King's Man (10 page)

From below me came shouts of alarm. The men who had boarded the dorkon began to scramble back aboard their own ship, while their captain raced towards the stern of his vessel. He was shouting at his crew and waving urgently. One of the Arabs picked up from the deck a missile which had failed to burst and threw it overboard. I saw it was some sort of round clay pot, the size of a man's head. The Saracens kept their discipline, even though they had been taken totally by surprise. Now, those who had been swimming ashore turned back towards their vessel. Others hacked through the ropes binding the galea to the captured dorkon and began to push clear. Most of the crew found their places on the benches again and set their oars in place, but they were hampered by the confines of the little cove. There was little room to row and not enough space to turn the galley. The Arab
captain yelled another command and the oarsmen changed their stroke. They were backing water, now attempting to reverse the galea out through the narrow gap.

Meanwhile the clay pots continued to rain down. From several came spouts of flame as they struck. Fire broke out on the galea's cotton sails, neatly furled on their spars. The rolled-up cloth served as enormous candle wicks, and
I
watched the flames run along the spars, then catch the tarred rigging and race up the masts. More fire pots struck. As they burst, they spilled a dark liquid which splashed across the wooden deck. Sometimes the liquid was already ablaze as it spread. At other times it oozed sideways until it touched a living flame and then burst into fire. Within moments the deck of the galea was ablaze with pools of fire expanding towards one another, joining and growing fiercer.

The Saracens began to panic. Rivulets of flaming liquid spilled down and ran below the galley benches. An oarsman leapt up, frantically beating at his gown, which had caught fire. His companions on the bench abandoned their task and tried to help put out the flames. They failed, and I saw the desperate oarsman fling himself overboard to douse himself.

Then
I
saw something else which I would not have believed was possible. The burning liquid from the fire pots dripped from the galea's scuppers and ran down the hull, then spread across the surface of the pool and
the
liquid
continued
to
blaz
e,
even on the water. Now I knew I was witnessing the same terrible weapon that had destroyed the Rus fleet when it attacked the Queen of Cities two generations earlier. This was the Fire.

As the Fire took hold, there was no stopping or extinguishing or diverting it. The blazing liquid spread across the galea's deck, sought out her hold, ran along the oar benches and surrounded the vessel in flickering tongues of flame. The expanding fire licked the sides of the abandoned dorkon, and soon that vessel too was alight. Smoke was pouring up from the two burning vessels. The column of smoke twisted and roiled. Its base expanded and shifted, enveloping the wretched Saracens. Some wrapped their turbans around their faces to protect themselves, and tried uselessly to beat back the flames. The majority jumped into the fiery water. I watched them try to duck beneath the floating skin of Fire. But when they surfaced for air they sucked the Fire down into their lungs and sank back down, not to rise again. A handful managed to swim towards the open sea, heading towards the gap between the reefs. They must have dived down and swum underwater to get beyond the reach of the floating Fire. But their escape was blocked. Now their attackers showed themselves.

Along the arms of the two reefs scrambled armed warriors. Big and heavily bearded, wearing cross-gartered leggings and jerkins, I recognised them at once: they were Harald of Norway's men. They carried long spears and took up their positions on the rocks where their weapons could reach the swimmers. I was reminded of the fishermen in the northern lands who wait on riverbanks, on shingle spits, or at weirs, ready to spear the migrating salmon. Only this time it was men they speared. Not a single swimmer escaped through the gap.

Just five of the pirates managed to reach the rocky ledge below me and haul themselves ashore. Suddenly I was knocked aside by a Norseman leading ten of his fellows down the goat track to the ledge. This time they did not kill their enemy, because the Arabs sank down on their knees and begged to be spared.

'Hey, Thorgils, time to come on up!' It was Halldor's voice, shouting cheerfully. I saw him on the far lip of the cliff waving to me. I turned away from the massacre, a picture of those dying men seared into my mind. Weeks earlier, in Constantinople, I had come across one of the White Christ fanatics haranguing a crowd in the marketplace. To me he had seemed half mad as he threatened his listeners with terrible punishment if they did not repent of their sins. They would fall into an abyss, he screamed at them, and suffer terrible horrors, burning in torment. That image came very close to the scene I had just witnessed.

'You used us as bait!' I accused Halldor after I had climbed to the top of the cliff and found some forty Norsemen gathered, looking very pleased with themselves. Concealed in a fold in the ground some distance away was their camp, a cluster of tents where they had established themselves as they waited to spring the trap.

'And very good bait you made,' answered Halldor, a grin of triumph showing his teeth through his beard.

'You could at least have warned me,' I said, still disgruntled.

'That was part of the plan. Harald calculated that you would understand the meanings of the rune symbols on the map, and be so pleased with yourself for having worked them out, that you wouldn't think of anything else but carrying out the message. That would make the scheme all the more effective.'

His answer made me feel even worse. I, as well as the Arab pirate, had been hoodwinked.

'And what would have happened if our ship had got here earlier, or the Arab pirate had showed up later? Your elaborate scheme would have collapsed.'

Halldor was not in the least contrite. 'If the Arab had shown up late, then the bullion shipment would have got through safely. If you were very early and tucked yourselves away in the cove, he would have come looking for you. Naturally we would then have helped him, sending up smoke from a cooking fire or some other way of guiding him to the spot.'

