The Sword of Damascus (13 page)

‘The problem with most hypotheses,’ I wearily said, ‘is the presence of facts that don’t fit within them but can’t be ignored. We could agree that Edward was deceived earlier today. And it was a time when the eye can see much that isn’t there.’ I raised a hand to silence Edward’s objection. ‘But I do think it was Brother Joseph on the deck of that Imperial battle ship. This raises difficulties that I will neither outline nor attempt to resolve. But they indicate that we must either reject our present hypothesis outright, or elaborate it to the point where it breaks down for want of further supporting evidence.’ I stopped and thought. ‘There is another possibility that I do not yet think worth exploring – though it does begin to trouble me.’ I stopped again. Yes, it was troubling. But I would have to think more about that one.

‘One thing is for certain, however,’ I concluded. ‘It’s unwise to continue on our present course. There is nowhere safe for us in these waters. We must find some way of getting back to the west. England remains our most likely place of safety. If, as I suspect, the Narrow Straits are closed to us, we shall need to choose between hoping for a change of wind so we can break through, and travelling overland across France. If this latter, we need to consider how well the crew will take to being abandoned.’

I put my hand on a plate of hardened bread that had risen several inches in the air with another roll of the ship. I was now uncontrollably tired. In a while, I had a meeting here with the man who served as pilot. The only map he had was in his head and didn’t correspond with any recollections I had of the maps I’d seen in Constantinople. And, regardless of how we’d get back to England, there was the increasingly pressing matter of supplies. If there was a renewed price on my head, it might make no difference if I turned pirate. But that might bring difficulties of its own . . .

‘Go,’ I said, waving the boys out of the cabin. ‘I must rest a while.’

Chapter 15

It was two days later. A mixed blessing, the wind still blew strongly from the west, though the sun now also shone from skies of unbroken blue. I stood unaided, my hands resting on the stern. I looked westward at the setting sun.

‘So they are still back there?’ I asked.

Edward nodded. He’d spent much of the day aloft and kept me informed of the ships that, unable to catch up, had remained on our tail.

‘Well, I’m still servant enough of the Empire to rejoice that the navy is being kept at full efficiency,’ I muttered in Greek. ‘So long as we control the seas, the Saracen fleets must stay in their Syrian and Egyptian ports, and can’t assist the land-based invasion of Africa.

‘But I do assure you, they can’t keep this up much longer,’ I said, louder now and back in Latin. ‘Those ships aren’t built for this sort of pursuit. Their water must be running out even faster than ours. With short rations, and the removal of all unnecessary hands, they might be able to keep going another day – perhaps two . . .’ I trailed off and thought of our own situation. There was still food of a sort. But much of the water was spoiled. Somewhere, and soon, we’d need to put in for supplies.

I turned and looked at the rowing boat. The moment it was plain we were being followed, I’d had it pulled out of the water. That had given us a slight improvement in speed. Now, it was being used as the container for a mass of inflated water skins. I’d had these tied together and topped with a little mast and sail. I thought again of the angle the sail needed to be to the line of the bladders. Would the tiller I’d designed be enough to keep the line straight? Hard to say. None of the crew, I was annoyed to learn, had been of the slightest use. The pilot plucked anxiously at my sleeve. According to his calculations, he whispered, we’d be approaching Carthage in the next day. I smiled encouragingly at the man. It was plain that, whatever his abilities in the northern seas, he was now out of area. Even I could tell that, on our present course, the most likely land we’d see was Italy – and that would be days of fast sailing yet to go. I thanked him for the news and looked back at the setting sun.

‘We’ll do it once the light is about to go completely,’ I said loudly. ‘Until then, I will lie on my daybed.’ Without looking round, I lifted my arms and held them out. Unknown hands lifted me from behind and laid me down with reasonable gentleness. Wilfred stood forward from nowhere and pulled my blanket into place.

‘What is that noise?’ I asked Edward. The chanting had started down in the hold shortly after lunch. I’d so far decided to ignore it. However, it had now been going on and on, and the volume of sound might, if prolonged, get in the way of my cunning plan.

