Byzantium

  I sat huddled in my place at the prow, watching the shore. It came into my mind that I might throw myself overboard. I had no great wish to drown, but reasoned that if I chose the place carefully I might be able to swim to freedom. I could be over the side and away before anyone stopped me.

  The barbarian pilot—he of the brown buskins and sheepskin jerkin—bellowed a strange word that sounded like vik to my unaccustomed ear. Whereupon, the sail was instantly struck and the rowers returned to their benches and oars. Though I observed the nearing coastland keenly, I could not see any hint of a settlement, nor indeed, anything at all worthy of attention. Still, as the boat drew swiftly closer, I watched and waited for a chance to make my escape.

  This came much sooner than I expected, for as the ship drew close to land, the sea grew rapidly more shallow. Soon, I could see the pebbled bottom showing beneath the waves, though we were still a goodly way off. I would never have a better opportunity.

  I drew a deep breath, stood quickly, and, before anyone had noticed, hurled myself over the rail. I struck the water with a splash and regretted my hasty decision at once. The sea was cold and I sank like a stone, quickly touching the bottom with my knee. Gathering my legs beneath me, I pushed away. Unfortunately, I had badly misjudged my ill-advised leap and I surfaced alongside the ship—right between the hull and the oarblades.

  Seeing my mistake, I drew a deep breath and dived. Whether my plunge was not deep or quick enough, I do not know, but I felt myself caught and, though I flailed all my arms and legs with utmost effort, I could not get free. I surfaced, gasping, the end of my cloak tight in a Sea Wolf’s unrelenting grip. The barbarian had simply leaned over the rail and snagged me by a trailing edge of garment.

  He dragged me half-way out of the water, and then held me there—much to the delight of his barbarian friends. They all roared with mirth to see me dangling like a fish from the side of the boat. Their laughter, like their voices, was crude and rough, and it hurt my ears to hear it.

  The ship drew into a small, shallow cove and turned as it came in to land. As the ship turned, I saw what the pilot already knew to be there: a river—not wide, but deep enough to admit the keel. Without pause or hesitation, the ship slid across the little bay and into the river mouth. The oarsmen pulled in their oars and used them as poles to push the boat further up the river. Oh, these were canny Sea Wolves, indeed. And strong. Only when the ship had come to rest on a broad pebbled shoal was I released—thrown back into the water like a catch deemed too pathetic to keep.

  The Sea Wolf who had prevented my escape leaped into the water with me. Grasping my cloak, he stood me upright in the water, turned me to face him and shaking his head slowly, spoke to me in a warning tone of voice while shaking a dripping finger in my face. Although I could not comprehend a word he said, I understood perfectly from his manner and gesture that he was cautioning me from attempting to escape again.

  I nodded, showing him that I did indeed perceive his meaning. He smiled. Then, still holding tight to my cloak, he struck me hard in the face with the back of his hand. My aching head snapped sideways and the force of the blow knocked me into the water. He grabbed my mantle and jerked me to my feet; my mouth stung and I tasted blood on my tongue.

  Still smiling his broad, blithe smile, the happy barbarian drew back his hand again.

  I closed my eyes in anticipation of the blow, and braced myself. Instead, I heard a sharply uttered growl. The Sea Wolf released me at once, and I opened my eyes to see another barbarian wading towards me, talking in an angry way to his companion. The first one shrugged, shook his finger at me again, released me, and walked away.

  The second Sea Wolf strode to where I stood, took me roughly by the arm and led me—half-pushing, half-dragging—onto the shoal where he spun me around to face him, and struck me on the face with his open hand. The slap caught the attention of all those nearby, but it sounded far worse than it felt; and though it brought smiles and laughter from the Sea Wolves looking on—some of these called out to the barbarian, who answered them sternly—I could not help feeling that there was no real anger or malice in the blow.

  Strange to say, it was only then that I realized who stood before me: it was my barbarian, the one I had found washed up on the beach, the one we had taken to the settlement with us, the one to whom I had given the bread-loaf. We stood facing one another now, our positions reversed utterly.

