Oh, Brynach was right, it was a matter of faith-not as he imagined it, however. It was not God, or even Ddewi, who vied for my faith. The question was this: could I trust my vision? I had trusted once, and it had proven false. If it proved so again, the amir would pay with his life.
Samarra was a long way behind us now, and Baghdat further still. Even if we rode night and day, we could not reach either place before many days had passed and, looking at him now, I doubted whether the amir could endure the journey. Well, the choice was clear at least, if not easily made.
I felt a touch at my arm. "Aidan?" Faysal asked. "What are you thinking?"
"Faysal, listen. There may be another choice. What about Sebastea?"
He considered this for a moment. "It may be closer," he allowed. "It is a sizeable city."
"I think we should go there."
Faysal hesitated; I was on the point of urging again when Kazimain spoke up. "We must do what is most expedient," she said. "We do not know how long he can endure."
"Very well," replied Faysal. "I yield to your judgement."
Turning to Brynach, who was bending over Ddewi, whispering in his ear, I said: "Bring Ddewi to the tent. I will allow him to tend Lord Sadiq until we get to Sebastea. However, Kazimain will remain with him to see that he does no harm."
Dugal and Brynach, each taking an arm, raised the unwitting monk between them, and led him towards the tent, Brynach speaking low to his young charge the while. It was not a sight to inspire the highest confidence. I watched them walk away, misgiving deep and dire rising within me. May God help us all, I thought, but it was a cold-hearted wish with neither hope nor faith in it at all.
After escorting Ddewi to the amir's side, Dugal returned to where I stood talking to Faysal about how best to proceed. "Never fear, Aidan," Dugal told me, "all things work together for the good of those who love God."
Faysal, regarding the big monk curiously, asked, "Please, what is he saying?"
"He said not to worry, that God ever toils for good," I translated roughly, if enthusiastically.
"We have a similar saying," Faysal replied. "The Faithful say, 'All is as Allah wills.' It is the same thing, I think."
Faysal began to organize the arrangements which would enable Sadiq to travel, doing for the amir what he once did for me. "We may leave for Sebastea shortly; I will let you know when we are ready, he told me."
While Faysal undertook the required preparations, I went to Jarl Harald and explained to the Danes why we yet lingered in camp. Gunnar, Hnefi, and some of the others crowded around to hear the news. I told them Lord Sadiq had fallen ill in the night, and that we were going to Sebastea to find a physician. Harald accepted this with good grace, saying that he would personally carry the Arab jarl on his back if it meant he could recover the sooner. "We owe him a great debt of honour," he said, and meant just that.
Then, having set the Sea Wolves the chore of breaking camp, I returned to Sadiq's tent. Brynach and Ddewi knelt beside the amir; Kazimain, who stood over them, turned to meet me as I entered. "It is remarkable," she said. "Already Lord Sadiq rests more easily."
"What did he do?"
"He merely touched the amir with his hands while he prayed."
I did not doubt her, but attributed the observation more to her own desire to see her kinsman healed than anything Ddewi might have done.
"God willing, he will sleep now," Brynach informed us.
"He was sleeping before," I retorted. I cannot say why I took offence at the monk; I know he meant only good. But his assurance rankled me, and I bristled at his unquestioning confidence: it made of the amir's injury a trivial thing. And, of course, nothing is simple.
Brynach gazed at me curiously. Forcing a more reasonable tone, I said, "Make him ready. I have already given orders to break camp."
Leaving the tent, I hastened to where Kazimain's escort was waiting. "Our plans have changed," I told the head man. "You are no longer needed. Thank the shaykh and tell him that the amir wishes you to keep the money you have been paid. Lord Sadiq may have need of your services another day."
For good or ill, the decision was made. I turned my face towards Sebastea.
64
Owing to the heat, we took to travelling at night, setting out at dusk and continuing until mid-morning when the sun's blistering rays became too hot. Fortunately, the moon was in a quarter to aid us, so we did not lack for light; the well-worn trail shone with a pale phantom glow allowing us to push a relentless pace towards Sebastea. It was here that the camels-truly disagreeable beasts in every way-displayed their chief, perhaps only, virtue: they could move quickly and with little need for rest or water, and this while carrying loads that would crush a horse.
Thus, we journeyed swiftly, pressing ever northward through the cramped and crooked valleys, more often than not in sight of the Tigris's murky waters. One night we passed a tiny, fly-blown holding on the riverbank and Faysal, after conversing with a few of the holding's inhabitants, returned to inform us that it was the last Arab settlement we would see. Sebastea, he was told, lay three days' journey to the north and a little east, and Trebizond a further seven days north and west. Beyond Sebastea, however, there was a good road, and Faysal assured me the journey would be less arduous. Sometime during the night we crossed the much-disputed border into imperial lands.
We did what little we could to make the amir comfortable. Ddewi remained steadfastly at Lord Sadiq's side, eating and sleeping nearby, and walking with the horses and sling. Kazimain always rode with them, and assured me that the young monk, though quiet and withdrawn, was constantly alert to his duty, performing many small tasks which, taken together, seemed to produce a beneficial effect.
For his part, the amir was not often conscious, and even when he woke seemed unable to rouse himself so much as to lift his head from his bed. I feared the worst, and we pushed as swift and relentless a pace as could be achieved without further endangering him.
Thus it was with a feeling of great relief that after three nights I glimpsed the white walls of Sebastea shimmering in the dawnlight of a day already hazy with heat. We proceeded to the city and adopted the amir's practice of establishing camp a short distance outside the city walls. While the rafiq and Danes prepared the tents, Faysal and I hastened to procure the services of a physician.
Arabs were a common sight in the busy streets of Sebastea so no one made bold to hinder us as we made our way to the marketplace. There, I selected the most prosperous-looking money-changer-a gold and silver merchant with a red-and-blue striped canopy over his stall-and asked him who was the most skilled physician in the city.
"Theodore of Sykeon is the man you seek," replied the merchant without hesitation. Regarding Faysal and myself shrewdly, he added, "I must caution you however, his services will not be bought cheaply. This, I find, is the rule with all men who ply their arts at the pinnacle of perfection, and the excellent Theodore is no exception."
I thanked the merchant, and inquired where Theodore could be found, that we might secure his services without delay. But the merchant would not send us away like errand boys. "Only tell me where you are staying and I will have one of my servants bring him to you."
I thanked him for his thoughtfulness, but declined. "The need is urgent, and we are anxious that there should be no delay. I think it best to arrange matters ourselves."
"Make no mistake," the gold merchant replied graciously, "it is not compassion, but self-interest that prompts me. For if you are men who do not shrink from engaging the very best for your ailing friend, then I think such men may require other services while sojourning in Sebastea," he allowed himself an appreciative glance at the Qadi's jewelled handle protruding from my belt, "perhaps the services of a money-changer. Should this need arise, I hope you will deem it necessary to look no further than your humble servant, Hadjidakis."