King's Man (9 page)

'Who were those older Gods?' I asked.

'Don't know,' he answered. 'But they seem to have been some sort of family, ruled over by a father god, with other Gods responsible for the weather for crops, for war and such like.'

Much like my own Gods, I thought.

Our vessel was far ahead of the most optimistic schedule, and when we rounded Taenarum cape and reached the place where Harald's two ships were due to meet us, I was not surprised that the sea was empty. There was no sign yet of the two monocylon, and I had some difficulty in persuading Theodore that we should wait a few extra days. He was well aware that we were entering the area where piracy was rife, but he was also worried by the risk of dawdling off a dangerous shore.

'As I told you,' he said, gesturing towards the distant horizon where we could see the faint line of the coast, 'there's no harbour over there, and if the wind swings round and strengthens we could be in trouble.' ,

In the end he agreed to wait three days, and we spent them tacking back and forth, then drifting each night with sails furled. Each morning we hoisted our lookout, seated on a wooden cradle, to the masthead, and there he clung, gazing to the north, the direction from which we expected Harald's ships to arrive.

At dawn on the third day, as he was being hauled up to his vantage point and glancing around, the lookout let out a warning shout. A vessel was approaching from the south-west. Theodore jumped up on the rail, gazed in that direction, then leaped back on deck and came striding towards me. Any hint of his usual friendliness was gone. Fury was mingled with suspicion in his expression.

'Is that why you wanted us to wait?' he shouted, seizing me by the arm and bringing his face up close. His breath smelled overpoweringly of garum, the rotten fish sauce the sailors relished. For a moment I thought he was going to strike me.

'What do you mean?' I asked.

'Over there,' he shouted, waving towards the distant sail. 'Don't tell me you weren't expecting that. I should have known it all along. You treacherous savage. You lied about waiting for an escort. That's a Saracen ship twice our size, and you're the reason why she turned up here so conveniently.'

'How can you be so sure she's an Arab vessel? No one can tell at this distance,' I defended myself.

'Oh, yes I can,' the captain snarled, his fingers digging deeper into my arm. 'See how she's rigged. Three triangular sails on three masts. She's an Arab galea out of Sicily or—'

'Keep calm,' I interrupted. 'I've no idea how that ship happens to be here just now. Even if you don't believe me, we're wasting time. Set all sail, get your oarsmen to stand by, steer north. I'm sure our escort ships are well on their way, and we should meet up with them before the Saracens catch us.'

The Greek captain laughed bitterly. 'No chance. If that Saracen ship is the one I think she is, we won't get far. You know what "galea" means. It's our word for a swordfish, and if you've ever seen a swordfish racing in for the attack, you'd know she'll catch us. Probably by noon, and there's no way out. There isn't even a friendly harbour where we can seek refuge.'

His words reminded me of the map Harald had sent. I fumbled in my satchel and pulled out his chart. 'Here, what about this?' I tapped the nauthiz rune. 'Isn't that the reason for this mark. It's a place to go if we're in distress.'

The captain looked at me with dislike. 'Why should I trust you now?' he said grimly.

'You don't need to,' I replied, 'but if you're right, and that Arab vessel is as fast and dangerous as you say, you've no other choice.'

He thought about it for a moment, then angrily spun on his heel and began yelling at his crew to set all sail, then get themselves to the oar benches. Taking the helm, he steered the dorkon on a slanting course towards the distant coast. He didn't even look at me, but set his jaw and concentrated on getting the best speed from his ship.

Even the most ignorant sailor would have seen that our vessel was no match for the Arab galea. We were light and quick for a merchant vessel, but the Arab had been designed as a pure seagoing hunter. She carried far more sail than we did and was expertly handled. Worse, the southerly breeze suited her to perfection and she began to overhaul us so rapidly, her bow slicing through the sea and sending up a curl of white foam, that I wondered if we would even get as far as the coast. I had been in a sea chase years earlier, pursued by longships, and we had gained temporary advantage by running across a sandbar into waters too shallow for our enemies. But this was not an option now. As the coast ahead drew nearer, I saw that it was utterly forbidding, a rampart of cliffs directly ahead of us.

