Byzantium

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  A snaking tendril of blood appeared at the side of his mouth as he spoke. Nikos lifted a hand to his lips, touched his fingertips to the blood and then held them before his eyes as the colour drained from his face.

  Nikos coughed, spewing blood, raised the daigear and took a step towards me. I stood before him unresisting, willing to receive the blade into my own breast. To die in Byzantium was my fated end, and if this was how death found me, so be it.

  The wounded eparch took another step, holding the knife so as to strike. But the step became a lurch as his legs abruptly lost their strength. Nikos crashed to his knees, the blade spinning from his grasp and clattering onto the stone floor.

  Clutching at my legs, he hauled himself up, his mouth working to frame a word. His eyes beseeched, but the word was never spoken, for even as he gave it utterance, a great gush of blood surged up from his gullet and out of his mouth.

  “An eye for an eye,” I muttered. “A life for a life.”

  With a groan, he made to rise, clutching at me and trying to gather his legs under him, to stand one last time. He gained one leg and, shaking violently, somehow pulled himself into an unsteady crouch.

  Nikos, bent nearly double, raised his head and gazed furiously around, his eyes glassy and unseeing. Beads of sweat glistened on his pale flesh. Pressing both hands to his chest, he lurched and fell heavily onto his back. With a deep, rattling groan, he rolled onto his side and was seized with a spasm of coughing. Blood issued forth in a brilliant crimson cascade, and he lay his head down on the floor-stones.

  I did not realize he was dead until Harald, bending over him, pushed him onto his back once more. There came a slow, gurgling hiss as the air fled his lungs.

  Someone spoke, and I looked up to see Dugal standing beside me. I stepped towards him, and my legs turned to water. Dugal grabbed my arm and bore me up in his strong grasp. I saw his mouth move, but could make no sense of his words.

  A rushing sound filled my ears, and I felt a heavy pressure inside my head. Squeezing my eyes shut, I gasped for air, fighting for my breath. The sound and pressure dissipated, and my breath returned.

  “Aidan…Aidan?”

  Opening my eyes, I found myself looking into Dugal’s face. Brynach had joined him, and they were both staring at me with troubled expressions. Dugal held me by the arms, shaking me lightly; they were both talking to me, but I made no response.

  I looked away from them to Nikos lying on his back on the floor, gazing up at the blue sky-painted ceiling. Still, I felt nothing: neither hatred, nor remorse, nor elation, nor any other emotion, save only the familiar dull emptiness. I knew what I had done, and I was fully aware of everyone’s shock and dismay. The scholarii, amazed at what had happened, lowered their spears and made as if to guard the body, but their reaction had come too late. Frightened now, and finding themselves outnumbered by barbarians, one of them began shouting and beating on the door, calling for help. Justin merely stood aside looking on.

  In a moment, the smaller door opened within the larger and the magister appeared once more. He took one swift glance at the corpse on the floor, and retreated, his hands fluttering in agitation. We heard him go crying into the room beyond and, as the great door swung slowly open, two imperial guards appeared. Taking positions beside the entrance, they crouched there, spears at the ready. More guards hastened towards us, weapons drawn, their leather shoes slapping the polished stone floor. The magister officiorum stood in the doorway, wringing his hands, and behind him Basileus Leo advanced with swift and terrible dignity.

  I faced him calmly; indeed, I was astonished at my own clarity and presence of mind. It seemed as if, having crossed some unknown divide, I now stood on the other side, myself once more.

  Regarding the new emperor, I observed a tall, narrow-faced man—the length of his features was emphasized by his long dark beard—wearing a simple white robe of common cloth, and a cloak of the same stuff. The only evidence of his imperial rank was a crown made of flat plaques of gold joined to form a narrow band; the centre of each plaque held a different gem, and two beaded strands joined the band to hang down either side of his head. His high and noble brow creased in a frown as he halted in the doorway to take in the tableau before him, his large dark eyes searching out each and all.

  No one moved. No one spoke.

  Lowering his gaze to the body on the floor, he paused as if contemplating an obscure text, the meaning of which eluded him. Finally, raising his eyes to the living once more, he said, “So!”

