They are saying to halt at once, or face the emperor’s war fleet.”

  The Sea Wolf king smiled at this and said, “Then I suppose we must stop.” He called to Thorkel to ship oars, and then thundered to his men in a roaring voice: “Prepare to be boarded!” To me, he said, “Tell our thieving friend that we are stopping now.”

  Taking my place at the rail, I called down to the harbour master, standing at the prow of the boat. “We are halting now,” I told him. “The king will allow his ship to be boarded.”

  “Then stand well back,” the quaestor answered angrily. With a forward motion of his hand, he signalled his men to scale the side of the longship. There were eight guards altogether, each armed with a spear and a short, broad-bladed sword.

  When they had all come on deck, the harbour master swaggered to where Harald stood and demanded to know why he had attacked the other boat, to which—once I had translated the question—King Harald replied placidly, “I found the sight of them annoying.”

  “Do you not know that it is an offence to molest a ship in the emperor’s harbour?” demanded the quaestor.

  I conveyed the man’s words, and Harald replied: “And is it an offence in the emperor’s harbour to steal a man’s silver?”

  “Of course it is,” replied the guard. “Do you claim that they tried to steal your silver?”

  “Nay,” confessed Harald, “they are not the thieves—it is you who have stolen my silver.” The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the entire company of barbarians rose up with a terrible shout and threw themselves upon the guardsmen. The struggle was brief, and the Sea Wolves were able to disarm their outmanned opponents with little effort and no bloodshed.

  Then, seizing the quaestor, Harald hurled the thief onto the deck, and placed his foot on the man’s neck. The guardsmen squirmed to see their master treated so, but they were disarmed and held in the iron grip of Danes inflamed with righteous anger, and there was nothing they could do.

  The quaestor shouted and thrashed around, demanding to be released. Jarl Harald, his bare foot well placed to crush the official’s neck, ignored the commotion and called for his sword. The blade appeared and was placed into his outstretched hand.

  “What is this?” the quaestor croaked from the ship’s deck. “What…?” Appealing to me, the captive shrieked pitifully, “Tell him, agh!…must release us at once…wrath of the emperor! Tell him!”

  The king indicated that I should relay the prisoner’s words; I convinced Harald to free the man’s throat sufficiently to allow the wretch to speak, then repeated the quaestor’s threat. Harald laughed. “Good! I have not killed a thief in a long time. I will enjoy telling his master why I have done this.” With that, he raised the sword.

  “Wait!” cried the writhing captive.

  “Tell him to hold still,
” Harald instructed, “or it will not be a clean chop.”

  “What? What?” gasped the quaestor.

  “He says you’d better lie still or the blow will not be clean.”

  “Tell him it was a mistake,” shouted the quaestor. “Tell him I will give it all back.”

  “It is too late,” I told him. “King Harald has determined to take revenge on you for the way you cheated him yesterday. He no longer cares about the money.”

  “Then what does he want?”

  “He wants to nail your head to the mast of this ship,” I answered. “And I believe he will do that very thing.”

  Harald removed his foot from the quaestor’s neck, and placed the edge of the sharpened sword against the soft flesh; the tender skin parted and a few large drops of blood trailed down the doomed man’s neck and splashed onto the deck.

  “Does he know who I am?” the captive shrieked.

  “He believes you to be the man who made him a fool before his men and stole his silver,” I replied.

  “You are making a mistake!” wailed the captive.

  Harald put his foot on the man’s back and raised the sword above his head, preparing to strike.

  “No! No!” shrieked the quaestor. “Wait! Listen to me! I am an important man, a wealthy man. You can ransom me!”

  “What does he say now?” wondered Harald, squinting his eye as he judged where the blade would fall.

  “He is saying he is a man of some importance and that you might consider holding him for ransom.”

  Harald cocked an eyebrow at this. “Who would pay?”

  I relayed the king’s question to the captive, who said, “The emperor! I am the emperor’s man, and he would pay for my release.” Tears fell from the wretch’s bloated, red face and the smell of fear wafted from him like a rank perfume.

  King Harald listened intently while I translated the tax collector’s words, and considered the new possibility presented to him. “How much?”

  “The king wants to know how much he might expect in ransom,” I told the quaestor, who was now sweating so much that the rivulets formed a puddle beneath his head.