Byzantium

  “God be praised! Are you alive, Aidan?”

  “Only just,” I answered with a cough. I opened my eyes to see Gwilym standing over me, hair all down in his eyes, and dripping water from every pinnacle and point.

  “It is Aidan!” he shouted over his shoulder to someone else. “He is not hurt.” To me, he said, “Are you hurt, brother?”

  “Aghh!” I answered, spitting salt water and gasping for air. Then I remembered: “Brocmal was with me! He was on the side of the ship. I do not know what has become of him.”

  I rolled onto my hands and knees. Gwilym helped me to my feet. “The ship is just there,” he said, “he cannot have gone far.” The lanky Briton began striding across the strand.

  The waves had pushed the hull well up on the beach and there it had come to rest—no more than thirty paces away. Clynnog, Ciáran, and Faolan clambered over the hull and onto the beach as we approached.

  “Is Brocmal with you?” I called, trying to make myself heard above the thunder of the waves.

  “Alas, no,” replied Ciáran. “We have not seen him.”

  “Who have you found?” asked Clynnog.

  “Brynach and Cadoc are safe,” Gwilym told us, pointing to a stand of rocks some little way down beach. “Ddewi and I are searching for the rest.”

  “That makes eight,” said Faolan.

  “Nine,” added Gwilym, “counting Brocmal—if we can find him.”

  A cry sounded from somewhere down the beach. We turned and looked along the strand to see four figures staggering towards us; one of them, I could tell even at that distance, was Dugal. He and another monk were supporting a third between them. “It is Dugal,” I said. “He has Fintán with him.”

  “And Con and Maél, too,” said Clynnog, cupping his hands over his eyes. He and Ciáran hastened to meet them.

  “That makes twelve,” observed Faolan. “Only Brocmal is missing.”

  “He cannot be far away,” I said, wading out into the water. The sun was low now; shielding my eyes against the glare, I searched the waves for any sign of Brocmal. The sea monks likewise scanned the swift-running surf. We were called away from this task by Gwilym, who shouted, “There! Ddewi has found him!”

  So saying, he and Faolan began running up the strand to where Ddewi was crouched over a figure which was laying half in the water. I made to follow, but as I turned, something bumped against my leg. I looked down to see a man’s head and shoulders bobbing in the wave-surge.

  “Here!” I shouted in surprise. “I have found someone!” No one heard me, however, for they all continued running up the shore to help Ddewi, and I was left alone.

  Grabbing hold of a bare arm, I tugged the body onto the sand as far as I could and rolled it over. I did not need the silver neck chain, nor the thick silver armband, to tell me that I had found a Sea Wolf.

  A big man, with long fair hair and beard, he had a black tattoo of a boar on his upper right arm and a wide leather belt around his waist. Tucked into the belt was a long gold-handled knife. He boasted neither shirt nor mantle, but wore leggings of fine thin leather and buskins of hairy pigskin. He appeared completely lifeless; but I thought best to make certain, so I knelt and pressed my ear to the man’s chest.

  I was still trying to find a heartbeat when a wave caught me from behind and sent me sprawling over the corpse. This cold embrace so disgusted me that I squirmed to my feet and started away. But I stopped and turned back. I could not leave the body where the waves might drag it back into the cold, cold sea.

  “Christ have mercy,” I muttered through clenched teeth. Drawing a deep breath, I seized both wrists in my hands, and dragged the body all the way past the highwater mark on the sand—a fair fifteen paces away—whereupon I sank down beside it, breathing hard.

  My hasty action must have reawakened life in the corpse, for as I sat back on my heels, staring at the pale cold form beside me, the body convulsed and vomited up a bellyful of seawater. The barbarian then fell to coughing and gagging so much I thought he might drown again, so I pulled him over on his side.

  More seawater gushed from his mouth and he drew a long shaky breath and moaned softly. I stood, prepared to run if he should leap to his feet and attack me. But he just lay there groaning, his eyes closed. My eye fell on the knife in his belt, and it occurred to me that it might be better if I held the weapon.

