"Of course, Lord Sadiq," I replied, and watched him stoop like an old man as he entered his tented chamber.
A moment later, Faysal called that the boat was waiting. Brynach and Dugal were already boarded. Before sliding over the rail to join them, I glanced at the tented platform and saw Kazimain watching, her veil to one side. She was frowning because of the sun in her eyes, but it seemed in that moment an expression of utter disapproval and sorrow. Then she saw me, and the glower vanished in her smile. Still, I wondered whether her true feelings were not more truly declared in the frown.
The Greek sailors began clamouring for their pay and release. Leaving Faysal and Harald to deal with them, I lowered myself into the waiting boat. As the boatman worked the oar, I instructed Brynach and Dugal, speaking in our common tongue so as not to be overheard, "I think it best if we pretend to be traders. Should anyone ask, we will tell them we have come to buy spices and oil."
"To look at us," put in Dugal, fanning his billowy mantle, "you would not think us monks."
"A small deception," Brynach observed. "But if you think it necessary, I have no objection."
"I would feel better for it," I told him. "Since we are traders, and have been travelling for many days, our ignorance of affairs in Constantinople will not appear suspicious."
Brynach eyed me dubiously. "Do you believe him so powerful, this Nikos, that we must practise such deceits?"
"Ships sail at his command, and high officials die in their beds," I spat, anger flaring instantly. "You yourself have suffered at his hands, and watched your brothers succumb to his intrigues one after another. How is it you have seen all this and still do not believe?"
"Oh, I believe," replied Brynach slowly, "make no mistake. I believe him to be no more than a man-a wicked, hateful man, perhaps, but human nonetheless. But you, Aidan-you make him out a demon with powers over the very air and light."
"Until I see him dead and in his grave," I replied coldly, "I will believe him the Devil incarnate, and treat with him accordingly."
"It is our Lord Christ who upholds and protects us," Brynach said firmly. "We have nothing to fear."
"Sure, he has shown himself a sorry protector," I snapped. "Look around you, Brother Brynach, we have been beset with death and disaster at every turn, and our great good God has done nothing!"
"We are still alive," Dugal pointed out. His mild, unwitting faith irritated me.
"Yes, and how many others are not alive!" My anger drew the boatman's attention; he raised his eyebrows. Lowering my voice, I forced myself to remain calm. "I wonder whether our dead brothers, or the two hundred and more who fell in the ambush, would share your smug appraisal."
"I had no idea you felt so ill-used," Brynach replied, adopting a calm, unperturbed tone.
"Say nothing of my feelings," I said coldly. "But tell me, if you can, how many more people must die before you understand how little God cares?"
Dugal, taken aback by the force of my outburst, stared at me as if at a stranger.
Unable to make them see the stark futility of their faith, I shut my mouth and turned my face away until the boat bumped against the low stone quay, and we disembarked. I paid the boatman, and started at once for the gate, which we could see rising above the squatting hovels that spread like an unwholesome crust over the muck and mire of the marsh-lands along the wide stinking ditch beneath Constantinople's western wall. These were the homes, so to speak, of the day-labourers who unloaded the ships and carried the goods to and from the markets. This day the harbours were closed, and the workers idle; they watched us as we passed.
Picking our way through refuse heaps and reeking mud, we came to the Egnatian Way, the road which passed through the Golden Gate, eventually becoming The Mese and leading directly to the forum and the palace. Upon reaching the road, we saw that the wide, stone-paved expanse had become a river of humanity-and a turgid river at that, moving with almost imperceptible slowness, albeit with ear-numbing clamour towards the pale yellow gate far, far ahead.
There seemed no other choice but to join the throng jostling its slow way towards the city. This we did, pushing our way in behind a group of men carrying large stuffed bags made of heavy sackcloth. We shuffled slowly along together for a time, the five throwing off their weighty burdens every now and then to give themselves a rest before moving on again. It was during one such lull in the march that I spoke to them, offering to help shoulder the weight of their sacks.
"Your offer is generous, my friend," the leader of the group told me, "but we have no money with which to repay your kindness."
"We have come to the city to make our fortune," another said-a young man with a dark feather-wisp smudge of moustache. The head man gave him a disapproving look which he blithely ignored, and announced: "We are the best potters in all Nicea."