  “Blessed basileus,” began the magister, stepping to the emperor’s side. “Eparch Nikos has been killed. He—”

  Basileus Leo silenced the courtier with a practised flick of his hand.

  Ignoring the magister, Leo said, “Will someone tell me what has taken place?” Though low, his voice echoed loud in the thick hush of the domed Onopodion.

  I found the question extraordinary. Clearly, he could see what had happened, and in any case the magister had just told him. Yet, he made no judgement, nor did he rush to a conclusion, but waited for an explanation.

  Unexpectedly, Faysal was first to reply. He stepped forward several paces, pressed his hands to his chest and bowed low. He then rose, declaring: “Wise basileus, allow me to present to your majesty, Lord J’Amal Sadiq, Amir of the Abbasid Sarazens, Servant of Allah, and Emissary of Khalifa al’Mutamid, Defender of the Faithful.”

  At this Lord Sadiq stepped forward. “May the peace of Allah be with you and with your people, Wise basileus.” He made a slight bow of respect, touching his fingertips to his forehead. “Perhaps, with your majesty’s indulgence, I may be permitted to offer an interpretation of events which I have myself witnessed,” the amir said, his much-deprecated Greek not only flawless, but eloquent.

  “Greetings, Amir Sadiq, in the name of the Lord Christ,” said Leo, inclining his head stiffly. Extending his hand towards the eparch’s body, he said, “Your arrival has taken us somewhat unawares, as have events.” He glanced to where Nikos lay. “Nevertheless, it is our distinct pleasure to welcome you, Lord Sadiq, and we are most eager to hear your explanation. Speak, we beg you, and shed some light on this dark adventure.”

  “Basileus, to my considerable distress, I have this day discovered an evil treachery practised against my people—and yours,” Sadiq replied. “A deed of devastating wickedness contrived to impede the treaty of peace which was negotiated by myself and Eparch Nicephorus in Trebizond, on behalf of Emperor Basil of Constantinople and the Khalifa al’Mutamid of Samarra.”

  I watched Leo closely for any sign of knowledge or complicity, but saw not the slightest twinge or flutter of recognition. Indeed, the astonishment which appeared on his elongated countenance was, I believe, wholly genuine. “Tell us more, we pray you, Lord Sadiq,” said Leo, and with a gesture ordered his guards to stand at their ease; the spears were raised and swords sheathed.

  “Only recently have I learned that the treaty of which I speak never reached Constantinople,” the amir resumed, speaking with kingly poise, “by reason of Eparch Nicephorus’ murder. Indeed, I myself was attacked aboard ship to prevent this unhappy news reaching your ears.” Here, Sadiq turned and indicated the three Armenians. “I have no doubt you will obtain sufficient confirmation of my tale from these captives we have brought with us and now deliver to your care.”

  Leo’s slow gaze took in the pirates, and then the host of barbarians, Sarazens, and monks. “These are most distressing tidings, Lord Sadiq,” he remarked at last, his voice appropriately subdued.

  “No less distressing, I believe, is the fact that the man responsible for these and other crimes was a courtier very close to the imperial throne.”

  It was all true, of course, but I marvelled at Sadiq’s ability to colour the harsh facts with coolly disinterested oratory. Leo, too, appeared impressed by the manner in which the amir elucidated his revelations. The basileus professed himself ignorant of the events, and beseeched the amir to continue.

  “It is my s
pecial pleasure to offer your majesty the agreeable report that the criminal responsible for these and other iniquitous transgressions was apprehended and did condemn himself out of his own mouth.” He gazed impassively at the body on the floor. “Judgement is now in the hands of Almighty God, before whom all men must one day stand.”

  Nodding slowly, Leo looked once more upon the bloody corpse before him. “It may have been better,” he observed dryly, “if the criminal could have answered a more mundane tribunal first.”

  “A thousand pardons, basileus,” replied Lord Sadiq, “I can but express my deepest regret. Human frailty is the burden we all must bear as best we can, majesty, and events raced beyond our feeble ability to order them to a more acceptable conclusion. Nevertheless, I have the utmost confidence that the matter has been satisfactorily resolved, and that justice, ever the prerogative of the One True God, has been served.”

