before this bloated, insolent pig of a man.
‘Well, we ain’t taking no chances,’ he added with a laugh. He tipped his head back and hawked. The flob landed about an inch from my left sandal. I resisted the urge to look down, and focused on the passport Ezra had bribed out of the Prefecture. ‘If you are what you say you are, you won’t mind hitching up that fancy robe for me.’
Bastard shitbag! I thought. If ever I were in a position to do him ill, I’d have him chained to one of the slave oars of this ship. And I’d not have him moved to the other side every month. He could grow as lop-sided from continuous exercise as he’d let the other slaves I’d seen as I came on board. Then, the free oarsmen could come up and piss all over him. But I smiled greasily and did as I was told. I steeled myself not to set about him with my stick as he barked out another laugh and invited the other passengers to get a look at my circumcision. It was enough that the grim, unsmiling guard beside him bent down for a long inspection, then went back to his continuous scanning of everyone else boarding the ship.
‘The boy’s not a Jew, though,’ the Captain added with a statement of the bleeding obvious.
Still not speaking, I pointed shakily at one of the lower sections of the passport. It confirmed my permission to own a Christian slave.
‘And I suppose you’ll be trading him with the enemy, won’t you?’ came the reply. He took up the sheet of papyrus and waved it around. ‘Boys like him fetch their weight in silver among the debauched Saracens.’ He raised his voice and repeated the witticism. Someone behind me laughed. Well he might laugh. If we hadn’t all been granted permits to trade with the enemy, why else was the ship filling up with merchants in the first place? Just because there’s a war on doesn’t mean trade has to stop.
‘Oh, fuck off, then,’ he snarled, waving me on board. ‘But I don’t want none of your Jewboy caterwauling on deck. I run a Christian ship, and I’m proud of it.’ He waited until Edward had gathered all our documents back into his satchel and we were moving off in search of our cabin. ‘It’s salt pork for dinner,’ he bawled after us. ‘It’ll be served just after prayers.’
After what seemed an endless wait, the ship pitched horribly to one side, and we were moving slowly away from the docks. Still gripping hard on the side, I stood beside Edward and looked back at Caesarea. The whole family had turned out to wave goodbye. There was old Ezra, capering about like a schoolboy as he waved his stick at me. There was Jacob, sitting dazed on an abandoned crate and looking intently at something in his hand that I couldn’t see, but could easily imagine. And there was a whole tribe of sobbing women. I strained to see more clearly. Was that Ezra’s wife blowing kisses at us? I looked at Edward. His face was as impassive as it had been on that day, so long before, in Jarrow. Not bad for only thirteen, I’m sure you’ll agree.
‘How long to Beirut, My Lord?’ he asked.
I looked up at the clear, blue sky, and at the large birds that screeched and careered against the backdrop of the sky. Storms and pirates allowing, I told him, we’d be there in fourteen days – sooner if the wind held up.
‘And it is ruled by the Saracens?’ he asked, in English. He went back to his inspection of the receding docks.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s been in their hands over fifty years now. When I was your age, it was a thoroughly Greek city. Any Syrian with ambitions who settled there had no choice but to learn Greek and fit in. Why, it once even had the third largest law school in the Empire. It’s still the main port for that part of Syria. But it’s well outside the Empire nowadays. And that, my dear, is why it’s to be Beirut for us. It has all the civilised amenities – without any Brother Joseph to cut short my decline.’ I tried to scan the docks. They’d receded too far now to be other than a blur. ‘Anyone else back there you might recognise?’ I asked, switching too into English.
Edward gave the docks another long and general inspection. He shook his head. ‘Whom else were you expecting me to see?’ he asked.
Since he knew perfectly well whom I had in mind, I ignored the question. I looked closely at the boy – and, seen in profile, he still was rather boyish. I looked over the side. We were now perhaps a mile out from Caesarea. Unless he’d secreted himself on board – not impossible, bearing in mind how big this ship was – Joseph was far behind us. It was just the passengers on this ship, plus the attendant slaves. I changed the subject.