I looked round the group of Norsemen. There were very few of them to have destroyed the most powerful Saracen vessel in the region.

'Don't you see the genius of it?' Halldor went on, unable to conceal his satisfaction. 'Both the pirate and that eunuch minister in Constantinople thought this was a double deception. The minister believed we would lure in the pirate to the fake shipment and the real bullion would get through. The pirate thought he had seen through that plot and would pounce upon an easy prize. But Harald was playing a triple game. He reckoned on using the real shipment as the genuine bait, and look how well it turned out.'

'And if the galea had overhauled us at sea, and captured us and the gold?'

Halldor shrugged dismissively. 'That was a risk Harald was prepared to take. As I told you, he has battle luck.'

I looked around. 'Where's Harald now?'

'He entrusted the ambush to me,' said Halldor. 'We stumbled on the cove when we were searching for pirate bases along the coast. Harald immediately saw how it could provide the perfect location for an ambush. But he thinks the imperial bureaucracy is so riddled with spies and traitors that he had to take every precaution. He sent only a handful of men to set up the ambush so their absence would not be noticed in Dyrrachium, while he himself stayed with our ships. They should be here in a day or two, and Harald will be aboard.'

I must still have looked resentful because Halldor added, 'There's another benefit. Harald's cunning has exposed the source of the pirates' information. It must be the office of the dromos. Someone there who makes the practical arrangements for the bullion shipments was informing the Saracens where and when to strike. Harald suspected this, so when he sent that map with the rune signs he set another trap.'

I remembered the official
s from the dromos who had accom
panied me on my first visit to Harald's camp at Mamas. Even then I had wondered if one of them had learned to speak Norse in the dromos's college of interpreters.

'You mean the spy had to be able to read rune signs if he was to understand the significance of the map,' I said. 'And only someone in the dromos office would have that skill.'

Halldor nodded. 'Tell that to your castrated minister when you get back to Constantinople.'

Harald himself arrived with his patrol ships just as Halldor and his men were beginning the task of salvaging the cargoes of the two burned-out wrecks. The water in the cove was so shallow that it was easy to recover the bullion chests from the dorkon.

Their contents were unharmed. Halldor's divers then turned their attention to seeing what had sunk with the galea. To everyone's delight it turned out that the ship was packed with booty the pirates had taken earlier. Many of the valuables had been damaged by the Fire and seawater had ruined much of what remained, but there was still a good deal worth salvaging. The finest items were church ornaments, presumably looted from raids on Christian towns. They included dishes and bowls of silver as well as altar cloths. The fabric was a blackened mass, but the pearls and semiprecious stones which had once been stitched to the cloth were unharmed. They too were added to the growing pile of valuables.

'One-sixth goes to the imperial treasury as the emperor's share, the rest is for us. That's the rule,' gloated Halldor as another dripping mass of plunder was brought to the surface.

Harald, I noticed, kept a very close eye on what was being recovered. He trusted his men
to carry out an ambush unsuper
vised, but when it came to division of the spoils he made sure that every single item was precisely accounted for. He stood beside the makeshift table on which each piece of salvage was examined, and watched as its value was calculated. When a mass of silver Arab dinars was brought up, the coins melted together as a lump of metal by the Fire's heat, he ordered it to be weighed three times for value before he was satisfied.

Watching him, I could not help but wonder about his inner thoughts. I had seen him lie full length on the marble floor before the Basileus, who claimed to be the White Christ's representative on earth, and I feared that this lucky outcome for his allegiance might prove a step along the path that would lead Harald to favour the Christian faith. It would be easy for him to be seduced by the wealth and luxury. Standing with a group - Harald, Halldor, and several of his councillors — I was on hand when the most precious of all the objects recovered from the galea was laid upon the table. A Christian cross, it had no doubt been stolen from some rich monastery or church. Each arm was at least three spans in length, as thick as a man's finger, and embellished with patterns moulded on its surface. I knew from my days as a novice in an Irish monastery that to create such an exquisite piece was itself an act of great devotion. The magnificent cross lay upon the bare wood, giving off the dull sheen that only pure gold will give.

Halldor ran his fingers over the workmanship with admiration.

"What's that worth?' he wondered aloud.

'Weigh it and we'll find out,' came Harald's blunt instruction. 'There are seventy-two nomisma to every pound of gold.'

If Harald was naturally inclined to follow any god, I thought to myself, it was not the White Christ but Gullveig from my own Elder Faith. Thrown into the fire to be destroyed, Gullveig, whose name meant 'gold draught', always emerged more radiant than before, the very personification of thrice-smelted gold. But she was also a treacherous and malignant witch-goddess, and suddenly I felt a twinge of foreboding that Harald's gold thirst would lead to his downfall.

FOUR

'Your excellency, Harald
plans to return to Constantinople now that the pirate menace is dealt with,' I reported to John the Orphanotrophus when I got back to the capital. 'He has already transferred the bullion shipment to Dyrrachium, where he intends to purchase a replacement ship for the Greek captain Theodore so that he can continue on to Italy with the army's pay. They may even have received it by now.'