  Extending his hand towards the body, Sadiq concluded, “Allah’s judgement is ever swift. Let us say that it was perhaps somewhat more swift in this instance than is commonly anticipated.”

  Emperor Leo turned and called an order to his guards, two of whom departed on the run. Turning back to us, he said, “The body of the offender will be dealt with in a manner consonant with his crimes.” He moved to the doorway. “Yet, if we may prevail upon you to attend us further, we would hear more of the means and methods of the subjects introduced to us just now.”

  “Indeed, basileus,” remarked the amir boldly, “I also believe there remains a claim to answer and debts to be settled.”

  With that, Leo turned and led the way into the throne-room. Amir Sadiq followed, attended by Kazimain; Jarl Harald came next, surrounded by the Danes; Justin and the gate guards followed. Brynach, Ddewi and Dugal, looking lost and confused, approached me, dazed expressions on their faces. “Aidan, why?” was all they could say.

  How could I tell them what I did not know myself? I turned and followed the retinue, passing the body lying with its face in a thickening pool of blood. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Faysal stoop and retrieve something from the floor; he brought it to me.

  “The Qadi has spoken,” he said, and I saw that he had wiped the blade clean. Faysal tucked the weapon into my belt once more, saying, “All is as Allah wills. May Allah be praised.”

  73

  May the peace of Allah attend you all your days, Wise Basileus,” said Amir Sadiq. “Truth is more often bitter than sweet, yet it strengthens all who partake. Taste then, if you will, that your judgement may be seasoned with discernment.”

  Thus spoke the amir, relating all that had happened: the embassy to Trebizond and the long season of negotiation leading to the initial peace agreement; the hateful tribulations that followed—including the brutal massacre on the Sebastea road, the murder of the governor, and the enslavement of the survivors in the mines.

  Leo listened, sitting not on his golden throne, but on a simple camp chair of the kind military commanders often employed. The image of a general ordering battle was furthered by the double rank of Farghanese bodyguards ranged behind him. The imperial frown had returned as Leo contemplated the story Sadiq unfolded before him.

  When at last the amir finished, he said, “The accord which we offer has been secured at a fearful price. Few were brave, fewer still knew the reason for their torment, but such sacrifice as theirs should not be dishonoured by those who wield power and authority. The Sarazens stand ready to renew the treaty that has been so dearly purchased.”

  Leo, a thoughtful expression on his long face, nodded. “Peace between our peoples is a noble—and it must be said, costly—ambition, Lord Sadiq. With your approval, we will cause the treaty to be rewritten. Naturally, this will require your close participation.”

  “The successful completion of the peace treaty is of foremost importance,” Sadiq said. “To this end, I have come to Constantinople, and to this end, I place myself at your service.”

  Basileus Leo next turned his attention to the Danes. Accordingly, Jarl Harald was summoned, and took his place before the emperor. He motioned for me to join him, which I did.

  “Sovereign Lord,” I said, “with permission, I will translate the king’s words for your majesty’s benefit.”

  Inclining his head in assent, the emperor said, “We give you leave to speak.”

  I gave a slight nod to Harald, who immediately proceeded to lay his claims before the emperor. “Most Noble Emperor,” he said, his voice a low thunder in the great room, “I am Harald Bull-Roar, Jarl of the Danes of Skania, and servant of the Emperor Basil, who took me into his service to provide for the protection of his ships. This I have done with unrivalled skill and courage, to the cost of one ship and all save sixty brave men.”

  “You will forgive us, Lord Harald,” replied Leo when I had relayed the king’s words, “if we profess no knowledge of this agreement. Be that as it may, I am aware that my predecessor often pursued such arrangements. What were you to be paid for these services?”

  “Great Leader,” answered Harald, speaking through me, “the agreed recompense was one thousand nomismi for the king and his ships and eight denarii for each man, each month, to be paid upon completion of duties in Trebizond and safe return to Constantinople.”

