caulked the boats they had hauled up to the top of the beach.
But those were not the only vessels. Drawn up at the water’s edge where waves rippled between their hulls lay five ships — much bigger than the fishing boats, with stout masts and high, curving prows. Their sails were furled and their oars stowed, but one flew a green banner showing a man with outstretched arms at her masthead. Seeing it, Aelfric gave a small cry; he leaped down from his camel, almost tumbling into the sand in his haste, and ran across the beach.
The men by the boats saw his approach and advanced to meet him. Some snatched up their swords, and several carried long axes. It did not deter Aelfric: he ran straight into the throng, shouting something I could not understand. The nearest man stared in astonishment — but it was the astonishment of recognition, not fear. He dropped his axe, spread his arms and wrapped Aelfric in an engulfing hug.
‘What. .?’ Nikephoros slipped out of his saddle and strode after the Varangian. For myself, I could not dismount unaided but kicked my camel forward, overtaking Nikephoros and reining in just behind Aelfric, who was now deep in conversation. I paused and listened. It was not a language I could speak or understand, but it was familiar to me nonetheless. I had heard it spoken among the Varangians many times.
Nikephoros pushed forward. ‘Who are these men?’
Aelfric broke off and turned to us, his eyes shining with excitement. A circle had begun to form around us as the men from the ships gathered. Looking at the assembled faces, I saw that many bore more than a passing resemblance to Aelfric: fair hair, light skin tanned red by wind and sun, and broad shoulders, which held their weapons easily.
Aelfric pointed to the man who stood at the centre of the throng. ‘This is Saewulf. These are his ships.’
The man called Saewulf stepped forward. His chestnut-coloured hair hung lank over his shoulders, tied back by a leather thong, while his beard was so thick it almost covered his mouth. He wore a green tunic and red leggings, and a dagger with a handle carved like a fish tucked into his braided belt. He stood with his legs far apart, his shoulders back and his chest out-thrust. I suppose it was a posture learned from many months balancing on a heaving deck, but the effect on land was vaguely obscene.
‘Is he English?’ I blurted out.
Aelfric nodded.
No doubt it would take many questions to establish why an English sailor and his fleet had made their camp on the shores of Fatimid Egypt. But at that moment, there was only one question that mattered, and Nikephoros asked it with his customary brusqueness.
‘Will he take us home?’
17
That evening, Saewulf’s men built fires on the beach and roasted goats. It was the first meat I had tasted since we fled the caliph’s palace and I forced myself to eat it cautiously, though I could have devoured it in a mouthful. I licked the fat from my fingers while Nikephoros and Aelfric talked with Saewulf. He had avoided Nikephoros’ question, insisting we could not speak before eating; and once we were seated around the fire he had asked to hear our entire story. Nikephoros told it, with some explanation from Aelfric in English but mostly in Greek, for Saewulf’s voyaging profession had taught him many languages. For all his barbaric appearance he made a charming host: he filled our cups with beer, cut us the choicest pieces of meat, and gave us fresh cloaks and tunics to replace the ill-fitting novices’ clothes we wore.
When Nikephoros had finished his account, he fixed his gaze on Saewulf. ‘That is our story. But why has an English seafarer beached his ships on these shores, at this time of year? You are a long way from safe harbours.’
‘So are you.’ Saewulf grinned; the goat-grease on his teeth gleamed in the firelight. ‘I came to fish.’
Nikephoros gestured towards the ships, though all we could see of them were high prows sweeping up into the darkness. ‘Are those fishing boats?’
‘For me — yes.’ Saewulf leaned forward. ‘I was in England when I heard that the Pope had preached his holy pilgrimage — ’
‘I thought all of your people had been driven out of England when the Normans invaded,’ I interrupted.
‘Even William the Bastard could not kill every Englishman. He needed us to plough his fields and quarry stone for his castles. And sail his ships.’ He shrugged. ‘I carry many cargoes, but I have never profited from carrying a grudge.’
Aelfric stirred. ‘Sigurd Ragnarson would disagree with you.’
‘Which is why I left the Varangians.’ He saw my look of surprise. ‘Yes, Demetrios Askiates, I have seen your city and stood beside your emperor, in the palace and on the battlefield. As close as I am to you now. But do you know what I realised? That if I was to live under a foreign king, it might as well be in my own country.’
‘Even though he raped that country?’ Aelfric murmured.
Saewulf gave a harsh laugh. ‘Better that than living in perpetual exile, brooding on injustices that will never be undone and pretending that I can atone for my country’s shame by giving my life for a king who cared nothing for it. That was why I left the Varangian guard — it was like living in an open grave.’
‘I wonder, was it as hard for you to live under the king who murdered your family?’
‘Much harder. But wasting my life with anger would have been too easy.’
There was no amusement on Saewulf’s face now. He glared at Aelfric, and the Varangian returned the gaze, both men trembling like drawn swords.
‘Even so, you are a long way from England.’ Nikephoros spoke with forced calm.
Saewulf spread out his hands, peering at them as if looking for signs of weakness. ‘I am no longer a soldier. I am a merchant.’
‘But I am still in the business of war. Armies need food and weapons. New conquests open new opportunities.’ He nodded to the Saracen camel-drivers, who sat by their own fire a little way down the beach. ‘And in wartime, luxuries become dearer.’
‘And tax-collectors less vigilant,’ said Nikephoros.
The knowing smile returned to Saewulf’s face. ‘New opportunities.’
‘And if the opportunity came to earn gold and the emperor’s favour?’
Saewulf scowled. ‘I told you: I do not serve your emperor any more.’
‘But you sail in his waters, where his fleets patrol. One day, it may matter that he looks kindly on you.’
‘And the gold?’
Nikephoros spread open his cloak. ‘You see I have nothing — not now. But when I reach home — ’
‘No.’ Saewulf cut through Nikephoros’ calm persuasion. ‘I cannot take you to Constantinople. It would take weeks, and with the winter winds against us we might not even be able to enter the Hellespont. You offer me an opportunity, Greek, but I think there are greater profits to be made elsewhere.’
Under the chill of his words, the fire seemed to dim and the night breeze grow sharper. Aelfric turned away in disgust, as if he had expected no less, while I held myself still. Only Nikephoros remained unaffected.
‘I do not want you to take me to Constantinople.’
Saewulf looked surprised. ‘Where, then?’
‘We are going to Antioch.’
Saewulf rested his chin in his hands and stared into the fire. ‘And what will you do there? The last time I passed by Antioch, Franks and Normans controlled it.’
‘We will prise them out,’ said Nikephoros confidently, ‘and put them on the road to Jerusalem. With the caliph turned against us, there is no alternative.’
The next day we loaded the Saracens’ cargo onto the ships, and set sail for Antioch.
