Harald joined me and demanded to know what I had learned. Upon receiving my reply, the king said, "Ask him why this has happened."
Turning once again to the boatman, I asked, and was appalled at the answer I received. The sun in the sky seemed to dim, and I felt the same awful impotent frustration I had felt the day Bishop Cadoc was murdered.
"What does he say?" asked Harald impatiently. Brynach and Faysal needed no translation, and both at once besieged the boatman with questions. Faysal then hastened to rouse the amir with the tidings.
Gripping the rail between my hands, I turned to King Harald who was awaiting my reply. "He says-" I replied, my voice hollow in my ears, "-the emperor is dead."
Unable to credit the words, I said them again, "The emperor is dead. They have closed the harbours and gates to all foreigners." Looking past Harald along the line of those crowding the rail, I said, "I must tell the amir."
"The amir has heard," said a tired voice behind me. "We have come too late."
Sadiq stepped to the rail, Faysal beside him; the amir nodded to Faysal, who called down to the boatman. The two talked for a moment, whereupon Faysal turned and said, "He says the Golden Gate remains open."
Upon further questioning, and payment of a silver coin, the boatman went on to explain that in times of great import-such as an imperial birth, wedding, or death-the various entrances to the city were closed to allow the soldiery to assume other duties. The Golden Gate, however, was never shut, save in time of war; but owing to the crush of people, gaining entry into the city would be very difficult.
This I relayed to Harald, whereupon the jarl called the men to oars, and soon we were sliding slowly along the city's great southern wall towards the district known as Psamathia. Although we found no proper harbour there, the water proved deep enough for secure anchorage-indeed many ships were already berthed there, prow to shore, while waiting to take on goods or provisions, or to make repairs before undertaking voyages.
Thorkel quickly found a place to drop anchor, and commanded the ships to be lashed together. We then formed a landing party.
Harald reckoned he should be the first to go ashore; he had it in mind to proceed directly to the palace and settle accounts with whoever the new emperor might be.
"You are a striking figure, Jarl Harald. What if someone were to recognize you?" I argued. "We cannot risk warning Nikos unnecessarily. If he escapes us now, all we have endured will be for nothing. We cannot allow that to happen."
Jarl Harald did not like it, but in the end was persuaded to wait, at least until we could see how matters stood at court. It was agreed that Brynach and myself should go, along with Dugal to act as bodyguard. We hailed a small boat and Harald gave us each a handful of silver coins; he also gave Dugal a sword. The incident put me in mind of the day the monks of Kells first set off, when Lord Aengus offered him a blade, which Bishop Cadoc refused. This time, however, Dugal took it.
As Faysal arranged with the boatman to take us to shore, the amir called me to him. "You must be very careful, Aidan," he advised, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Our enemies are men without souls." Then, raising his dark eyes to mine, he warned: "Do not become one of them." He stood for a time gazing at me, then left, saying, "Bring me word when you return."
"Of course, Lord Sadiq," I replied, and watched him stoop like an old man as he entered his tented chamber.
A moment later, Faysal called that the boat was waiting. Brynach and Dugal were already boarded. Before sliding over the rail to join them, I glanced at the tented platform and saw Kazimain watching, her veil to one side. She was frowning because of the sun in her eyes, but it seemed in that moment an expression of utter disapproval and sorrow. Then she saw me, and the glower vanished in her smile. Still, I wondered whether her true feelings were not more truly declared in the frown.
The Greek sailors began clamouring for their pay and release. Leaving Faysal and Harald to deal with them, I lowered myself into the waiting boat. As the boatman worked the oar, I instructed Brynach and Dugal, speaking in our common tongue so as not to be overheard, "I think it best if we pretend to be traders. Should anyone ask, we will tell them we have come to buy spices and oil."
"To look at us," put in Dugal, fanning his billowy mantle, "you would not think us monks."
"A small deception," Brynach observed. "But if you think it necessary, I have no objection."
"I would feel better for it," I told him. "Since we are traders, and have been travelling for many days, our ignorance of affairs in Constantinople will not appear suspicious."
Brynach eyed me dubiously. "Do you believe him so powerful, this Nikos, that we must practise such deceits?"
"Ships sail at his command, and high officials die in their beds," I spat, anger flaring instantly. "You yourself have suffered at his hands, and watched your brothers succumb to his intrigues one after another. How is it you have seen all this and still do not believe?"
"Oh, I believe," replied Brynach slowly, "make no mistake. I believe him to be no more than a man-a wicked, hateful man, perhaps, but human nonetheless. But you, Aidan-you make him out a demon with powers over the very air and light."
"Until I see him dead and in his grave," I replied coldly, "I will believe him the Devil incarnate, and treat with him accordingly."
"It is our Lord Christ who upholds and protects us," Brynach said firmly. "We have nothing to fear."
"Sure, he has shown himself a sorry protector," I snapped. "Look around you, Brother Brynach, we have been beset with death and disaster at every turn, and our great good God has done nothing!"
"We are still alive," Dugal pointed out. His mild, unwitting faith irritated me.
"Yes, and how many others are not alive!" My anger drew the boatman's attention; he raised his eyebrows. Lowering my voice, I forced myself to remain calm. "I wonder whether our dead brothers, or the two hundred and more who fell in the ambush, would share your smug appraisal."
"I had no idea you felt so ill-used," Brynach replied, adopting a calm, unperturbed tone.
"Say nothing of my feelings," I said coldly. "But tell me, if you can, how many more people must die before you understand how little God cares?"
Dugal, taken aback by the force of my outburst, stared at me as if at a stranger.
Unable to make them see the stark futility of their faith, I shut my mouth and turned my face away until the boat bumped against the low stone quay, and we disembarked. I paid the boatman, and started at once for the gate, which we could see rising above the squatting hovels that spread like an unwholesome crust over the muck and mire of the marsh-lands along the wide stinking ditch beneath Constantinople's western wall. These were the homes, so to speak, of the day-labourers who unloaded the ships and carried the goods to and from the markets. This day the harbours were closed, and the workers idle; they watched us as we passed.
Picking our way through refuse heaps and reeking mud, we came to the Egnatian Way, the road which passed through the Golden Gate, eventually becoming The Mese and leading directly to the forum and the palace. Upon reaching the road, we saw that the wide, stone-paved expanse had become a river of humanity-and a turgid river at that, moving with almost imperceptible slowness, albeit with ear-numbing clamour towards the pale yellow gate far, far ahead.
There seemed no other choice but to join the throng jostling its slow way towards the city. This we did, pushing our way in behind a group of men carrying large stuffed bags made of heavy sackcloth. We shuffled slowly along together for a time, the five throwing off their weighty burdens every now and then to give themselves a rest before moving on again. It was during one such lull in the march that I spoke to them, offering to help shoulder the weight of their sacks.