The caliph had leaned so far forward on his throne that his face was almost in the light. ‘You have listened to the rumours spread by my enemies. The harvest is not failing. Not one of my subjects will go hungry this winter.
‘We — ’
‘And even if we did suffer famine, I would sooner scrabble for seeds in the ground with my own fingers than beg your emperor for relief. Do you think I have forgotten what happened in my father’s time? All Egypt starved — even for a thousand dinars you could not find a loaf of bread. The Greek emperor offered to send us two million bushels of grain and we gratefully accepted — but the ships never came. He betrayed us to appease the heretic Turks. I would rather slaughter every horse in my stable to feed the poor, pawn my treasury and send my wives to work in the bathhouses than beg your emperor’s help again. Who will he not betray if it is to his advantage? He is like Satan: he says to a man, ‘Do not believe!’, but when the man obeys and forsakes God, he says, “I disown you.”’
The caliph stood, rising into the darkness. His voice had become a fevered shriek, a disorienting counterpoint to the calm monotone of the chamberlain’s translation. ‘You are faithless hypocrites. You say that if we are attacked, you will help us; but when we are attacked you soon turn tail and flee. Truly, it is written: “You who believe, do not take the disbelievers as allies and protectors.”’
Nikephoros stepped forward and looked defiantly up at the caliph. Even stripped of his magnificent robes, with no jewelled lorum wound about him like armour, his pride was enough to clothe him in self-righteous dignity.
‘We came in peace and friendship, as ambassadors of the emperor Alexios. It is unwise to renounce that friendship — but if you do, I ask you to at least honour our safe-conduct as ambassadors. We will leave in the morning, as soon as you permit it.’
They were the words I had longed to hear for two months; now I barely noticed them. The caliph was still standing, though his twitching movements had calmed, and when he spoke there was more reason in his voice.
‘You cannot leave. Winter has closed the seas, and all the harbours are shut.’
The words struck me like a blow to my stomach. Even Nikephoros looked uncertain now. The caliph continued: ‘But you cannot stay in my city. I have issued an edict that all unbelievers must leave. Your presence here disturbs my kingdom.’
Nikephoros stared at him. ‘Then where shall we go?’
‘I have a hunting lodge on the western bank of the river. My guards will take you there immediately — your possessions will be sent after you in the morning. You will wait there until the seas open in the spring.’
Too much wine, too little sleep — and then the grim shock of being dragged before the raging caliph: a dark mist seemed to hang before my eyes as the guards bustled us out of the caliph’s throne room. As we reached a turn in the passage, I managed to draw ahead of my guards long enough to catch up with Nikephoros. He glanced back over his shoulder and tried to force a reassuring smile. That worried me more than anything.
‘Al-Afdal will be back within the week,’ he said. ‘He will bring the caliph to his senses.’
Once again, a fleet of litters awaited us by the palace gate. I climbed into mine without resistance and settled onto the cushions — like a corpse being laid on his funeral bier, my mind whispered. I thought of Bishop Adhemar draped in his shroud, but that took me to Antioch and that was too much to bear.
They carried us from the city at great speed, the litters swaying and shuddering: the streets must have been entirely empty that deep into the night, and we travelled them unseen and unseeing. When we emerged at the dock, though, all was bustle and activity. Torches had been lit, and a great throng of slaves and guardsmen milled about on the wharf. In a knot in their midst, I saw the four Frankish envoys and their attendants. They must have been hauled from their sleep as peremptorily as we had, for they wore the same disarray of under-shirts and mismatched boots, and the same harried confusion on their faces. Achard stood among them, his head darting about like a cornered cat’s.
Our guards hustled us towards the Franks and gestured us to wait. Out on the water I could hear the approach of splashing oars, and nearer to me, a low and ragged chant.
‘
All of the Franks were murmuring the same prayer, intensity fixed on their faces. The sound mingled with the harsher, wilder voices of the Berber guards, different currents in the dizzying babble that washed over me, as inconstant and elusive as the flickering firelight. I was so dazed I did not even think to pray.
A dark and familiar figure strode onto the dock, his yellow cloak billowing around his shoulders and his gold armband shining in the torchlight. He passed by us without a glance, but my heart leaped all the same at the sight of him. An angry shout was enough to bring the Berber captain hurrying out; they met in the middle of the wharf, so close they could have whispered their conversation if they had wanted. Instead, they began a furious discussion, which every man on the dock could hear. I understood almost nothing, but I did hear al-Afdal’s name mentioned often by Bilal, and the caliph’s name invoked each time in reply by the Berber captain. A circle of the guardsmen formed around them, thickest behind their captain, and I saw Bilal begin to edge backwards. Even his commanding presence could not deter so many.
With a final, sharp comment, he turned his back on the guards and marched towards us. His face was grey in the smoke.
‘I cannot counter the caliph’s order,’ he said loudly. ‘Even if he has fallen under the influence of evil counsellors. I have sworn to obey him in all things.’ Then, more quietly: ‘They are taking you to your deaths. If you reach the far bank of the river, it will only be to step into your graves.’
He spoke so softly, almost conversationally, that I had nodded before I even realised what he had said. By then he had turned away and vanished out of the light, while a host of guards gathered about us and began shepherding us towards the river with their short spears.
‘What are they doing?’
The voice, small and frightened, cut through the fog of terror that gripped me. Achard was beside me, shuffling forward and looking up with fearful expectation. His staring eyes had lost their intensity; now they only made him look horribly innocent. He had not heard Bilal’s warning: perhaps that was a mercy.
Before I could answer, we were pulled apart again. We had reached the steps, and had to descend in single file. Three boats awaited us at the bottom, small craft, already half-filled by the slaves who sat by their oars. Their hunched backs gleamed in the dark. Without regard for rank or race, the Berbers herded six of us into the first boat: Nikephoros and Aelfric, Achard, two of the Patzinaks and me. An equal number of guardsmen accompanied us. Even in our utter helplessness, they clearly had orders to risk nothing.
A hand closed around my arm, tight as a noose. ‘What are they doing?’ Achard repeated. ‘What did the black savage say?’
‘That we will be murdered.’ I spoke furtively and in Frankish, praying none of the Berbers understood. As long as they thought we remained ignorant of our fate, I hoped they might postpone it.
Achard closed his eyes. ‘Into your hands, O Lord, we commit ourselves.’
I wished I could share his faith. My hands were trembling, and I almost had to lean over the side of the boat to vomit up the bile that had gathered in my stomach. I started to recite a prayer in my head, but the familiar words were no comfort to me and I could say no more than the first line before thoughts of death crowded out thoughts of God.
The boat cast off — I could see the other Franks, and some of our Patzinaks, climbing into the next one — and we pulled into the river. I felt the force of the current immediately, far stronger than in the fat barges that had carried us before, and the rowers had to lean hard on their oars to keep a straight course.
I glanced at Nikephoros. He was sitting very erect in the stern of the boat, his eyes fixed on the darkness