‘Tell me, Edward,’ I asked, ‘have you any idea what poor Wilfred was trying to confess before he died? He mentioned Cuthbert several times. Is there any light you can shed on his final words?’ Though just a little, the face tightened. I could see him thinking and then choose his words.
‘Though I don’t believe he understood the full meaning of what was put to him,’ came the measured reply, ‘he was promised safety by Cuthbert from the first group of raiders.’ He paused. ‘You do know that Cuthbert was involved with them?’
I nodded. ‘Do you know who was employing him?’ I asked. I mentioned the cash under his bed. The other objects Edward might already have seen.
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t guess he was involved until the night before Hrothgar walked into the monastery,’ he said. He paused and chose his words again. ‘Wilfred came to me that night. I’d been – I’d been kind to him ever since I realised he was your second favourite after Bede. I knew we’d need a hostage, and I wanted to make sure that Wilfred would be close by me when the gate opened.’ He stopped and gave me a defiant look.
What was I supposed to do? Set about him again with my stick? I raised my eyebrows and shrugged. Wouldn’t I have done the same in his position?
‘Wilfred came to me that night,’ he repeated. ‘He told me that Cuthbert had propositioned him, offering safety as the reward. It was then that I guessed the first group was sent just to kill you – you and everyone else in the monastery. Cuthbert would let them in when he was able, and would himself be spared.’
I smiled and leaned harder on the rail. Hrothgar had been hard enough put to keep order among his own men of that breed. Any deal Cuthbert might have had with the Big Man would have come unstuck the moment he’d got the gate open. Everything he’d gloatingly predicted for the others would then have been his too. Almost a shame Hrothgar had turned up in time.
What I was now learning was interesting. But, since Edward couldn’t give me the answer I needed, it wasn’t that important.
‘It was Cuthbert who knocked Wilfred about?’ I asked. Edward nodded. ‘He told you about the rejected proposition and the beating?’ Another nod. ‘You guessed what was happening, and attached yourself to Cuthbert to see what you could learn.’
‘I got nothing,’ the boy said stiffly.
Did he know I’d overheard their ‘courtship’? Best not to go on.
‘Is that all Wilfred told you of his dealings with Cuthbert?’ I asked. ‘Since the proposal was almost certainly not accepted, Wilfred doesn’t sound much of a sinner.’ I looked closely at the boy’s face. Once more, he was thinking what to say.
‘He told me nothing more,’ came the final answer. We looked awhile in silence at the birds, which were now swooping out of the sky to pick among the refuse thrown behind us. ‘What will we do in Beirut?’ he suddenly asked. ‘I know Ezra has given you some money – his wife told me that much. But what shall we do once that has run out?’ For the first time in days, the look on his face was genuine. My slippery young Edward was on his way back to frightened boy.
‘Oh, think nothing of that,’ I said, taking my turn at the enigmatic. ‘If you manage to live as long as I have, you too will realise that something always turns up. It’s just a matter of recognising it.’
I turned and looked up again at the sky. Even wearing a hat with a wide brim, I found the sun rather much. We’d go and see what foul-smelling cupboard we’d been assigned for our quarters. I had thought it was time to fill Edward in on a few of the details that made Beirut so attractive, now Spain was off the menu. But that, I now decided, could wait until we were there. For the moment, it would be best to keep him busy with his Greek. Yes, I’d work him on that till he wished he could take one of the oars on this ship. Just because Beirut was no longer an Imperial city, didn’t make the Empire’s language any less important – not, at any rate, so long as it remained the official language of Syria. For now, though, I let him stand, looking silently back at the vanishing docks of Caesarea and all the happy memories that would keep him warm at night until such time as he might renew them in Beirut.
The main part of the voyage was without any incident worth recording. The wind still blew briskly from the west, and, while that was behind us, we hardly needed the oars. By day, we made excellent time. At night, we put into shore for safety. This wasn’t a northern ship, after all, that was built for crossing the open sea. It was an
