we saw here and there in the cramped, winding streets. Harald saw this and laughed. 'They are slaves like us!' he hooted, and called all his men to heed and remember this.
Yet, slaves we were, and we were housed in long low huts outside the entrances to the various pits, of which there were many-perhaps several score-scattered in among the folds of the valley floor, and up among the slopes and crevices of the hills themselves. The huts were nothing more than a roof and a rear wall with a few partitions; they remained open at the front, like pig sties; there were no doors to keep out the wind, and the men slept with their legs and feet outside. But as we were somewhat further south, the weather was milder, and it seldom rained.
The first day was taken with fitting shackles. All the slaves wore iron leg chains held in place with iron bands around the ankles. Some of the Sea Wolves were so big that the normal bands were too small, and larger ones had to be made. As an extra precaution, because of the size and ferocity of the Danes, the overseer decided to bind each Sea Wolf to another with a short length of chain so that they could not move so quickly or adroitly. This safeguard failed to impress Harald, who deftly manipulated the pairings so as to match those who fought best together with one another.
'You never know,' he explained. 'It might prove useful.'
Because I was not a warrior, I was paired with Gunnar, who volunteered to look after me.
Shackled and chained, the next morning at dawn we were given our tools-short-handled picks for chipping and prying, and small hammers for breaking rock-and led into the shaft that we were to work, along with a dozen Greek slaves, mostly fishermen from an island called Ixos, whose boat had been driven off course by a storm. There were four guards-two for every group of fifteen or so slaves-and each shaft or pit had an overseer, which meant that we laboured under five keen-eyed Arabs. All the guards were armed: some with wooden staves, and others with short, curved swords, but all carried horse whips, which they applied with dexterity born of long practice.
The shaft was a tunnel driven directly into the hill which opened into a large cavernous room, from which several dozen smaller tunnels radiated in all directions. The work was arduous, but simple. Each slave pair was to take a finger shaft and, using our picks and hammers, pry the precious metal from the unyielding stone. So that we might see what we were doing, we were given small lamps. These were crudely fashioned of baked earth and held a horse-hair wick and measure of olive oil. The lamps were lit from a torch kept burning in the centre of the cavern, beside a tub of oil used to fill the lamps.
After twenty days, my hands toughened and my blisters no longer bled; after forty days, I no longer smashed my fingers against the rocks with the unwieldy pick. Sometimes, we were able to work near other Danes and we could talk to them. Mostly, however, we were kept apart, save for meals-which were little more than flat bread and a thin, watery cabbage soup-and at night when we were taken back to the huts to sleep.
We worked every day, with no rests-except during the more important Arab holy days, and then it was not for us, but for the guards, that we were allowed a day of peace. These days were infrequent, and always welcomed with profound, if pathetic, gratitude. And so the days passed.
The only solace-if solace it could be called-derived from the fact that the Sea Wolves actually enjoyed finding the silver. They would have gladly dug up all of Byzantium to get such wealth if they had but known where to dig. Thus, they approached the work with a sly enthusiasm that was exceeded only by the ingenuity with which they hid the silver they found.
Of course, they did not hide all of it; Jarl Harald made certain that they provided a fair account of their work to our Sarazen slave masters. It would not do, he said, to make the overseers suspicious. 'Better to keep them happy,' Harald counselled, 'then they will leave us alone.'
Thus, the chief overseer received a goodly portion of the silver the Danes mined, and seemed content with his new slaves-content, and oblivious to how much wealth they actually unearthed. I do not exaggerate when I say that the Sea Wolves obtained half again as much as they gave up. And all that they kept for themselves, they hid against the day when they would escape. In concealing their wealth, they showed a genius that rivalled their proficiency in finding it. Truly, the Danes are supreme masters at hiding treasure.
The same guards remained always with us, though the ones that watched us during the day were relieved from duty at night. Thus we came to know very well their habits and dispositions. It was during the changing of the guard, when the night watch arrived and were settling themselves, that Harald took the opportunity to pass along his thoughts for the day.
