"Very well," I agreed with a sigh, and began to tell him about my sojourn among the Danes, how I came to be first Gunnar's and then King Harald's slave, and the Sea Wolf king's grand scheme to raid Constantinople. I told him about meeting the emperor, and about how Jarl Harald had given the silver cumtach to Basil as a token of surety in a legal dispute, and the Viking longships had become part of the imperial fleet.
I spoke a long time, pausing now and then to relate what I was saying to Gunnar, who grunted his rough agreement. Oh, it was a fine thing to speak my mother tongue once again. I talked more in that short time than I had in many a day. I told Dugal briefly about my few days in the city and Harald's bargain with the emperor, and more, and at last concluded, saying, "We were sent to Trebizond to serve as bodyguard to the Eparch Nicephorus, who negotiated peace with the Sarazens."
Likely, we would have gone on talking endlessly, but the sun's heat became oppressive and our tongues cleaved to the roofs of our mouths for lack of water. Gunnar, his head hurting him terribly from the blow he had endured, cautioned us to preserve what little strength remained us, so we closed our eyes and lay back against the rock and waited.
The day ended in a white blaze which gradually turned deep yellow as the sun fell behind the ragged hill line. The shadows crept out and covered us, and night slowly folded us into its dark heart. We remained chained to the rock through the night. I slept fitfully, sometimes waking to stare up at the immense star-dazzled skybowl. It seemed to me that all the eyes of heaven gazed down upon us, pitiless, cold, and silent. No cheerful light bathed or soothed us; a hard, merciless glare, stark in judgement, mocked our pains instead.
I recalled the times I had prayed beneath these selfsame lights, imagining them angels eager to bear my prayers to the throne of heaven. But no more. The pain in my shoulders and on my livid flesh was nothing compared to the torment of my soul. Had it done any good, I would have poured out my agony to the Lord of Souls. Ha! Sooner plead to the stars, Aidan, and beg mercy of the wind; either way, the answer will be the same.
Misery, I have learned, is not content. It is restless and multiplies without ceasing. If I, for the merest space of a heartbeat, imagined that my tribulation was soon to cease, the truth soon struck me hard in the teeth: my torment was only beginning.
They came for us at dawn.
Six guards and the pit overseer that Dugal had man-handled arrived as the sun rose on another blistering day. The overseer, one side of his face bruised and discoloured, glared down upon us with a malicious sneer; he spoke out a lengthy discourse which we could not understand, then motioned to the guards with him. They leapt forward, unshackled us, and bound us each separately; our hands were crossed and tied together at the wrist. Then, passing their staves through our arms with a guard on either end, they half-carried, half-dragged us away.
We were brought to a large dwelling at the edge of the guards' settlement. In the bare yard outside the whitewashed dwelling stood a thick wooden post with an iron ring fixed to its top. Leaving Gunnar and Dugal in a heap to one side, they threw me against the post and, taking a long leather rope, tied my hands to one end and put the other end through the ring. The whipping post was half again as tall as a man, so that when the rope was pulled taut, I was stretched full height, with my weight resting only on the tips of my toes.
As this was happening, I noticed that the chief overseer of the mines came out from the dwelling to stand looking on, his arms crossed over his chest. Under his gaze, I was stripped naked, and the guards then began to bludgeon me with their wooden staves-slowly at first, alternating their strokes, taking it in turn to hit me, first one and then another, striking wherever they would. Oh, but they were thorough. Very soon there was not a single place on my body that had not been pummelled-save for my head; I suppose they did not care to knock me senseless, so they avoided hitting my head lest I pass from consciousness, and thus beyond their torture. Neither did they break the skin, for loss of blood would have had the same effect, and it was clear they wished to prolong the agony as much as possible.
With the aching sting of the first blows, I felt the helpless frustration of the victim; futility, potent as pain, overwhelmed me, as I experienced the most wretched helplessness. My soul recoiled in horror at my own weakness. Tears came to my eyes, and I was ashamed of myself for weeping. I bit my lips to keep from crying out, wishing with all my soul that the ordeal would stop.