  I dabbed at my split lip with the heel of my hand, and spat blood onto the strand. The barbarian took my arm again and dragged me to one of the larger rocks on the shore and shoved me down on it. He made a flattening gesture with his hand and spoke a single guttural snarl that gave me to know I was to sit still and not move, much less try to run away.

  He need not have bothered; I was content for the moment to sit on the rock and dry my clothes in the sun. I would try to escape again, I told myself, but must wait for a better opportunity to present itself and not simply seize the first foolish chance that happened my way. This thought, added to the fact that we were still in Armorica and not out somewhere in the unknown sea, consoled me and I felt as if I were making the best of a very bad plight.

  The Sea Wolves, meanwhile, set about preparing a meal. They made a small fire and brought out food from the ship, which they shared out among themselves with not so much as a glance in my direction.

  One huge red-braided barbarian—I recognized him now as the brute with the club from the night raid—climbed back into the ship and seized a cask which he lifted in his arms and was about to heave onto the strand. He was stopped by a quick shout from one of the others: a fair-haired man with long-braided yellow beard and a gold chain around his neck. This man was the one who had stood on the tented platform commanding men to his bidding.

  Yellow Hair, I decided, must be the leader of this barbarian band. And although his men paid him some regard, they did not appear overly solicitous of him, nor even very attentive. Even so, he seemed to command some part of their respect, or at least a grudging obedience, for the red giant lowered the cask with a grunt, climbed from the ship and returned to his meal.

  After they ate, they slept. Like pigs in the sun, they simply rolled over, closed their eyes and slept.

  Any thought of slipping quietly away while they were sleeping vanished when my barbarian suddenly awoke, remembered me, and came and bound my hands and ankles with a length of braided cord. He left me in the shade of the rock, at least, where I could keep watch on my captors. This proved a dismal occupation, however, as they remained inert for the better part of the day, rising only as the shadows stretched long across the pebbled shoal.

  They woke, stretched, and relieved themselves in the river. Some availed themselves of the opportunity to wash, standing in the shoals and splashing water over themselves, clothes and all. My barbarian came and untied me, pulled me to my feet and dragged me to the ship. I waded out to the waiting boat, pausing only to gulp down a few handfuls of water. For this I was lashed with the cord—half-heartedly, sure—and unintelligible abuse heaped on my poor uncomprehending head.

  This proved entertaining to the Sea Wolves, who laughed to see me in such difficulty, although I did not greatly mind for, again, I sensed no genuine animosity in the exercise. I began to form the opinion that my barbarian was trying to perform a duty expected of him, but one for which he had no heart. Being a monk, I had experience of such behaviour and could recognize it quickly when I saw it.

  We clambered up over the ship’s rail. Once aboard, I was pushed into my place in the prow with the growled order—as I took it—to stay there. Still, he did not restrain me in any way.

  I did not eat that day, nor the next. I was allowed only what water I could get for myself when we stopped. This produced no immediate concern for me; I was used to fasting and so considered this privation simply another trédinus which I happily dedicated to the Saviour God. When the others ate, I prayed: for our poor dead bishop—may God reward him greatly!—for my brothers, whether woun
ded or dead I knew not, for the safety of the blessed book, and for myself in cruel captivity. I prayed long and earnestly each day, though I soon learned to forego prostration or even kneeling. My captors did not like to see me in a posture of devotion, and kicked me hard if they caught me so. That was no great hardship, I reckoned, for God sees only the contrite spirit, and my reverence was true. Sure, the lack of food did not concern me, but the fact that we pressed a steady pace north filled me with unlimited apprehension. Day by day we drew further and further away from the region of Nantes, and any hope I might have sustained of ever seeing any of my brothers again dwindled accordingly. My prayers became more fervent for this, and I braced myself with endless repetitions of psalms.