Usually, this communication took the form of whispers relayed one person to the next down the line, although sometimes-when the guards were very lax-Harald gathered us together to exhort us and praise our efforts personally. It was important to do well, he insisted, for that way we would win our freedom the sooner. Never forget, he insisted, that the king was working on a plan of escape.
We could speak this way to one another, because no one else understood Danespeak. Most of the guards knew some Greek, and a few could speak it fluently. As time went on, I began to learn a word or two of the Arab speech, but no one knew what the Sea Wolves said to one another, which Harald considered a good thing since it meant none of the Greek slaves or Arab guards could betray us. This, he maintained, would make our escape all the easier when the time came.
When we weren't plotting escape, we concocted ingenious tortures for Nikos. That traitor died a thousand times over, each death more hideously painful and protracted than the last. Thoughts of revenge kept many a man going through the endless days of mind-numbing, body-wracking labour.
Gradually, the season passed and the desert land blushed briefly-tiny spots of crimson and gold flowers flecked the bleak hillsides-and then the sun entered its summer house and the heat began to oppress us mercilessly. I could match neither the Sea Wolves' ardour nor their greed, and so the work went ill with me. As summer progressed the mine-shafts grew hot and stifling; the dust choked me, the darkness weakened my vision. I continually knocked elbows and knees, arms and legs against the rocks, and the oil lamps burned my hair. I found the dull gleam of silver meagre compensation for the loss of my freedom and slow starvation.
Gunnar bore the hardship more easily than I, maintaining an even temper, encouraging me when my spirits faltered. To take my mind from my misery, he made me talk to him about the Christ, which I did, at first grudgingly, though as time went on I found maintaining such virulent rancour tedious. Sure, I still felt a cold, hard place in my soul, and my resentment towards God was more, not less. But arguing over theology gave us something to occupy our minds, which is the better part of survival, I believe.
In our quiet periods, when the guards were close by, he would think about all I told him. Then, at meals, or when we reached the vein we were working-far from the guards' eyes and ears-he would ask me questions that had occurred to him. In this way we proceeded, and he began to learn some skill in close-reasoned argument. His was a practical mind, not quick or nimble, but solid and untroubled by much in the way of extraneous philosophy. Thus, most of what I told him came to him fresh, and the few superstitions that he held were easily swept away. In short, he revealed a genuine facility for the subject at hand.
Even though I no longer believed…no, I did still believe, but as one rejected by God-cast out from the hearth of faith, as it were-I found to my surprise that I could speak the words of faith, and explain them, without having them touch me. Strange perhaps, to be so angry at God and yet eagerly participate in reasoned discourse about him and the wonder of his ways, but that is the way of it. Curious, too, that Gunnar's interest in the faith should increase as my own waned.
As summer drew on, the vein of ore our group had been working dwindled. Eight of us were taken to another pit nearby and put to work with the fifty or more slaves who laboured there. This pit was larger than the one we had left, with more shafts and tunnels and corridors. There were Bulgars among the slaves, as well as Greeks, and several black Ethiopians, along with some others. Gunnar and I had never seen a black man before, but after getting used to them, we agreed that they were a handsome race in all. Perhaps slavery makes a man look at such things differently, but, save for the swart hue of their skin, they seemed more like us than not.
We seldom saw them, however, because the pit overseer was a harsh and cruel master who made them rise before dawn to begin work; thus, they were already toiling away by the time we arrived. Likewise, they were made to work past dark, so that we quit the mine before they did.
A few days after starting at the new pit, Gunnar found a particularly productive vein which lay at the end of a long tunnel that had not been worked recently. We crawled in on hands and knees, clutching our oil lamps and pushing our tools ahead of us.
When we came to the end of the shaft, Gunnar stood up. 'Look here, Aeddan,' he said, raising his lamp. 'There is no roof.'