  Crouching near, I stretched a cautious hand toward the hilt.

  At that moment, the barbarian’s eyes snapped open. The look of mingled surprise and terror in those ice-blue eyes halted me. I froze, my fingertips all but touching the handle. He noticed my fingers reaching towards his knife—and stiffened.

  I withdrew my hand quickly and sat back. He blinked, his features drawing into an expression of open astonishment. I looked at him and he looked at me, neither of us moved. A kind of understanding passed between us just then, I think, for he relaxed and closed his eyes once more, pressing his face against the sand.

  “What have you there, Aidan?” someone called. I glanced up as Dugal and the others arrived.

  Fintán, his face pinched with pain, stood hunch-shouldered between Dugal and Connal, clutching his arm; the pilot’s wrist was red and swollen, the hand limp. Maél squatted down beside me as the others gathered around, looking at the body stretched out in the sand.

  “Is he dead then?” asked Clynnog.

  “He was,” I replied. “But he recovered.”

  “What should we do with him?” wondered Maél, and we fell to discussing this. We were on the point of deciding, when Gwilym returned.

  “Brocmal has not drowned,” he informed us. “Though he has swallowed his weight in water and sand, I expect. Brynach and Cadoc are with him.”

  “Then we have all survived,” said Clynnog. “All thirteen—and one more besides,” he added, prodding the barbarian with a toe.

  The Sea Wolf awoke at the touch, and cringed when he saw the monks standing over him. Dugal, being a different sort of man than myself, stooped down and snatched the knife from the barbarian’s belt in one swift motion. “Allow me to keep this for you, friend,” he said.

  The warrior made a grab at the retreating blade, but Dugal was quicker. “Peace. Rest easy and no harm will come to you.”

  From the expression of fear and bewilderment on the barbarian’s face, it was obvious that he understood nothing of what we said to him. Thinking to ease his mind, I made a gentle, calming motion with my hand. He gave a jerk of his chin and lay back.

  “We must move along,” said Gwilym. “Bryn thinks the settlement is not far, but deems it best to find it before dark.”

  “The ship,” said Fintán, his voice husky, “must be secured. We cannot leave it to the waves.”

  “Ships and settlements!” retorted Connal. “Man, will you not tell us what has become of the blessed book yet?”

  Gwilym appeared unconcerned. “I expect it is safe.”

  “We waste light standing here,” Dugal observed. “The sun is soon down.”

  “Never fret for Bán Gwydd, Fin,” Clynnog said. “Come, brothers, we must hurry.” He and the sea monks hastened to the overturned hull and began digging in the sand beside the rail. The hole was soon big enough for Maél to slide under, which he did. After a moment, a length of rope appeared on the sand, followed by a hammer and several wooden stakes.

  We left them to the work of tying down the boat and, raising the barbarian to his feet, Dugal removed the man’s belt and wrapped it around the warrior’s arms, binding them to his sides. We then made our way to where the bishop and the others were waiting.

  Ddewi was kneeling beside Brocmal, who sat propped against the stone, his legs splayed out before him. Brynach and the bishop stood nearby, talking quietly. They turned as we approached, and expressed surprise at the presence of an additional member to our party.

  “Aidan rescued him,” Dugal explained simply. “We did not like to leave him on the beach.”

  “Trust Aidan to save a barbarian,” mutte
red Brocmal.

  “And here I thought it was you I was saving,” I told him.

  Brocmal coughed and dabbed at his mouth with a soggy sleeve, then, as if this action was too much for him, sagged back against the rock once more.

  “Is he well enough to walk?” asked Fintán, indicating the stricken Brocmal.

  Ddewi glanced up as the pilot spoke, saw the helmsman’s arm, and jumped to his feet. “He is less feeble than he appears,” the physician said. “But I would have a look at that hand, Fin.”

  “Never fear for me, young Ddewi,” the pilot said, “I can steer a ship with one paw if need be.”

  Ddewi, his touch at once gentle and quick, examined the swollen limb. “Can you move your fingers, Fin? Try to wiggle them.” This brought a wince of pain from the helmsman, who swayed on his feet.