  One day I looked out from my perch in the prow to see that the familiar grey coast had disappeared altogether. It was not to be seen again for two days. I ceaselessly scanned the barren horizon for any sign of land, and when at last that longed-for glimpse appeared again, the land had changed entirely: low, flat, brown and featureless. Nor did the Sea Wolves sail so close to the shore as before; they ceased searching out the viks for rest and water and took to keeping watch both day and night.

  One result of this change was that I was given a little food—the same as they ate, though far less. It was rough fare: tough and tasteless meat, unseasoned and inexpertly dried. Still, it served its humble purpose: keeping this captive alive until he should be reconciled to his eventual destiny—whether death or some worse fate, I did not know.

  I stood or sat at my accustomed place, looking out at the strange, unnamed land and, whether sitting or standing, I prayed most fervently for God’s Swift Sure Hand to reach down and pluck me from my onerous plight. Well, that did not happen. Instead, the sharp-keeled ship flew swiftly over the sea. North and ever north, we sailed. Only once did we see any other vessel, and this we fled.

  On sighting the ship, Brown Buskins called out to Yellow Hair, who joined him at the mast. The two stood shoulder to shoulder in close scrutiny of the stranger vessel for a moment, whereupon Yellow Hair began shouting commands which sent the supine sailors scurrying to their oars. All rowed with unmatched vigour, even though the sail remained full and the wind fair. It soon became clear that we were outdistancing the stranger. After a time, the other ship gave up the chase, and the Sea Wolves cheered.

  Their joy at eluding a potential rival transformed their spirits. I felt their elation, and smiled in spite of myself. So like children, I thought, in the greedy zeal of all their appetites. And, like children, only the moment concerned them. They had escaped an unwanted confrontation and their joy knew no bounds; leaping from bench to rail, they shook their spears and rattled their shields, brimming with bravado now that their supposed enemy had turned tail.

  In all, it was a most instructive lesson. Nor was it wasted on me.

  After that, I no longer looked to return to Armorica. The barbarians, as it seemed to me, were making for safe harbour. Turning my eyes to the north I searched those cold, black waters for any likely destination. The weather turned foul again; the wind blew hard, raising the waves. Low cloud hung over the sea, and heavy fog obscured the shore. We did not make landfall, however; the Sea Wolves apparently enjoyed the heavy weather.

  When, at the end of the second day, the sun returned, the land changed again: deep bays fronting hard shingles of stone, with dark green forests rising on steep slopes behind. The hills were not high, but their upper reaches were often lost in the thick fogs of mist and cloud that festered in that inhospitable clime. I saw no settlements of any size; even single habitations were few enough. Even so, the Sea Wolves feared unchallenged passage. This I knew because, upon entering those dark seas, we took to sailing only at night, a feat the barbarians had mastered well.

  The fact that they, too, might have enemies had simply never occurred to me before. But seeing how wary and trepid they became as they neared home, gave me to know that though they preyed on any they deemed weaker, they were themselves prey to others stronger than themselves and feared them with as great a fear as any they inspired. Truly, they were wolves: savagely wild, brutal, with all men’s hands raised against them at each and every turn.

  Thus, I kept my wits about me and learned all I could of their uncouth ways. The more I learned, the more I pitied them, for they were without redemption and not even the merest hope of salvation clung to them. God help me, I began to feel superior to them for my learning and civilization. Arrogance seized me in its gaping jaws and shook me hard; my pride swelled. I imagined that, given the chance, I might do some mighty work among them by bringing the Good News of Jesu to them. For I had heard of such things.

  Indeed, had not sainted Pátraic accomplished this very feat among his former captors? This, I determined, I would do. I would become Pátraic to these Sea Wolves and earn everlasting glory.

