‘There is a simpler way,’ said Sigurd. ‘Unleash the full power of our armies now. Then they will not doubt their defeat.’
‘No! That is what the Emperor almost died to prevent. He will not thank us if we now squander that hope without a final effort at peace.’
Krysaphios and Sigurd looked at each other, and then at me, and for a moment we were a single trio of silence in the tumult of the room.
‘Very well,’ said Krysaphios. ‘But how do you propose to reach the barbarians?’
There was no question of our leaving by the palace gates with the enemy so near, and we lost precious minutes riding along the walls to the Adrianople gate. This quarter of the city had become an armed camp, and the waiting legions were arrayed in long, unblinking rows behind us — as much to keep the mob from the gatehouses as to strike at the enemy, I think, but they kept a path free for us to pass. We were seven in all: Sigurd and I, three Varangians, an interpreter we had seized from the chancellery, and the dead monk tied over my horse’s back. He slowed me considerably, for these were steeds of the imperial post whose strength was all in their speed, not cataphracts’ beasts, and I had to shout after the others not to leave me behind.
The crowds were thicker by the Adrianople gate, for there were fewer guards to restrain them, and I feared lest our exit give them the opportunity to push through. Their faces were contorted with hate and fury, while the rocks and clay vessels they threw upset our beasts and impeded our progress. If they had known what the man I carried had attempted, I did not doubt they would have torn his dead limbs apart and danced on the bones. I probably would have fared little better.
Thankfully, the gatekeeper was a man equal to his task. He left his gate closed until we were almost upon it — so close that I could barely have pulled up my horse in time — then heaved it open just wide enough to admit a single rider. Sigurd, in the lead, never hesitated, and my horse followed his true course through the gap with mere inches between my legs and the wood. There was a thud as the monk’s head caught the edge of the gate, but the rope held him in place and we were out of the city, galloping down the Adrianople road towards the right flank of the barbarian army. Though they had seemed so many from the throne-room, they were some distance from us now, in the hollow between our ridge and the shore of the Horn. They appeared to have concentrated all their might on the gates by the palace, where the walls were nearest and where, I supposed, the news of the Emperor’s death might be expected to reach them first. Their foot soldiers were at the base of the outer walls, some wielding siege rams against the gates, others trying to shore burning pieces of timber against the masonry, perhaps trying to collapse it. Their mounted knights were drawn up further back out of bowshot, waiting for a breach to be made, while archers tried to keep our defenders pinned behind the ramparts. On the slope which rose behind them, a sheaf of banners were planted amid a cluster of men on horseback.
Sigurd slowed his horse so that I came up beside him. ‘I should be sallying out of those gates at the head of my company,’ he muttered. ‘Not skulking around the enemy’s flanks.’
‘A glorious battle is what we hope to prevent,’ I reminded him. ‘And in any case, the flanks are where the enemy are always weakest.’
‘Not so weak that six men and a corpse can turn them. Look.’ Sigurd pointed his axe to our right, and a wave of apprehension coursed through me as I saw a score of the barbarian cavalry galloping towards us. Sparks flew where their horses’ hooves struck rocks, and their spears were couched low.
‘We can outpace them,’ I said, glancing towards the hill where the barbarian captains stood. ‘These beasts were bred for speed.’
‘We can outpace them,’ Sigurd agreed, ‘but we would only spur ourselves into the end of the sack. There is a company of spearmen on that hill, and it will take more than half a dozen post-horses to break their line.’
I looked back to the approaching horsemen, who were now fanning out to envelop us. Battle would be futile, for they outnumbered us four to a man: even the Varangians would succumb against those odds. Reaching under the ill-fitting mail hauberk I had hurriedly pulled on at the palace, I felt for the hem of my tunic and tore at it. A thin strip came away; I knotted it about the end of my sword and waved it desperately over my head, shouting the one Frankish word I had learned. ‘Parley! Parley!’
Thankfully they did not carry bows, or they might have brought us down before ever coming into earshot. But the brevity of their weapons, and the unlikely threat that our gaggle of Varangians posed, drew them close enough to hear our vital pleas. I saw their leader slow his steed, and cock an ear to what we said, while his men spread into a loose cordon about us.
I looked to the interpreter, who seemed struck dumb by our situation. I doubted he had ever expected to be plying his trade in the midst of a battlefield.
‘Tell them that we ask for a parley,’ I shouted to him. ‘Tell him that we come from the Emperor, that we must see Baldwin or Duke Godfrey.’
Somehow the interpreter found voice to stammer a few words in the Frankish tongue. The barbarian listened impassively, his face masked by the thick cheeks of his helmet, then answered brusquely.
‘He says he will not take us to his captain,’ the interpreter told me. ‘He fears we are assassins.’
I reversed my sword, and let it fall from my hand. It stuck upright in the soft ground, the white ribbon on its blade flapping weakly in the breeze.
‘We are not assassins.’ Though it would have been of little use against their spears, I felt exposed without my sword, but I forced calm into my voice. ‘Tell him to take this to Baldwin.’
I withdrew the monk’s garnet ring from my pocket, where I had carried it so many months, and threw it to the Frank. His hands were clumsy in their mail gauntlets, and he almost dropped it in the mud before trapping it against his saddle.
‘Tell him that I have news of Odo the monk.’
I could see nothing of the barbarian’s thoughts, but I guessed he did not like this errand at all. For long, painful seconds he was silent, doubtless wondering whether he should slaughter our little band and be rid of us. Beside me, I heard the interpreter mumbling a plaintive
Without realising it, I had shut my eyes as I echoed the words of the prayer in my head. I jerked them back open, to see the Frankish leader passing the ring to the man beside him and barking a few short commands. The subordinate nodded, pulled his horse about and kicked her away along the ridge towards the captains’ standards. None of the other Franks moved, and their spear-tips never lowered so much as a finger’s breadth.
I could not count the time we waited there, for every second seemed an eternity. On the plain before us the barbarian army had withdrawn a little distance, and my hopes rose that perhaps they had learned the futility of their assault, but it was only to regroup. Again they attacked, charging forward under a hail of arrows, their shields flat above their heads. I hoped we had stout men on the walls, for though our archers held back many of the horde, many more managed to raise ladders to the battlements and scale their heights. I imagined the legions drawn up in the city, swords unsheathed and bowstrings tight, waiting on a single command to throw open the gates and join battle. There would be a slaughter indeed if that happened, for even against our unyielding walls the barbarians were fighting like wild dogs.
The clanking of harnesses on my left drew my attention away from the battle: four horsemen were approaching along the ridge, their leader riding a great bay stallion which I recognised from the ambush in Galata the day before. The Franks who encircled us moved apart as he cantered towards us, spear in hand, and it seemed for a moment he would charge us alone until he reined his beast in just before me, staring at the corpse I carried. Though his helmet covered much of his aspect, the death-pale skin it framed was unmistakable.
I cut the monk free and let him drop on the ground. ‘This is the man you hoped would murder the Emperor and break open the city,’ I said, ignoring the echo of a hurried translation. ‘He has failed. You have failed.’
A second man spurred forward. A few locks of fair hair crept from under his mail hood, while his face was grim. He spoke angrily to his companion, making no attempt to disguise his words from the interpreter.
‘Is this true, brother? Is this the man you claimed would. .’ He broke off, aware that his words were heard and understood, and whispered urgently in Baldwin’s ear.
‘Duke Godfrey,’ I began. ‘Since you came, the Emperor has desired only peace and alliance, for all Christians to unite against our common enemies. Many voices in the city condemned him for his generosity, but he withstood them against every provocation. Even as your army assaults his walls, he does not retaliate with the full force of his might.’