The Arab ship was undoubtedly a pirate. As she closed on us we could make out that she carried at least eighty men, far more than any trading ship would require, and they were chillingly professional in the way they went about their duties. They adjusted the three huge sails to perfection, then moved across the deck and lined the windward side to trim their vessel and waited there. They did not shout or cheer, but remained poised and silent, certain of the outcome of the pursuit. Up in her bows I saw the archers, sitting quietly with their weapons, waiting until we were in range.

Theodore knew our situation was hopeless, yet he passed from panic to a sense of defiance. Every time he turned and saw how much the gap between the ships had closed, he did not change expression but merely looked up to see that our sails were at their best, then turned back to face towards the cliffs as they drew closer. After three hours' chase we were no more than a mile from the coast, and I could see that Theodore had been right. The sheer rock face extended in each direction for mile after mile, yellow-brown in colour, sun-baked and utterly desolate. The dark sea heaved against the boulders along their base. Either the pursuing galley would overtake and its crew board us, or we would simply crunch against the rocks. Fifty paces from the cliff, our captain pushed across the helm and our vessel turned and began to run parallel to the precipice, so close that I could hear the cries of the sea birds nesting on the high ledges. Here the wind was fluky, bouncing off the rock face so that our sails began to flap and we lost speed.

'Get out your oars and row!' bellowed Theodore.

The crew stabbed at the water and did their best, but it was almost impossible to get a grip on the choppy water and they were not professional galley rowers. They looked shocked and frightened, but to their credit they remained almost as silent as the chasing pirates. Only occasionally did I hear a sob of effort or despair as they tugged on the looms of the oars.

Of course I joined them on the oar bench. I had rowed a longship and knew how to handle an oar, but it was only a gesture. Our sole hope was that Harald's two monocylon would suddenly appear, sweeping down from the north. But each time I looked over my shoulder the sea remained empty. To one side of us, and almost level now, the Arab galea kept pace. Her captain had reduced sail so he did not overshoot his victim. Half his oarsmen, perhaps forty men, were rowing to hold their position Steady. He was, I realised, worried that he might come too close to the cliffs, and did not want to risk damaging his vessel. I judged that he would bide his time until we were in more open water, then close in for the kill.

We were approaching a low headland which jutted from the line of cliffs, obscuring what lay further up the coast.

'Listen, men,' shouted our captain. 'I'm going to beach the ship if I see a suitable spot. When I do that, it's every man for himself. Drop your oars, leap out and make a run for it. So keep up the pressure now, row as best you can, and wait until I give the word.'

Soon the dorkon was lurching past the headland, so near that I could have thrown a pebble on to the rocks. Now the pirate galley closed the range. One or two arrows flew. The archers were hoping for a lucky strike, to maim a few of our oarsmen. Not too many, of course, because crippled slaves fetched a lower price.

Past the headland the coastline opened up ahead. To our right was a wide, shallow bay, but the beach itself was a mass of stones and rock. There was no place where we could run ashore. Theodore jerked his head at me and I left my oar to join him at the helm. He seemed almost calm, resigned to his fate.

'This is the spot marked on your map where we should be in case of need. But I don't see anything.'

I looked around the sweep of the bay. Ahead of us, perhaps half a mile, I saw a narrow break in the cliffs which rose again on the far side. 'Over there,' I said, pointing. 'Perhaps in there we will find a landing place. And maybe the entrance is too narrow for the Arab ship to follow us. If we can squeeze in, we might have a few moments to abandon ship and run clear.'

'It's worth a try,' grunted the captain, and altered course.