  14

  It was a grey and green land to which we fled: coldwater bays and black rock hills bristling with tall stands of pine and birch, and small fields eked from the ever-encroaching forest and, with back-breaking care, scratched into the thin, poor soil. The settlements were small: mere huddles of timber huts scattered along the coast and at the edges of forest, or on wooded islands. Several days after entering northern waters and sailing furtively past numerous islands and bays, we came at last to our journey’s end: a settlement tucked well back into a wide pebbled cove of a broad, high peninsula. Surrounded by a tall timber palisade, it appeared little more than the forest from which it had been so laboriously cleft.

  There were other, smaller ships and boats, both in the bay and drawn up on the hard shingle. At the appearance of the ship, the whole settlement rushed down to the water and stood crying loud welcome. The arrival was eagerly greeted by one and all—even the hounds ran along the strand happily yapping at their masters’ return. Everyone shouted, cried, and talked at once and the welcome became a joyous din.

  Eager to be once more reunited with their kin, most of the Sea Wolves leapt from the rails into the water and swam to shore where they were received with great acclaim and gladness. Women embraced their husbands, children ran to their fathers; older men strode the shingle shouting and gesturing, boys brandished sharpened sticks, and young men lofted spears. Clearly, the return had been eagerly awaited.

  I stood in my place at the prow, looking on. It was like any reception where families welcome husbands, fathers, and sons home from the sea. Only, these menfolk had been away on errands of pillage and plunder, scattering not fishnets but woe and death in their wake.

  Yellow Hair allowed the ship to be run aground and watched while it was made fast to two stout poles set in the strand. Satisfied, he then ordered his men to bring forth the plunder. The tented platform behind the mast was quickly stripped of its hide covering and behold! five wooden caskets or chests and a veritable mound of weaponry—swords, spears, shields, and suchlike.

  Red Giant stooped and gathered a chest in his great arms and, raising it over his head, gave out an enormous grunt and heaved the casket onto the shingle below. The chest splintered and burst; the sheen of yellow gold glinted in the sunlight. While two other Sea Wolves struggled with a second chest, the giant gathered a third treasure box and heaved it onto the strand beside the first. The fourth struck the others and broke open, spilling its golden treasure onto the beach.

  The people gathered close about the trove and stood marvelling at the wealth arrayed there. Yet, no one—not even those who had thrown it down—made bold to touch it with so much as a fingertip. Rather, they waited until Yellow Hair had climbed down to stand over it.

  This, I reckoned, was the first time the barbarians had bridled their appetites for so long a time altogether. They all gathered close about, faces glowing with keen anticipation, eyes agleam with treasure-light, murmuring to one another behind their hands.

  The chieftain spread an oxhide on the strand and then caused two of the three remaining chests to be opened and their contents poured out upon the skin. The la
st chest, I noticed, remained locked and was set aside; but the contents of the broken caskets were scrupulously gathered and added to the pile of gold and silver ornament and coin. And it was no mean heap. I had never seen so much wealth in one place. Sure, it was a hoard to rival that of the Tuatha De Danaan.

  Then, kneeling reverently before this wealth, Yellow Hair began prodding through the mass—much, I believe, as he must have done many times over in the privacy of his shipboard hut. He found and held up a large golden cup to the delight of the onlookers who cooed like amazed pigeons at the sight. He placed the costly cup beside him and returned to the heap, whereupon, after a moment’s search, he retrieved a handsome bowl which took its place beside the cup.

  Next he drew out a golden chain with links as thick as a man’s thumb. The barbarian leader rose, and holding the chain between his outstretched hands turned this way and that, speaking quietly the while. Then, with a wild shout, he suddenly flung the chain to Red Giant; the man’s broad face split into a wide, snaggletoothed grin and he roared his pleasure, shaking all over like a bear.

  Red Giant, I decided, was the chieftain’s champion, and was therefore recognized before the others and awarded the choice prize. One by one, the rest were likewise rewarded by their chief—a silver brooch to one, a pair of bracelets to another; cups and bowls for some, chains and armbands for others. Everyone received something according, I suppose, to the value of his service. That they should receive such high reward for their murderous feats disgusted me. Jesu, I prayed, deliver me from this den of iniquity!