Byzantium

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  Within moments of Harald’s climbing aboard, the Sea Wolves took up the oars and pushed away from the wharf. As the ship glided out into the channel, I saw Gunnar standing at the dragonhead prow, waving to me. I waved back, and then came the command in Harald’s loud voice to man the oars, and Gunnar disappeared.

  I felt a presence, and noticed that Dugal, who had kept himself apart, had rejoined me. “That is that,” he said, and I sensed some relief in his tone.

  “Yes,” I said. “That is that.”

  I watched until the longships had passed from sight down the Golden Horn, then led Dugal to where the Venetian ship lay at anchor, explaining how Harald had arranged for our journey home.

  “The Sea Wolf did that for us?” wondered Dugal, much impressed.

  The ship’s master met us as we approached. He bade us board and satisfy ourselves that his was, indeed, in every way, a splendid vessel. “We have been many days awaiting the last of our trade goods—silk cloth and pepper, and bowls of glass and silver,” he said. “We should have left six days ago, but the emperor’s funeral caused a small delay. God willing, the ship will be loaded by this evening and we shall be ready to sail this time tomorrow.”

  “So soon?” I said, and then thought, Why not? There is nothing to hold us here any longer.

  Pietro hesitated. “The season grows late, and we should not look upon the good weather as a gift that will last forever. However, we could wait a day or two longer, if you prefer.”

  I thanked him for the offer. “That will not be necessary,” I replied, and wondered just how much Harald had paid him. “We will be ready tomorrow.”

  “Very well,” Pietro said, inclining his head as if acquiescing to my wishes. “I will send a man to collect your things in the morning.”

  Returning to the villa, I informed Brynach and Ddewi of the arrangements Harald had made for us, and our imminent departure. “So soon?” Bryn wondered aloud.

  “Pietro said he would wait until we were ready,” I explained. “But I could see nothing to hold us here. I know it is not much time,” I allowed; “if I had thought you wanted to stay on—”

  “No,” Brynach said quickly, “no—you are right. There is nothing more for us here.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “And is it still your plan to return with us? I thought—”

  “Where else would I go?” I said, then added quickly, “So, then, you have one last day in Byzantium. There must be something you wish to do in the city before we leave.”

  “I was always hoping to pray in the Church of the Holy Wisdom,” Brynach replied; Ddewi and Dugal nodded their agreement. “I would like that. The brothers at Christ Pantocrator were going to take us, but then…well, it makes no matter.”

  “Go,” I urged. “All three of you—go now. There are guides aplenty eager to show you the wonders of Constantinople for the price of a loaf.” I gave him one of Harald’s gold solidii. They protested such extravagance, but I had nothing smaller to give them and suggested it was little enough payment for their pains and bade them to enjoy the day.

  They held quick council between them and decided to do it without delay. “Will you not come with us, Aidan?” inquired Dugal, regarding me with concern.

  “There is nothing more I care to see or do in this city,” I answered. “Besides, I would only steal your joy. Go and say your prayers, Dugal, and never fear—I will be here when you return.”

  No sooner had they left, than Faysal appeared to say that Lord Sadiq desired to speak with me. I had been expecting a summons of some kind, and now that it had come, I found I was unready to face him. Guilt about how Kazimain and I had parted was, I suppose, making me dread a confrontation.

  As I expected, he was not happy. After a simple, if somewhat austere greeting, he bade me sit down, and said, “Kazimain has told me that you two are not to be married. While I doubt neither her word nor her honour, I would hear it from your lips also.”

  “It is true,” I replied. “I have broken my vow, and we have parted.”

  Sharp disapproval pursed the amir’s lips into a frown. “That is not how Kazimain put it,” he informed me, “but as this is a matter between a man and a woman, I will not interfere if your mind is made up. As to that, I offered to persuade you to change your mind, but Kazimain does not wish it.” He paused, trying to read my thought from the expression on my face.

