The Wolf Sea

In fact he only ordered the last nub end of it, which was all of the Norse and some of the Greek archers and light troops. It is possible he never had command of anything ever again, thanks to us.

`We should have that sort of marking,' growled Kvasir, nodding at the coloured helmet-tufts and shields while we knelt, blowing dust out of our nostrils and trying to make sense of it all. I agreed, for even Jarl Brand's own chosen men, his dreng, had red-and-black wool braids hanging from their sheaths and shields all of one design — Odin's three drinking horns — in the same colours.

In the end, the best I could do was tear strips off the dirty-white linen surcoat I wore to stop my byrnie from heating up and get the Oathsworn to fasten them round their upper arms.

We leaned on our shields and sweated and I tried to work out where we were and what we were supposed to be doing.

It seemed the Norsemen were formed in one body, Brand and Skarpheddin side by side and three ranks deep, for that's what Skarpheddin had told us to do on his right flank — politely, since I was, nominally, as much of a jarl as he, even though I led only forty-four men. We formed in three ranks, mailed men in front

— the ones we called the Lost — and spearmen in the second and third, save for a handful with some bows, and agreed to follow the signals given by Skarpheddin's banner.

Behind us, a few hundred paces, hazed in dust, were rank upon rank of the Great City's foot archers, sticking arrows in front of them like a sheaf of barley, for easy reach.

In front, the light troops flocked, raising most of the dust now as they trotted up, with their throwing spears cased in soft leather sheaths lined with beeswax. On our left, shouldering the last men in the left of our line, were the sweating Norse of Skarpheddin. Further out to our right were the light horsemen, archers and lancers, their horses foaming at the neck with sweat, the stink of their dung and piss choking us.

There was a flurry behind us, which made everyone crane to see until Finn cursed them back to facing front.

Sweating Greek thralls appeared, rolling a barrel on a two-wheeled cart and doling out water in cups, little sips and no more, but which men grabbed eagerly. There was a priest with them, swinging his little smoking brazier of perfume and chanting something long and sonorous, while he dipped a silver baton in the cups and scattered droplets on us.

Brother John, so dry he could scarcely spit his disgust, translated the Greek for us as we grabbed and swallowed. He did not drink, for all his thirst.

Behold that after drawing holy water from the immaculate and most sacred relics of the Passion of Christ our true God — from the precious wooden fragments of the True Cross and the undefiled lance, the precious titulus, the wonder-working reed, the life-giving blood which flowed from His precious rib, the most sacred tunic, the holy swaddling clothes, the God-bearing winding sheet and the other relics of His undefiled Passion — we have sent it to be sprinkled upon you, for you to be anointed by it and to garb yourself with the divine power from on high.

The Basileus's holy-water gift to the army against the infidel. Kvasir, gulping it down, made a face and said: 'After all that, you'd think it would taste like mead instead of freshly warm sheep piss.'

I hardly noticed, being too busy wondering what 'undefiled lance' they had used, for I was sure Martin had the true one — or by now, some slave-dealer called Takoub had it. Did that mean this holy water was only slightly holy? Not holy at all?

From far off came the rasping blare of trumpets and I heard the Greek chiefs from the light javelin men, the ones they called the Hares, yelling 'Foreskins', the command for these men to peel back the covers from their throwing spears, immaculate and trim-straight.

Drums thundered from further down our own lines and a huge cry went up, 'Tydeus! Tydeus!' and then, out of the dust, cantered a group of horsemen, all red cloaks and plumes and self-importance.

Two of them carried huge swords, far too big to fight with and clearly ikons of some sort, like the huge banner with a woman painted on it that Brother John said was Our Lady of Blachernae. Another carried a huge purple banner on which was sewn a white square called the Mandylion. It was, said Brother John, a shroud from the dead Christ and had his face imprinted on it.

Out in front was a huge horseman, carrying a flag as big as a bedsheet, which they called the Labarum and on it was the symbol of the Great City. Brother John told us it was a holy symbol, adopted by the Emperor Constantine, who had named the Great City after himself.

The symbol, it seemed, meant 'In This Sign Conquer', but it looked to us like the runes Wunjo and Gebo, which read as 'a gift of success' to us. Which was not the same thing, as Sighvat grimly pointed out, Gebo being an illusion rune that cannot be merkstave, or reversed, but may lie in opposition all the same and might mean success, but at heavy cost.

As a call to war it fell far short of Feeders of Eagles or Hewers of Men, but it had been blessed by the White Christ's best priests. As Kvasir said, we couldn't fail with all this holy help and the whole of the Pharos Chapel must have been emptied of Miklagard's relics.

Behind all this came a short, stocky man riding a huge white horse eaten by its own purple drapings. He waved a lot as men cheered and was the only one who wore bright red leather boots, Armenian-style, almost to his knees.

Is that the Miklagard General? Why are they calling him Tydeus? I thought his name was John?'

grunted Hedin Flayer, who was to my left.

Not much to look at, the little short-arse,' growled Finn from the other side.

The man commanding the most powerful army in the world stopped, exchanged a few words with our taxiarchos, then reined round and rode off into the golden swirl of the day, the shouts of 'Tydeus!' swelling and ebbing like a tide as he passed the ranks.

`Who the fuck is Tydeus?' demanded Kvasir from down the line and Brother John leaned forward, his eyes red-rimmed with dust.

An ancient Greek hero who killed fifty men in single combat, according to Homer.'

`Did this Homer say he was a short-arse, then?'

`That sort of loose mouth will lose you your other eye.'

At which point, Sighvat stepped forward a pace and held up his hand as the raven fluttered out of the great golden pearl we stood in and down on to his wrist. It smoothed a wing feather, opened its dark maw of a mouth and said, clear as a ringing bell: 'Look out.'

We gaped. It cocked a head and said it again. Then it added: Odin,' and flew up and away as Sighvat launched it back into the air.

`The enemy are on us,' Sighvat said and then saw all our gaping mouths and alarmed eyes. 'What? Didn't you know ravens speak?'

Its speaking had struck us all dumb, but we had no time to say anything anyway. Botolf, Brother John beside him in a too-large helmet, untied Svala's banner and it had barely started to flap in the lava breath that stirred the dust when, as Sighvat had promised, the enemy were upon us.

The horsemen to our right vanished in a huge billow of dust and after that we only saw shapes, shadows in the gloom that circled like a ring of wolves and I had no idea whether they belonged to us or the enemy.

`We'll know soon enough,' yelled Kvasir above the din, hawking dust from his throat. 'The enemy will be the ones who tear us a second bung hole without warning.'

We gripped shields and stood, sweat running from us, hilts and shafts slippery with it. We had been standing, that was all, yet we panted open-mouthed like dogs and I sent Brother John to get the waterskins we had stashed in the rear ranks. We sucked hot, brackish water as if it was nabidh.

Time passed and dust swirled. There was a constant low drone, broken by the shriek of the enemy horns and the thunder of drums from both sides. I was aware of Hedin Flayer's rank breath and the press of Finn's big shoulder. Behind us came the sound of a giant tearing his cloak in half: the archers, letting loose a volley on something we couldn't even see.

Out of the dust in front we saw the Hares skipping back like their namesakes, sprinting hard and clutching their empty spear-bags. Most broke round us, but some came dashing up, the dust spurting from their sandalled feet like water, skidding against our shields and hammering on them as if on a door.