"Now, then, if you will excuse me, I will make the necessary arrangements. I assume we will want the Danes to accompany us?"
"Yes, yes," replied Nicephorus, his gaze vacant; his mind was clearly on other matters. "Make the arrangements by all means."
In three strides Nikos was gone, and with not so much as a glance in my direction, though he must have known I was there the whole time. The eparch sat in his chair staring at the half-folded parchment as if it were an object he had never seen before. As no one else was near, I went to him.
"Eparch? Can I help you in any way?"
"Honorius sends word of betrayal," he announced absently. "He says we must come to him."
As the eparch was deeply distracted, I plucked up my courage and asked, "May I see the message?"
"If you wish," he said. He made no move to hand it to me, but he watched me while I read.
The message was terse and stilted, indicating that the caliph planned to use the completion of the peace council to renew hostilities between the Arabs and Byzantium. As details of this treachery were too sensitive to impart by messenger, the governor requested the eparch to join him in Sebastea at once, and suggested travelling with a body-guard.
"You are a man with some experience of the written word," Nicephorus said when I finished. "Can you tell me anything of the man who wrote this?"
The script was Greek, and written in a bold, confident hand; each letter was neatly formed and orderly, if slightly small. "I would say the man was a scribe," I ventured, "a monk, perhaps. He writes distinctly-his words are well-chosen. Is it truly the governor's hand?"
"Yes, it is," answered Nicephorus. "And that is what worries me most."
"Then I do not understand, eparch."
"I know Honorius, you see. We served together in Gaul, and again, briefly, in Ephesus long ago." he confided. "I do not think Nikos or anyone else in Trebizond knows this, and I have told no one since coming here. But I will cut out my own tongue before I confess he wrote that letter.
"Look at it!" he said, with mounting agitation. "The greeting is wrong. We are old friends, Honorius and I. He knew I was coming-knew I would be staying in his house. Yet, he sends the message, not to me, but by way of the magister. What is more, he addresses me not as a man he has known for forty years, but by title only, as if I were a mere functionary of the emperor he had never met."
I began to see what concerned the eparch now, and agreed that it did seem strange. The wording of the letter was stiffly formal-precise, yet distant. "Do you suspect forgery?"
He shook his head. "No; he wrote it. But I cannot believe he wrote it to me."
"Perhaps he did not wish to betray your friendship-should the letter go astray."
"Perhaps." The eparch's tone suggested he thought otherwise. "That letter betrays precious little, it seems to me."
"You suspect another reason for sending a message such as this," I concluded. "What could it be?"
"That is what I am asking myself," he said, shaking his head slowly. He rose from his chair, his food untouched. "I fear we must make ready to leave, Aidan," he said, crossing the courtyard. "Please, inform Harald."
"What about the letter?" I asked, indicating the parchment still lying on the table.
Misunderstanding my question, the eparch replied, "No doubt all will become clear once we arrive in Sebastea."
He left the courtyard and returned to his room. As no one else was around, I picked up the letter and examined it again. It appeared neither more nor less odd than before; I thought, it may be genuine after all. Folding it carefully, I retied the black band, and tucked the document inside my mantle with every intention of returning it to the eparch. Then I hastened to find Harald and alert him to our unexpected change in plans.
The gates of Trebizond were open wide and the road stretched out before us. It was a little past midday, the sun bright in a late winter's sky; the air was cool, but the sun warm on our faces and backs. The road to Sebastea was a well-travelled path-deep-rutted owing to the rains, and the recent invasion of visitors attending the fair.
Nikos travelled on horseback, and the eparch rode in an enclosed wagon, pulled by a two-horse team; three additional wagons and teams brought the provisions. The Sea Wolves, over a hundred in all, marched in two long columns either side of the wagons, spears and axes in their hands, shields on their backs.
