Byzantium

eventually become a flood.

'Just wait and see,' he said. 'By Saint Euthemius's Day there will not be an empty room in the whole city. Every doorway will become a bed. You watch. It is true.'

We at the abbey, like every holy community, honoured certain saints with feasts on particular days: Saint Colum Cille's day was special to the monks at Kells. And though there were many eastern saints unknown in the west, it still seemed odd that any day should be more highly regarded than the Christ's Day Mass. 'I had no idea the saint's day was so well observed here,' I told him.

'Some come for Euthemius's feast, I suppose,' he allowed with a shrug of indifference. 'But most come for the fair.'

I had heard this word before, of course, but his use of it was strange. Upon inquiring, I was told that a fair was a gathering, not unlike a market, where people might buy and sell, and also enjoy special entertainments and diversions over many days. 'The Trebizond fair is well known,' the merchant assured me. 'People come from the far ends of the empire and beyond just to attend-Christian and pagan alike, everyone comes.'

He spoke the truth with no exaggeration. For the Christ Mass came and went, strictly observed, yes, but stiffly and with very little warmth. I did attend a Mass, out of curiosity rather than desire, and I could not find it in my heart to pray. The worship seemed perfunctory to me; even the singing lacked interest. All in all, I thought it a dismal observance-though, perhaps my own feelings of desolation coloured my perception; I was still bitterly disappointed with God, and in no fit mood to regard the birth of his son, to whom I was no longer speaking.

Deep in my innermost soul, I must have entertained the notion that a miracle of reconciliation would take place for me during that most holy and joyous observance: that my Lord Christ might look down in pity and mercy upon me, take hold of me, embrace me as his son, and raise me up once more to my proper place in the Great Kingdom. But no. God, ever aloof, remained hidden in his obscure Heaven, silent and uncaring as ever. Or, if he did favour mankind with the light of his presence, it was upon some other corner of the earth that he shone. The glad tidings of great joy were, I suppose, bestowed upon others.

The only glimmer of anything that even faintly resembled happiness or good will came from the barbarians. The Sea Wolves made a noble and determined attempt at a celebration: jultide, they called it-a seven-day orgy of eating and drinking and fighting. They contrived to brew their ol, and procured six sheep and four bullocks for roasting, though they would rather have had an ox or two and some swine. As there was nothing to prevent me, I joined them for part of their festivities at the quay where they had taken over a sizeable portion of the wharf, having erected large tent-like shelters made from their ship's sails.

'I am missing Karin's rokt skinka,' Gunnar confided three or four days into their celebration. 'And her lutfisk and tunnbrod-I miss those also. My Karin makes the best lutfisk. Is this not so, Tolar?'

Tolar nodded sagely, and stared into his cup. 'The glogg is good.'

'True,' agreed Gunnar solemnly, then confided: 'I have never had glogg before, Aeddan. In Skania, only very wealthy men may drink it as it is made with wine, you know. But maybe we are all very wealthy now, heya?'

'Heya,' Tolar replied, then thought perhaps he had said too much, for he rose abruptly and went to find a jar to refill the cups.

Thorkel and two other Danes staggered by just then and settled at the table with us. 'Aeddan, old Sea Wolf!' cried Thorkel. 'I have not seen you for fifty years!'

'You saw me yesterday, Thorkel,' I told him.

'Ah, yes, so I did.' He smiled happily. 'This is the best jul ever, but for the snow.' He paused, his smile fading in a sudden upsurge of melancholy. 'It is a pity about the snow.' He shook his head sadly. 'I miss that.'

'Not the cold, however,' amended Gunnar.

Tolar, just returning, overheard this remark and shook his head solemnly. He did not miss the cold, either.

'Nay, not the cold,' agreed Thorkel wistfully. 'You can keep the cold.' He looked at me blearily, guzzled his drink, and asked, 'What do the folk of Irlandia do for the jultide?'

Though I had no wish to discuss it with drunken barbarians, that is exactly what I did. 'We have no jul, but celebrate the Christ Mass instead,' I told them, and went on to explain something about it.