‘It’s something to do with their religion,’ came the pretty near worthless answer.

I’d hardly supposed they were rehearsing an entertainment for the Exarch of Carthage. I scowled at the boy and pointed to the patch of deck just before my daybed.

A troubled look on his face, he gave up on his latest trip aloft and stood where directed. ‘I spent a summer in their land with Hrothgar,’ he said after a little prompting. So that was where he’d picked up their language. ‘I don’t understand the words of what they’re singing – I think it’s very old. But they did this for days at a time when they thought a sorcerer had spoiled their crops. Eventually, I saw them grab the eldest son of a chieftain and burn him in a wicker cage.’ He brightened at this recollection. ‘It was a slow fire, and he screamed until his lungs melted.’

‘Interesting,’ I said drily. ‘Which one of us do you think they’ll burn first?’ That wiped the smug look from his face.

He opened and shut his mouth, and looked nervously round at the few grunting creatures who hadn’t joined the prayer meeting below.

‘Do you believe in sorcery?’ I asked. Even in Jarrow, he’d never shown much enthusiasm for Christian prayer. That didn’t make him a philosopher, of course. But I thought the question worth asking.

He stared at me for a moment, then nodded.

‘Then you’re as big a fool as everyone else!’ I snapped. It may have been silly to expect more, but I was disappointed. I closed my eyes for a nap. But I could feel the boy’s continued presence.

‘Very well,’ I said, reopening my eyes. ‘If you assume that we are surrounded by invisible beings of immense power, some of them good, some of them evil, it makes sense to believe that we can, by using the right words, or making the right offer, acquire some of that power for ourselves. That was the view of Plato and his followers. With the added claim that all these beings are evil, such is the view of the Church. I have never come across a barbarian race that didn’t generally agree. However, the basic assumption of a spirit world is unsupported by credible direct evidence. It is only made to explain events that would otherwise be inexplicable. If, on the other hand, you take the view of Epicurus, that everything that happens is a product of natural laws that can be investigated and understood through the use of our reason, the assumption may not be disproved – it is, nevertheless, made superfluous.’

I hadn’t lost Edward. I simply hadn’t convinced him. ‘Take it from me,’ I said again, ‘that words and fanciful actions cannot change the natural order of things. There is no sorcery. Now, boy, go about your business.’

I no sooner waved him away than he was back up that mast. This time, he went right up to the top and clung there. I’d not have seen much from this distance at any time. In the fading light, it was harder still to see anything. I had the impression, though, that he might have been crying. Of course, my lecture had been beside the point. Just because there is no sorcery doesn’t abolish the fact that everyone believes in it, and acts on the belief. And most of their acts are demented. I smiled grimly and glanced at the evil faces turned in my direction.

I pointed at the closest of the northerners. ‘Take me back to the stern,’ I ordered.

With a reverential bow, he stood forward. He swept me effortlessly into his arms and carried me the twenty yards to where Wilfred had continued his steady watch.

‘I can see three sails, Master,’ Wilfred whispered as I was propped beside him.

I nodded. Was it worth observing that, since our conversation was in Latin, and was about nothing confidential, we had no need of whispering? Probably not. His cough had let up for the moment, and he seemed to be enjoying himself. If Edward had been his usual self, he’d have been calling down how many more he could see. I found it hard to believe the entire battle fleet was still in pursuit. But if it was even half a dozen ships, the slightest diminution of the wind might be disastrous. I looked up at the sky. It had already turned a light purple, and was darkening rapidly from the east.

‘Have you considered the possibility,’ Wilfred asked, ‘of evan­gelising these men?’

I gave him a funny look.

He stared calmly back at me. ‘When they have completed their training, all the monks in Jarrow will be sent across the northern ocean to rescue those who live there from satanic darkness. This aside, do you not think converting the crew might bring tangible advantages to ourselves?’