  When he spoke again, he said, “There is a place for you in my court. I have need of a man of your considerable abilities. Stay with me, Aidan, and I will see that you rise to your rightful estate.” He paused. “You need not marry my kinswoman to gain my favour, you have earned my highest esteem many times over with your exemplary deeds and character.”

  “I fear you flatter me too highly, Lord Sadiq,” I said. “And your offer is tempting, but I cannot accept it.”

  The amir nodded silently, accepting my decision gracefully. “What will you do?”

  “Return to Éire,” I answered. I would complete the pilgrimage, see it through. That, at least, I could do.

  “Forgive me for saying so, but though you return to your home a thousand times, you will not be happy there anymore,” the amir warned. “You have seen too much of the world and its ways to hide away in your monastery.”

  “You may be right,” I conceded. “Still, it is my home.”

  Sadiq gazed at me, and seemed to soften. “I wish you well, my friend.” He rose, signalling an end to our talk. “Still, if you should ever come again to Samarra, you will find me ready to receive you and resume our friendship.”

  “I am grateful, Lord Sadiq. But my heart is hungry, and will not be satisfied until I have seen Éire again.”

  “Go in peace, Aidan,” said the amir, raising his hands in blessing. “May Allah, Wise and Merciful, make straight your path and protect you from Satan’s wiles, and may the Lord of Hosts grant you peace in his celestial palaces forever.” Placing his fingertips to his forehead, he then touched his heart, saying, “Sala’am, Aidan, and farewell.”

  We ate together for the last time that night; the amir insisted on providing a feast to send us on our way. The rafiq and the monks attended and the talk was light and pleasant—Faysal and I were kept busy translating for everyone. All through the meal, I looked for Kazimain to join us, but the evening ended and she did not appear.

  Nor did I see her the next morning when Pietro’s man collected our few bundled belongings and we left the villa for the waiting ship. Though we had made our farewells the night before, Faysal insisted on accompanying us to the wharf. He said it was to make certain that we did not get lost and fall into misfortune. Just before I climbed aboard, I offered Faysal the Qadi as a parting gift, but he refused, saying that if I ever returned to Byzantium again, I would certainly need a good knife. Crossing his hands over his chest, he bowed, and bespoke the peace of Allah for our voyage. He then stood on the quayside watching us until we passed from sight.

  That was the last I saw of any of them.

  76

  I will say nothing of our homeward voyage—save that it was at every point the opposite of our outgoing journey. The ship was both stout and swift, the weather warm and mild, the company of Pietro and his crew, cordial—even the food, which the Venetians prepared with skill and exuberance, was more than agreeable. Thus, we enjoyed comforts I had not imagined to exist among seafaring folk.

  Though we urged the sturdy little ship’s master to put first into their home port for the sake of his cargo, he would not have it any other way but that he delivered us safely to our destination as agreed. The more we tried to persuade him, the more adamant he grew. “You,” he declared, “are my foremost concern. I will not rest until you are once again among your brother priests.”

  Again, I wondered how much Harald had paid to secure this kind of treatment—and what accompanying threats he might have added as further inducement—but, as there was nothing to be done, we simply sat back and allowed the days to drift pleasantly by…until one morning, Pietro came to
us and said, “If you would like to see your homeland once again, follow me.”

  We made our way to the prow where he pointed to a low-rising blue eminence floating on the horizon. “There is lerne,” he said. “You must tell me now where you wish to make landfall.”

  We held council, and decided that Brynach had the best reckoning of the Irish coast, so he should guide the ship to our destination. This he did, and by nightfall we had reached the bay at the mouth of the Boann River.

  Rather than tempt the rocky shoreline at dusk, Pietro dropped anchor in the bay and waited until morning. We passed an excruciating night—within shouting distance of our cherished homeland, but unable to cross over until morning.

  When dawnlight finally came, we proceeded slowly upriver to Inbhir Pátraic and made landfall at the wooden wharf. “See now!” cried Dugal as his feet touched the planking. “We have crossed three seas without so much as getting our feet wet!”