'And is this god the same as the one hanging on the gallows?' wondered the pilot. 'The one Gunnar is always jabbering about?'

'It is called a cross,' Gunnar corrected him. 'And it is the same god. Is that not so, Aeddan?'

'That is so,' I agreed. 'He is Jesu, called the Christ.'

'How do you know so much about this?' inquired one of the Danes with Thorkel.

'Aeddan here was a priest of this god, and he was my slave before Jarl Harald got him. He knows all there is to know of such matters.'

'Beware, Gunnar,' warned the other Dane, 'you may become a priest yourself if you are not careful.'

'Ha!' cried Gunnar in derision. 'But I will tell you one thing: this Christ of Aeddan's helped me win the bread wager against Hnefi and the others. Ten pieces of silver, if you will remember.'

The others were much impressed with Gunnar's revelation, and demanded to know whether this Jesu would help them win wagers, too.

'No, he will not,' I told them, bitterness welling up in me like venom. 'He does not help anyone! He does what he pleases and heeds nothing of men or their prayers. He is a selfish, spiteful god, demanding everything and giving nothing. He is fickle and inconstant. Sooner pray to your rune stones-at least a stone will listen.'

Stunned by my sudden and heated outburst, my companions stared at me for a moment. Then Gunnar, a slow, sly, suspicious smile spreading across his broad face, said, 'You are only saying that because you want to keep this god to yourself. You do not want us to know about him. That way he is yours alone.'

They all agreed that this accounted for my sudden contrariness regarding this Christ, and determined among themselves that whatever I said, the opposite must be true.

'You cannot make fools of us so easily,' Thorkel declared. 'We can clearly see there is more here than you are telling.' Lifting a hand to the city behind us, he pointed to one of the crosses atop the largest of the churches. 'Men do not raise worship halls to gods who do nothing for them. I think you are trying to lead us astray. But we are too smart for you.'

The discussion was curtailed just then when a wrestling match began. Two big Danes stripped off their clothes, laved olive oil over themselves and began to grapple with one another on the quay. A crowd quickly gathered around them, and wagers were made. The fight, however, settled into a rather lacklustre and disappointing tussle. The spectators were on the point of abandoning interest in the contest when one of the wrestlers, stepping too near the edge of the quay, fell into the harbour. His opponent, seeing his chance, dived into the water after him, seized him, thrust him under the surface and held him there until the unfortunate wretch collapsed from lack of air. He would have drowned if the other had not let him up when he fainted.

This produced a most remarkable consequence, for no sooner had the first wrestler been hauled from the water than another Sea Wolf threw off his clothes and jumped into the harbour. He, too, was bested and was soon dragged unconscious from the cold sea. The next to enter the fray fared better. He bested the first opponent and the next three in turn, but fell to the fourth, who then took on all comers.

This water wrestling proved enormously popular with everyone. Even King Harald tried his luck, and lasted through three opponents before succumbing. With each new contest, wagers were laid and money changed hands. The sport continued for two days before they had had enough, and everyone agreed that it was one of the best jultide games they had played.

Thus, we wintered in Trebizond. Gradually, the days began to lengthen and the weather to turn. When at last the sea roads opened once more, the ships began arriving from other parts of the empire. The eparch and amir looked to the conclusion of their talks, and the merchants to returning home. Meanwhile, streaming into the city by all and every means, came a veritable torrent of people, from as many tribes and nations as could be counted.

The city became an enormous marketplace, with the streets as stables; people offered sleeping places in their houses and were paid handsomely for their hospitality. Harlots also arrived in numbers to ply their particular trade among the populace of fair-goers. Consequently, the sight of men and women copulating in doorways and behind market stalls became wearily commonplace as the pursuit of this occupation succeeded.

The forum was transformed into a welter of people, many of whom congregated in clumps around certain of their favourites, be it teacher, seer, or soothsayer. There were Magi from the East whose knowledge of the stars and their movements was vast as the heavens themselves. They held forth with their observations and argued