"You ask for the truth," he said, his voice low to a whisper, "perhaps you will recognize it when we tell you this: Nikos did not kill my father."
Basileus Leo motioned one of the guards to come forward. The soldier took my arm and, under the gaze of the emperor, I was led from the room. But upon reaching the huge door, I glanced back and he was gone.
Yes, I thought bitterly, I could yet recognize the truth when I heard it.
Brynach was waiting for me as I stepped from the room. The Danes, I could see, were huddled together across the hall, deep in discussion-about what they would do with their increased wealth, I suppose. Sadiq and Faysal were head-to-head, speaking together in low tones; Kazimain stood near, looking lost and forlorn.
"The emperor wished to speak to you," Brynach suggested hopefully.
"He did," I allowed, glancing to the place where Nikos had fallen. The body was gone and three young servants were scattering wood dust over the floor to draw up the blood; soon that would be gone, too, leaving, perhaps, only a slight ruddy tint to the smooth stone to mark what had happened in this room. Dugal and Ddewi stood nearby watching the cleaners, and I motioned them to join us.
"Tell us, brother, what did he say to you?" Brynach asked, eager for a word that would redeem the pilgrimage.
"He said justice was served," I told him scornfully. "But there is no justice in this place; there is only debt and the collection of debts."
"Did you tell him about the book?" wondered Ddewi. "Did you tell him we brought a gift for the imperial library?" He put his hand on the leather bag he carried beneath his siarc. The simple action cut me to the bone. He had borne this burden of love without complaint, and would go on bearing it.
"Ddewi," I said, "the emperor is not worthy of our gift. Men of faith gave their lives for its safe-keeping, and I would not demean their sacrifice."
Ddewi appeared disappointed. "Then what are we to do with it?"
"Carry it back with you," I told him. "Take it home, Ddewi, where it will be a treasure of inspiration to all who see it."
"What of our petition?" Brynach, ever hopeful, could not help himself. "Did you tell him why we came?"
"No, Bryn, I did not," I replied bluntly.
The Briton's face fell. "Why?" he asked, his eyes searching me for an answer. "It was our last chance."
"It was no chance at all," I said. "Shake the dust of this place from your feet, leave and never look back. I tell you the truth: make your peace with Rome, there is no protection here."
We left the palace then, crossing the reception hall to the outer doors. Dugal, who had remained silent before, fell into step behind me. "Did Leo own the deed?" he asked.
"He told me that Nikos did not kill his father."
"Sure, that was a lie, Aidan."
"No, Dugal," I replied from my wooden heart, "that, at least, was the truth."
The doors opened and we stepped out into the light of a day grown unimaginably bright.
Harald Bull-Roar, in a mood of jubilant anticipation, declared a feast to celebrate his great good fortune. Dauntless battlechief that he was, he arrayed himself for war and led his brave Sea Wolves into the fearsome markets to face the cunning tradesmen of Constantinople and secure the necessary provisions. They returned some while later, much wounded in pride and pocket, but victorious, bringing with them six casks of Cypriot wine, a dozen bags of bread, bundles of charcoal, and the carcasses of several pigs and three bullocks, ready-spitted and dressed for the roasting pit.
Wasting not a moment, they set the charcoal to life and put the meat to the flame. Then they opened the first of the casks and slaked their thirst with dark red wine, easing their hunger with loaves of good flatbread while waiting for the pigs to roast. It was not in Harald to forget his bread allowance, and he had collected it, still warm from the oven, despite the fact that not a man among them spoke Greek. I could only imagine how they had made their wishes known to the unfortunate baker.
The Arabs, beguiled by the Danes' irresistible good will, joined easily into the festivities. Some of the rafiq helped prepare the food and showed their hosts how to mix wine with water for best flavour and less devastating effect. Although Sadiq did not drink wine, he allowed the others to do as they would, and by way of blessing the occasion, sent Faysal to procure additional delicacies of a variety and array to make the long tables groan: dates, sweetmeats, olives both black and green, cakes in honey syrup, pots of thickened milk sweetened and flavoured with almonds, and several kinds of fruit unknown to me.
As eventide shadows stole across the courtyard and the heat of the day dissipated into the brilliant pinks and purples of a warm Mediterranean night, the merrymaking burst into song and dance to the delight of all-save myself and my brother monks. They were lamenting the failure of the pilgrimage, but I was grieving for a greater loss.