  Indeed, in light of our previous voyage, it was a remarkable achievement. We all agreed that our Venetian shipmates were fine sailors, and praised them extravagantly, much to their delight. Pietro liked the look of the settlement, and decided to stay a day or two to trade. He asked if we would translate for him; “I will pay you handsomely,” he said. “You have been good company aboard my ship. I would like to do this for you.”

  Bryn thanked him and said that, tempting though his offer might be, we had been away a long time and were anxious to return to the abbey which still lay two days’ walk inland. “Yet, where trade is the subject,” he added, “I think you will find that, with the people hereabouts, silver speaks for itself.”

  We bade farewell to Pietro and all his men in turn, and then climbed up the twisting, narrow path to the clifftop where we were greeted by a small crowd of folk who had seen the ship and gathered in anticipation of news and trade.

  The head man pushed his way forward to welcome us. An expression of honest astonishment appeared on his face when he realized who it was that stood before him. “Hoo!” he cried. “Look at you now! Look at you! Returned from foreign lands as hale as the day you left!” Glancing around quickly, he searched among us and then scanned the cliff trail and wharf below. “Michael bless me, where are the others? Where are all the rest? Are they coming after?”

  “Greetings, Ladra,” Brynach answered. “Yes, we have returned—we four alone. Alas, no more will be coming after.”

  This caused a ripple of comment through the crowd. Ladra looked from one to the other of us, and said, “Well, well, however it may be, welcome home. You have much to tell, and we would hear it gladly.”

  “That, I fear, must wait a little,” Brynach replied. “Our first duty is to make our return known to our brothers at the abbey. The day is good and we are well rested; I think we must make for Kells straightaway.”

  Ladra’s face fell, and the people groaned. Pointing to the wharf below, I said, “There stands a man with ready silver. Would you keep him standing on the wharf until he grows weary and sails away to find more willing traders elsewhere?”

  This caused a mild tumult as the people hastened down to meet Pietro and make him properly welcome. The resulting commotion allowed us to slip through the crowd and proceed on our way unhindered by hospitality, however well-meaning. Shouldering our various bundles, we started off.

  Oh, it was fine to feel the soft turf beneath my feet and smell the cool, damp mistful air. Blissful green of every shade met the gaze at every turn, a soothing balm for eyes grown accustomed to the dry, colourless rock-bound wastes of the east. All that day I walked in a wonder of recollection: each hill and every tree seemed a miracle created anew to refresh the soul and delight the senses.

  To be in Éire again, and know the place as for the first time—there is no finer thing.

  We walked until midday and rested by the river, then walked again until nightfall took the path from us. Though we had no food with us, we did not count it a hardship, for to sleep once more under the summer stars and breath the still, soft fragrant air of that peaceful land was sustenance enough.

  Rising before dawn, we proceeded on our way eagerly, and with such vigour and pace that by eventide we came in sight of Cenannus na Ríg. We paused at the last hillside to look across the valley at the stone-encircled settlement, too overcome with the upsurge of mingled feelings to speak: the happiness of safe return entwining sorrow for our dear brothers who did not now stand beside us.

  Then, even as we stood looking on, there came the clear, clean sound of the abbey bell tolling vespers. At the third stroke, Dugal was striding down the hill, and by the fifth he was running. Down we flew, racing as fast as we could go; I ran behind Dugal, and Brynach and Ddewi followed hard behind. We reached the abbey gate out of breath and weary, but thankful to be so.

  “Home!” Dugal cried, his face glowing with the exertion and jubilation. “Aidan, man, we are home!”

  His cry brought the porter from his hut. He took one look at us and dashed for his bell and began ringing it to announce our arrival. “God bless you, brothers! Welcome!” he shouted, trying to make himself heard above the bell.

  “Paulinus!” hollered Dugal jovially. “Leave off your bell ringing, we cannot hear a thing!”

  Brother Paulinus came and stood before us, eager in the twilight, bursting with questions and welcome. From the chapel monks were already streaming towards us, and in less than the space of three heartbeats we were surrounded on all sides by our good brothers, all shouting glad welcome and slapping our backs and praising God and all the company of heaven for our safe return.