  “None of this would have happened,” Brocmal complained bitterly, “if not for Dugal. This is God’s judgement on us for allowing the injustice he perpetrated to continue unpunished. Disaster will dog our steps as long as the malefactor is tolerated among us.”

  “Brother, hold your tongue,” snapped the bishop tartly. “The issue of Libir’s accident has been settled. Hear me now, Brocmal: you are not to raise the matter again, or you will find yourself subject to chastisement.”

  Turning to Dugal, the bishop said, “Lord Aengus was right to commend you. I do confess I feel that much safer knowing a man of your skill stands among us. May I ask you to stay beside me, brother?”

  “If it would please you, Bishop Cadoc,” replied the warrior.

  “It would please me right well, son.”

  “Then say no more,” Dugal replied happily. “The shadow you see beside you will be my own.”

  Brocmal closed his eyes and slumped back with a groan. While the physician continued his scrutiny of the pilot’s wound, Brynach stepped to where I waited with the barbarian. “We will take him with us to the settlement,” Brynach said. “The people there will deal with him.”

  “They will kill him,” I said.

  Brynach nodded. “Very likely,” he agreed grimly.

  “Then it were better for me to let him drown,” I argued, feeling both angry and chagrined.

  “Aye,” Dugal agreed bluntly. “This one tried to split your head with his war axe—and he would have, too, but for the seawave whelming us over.”

  I frowned. What Dugal said was true, but it was a bitter truth and I choked on it.

  “Aidan, your concern is laudable. But we have no better choice,” Bishop Cadoc said. “We cannot take prisoners. Nor would he fare better alone. We will deliver him to the lord of the settlement nearby and the decision will be his.”

  The sea monks joined us then, having made short work of staking down the boat. Connal espied the bishop’s crosier, which had washed ashore, and gave it into Cadoc’s hands. The bishop received this and, turning to Brynach, he made a stirring motion with his staff. Brynach smiled and lifted his mantle, revealing the leather bulga containing the book.

  “Our treasure is safe, brothers,” Bryn said. “It has pleased God to deliver us and our prize whole and hale.”

  Hearing this, Cadoc broke into an exaltation of thanksgiving. “Brothers,” he said, lofting his eagle-topped staff, “great is God and worthy to be praised. He has delivered us from the storm, and from the hands of the wicked.”

  Lifting Brocmal to his feet, we set off for the settlement, singing a psalm of thanksgiving as we went. The sun had set before we gained the top of the sea bluffs, but enough light remained for us to locate the white plume of smoke once more. It seemed to emanate from between the first and second of the three hills before us. Brynach fixed the direction in his mind and strode forth boldly, leading the way. Everyone took their places behind him; as I was last in line, it fell to me to guard our barbarian.

  I did not know what to do with him, so I let him walk a little ahead of me and kept my eye on him, lest he try to run away—though I reckoned that would be no bad thing, considering the reception awaiting him at the settlement. As the ground was uneven and his arms were bound to his sides, he stumbled now and then, and I found myself having to steady him. And when it grew too dark to see the way clearly, I took his arm so that he should not fall. The first time this happened, he pulled away from me roughly and grunted his displeasure; the fifth or sixth time, however, he turned his head to look at me, the white of his eyes gleaming in the twilight. From then on, he did not resist when I laid hold of him.

  Once we had left the rock-studded sea bluffs behind, the way became easier and we were able to move more quickly. The hills were well wooded, but upon approaching the first one, Brynach struck a path. Thus, we were able to walk rapidly and without fear of falling at every step. The hill was steeper and higher than it appeared in the dusk, and I was soon sweating; this, combined with the clammy dank clothes made me increasingly uncomfortable. Also, my skin itched from the salt water; my hands ached from the oars; my eyes felt dry and watery at once; my legs, shoulders, back, and sides were sore from rowing. I was hungry and thirsty, chilled to the bone and wet.

