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"That you did, brother."

Brynach, frowning under the oppressive weight this distressing knowledge produced in him, lifted woeful eyes to me. "So we are hastening to Byzantium to warn the emperor," he concluded.

"To warn the emperor, yes," I agreed, and added, "but also to bring Nikos to justice. I mean to confront him with his crimes and see him die the death he so richly deserves."

"What if you cannot reach the emperor?" Dugal wondered. "We were many days waiting to see him, and sure, we never did."

"We have the amir with us," I reminded him. "The emperor will be more than eager to meet with the man who can deliver peace with the Arabs. If we can but keep Lord Sadiq alive, the basileus will see us, never fear; and what is more, once he sees the governor's letter he will believe us." I saw no reason to mention my own pledge to bring word to the basileus, who would be more than eager to hear what I had to tell him.

Later, we left the shaded grove and moved out once more, some riding, most walking, silent as the shadows stretching along the road: a curious karwan, made up of horses and camels, lithe Sarazens and lumbering Sea Wolves, Christians and Muhammedans, veiled Kazimain and bearded Irish monks, the stricken amir in his swaying sling, and Faysal and myself walking side by side, leading the ungainly company. We had not been joined together by choice: our unlikely allegiance had been formed by circumstance and fate-kismet, the Arabs called it-but was no less strong for that.

Though the sun was still hot, the air was beginning to lose its heat. By the time the far hills turned purple in the dusky light, night's chill had begun seeping into the land. We journeyed through starlit night, silently, wrapped in our cloaks for warmth-only to cast them off again when the sun spread the eastern sky with its blood-red glow. When the heat-blast became unbearable, we sheltered in whatever shade we could find, thus completing the circle.

Each day was a duplicate of the one before-save that the land began to change as the hills became rough and craggy, the valleys deeper and more narrow. Though I saw Kazimain daily, we spoke infrequently, and then only about the amir's precarious condition; it occupied her every thought. She wore her worry well, bearing up with admirable fortitude; even so, the journey exacted its price. With each passing day, the distance between us grew the more. Concerns of my own prevented me from crossing the divide; I confess I did but stand aside and watch that gap increase.

Then we reached the place I dreaded most-where the road passed beneath high cliffs and the emperor's envoy had been ambushed.

Little remained of that iniquitous outrage and the bloody butchery that followed; I suppose anything of value had long since been scavenged by other travellers on this road. Even so, a few signs persisted: the ragged heaps of rock along the cliffside where scores lay buried, killed in their unsuspecting sleep; haphazard scatterings of sun-bleached bones picked clean by bird and beast; a few broken spears, and a battered shield or two. That was all. Little enough, as I say, to mark the magnitude of the tragedy.

Though the days remained bright, a thick soul-hugging gloom settled over me. While all around me moved in sun-dazzling brilliance, I walked in winter bleak and grey. Over the next days, I thought about the ambush, all that had gone before, and all that had come after. I dreamed of reprisal and justice; more, I dreamed of satisfaction: eye for eye, flesh for flesh, life for life.

Into this desert melancholy, the dead bishop's words came back to me: All flesh is grass, Brother Aidan. But so immersed was I in my dreams of vengeance, that I could discern no meaning to the riddle. Eating little, sleeping less, I thought of nothing and no one save myself and the fearful retribution I held within my grasp.

All else dwindled to insignificance against the all-consuming hunger for revenge. When at last the walls of Trebizond appeared on the plain below us-and beyond the city the clean blue sweep of the sea, glittering in the early-morning light-that craving was honed keen and sharp as a blade in the gut.

What is more, I felt well-armed and ready to strike. True, returning to Constantinople might mean my own death-it was a possibility I had not forgotten-but I no longer cared. Despite my vision and previous apprehension, I wanted nothing more than to see Nikos on his knees begging for his worthless life before the disembowelling spear. Beside that, my own demise was of no account. If I perished, so be it. I meant to collect the blood debt for those who had been so brutally slaughtered.

67

Since our presence in Trebizond was impossible to hide, I attempted to make our appearance both brief and unassuming. We would linger in the city only so long as it took to provision the ships. Once aboard, we would sail immediately-thereby thwarting any interference from the duplicitous magister and his unseen minions. Accordingly, I held counsel with Jarl Harald to discuss how this might be accomplished.

"Before anyone knows to stop us, we will be gone," Harald said confidently; he had regained his former bluff manner, if not his entire strength. The Danes are a sturdy race; hardship seems only to make them stronger. Harald and his men had recovered from the privations of slavery wonderfully well; they were almost completely restored and eager as I was to return to Constantinople. "I will go to the harbour and make the necessary preparations. When I send word, you come and we will sail at once."

"What if the ships are not there anymore?" I asked. Never once did Harald display the slightest doubt, but insisted his ships would still be waiting for his return and that the crews would be ready. While I wondered at his simple faith, he laughed at my unbelief.

"You will see," Harald said, and chose men to go with him. They were soon lost in the early-morning bustle and crush of people making their way into the city. Meanwhile, I explained our plans to Faysal. "What if his ships are not there any longer?" Faysal wondered, scanning the crowded road uneasily.

"Harald says his men would starve to death before they would abandon their king."

"They are so loyal, these Wolves of the Sea?"

We settled ourselves outside the city gates to wait, hoping Harald's trust in his men was not woefully misplaced. The king had been absent a long time, after all. But before the sun had passed midday, one of the Danes returned. "The ships are soon sea-ready. Jarl Harald says come to the harbour now."

Trebizond appeared exactly as we had left it; nothing had changed-which surprised me somewhat, for I felt a lifetime had passed since I had last threaded my way through the narrow streets to the harbour. This time, however, I was painfully aware of the attention we were attracting, and feared that the city's soldiers would appear at any moment to challenge us; but we passed unhindered, and proceeded directly to the wharf where the four longships lay at anchor.

Once there, we were greeted warmly by the Danes, forty-four in all, who had stayed behind. Gunnar stood on the quayside with happy tears streaming down his face, while his friends pounded him joyfully on the back. Sure, I too was overcome by the sight of Tolar and Thorkel and the rest, looking much the same as the day we had left them on the wharf. While the world had turned through its three seasons they had stood at their duty and guarded the dragon-headed ships against the expectation of their king's imminent return: an exemplary feat of pure childlike faith.

The Sea Wolves' jubilation at the appearance of their king and comrades was nothing beside their amazement at the wealth the Jarl brought with him. Their rejoicing, however, was soon swallowed in the feverish rush to board everyone and set off. We were, of course, forced to abandon the horses and camels; Faysal chose three men to stay behind and look after the animals, charging them to establish camp outside the walls and await the amir's return.

"They are so loyal, these rafiq?" I asked, turning his question back on him.