  Then, even then—in the midst of all the merriment—I felt once more the vile serpent rear its head in my soul. Alas, it had not died with Nikos, it had only slept. To see all those dear brothers, their faces so joyful, and to hear them praise for our keeping the same God who had given so many others over to death made my spirit writhe within me. Even as I stood with the cries of happiness resounding in my ears, I could feel the poison seeping from my wounded soul.

  The pain was almost past enduring. It was all I could do to remain among them, smiling, laughing, accepting their good wishes—when all I wanted was escape. I saw Dugal go down on his knees to beg forgiveness of Libir for pushing him down on the rocks—I turned away as the bitter bile rose in my throat.

  Then Abbot Fraoch was standing before us, his arms outspread in welcome, acclaiming our arrival. Behind him, grinning with pleasure at the sight of us, stood Ruadh, the abbey secnab and my own dear confessor. “Behold!” Fraoch said, his broken voice raised in a happy rasp of salutation. “The wayfarers have returned! The pilgrimage is completed. Let the Lord Christ be praised for his faithful and steadfast protection!”

  There followed a burst of renewed acclaim, which the good abbot allowed to continue a while, before raising his hands for silence. “Brothers, it is right to welcome our kinsmen with praise and thanksgiving,” he said. “However, I see that only four have returned where thirteen set out, and it would be a shameful thing not to ask after those whose absence demands explanation.”

  Brynach stepped forward and related the unhappy tidings that we were indeed the only survivors of the pilgrimage and that all the rest were dead, having exchanged the white martyrdom for that of the red. This brought murmurs of sorrow and lament from the throng—especially for the deceased monks who had set out from our own community.

  Bryn then motioned for Dugal to come forward. The big monk shouldered his way to the fore and took the carefully wrapped bundle from off his back and placed it on the ground at Abbot Fraoch’s feet.

  “Aidan here,” Dugal said with a nod in my direction, “was not content to allow our blessed Bishop Cadoc’s mortal bones to remain among the godless in pagan lands. We have brought the bishop’s relics home to be buried with all honour and respect.”

  The abbot regarded the bundled bones sorrowfully. “Ah, well,” he said. “Ah, mo croi, it is a grief to me, and to us all. Christ have mercy.” Raising his eyes once more,
he said, “Thank you, Brother Dugal. Thank you, Brother Aidan. It was good of you to be so mindful of the sympathies of others. We are, all of us, beholden to your tender thoughtfulness.”

  Ha! I thought, anger flaring up within me. Shall I tell you how he died? Shall I tell you how this godly man’s life was cruelly torn from him and his body thrown into the refuse pit with no more tender thought than yesterday’s joint of mutton? Shall I tell you that the only reason his bones were retrieved at all was so that a band of godless barbarians could salvage their pilfered treasure? Shall I tell you the truth of God’s steadfast protection?

  I said none of these things, of course, but merely acknowledged the abbot’s sentiments with a reverent nod.

  Abbot Fraoch then said, “Vespers have been rung, and the prayers begun. Let us go to the chapel and give thanks to God for the pilgrims’ safe return.”

  Everyone began talking at once, pelting us with questions and clamouring to be heard; we were swept up by the well-wishing throng and carried to the doors of the chapel. There I was to endure a time of prayer more onerous to me than a hundred days of slavery in the caliph’s mines. At least when it was finally over the abbot allowed us to retreat to the cells which had been prepared for us.

  He forbade anyone to ask any more questions of us that night, and dismissed us to our sleep. “I can see you are tired from your long journey,” he said. “Go now to your rest, and we will await your tales in the morning.”

  Thus, I was spared having to talk any more about the tribulations we had survived. I left the church in despair, and made my way to the cells; Dugal walked beside me, pleased to be back among his friends and familiar surroundings once more. “Ah, mo croi,” he sighed with contentment. “It is good. Do you not think so, Dána?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “I tell you the truth,” he declared, “there were times I did not think we would ever see this place again.”