Was he supposing that the faint chance of their conversion would make them less dangerous? Or was he looking about for some set-off for his doubtless imaginary ‘sins’? It wasn’t a question I felt up to asking.

‘Let us consider the matter again once we have taken on supplies,’ I said with what I hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘For the moment, since they all seem pleased enough with their Great and Omnipotent Yadina, I suggest it might be expedient to leave them a while longer in the darkness.’

Wilfred nodded inscrutably.

Not for the first time, I felt a slight but growing disapproval in his manner. Well, that would have to be. Like Edward, he was still a child. As with Edward, I had a tendency to forget this. Their only difference lay in the nature of their childish suppositions. I lifted my wig and scratched at the patches of stubble that had grown back since Cartenna. The light was going fast. I looked west and strained until my eyes began to water. There was a faint light back there. I didn’t want to show weakness to anyone by asking for confirmation. Instead, I accepted there was a glow of lights.

‘Get that thing over the side,’ I said to the two northerners closest to where I stood. ‘Get the others up on deck. They can help.’ Ignoring the sudden burst of activity, I switched back into Latin. ‘Do go and call Edward down.’

Wilfred pursed his lips and looked thoughtfully at the towering height of the mast.

I smiled. ‘No, boy, I’m not asking you to go up there. Just call up to him. Tell him the appointed time is upon us.’

There was a general shuffling and grunting as the whole crew came up on deck and stood before me. I waved them towards my contraption. I looked at it again, wondering if it would drift apart in the sea. Too late, however, to direct more ropes. It would have to do. I repeated the order and pointed over the side. It fell the ten-foot height of the deck and made a loud splash in the sea. I pressed my hands into my thighs to cover their shaking. No – it held together. I breathed out and smiled weakly. I looked about for Edward. He was leaning over the side, trying to take hold of the tip of the makeshift mast.

‘Oh, come on, boy,’ I shouted, beginning to feel as pleased with myself as I was trying to look. ‘Just jump down there and do the business. The sea is hardly freezing – as you’d have found to your profit had you taken your clothes off.’

With a hurt look, Edward jumped lightly down on to the larger of the inflated water skins. He slipped on the wet leather, and seemed about to fall into the sea. But he steadied himself on the mast. I glanced round. From the looks on the faces of his audience, I realised it was probably for the best he hadn’t stripped off. Rider of a bolting horse might be too sober an image to describe our situation. If we ever did get back to England, would these creatures be after a reward or a ransom? Could I hold things together even as far as the Narrow Straits?

I forced myself back to the matter in hand. I looked far into the west. As the last beams of the setting sun sank below the horizon, I clapped my hands together. Edward pulled the cover off the lantern that hung halfway up the mast. As he jumped back aboard, someone gave the bundle of skins a smart push with a piece of the broken mast, and it was soon moving steadily off on a divergent course from our own.

‘We have until late tomorrow morning,’ I said to the pilot. ‘We may have less time than that before the trick is discovered. I know it’s night, and we have no lamp of our own. But I want you to set us on a course due south. How fast can this ship go with the wind on our right?’

The details of his answer made bugger-all sense in terms of dynamic analysis. But he had no doubt we could crack on at a good speed even without manning the oars.

‘Then let’s have the tiller pulled round,’ I said. ‘And can you get everyone else to moderate the chanting? You may have noticed how surprisingly well sound can travel at night over the sea.’

Chapter 16

‘It might be Tipasa,’ I said in Latin with another strained look at the shore. ‘From your description, it’s too small to be Caesarea. Anyone who says it’s Carthage is ignorant of geography, and probably has shit in his eyes.’ I made myself not look at the pilot. He’d been increasingly out of sorts with me ever since the African shore had come back in sight. If he couldn’t follow my words, he could certainly get their broad meaning.

‘Edward tells me the place looks deserted,’ Wilfred replied.

Possibly it was. He had sharp eyes and a better view from aloft than any of us. Tipasa had been on the road to extinction when I went through its tax rolls. Twenty years later, it might well be dead. That might have its advantages.