"Greetings, Lord Sadiq!" I exclaimed upon entering, "I am glad to see you awake. Ddewi tells me you are feeling better."
"Truly," he replied. "Allah willing, I shall soon feel strong enough to take up my sword and do battle with the sea raiders."
"Ah, that is why I came," I said, settling myself just inside the entrance; Kazimain and Ddewi shifted aside to allow me room to sit, "but I see you have heard already."
"The walls of my palace are cloth," he said, raising a hand limply to the tented enclosure; "it would have been more surprising if I had not heard." He paused, and licked his lips. Ddewi, alert to his needs, instantly produced a cup of water; the amir waved it aside. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, but his gaze direct. "The attack-when will it come?"
"The Danes do not think the raiders will try to take us at night," I replied. "It is likely they will wait until tomorrow."
"That, I fear, is too soon for me," the amir said with a slight, dry smile. The skin stretched across his cheekbones was pale as parchment and very thin. "Tell these pirates they must wait a little longer if they wish to fight the Lion of Samarra."
"Of course, Lord Sadiq, I shall tell them at first opportunity. In any case, Harald thinks it will be a disappointing battle. He is confident that two ships of raiders cannot defeat four longships of Sea Wolves."
"Tell your King Harald that overconfidence is a pernicious enemy," the amir advised. "The raiders know themselves outnumbered, and still they come. Does this not speak a word of caution to you?"
Kazimain leaned forward, placing her hand on Sadiq's shoulder. "Uncle, speak no more. Rest now."
"Well," I said lightly, "if the wind holds good we may outrun them after all." Rising to leave, I promised to come and see him again soon.
"Tell King Harald what I said," the amir urged as I withdrew.
"I will tell him."
Kazimain followed me out, and we made our way to the prow where we could speak more easily without being overheard. "He is getting better," she said, quiet insistence giving her a determined air. "Ddewi hopes he will be ready to walk again soon." She paused, looking out at the flat milk-blue horizon. Her brow furrowed, but whether in thought or worry, I could not tell, so waited for her to speak again. In a moment, she turned to me and said, "What will happen when we reach Byzantium?"
"I fear we will have more than enough trouble just getting there," I indicated the double set of red sails, still coursing off to the west, closer now, "without worrying what comes after."
"What do you want to happen?" she persisted.
"I want everything to be like it was," I began. "I want-"
I was cut off by Harald's sudden cry. "Down sail!" he bellowed. "To oars!"
Sure, his roar shook the very mast to its quivering top. Suddenly, everyone was scrambling to the rowing benches. Glancing seaward, I saw what had alarmed Harald: the red ships had abruptly changed course and were now charging straight at us.
I ran to Harald's side where he stood gripping the rail as if it was a spear. "The waiting is over," he said. "Now the fighting begins."
Slamming the oaken oar into the slot, I leapt onto the bench, recalling the last time I had tried my hand at rowing. It was in Ban Gwydd; we were fleeing the Sea Wolves, and I had never held an oar before. It was with a peculiar regret that I perceived I was no better oarsman now. The long timber was unwieldy in my hands, and cursedly awkward. I found myself alternately plunging the blade too deep, or merely swiping up a spray.
Gunnar, seeing my difficulty, took his place on the bench before me. "See here, Aeddan, man!" he called over his shoulder. "Just you do what I do, and all will be well."
I ceased my frenzied thrashing and watched him perform a few strokes: he pushed the oar forward and dipped it slightly before dragging it back, taking the strain in his shoulders and letting the blade glide through the water. Imitating his example, the oar became slightly less cumbersome, and the rowing easier.
Dugal and Brynach also settled nearby, and I told them to follow Gunnar's lead, which they did, very quickly acquiring the skill-especially Dugal, who with his strength could easily match the best of the Danes.
"We must be calling him Dugal Bull-Rower from now on," called Hnefi from his bench opposite Dugal's.
Those nearby laughed at his small jest, and I translated the joke for Dugal, saying, "This is praise indeed, coming from Hnefi."
"Tell him I will match him stroke for stroke and we will see who tires first," replied Dugal.
