"A dispensation from the emperor," Brynach replied, his voice taking on strength once more, "for the free practice of our faith."
I could make no sense of this. "Have you lost your mind, brother? Whatever can you mean? We are free," I asserted, forgetting for the moment that I was done with such things and no longer cared one way or the other. "We owe allegiance to no earthly king."
"Not if Rome has its way," countered Brynach blackly. "Even now the Pope is raising the cry of heresy against us."
"Heresy!" I could not imagine what Brynach was talking about. "It is absurd."
"But true just the same," replied the monk. "The Pope would bring all who call themselves Christian beneath his sway. We have always vexed Rome, I think, with our different ways. The Pope would have us bow the knee to his authority."
"So you hoped to appeal to a higher authority," I mused, hopelessness settling over me once more.
"There is no higher authority on earth than the emperor himself," Brynach declared, growing earnest. "He can grant us the peace we seek. Once we reach Sebastea," he said quickly, "we can-"
His words, combined with his rekindled intensity, filled me with alarm. "The pilgrimage is ended," I said ruthlessly, my tone growing harsh. "We are returning to Trebizond, and then travelling on to Constantinople. It is finished," I stated flatly. "The pilgrimage ended in disaster long ago."
Brynach opened his mouth, and then closed it again without speaking. He rose and went back to his place at the cooking pot. I thought the matter ended there; however, I was gravely mistaken.
My mind squirmed like an eel caught in the eagle's grasp. Upset by Brynach's talk, disturbed, angry, I walked a long time, watching night descend through a ruddy desert sky, trying to regain my peace and composure. The more I walked however, the more agitated I became-but obscurely so: I did not know what I was anxious about, nor could I discern the source of my aggravation. All the while, my thoughts spun and shifted, flitting first one way and then another, but never finding rest.
Once, I felt as if I were about to burst with a sudden blazing insight. I waited, almost panting with anticipation. But nothing came, so I made my way back to camp and found a place to be alone with my troubled thoughts. Was it, I wondered, something Brynach had said that now sat so ill with me?
Tossed by the turmoil of my unsatisfactory meditations, I heard, but did not attend, a soft, strangled sound. It came again, and I turned to see Dugal, his head bent, shuffling towards me, hands covering his face. Even in the darkness, I could see his broad shoulders curved down as under an unseen burden. He came to where I sat on my solitary rock a short distance from camp.
"Dugal?"
In a moment, he raised his face. I expected tears, but his eyes were dry. The torment he felt was etched in every line of his face, however, and his voice was raw when he spoke. "Christ have mercy!" he said. "It is all because of me."
"Sit you down," I told him sternly. Still preoccupied by my own concerns I had no inclination towards gentleness and understanding. "Tell me now, what ails you?"
"All the evil that has befallen us-" he said, his voice cracking with regret, "it is all because of me. God have mercy on my soul, I am the cause of our afflictions."
"Tch!" I clicked my tongue at him. "Listen to you, now. Even if you were the Devil incarnate, you could not have wrought such havoc."
In his shame, he bent his head to his hands, and covered his face, murmuring, "Jonah…I am Jonah."
Rising to my knees, I leaned towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hear me, Dugal," I said firmly. "The fault is not yours. The misfortunes which have befallen us are the work of a zealot who shrinks not from murder, or any other crime, to further his wicked purpose."
"The man you describe is me," came the muffled reply. "I am that Jonah."
"Do not be a fool," I told him bluntly. "The man I describe is Komes Nikos. The iniquity is his alone."
Dugal, however, would not be comforted. "You do not understand," he said, his cry a very wound. "From the beginning-before ever we left Eire…" He shook his head, overwhelmed by misery.
"Stop that, Dugal. Look at me." I spoke severely, trying to brace him with sharp speech and firm purpose. "Look me in the eye, man, and tell me what you did."
Slowly, a man crushed by his burden of guilt, Dugal raised his head. There were tears in his eyes now. He pushed them away with the heels of his hands.
"Well? I am waiting."
"I cheated my way onto the ship," he said at last.
"What ship?" I could not imagine what he was talking about.