  Harald, having thought of something to add, nudged me and spoke again. “Basileus, Jarl Harald respectfully requests the cost of one fine ship and the lives of one hundred and twelve loyal men to be taken into account.” Harald thought of yet one more circumstance to add: “Not forgetting the hardships of slavery endured by the king and his men during the time of their service to the emperor.”

  The emperor’s frown had deepened on his narrow face. He considered his answer before making his reply, chin on fist, regarding the hulking Danes all the while. This gave me good opportunity to observe the emperor; I was still undecided how much of Nikos’s schemes he was party to. I think that some small part of me yet wanted to believe the best, so I watched him for any hopeful sign.

  “Lord Harald,” began Leo in his deep voice, “we are mindful of the enormous sacrifices you and your men have made on behalf of the empire. We are aware that provision is often allowed for the widows of soldiers killed in imperial service. Therefore, we propose to extend this compensation to you, in addition to a remittance for your ship. The logothete will call upon you tomorrow to agree on the amounts and arrange payment. We trust you will find this acceptable?”

  “Great Sovereign,” replied Harald, when I had translated the emperor’s offer, “insofar as mere treasure can ever replace men of courage in the service of their lord and the hearts of their kinfolk, I deem your majesty’s offer acceptable, and will receive your servant with all courtesy.”

  The magister officiorum, standing at the emperor’s right hand, duly recorded the agreement on his wax tablet. When he finished, Emperor Leo stood and declared the proceedings concluded. I could not help but notice that nothing further had been mentioned of Nikos. While Amir Sadiq and Harald may have been content to allow the matter to end, I was not; I reckoned the monks of Kells and Hy still had a claim to be settled.

  Even as the emperor rose to dismiss the assembly, I made bold to speak. “Lord and emperor,” I said, stepping before him, “there is yet a debt to be reconciled.”

  He paused, glancing back over his shoulder to see who had called him. “Yes? And what is that?”

  Indicating Brynach, Dugal, and Ddewi, standing a little apart from the Danes, I said, “My brother monks have also suffered much at the hands of those to whom authority had been given. They came on pilgrimage to make entreaty before the emperor. Thirteen left Éire, and only those survive who stand before you now.”

  The emperor appeared distracted. He glanced at the monks, and seemed inclined to sit down again, but thought better of it and remained standing. “We are sympathetic to your plight,” he intoned, “and we are not unmoved by it. Be that as it may, we are persuaded that pilgrimage is wont to be a perilous undertaking, and any that woul
d be a pilgrim must count the cost.

  “Therefore, we can but share your sorrow at the loss of your brothers, and offer our heartfelt condolences.”

  With that, Leo turned away again. Brynach and the others looked on in startled confusion at the emperor’s abrupt rejection. Seeing that the emperor meant to terminate the audience anyway, I determined there was nothing to be lost by pushing the matter further.

  “With all respect, lord and basileus,” I remarked, speaking up once more, “it was not the natural predation of seawaves or the dangers of the trail that led these holy men to their deaths, but the wanton actions of a depraved and ambitious man who traded on the authority granted him by the throne you now possess.”

  “That man,” replied Leo quickly, “as we have been so pithily reminded, has been summoned to the Eternal Judgement Seat to answer for his crimes, which, we have no doubt, were deserving of the punishment exacted. We are persuaded that the manner of his death, while unlawful, has secured a rough equity. Therefore, we are content to leave affairs as they stand.” He regarded me sternly. “If you are wise, you will follow our example.”

  Returning his stern gaze, I replied, “Wise Lord, I pray you do not mistake me. These men ask no compensation for their loss, but will bear it for the sake of the petition that compelled them to seek audience with the Lord and Emperor, Elect of Christ, God’s Vice-Regent on Earth. That petition remains to be heard.”

  “If that is so,” replied Leo curtly, “it must be placed before us through the organs of state which exist for such purposes. We will, of course, consider it in due course.”

  The emperor’s manner baffled and provoked me; it seemed extraordinary, especially in light of his willingness to dispose of the other claims so efficiently. Harald’s settlement would cost the imperial treasury dearly, but the monks were not asking for so much as a single denarius. Why, then did he resist so?