In the event, those responsible for the supposed raid were never found; and, since the ewer was recovered, the search was halted and speculation ceased. Interest turned instead to the peace talks between the eparch and the amir which commenced a few days later. They alternated meeting places, sometimes within the city, and sometimes in the Arab camp. Sometimes the magister and certain prominent citizens took part, sometimes various merchants from Constantinople, and sometimes only the eparch and amir alone but for their interpreters and advisors. I also attended a few of these discussions, but found them exceedingly dull.
Winter deepened around us all the while; the days, though chill and often damp, were never cold. Nor did it snow, except for the high tops of the mountains far to the north and east. Sometimes, a southern wind would stir the leafless branches and the day would be almost warm. Even so, with the approach of the Christ Mass, Trebizond began to shake off some of its seasonal lethargy. I noticed a steady stream of newcomers arriving in the city. When I remarked on this to one of the merchants-who, by virtue of having traded gemstone and marble in Trebizond for twenty years, was sometimes included in the eparch's delegation-I was told this was but a trickle that would eventually become a flood.
"Just wait and see," he said. "By Saint Euthemius's Day there will not be an empty room in the whole city. Every doorway will become a bed. You watch. It is true."
We at the abbey, like every holy community, honoured certain saints with feasts on particular days: Saint Colum Cille's day was special to the monks at Kells. And though there were many eastern saints unknown in the west, it still seemed odd that any day should be more highly regarded than the Christ's Day Mass. "I had no idea the saint's day was so well observed here," I told him.
"Some come for Euthemius's feast, I suppose," he allowed with a shrug of indifference. "But most come for the fair."
I had heard this word before, of course, but his use of it was strange. Upon inquiring, I was told that a fair was a gathering, not unlike a market, where people might buy and sell, and also enjoy special entertainments and diversions over many days. "The Trebizond fair is well known," the merchant assured me. "People come from the far ends of the empire and beyond just to attend-Christian and pagan alike, everyone comes."
He spoke the truth with no exaggeration. For the Christ Mass came and went, strictly observed, yes, but stiffly and with very little warmth. I did attend a Mass, out of curiosity rather than desire, and I could not find it in my heart to pray. The worship seemed perfunctory to me; even the singing lacked interest. All in all, I thought it a dismal observance-though, perhaps my own feelings of desolation coloured my perception; I was still bitterly disappointed with God, and in no fit mood to regard the birth of his son, to whom I was no longer speaking.
Deep in my innermost soul, I must have entertained the notion that a miracle of reconciliation would take place for me during that most holy and joyous observance: that my Lord Christ might look down in pity and mercy upon me, take hold of me, embrace me as his son, and raise me up once more to my proper place in the Great Kingdom. But no. God, ever aloof, remained hidden in his obscure Heaven, silent and uncaring as ever. Or, if he did favour mankind with the light of his presence, it was upon some other corner of the earth that he shone. The glad tidings of great joy were, I suppose, bestowed upon others.
The only glimmer of anything that even faintly resembled happiness or good will came from the barbarians. The Sea Wolves made a noble and determined attempt at a celebration: jultide, they called it-a seven-day orgy of eating and drinking and fighting. They contrived to brew their ol, and procured six sheep and four bullocks for roasting, though they would rather have had an ox or two and some swine. As there was nothing to prevent me, I joined them for part of their festivities at the quay where they had taken over a sizeable portion of the wharf, having erected large tent-like shelters made from their ship's sails.
"I am missing Karin's rokt skinka," Gunnar confided three or four days into their celebration. "And her lutfisk and tunnbrod-I miss those also. My Karin makes the best lutfisk. Is this not so, Tolar?"
Tolar nodded sagely, and stared into his cup. "The glogg is good."
"True," agreed Gunnar solemnly, then confided: "I have never had glogg before, Aeddan. In Skania, only very wealthy men may drink it as it is made with wine, you know. But maybe we are all very wealthy now, heya?"
"Heya," Tolar replied, then thought perhaps he had said too much, for he rose abruptly and went to find a jar to refill the cups.
Thorkel and two other Danes staggered by just then and settled at the table with us. "Aeddan, old Sea Wolf!" cried Thorkel. "I have not seen you for fifty years!"