We laboured ever closer, heading for the cleft. But as we approached, I saw that I had misjudged it. The gap was wider than I had supposed, which meant our dorkon could slip in, but so too could the pirate ship if her steersman was bold enough. The skipper of the Arab craft must have thought the same, for he did not harry us as we crept closer to where two low reefs reached out, leaving a narrow gap between. Our pursuer even had the confidence to stop rowing: I saw the regular beat of the sweeps come to a halt. They waited and watched.

Sails flapping, our dorkon glided through the gap. As we entered, I knew we were doomed. We found ourselves in a natural harbour, a small cove, almost totally landlocked. Sheer cliffs of yellow rock rose on each side, banded with ledges. They enclosed a circular sea pool, some forty paces across. Here the colour of the water was the palest blue, so clear that I could see the sandy bottom, no more than ten feet below our keel. Despairingly I realised that the water was deep enough for the Arab galley to float. There was not a breath of wind. The cove was so tightly surrounded that the cliffs overhung the water in places, and if the lip of the precipice crumbled, the rocks would fall straight on to our deck. We had found the refuge marked on the map, and had we reached it earlier, even by a day, we could have concealed ourselves here and waited in safety for Harald's monocylon to appear. I had failed.

'We're trapped,' said Theodore quietly.

In the distance I heard a shout. It must have been the voice of the Arab captain prowling outside, ordering his men to furl sail and prepare to row their larger ship through the entrance. Then I heard the creak of ropes in wooden blocks and supposed that the

Arabs were lowering the spars as well. They were taking their time, knowing that they had us at their mercy.

'Every man for himself
¹
.' called Theodore, and his crew needed no urging. They began to jump into the clear water - it was no more than a few strokes for them to swim ashore. At the back of the cove was a ledge of rock where a man could haul himself out. From there the faint line of a goat path meandered up the cliff face. If we scrambled up fast enough, maybe we could get clear before the slave-catchers arrived.

'I'm sorry—' I began to say, but Theodore interrupted.

'It's too late for that now. Get going.'

I threw myself overboard and he jumped a moment later. We were the last to abandon the ship, leaving her bobbing quietly in the placid water.

I hauled myself out on to the rock ledge, reached down and gave Theodore a hand, pulling him ashore. He followed the line of wet footprints where his crew had scrambled for the goat path. Up above me I heard the clattering of falling stones as they clambered upwards as fast as possible.

Glancing back, I saw the Arab ship was nosing in cautiously through the gap between the rocks. Her hull almost filled the entrance, and her oarsmen had scarcely enough room to row. Several of the pirates stood on deck and were using the long sweeps to push the vessel into the cove.

I turned and climbed for my life. I had kicked off my boots before I swam, so I felt the sharp rocks cut and bruise my bare feet. I slipped and grabbed for handholds while I looked upwards trying to locate the path. Dirt and small pebbles dislodged by the Greek captain rained down on me. I was less than halfway up the cliff face when I caught up with Theodore. There was no room to overtake him, so I paused, panting with exhaustion, the blood roaring in my ears, and stared back down into the cove.

The Arab galea now lay alongside our abandoned ship, with about a dozen looters already on the dorkon's deck. They were levering up the hatch cover, and soon they would reach the bullion chests lying in the hold. Shouts from below told me that the Arab captain - I could clearly identify him by his red and white striped turban - was ordering some of his men to pursue and capture us. Two or three of them were already swimming ashore.

Suddenly, a speck dropped past the cliff face on the far side of the cove. At first I thought it was a fault in my eyesight, a grain of dirt in my eye or one of those black spots which sometimes swims across one's vision when one is panting for breath. Then two more dark specks followed, and I saw the splashes where they hit the water. Something was falling from the lip of the cliff. I looked across and glimpsed a sudden movement in the fringe of scrub and bushes. It was an arm, throwing some sort of object. The projectile travelled through the air, curving far out and gathering speed until it struck the deck of the galea. It burst on impact. I watched in amazement. Several more of the missiles sped through the air. Whoever was throwing them had found their range. One or two of the missiles splashed into the water, but another four or five landed on the pirate vessel.