  We crested the top of the first hill, whereupon Brynach paused at the top to search out the thread of smoke once more. Away to the east, a bright slice of moon rose above the low-drifting cloud. “The steading is just below,” he said as we gathered around. “A goodly-sized holding, I think. You can see the edge of a field there.”

  He pointed down into the valley, and though I saw the smoke drifting up through the trees, I could not see the field or any hint of a settlement. We started down into the valley, still following the path—which I did not doubt would lead us directly to our destination.

  Once over the crest of the hill, the wind dropped and I could hear the night sounds of the wood around us: a cuckoo called from an overhead limb, answered by another a little distance away; small, furtive rustlings in the winter detritus around the roots of the trees; the sudden flapping of unseen wings among the new-leafed branches.

  It became difficult to see more than a pace or two ahead; I put out my hand to the barbarian from time to time—as much to reassure myself that he was still there, as to guide him. In each instance, the warmth and solidity of the touch surprised me; I half expected to reach out and find that he had vanished.

  The wood thinned as we neared the settlement and the path widened, so that we stepped from the trees and into a clearing—the field that Brynach had glimpsed from above—to view the cluster of low, reed-thatched huts a short distance away. We halted to look and listen before moving on, but the steading remained peaceful and quiet, our arrival, as yet, unobserved.

  This quiet did not last long, however, for upon reaching the middle of the field, a dog started barking, and immediately every dog in the valley had joined in, raising a din that roused the settlement dwellers and brought them running—difficult to count them in the dark, but I reckoned more than twenty men and boys in all—torches, spears, and hay forks at the ready. They did not appear overjoyed to see us.

  12

  Stand easy, brothers,” Brynach said, watching the torches hasten over the field. “Say nothing until we see how they will receive us.” He gestured to Dugal to come stand beside him, and the big monk took his place at the fore.

  When the first rank of valley folk had drawn near, Brynach raised his empty hands and stepped slowly out to meet them. “Pax, frater,” he called, speaking Latin. This, added to his dress and tonsure, gave them to know that they addressed a holy man.

  The head man took one look at Bryn and called to his fellows. “Hold, men. It is only some monks.”

  This was spoken in a tongue which, though it sounded very much like that of south Éire, used many British words and others I did not know—but the Britons amongst us understood perfectly well. “They are Cernovii,” Ciáran explained later. “At least, they once were.”

  “We are distressed clerics,” Brynach said, directing his speech to the chieftain. “We are peregrini, and have been shipwrecked in the ba
y. Have you food and a place to rest?”

  “Aye, that we have,” the man said with a nod. “And you are welcome here. Is it from Dyfed you have come?”

  “Yes—that is, some of us have come from Dyfed. The rest,” he indicated our huddled group behind him, “are priests of Lindisfarne and Cenannus in Éire.” The men of the settlement edged closer for a better look.

  Brynach now gestured for the bishop to join him; as Cadoc approached, he said, “I would have you greet our superior. My friends,” the well-spoken Briton called, loud enough for all to hear, “I give you Cadocius Pecatur Episcopus, Holy Bishop of Hy.”

  This produced an instant and gratifying response. Many of the valley dwellers gasped in amazement; several of those crowding close reached for the bishop’s hand and pressed it to their lips in reverence.

  “Peace, friends,” the bishop said. “In the name of the most holy and blessed Jesu, I give you good greeting. Rise and stand on your feet. We are not such men as should be venerated in this way.”

  “You are welcome in our village,” said the head man, using a word I had not heard before. “Come, we will take you there now.”

  Lifting high his torch, the chieftain led us across the field and into the settlement. It was larger than I first imagined: fifty or more huts, grain stores, a fine big hall, and an enclosure for cattle. There was no wall or ditch; the wood served them for protection, I suppose. And they did seem most vigilant men.

  They conducted us directly to the hall where the fire burned brightly on a wide and generous hearth. We crossed the threshold and hastened to warm ourselves at the fire. Since no one gave me instruction, I brought the barbarian with me and stood beside him. He looked at me curiously, and seemed always on the point of speech—I could feel the words about to burst from him—but he kept his mouth firmly shut and said nothing.