The setting sun shone red as it disappeared below the horizon; away to the east, a new-risen slice of moon gleamed dully and two stars had begun to glow. It would be a warm, clear night, with enough light to make our way without torches.
"It is a good night for an escape," I said, touching the handle of the knife tucked into my belt. "Come, the governor is waiting."
A few moments later, Faysal and I and the three remaining rafiq were riding towards Sebastea, leaving the Sea Wolves behind to guard the camp. Jarl Harald had all but begged to be allowed to undertake the raid, but I considered the Danes were not yet fit enough to fight. Also, their appearance would have roused undue suspicion in the city. "It is but a small errand," I told him, "and we need someone to guard the camp, after all. Nurse your strength for the battle to come."
Thus, we proceeded to the city gates, leading a pack horse burdened with bundles of straw wrapped in sacking. Appearing as merchants arriving late to the city, we passed easily through the gate without so much as a glance from the guards squatting around their little cooking fire in the shadow of the gateman's hut.
"Getting into the city is easy," I had told Faysal on my return from the city. "But getting out again-that will be difficult."
"Leave it to me," he replied. Faysal had made most of the preparations for our night raid-and with such efficiency, I wondered at his skill. And then I remembered how he had rescued me, and reflected that where such furtive activities were concerned, Faysal did not lack practice.
Once past the gates, we made our way quickly to an inn near the marketplace that Kazimain and I had identified on our visit that morning. There we joined the warriors who had entered Sebastea earlier; four of them were sitting outside the inn, and the other three were standing in the street a little distance away. At our approach one of the rafiq raised his eyes and gave an imperceptible nod. Faysal dismounted and summoned the man, and the two spoke together quietly for a moment.
"Sayid has found a small gate on the northern wall," Faysal said when he returned. "He believes it will serve our purpose."
"Good," I said, looking towards the inn. "We might as well have something to eat-it will help the time go more quickly."
We lingered over our meal, sitting unobtrusively in a corner of the main room, until the innkeeper closed his shutters for the night. Then, leaving a silver coin on the table, Faysal and I quit the inn and proceeded quickly and quietly to the forum. Several prostitutes hailed us as we passed, offering their services from the shadows of the pillars. I had not anticipated this, and worried that their loud solicitations brought attention to us. Even so, Sebastea's citizens were used to the noise they made, for the few people still about in the streets paid us no heed.
Creeping along the dark and narrow streets, we came to the governor's house. I did not see the warriors, but Faysal assured me they were hidden nearby, watching for the signal. "We can stand over there," I said, pointing to a niche in the wall formed by a disused doorway. We had planned merely to watch the house for a while, to make certain everyone was asleep inside. The house, as I have said, fronted directly onto the street and, as we passed by, I saw that the door was open.
"This is better than I could have hoped," I told Faysal, already revising the plan in my head. "I will go alone."
"Wait!" he warned. "This is not right." He turned around and made a gesture with his arms. In a moment, we were joined by three warriors, blades in hand. "Now we will go in," Faysal said. "The others will keep watch outside."
We slipped silently into the shadowed doorway. I put my hand to the door and pushed-it swung open easily and I stepped into the vestibule. Someone had thoughtfully left a lamp burning on a stand beside the door, but there was no one in the room. We stood for a moment, listening, but heard not a sound. I glanced at Faysal, who shrugged, unable to think why the door should be unsecured.
Taking up the lamp, I led the search of the house, which, in the Byzantine manner, comprised two floors, one atop the other joined by stairs. I did not know which of the many rooms might be the governor's, but decided to look for Honorius on the upper floor first, reasoning that if I were holding a man a captive in his own residence, I would keep him as far away from the front door as possible.
From my previous visit, I knew the stairs were not to be found beyond the large door that opened onto the vestibule, so I turned and went through a smaller archway which led onto a short corridor. Once in the corridor, I saw two more arches: the left opened onto a small courtyard, and the right gave onto stairs.
Motioning to Faysal, I indicated that I would go up first. Keeping my lamp low, I climbed the steps quickly, and paused at the top to listen. The house was silent; it might have been a tomb. Satisfied that we had not yet alerted the guards to our presence, I gestured to the rest to follow.
The room at the top of the steps was a smaller copy of the vestibule below, but with a door leading to interior rooms. As below, so above: the door was open. I stepped to the door, put my hand to the polished wood, and was about to push it when Faysal put his hand to my arm. "Allow me," he breathed, drawing his long knife from his belt.
Without the slightest sound, he slipped into the room. I heard a muffled grunt of surprise, and then the door swung wide. Faysal motioned me inside. "Now we know why there are no guards," he said, taking the lamp from my hands.
In the fitful light I saw Honorius lying on a bed soaked in blood. Eyes wide and bulging, his mouth open in a final, silent scream, his throat had been sliced open from ear to ear. The room stank of urine and faeces, and the sickly-sweet odour of blood. Everything was deathly silent, save for the droning buzz of flies gathering in the darkness.
Sitting next to the body was an old woman. She looked impassively at Faysal and me, then turned her eyes once more to the governor.
"He is dead," she said softly, and I recognized her then as the washerwoman I had met earlier in the day. "I brought his clothes."
"Woman, how long have you been here?" I asked, squatting down beside her.
"They killed him," she said, and put a plump red hand to her face. I heard an odd, strangled sound; she was sobbing.
Leaving her for the moment, I put a hand to the corpse's cheek; the skin was cold to the touch. Even in the dim and flickering lamplight, I could tell the blood had begun to congeal. His murderers had left nothing to chance: hands bound behind him, his throat had been cut to keep his screams from being heard, and he had been stabbed several times in the chest for good measure.
"He has been dead some time," Faysal observed.
"I told him we would come for him," I said, remembering our brief meeting. "He said no one could save him-that it was too late."
Faysal touched my arm and indicated the old woman. I looked and saw that she was clutching a small white packet to her bosom with her free hand. Bending to her once more, I said, "Mother, what have you there?"
Reaching out, I put my hand to the packet. The old woman raised her face, fearful now. "I am an honest woman!" she cried, growing suddenly agitated. "Three years I have worked in this house! Three years! I have never stolen so much as a thread!"
"I believe you," I said. "What do you hold there?"
"I am no thief," she insisted, clutching the packet more tightly. "Ask anyone-ask the governor! He will tell you I am an honest woman."
"Please?" I asked, tugging the packet gently from her.
"I found it," she told me. "It was there," she said, pointing at a pile of clothing folded neatly on the floor. "He left it there for me to find. I swear it! I took nothing! I am no thief."