The overseer gaped, unable to decide if I was in earnest; he opened his mouth to protest, then decided to save his breath, and hastened away to begin the task of summoning and assembling the slaves. While Faysal and one of the rafiq accompanied the overseer, I dismounted, secured my horse to the whipping post and went into the overseer's house to await his return.
The interior was dim, the low wide windholes shuttered against the sun. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw a room of clutter and filth. The powder-fine red-brown dust, which was everywhere in the mines, blew in on the breeze and was never swept out again; it clung to everything, and was hard caked in the places he habitually walked.
The dwelling reeked of bitter smoke; the stink clung to the carpets and cushions on the floor. "Hashish," muttered one of the warriors scornfully, and pointed to a small iron brazier filled with ash which stood beside a large greasy leather cushion. Here then, the chief overseer spent his nights, inhaling the potent vapours of the stupefying plant. I did not like to sit down in this hovel, so I stood, and the rafiq stood with me, contemptuous of a man whose life could be read in this slovenly mess.
My thoughts turned to my friends, and I wondered what they would say when they saw that I had returned to free them. Did they think I had forgotten them? Did they imagine I had abandoned them? Or was hope yet alive in their hearts? When this day dawned and they rose to take up the tools of their torment once again, did they realize how close was their liberation? Did they sense the nearness of their freedom even now?
From somewhere high on the hill the sounding iron clanged, and after a time the first slaves began streaming down the hill paths to their accustomed places along the boundary of the sun-baked square outside the overseer's house. I watched them as they arrived, searching among the ranks for any familiar face, but saw none. The distressing thought flitted through my mind: what if they are dead? What if I have tarried too long and they have all succumbed to cruel labour and the lash? What if none now survived for me to set free? This was something I had never considered, but I did so now; and, had I imagined it would have done any good, I would have prayed that God had sustained them and kept them to this day.
I waited. More and more slaves were coming to the square. They saw the horses tethered to the post in the yard-where on such occasions someone among them provided an exemplary sacrifice-and wondered what new torture was at hand.
The slave throng slowly gathered. I stood in the doorway, searching the crowd, and had begun to fear I would not find anyone I knew, when I saw Jarl Harald. He stood a head or more taller than anyone around him, which should have made him easier to find. But then I realized why I had not seen him sooner: he had changed. His fine mane of flame-red hair and beard were now a matted, moth-eaten mass; his broad shoulders were bowed and he stood with a slump, his body twisted to one side, as if favouring a crippled limb. Grey-faced, the once proud lord gazed down at the ground, never raising his eyes.
With awful dread, I searched the ranks and found, to my horror, others I should have recognized before. One after another-and each more wretched than the last-I identified them. I could not bear to look at them, and turned away in a sudden panic of doubt, thinking, It was a mistake to come. I should have left them to their fate. There can be no salvation; liberation has come too late.
Finally, the chief overseer returned to stand uncertainly in the centre of the yard. Faysal left him in the company of the warrior named Nadr, and proceeded to the house. "The slaves are assembled," Faysal reported.
I thanked him and said, "I wish I could free them all. Would the khalifa's generosity stretch so far, do you think?"
"They are waiting," he said.
I nodded. "They will wait no longer. Captivity has ended for a fortunate few."
Stepping from the overseer's house into the full brightness of the sun, it was a moment before I could see properly. The sun scorched through the thin cloth of my robe, and my heart went out to those standing naked beneath the burning rays. At least the mines were dark and cool. Now I was making them burn in the blast furnace of the day's heat.
Faysal regarded me out of the corner of a narrowed eye, but I shook off his concern. "Let us be done with this," I murmured, striding forward once more.
Not knowing where else to begin, I went first to the place where Harald stood and pointed to him. The barbarian did not so much as glance in my direction. "Bring him here," I ordered the nearest guard, who seized Harald roughly by the arm and jerked him from his place. "Gently!" I told the guard sternly. "He is a king."
The Dane shuffled forth, his leg chains rattling on the ground; he came to stand before me, never once looking up. "I have returned," I told him. "I have come for you."
At these words, he raised his head for the first time. With pale, watery eyes he looked at me, but without recognition. My heart fell.
"Jarl Harald," I said, "it is Aidan. Do you not remember me?"
Into his dull gaze flickered a light I had never seen before-beyond mere recognition, or realization; beyond common hope, or joy. A light which was nothing less than life itself reawakening in a human soul. Awareness at its most profound and pure kindled in that spark of light and blazed in the smile that slowly spread across Harald BullRoar's face.
"Aidan God-speaker," he breathed. And then could say no more for the tears that choked his voice. He raised a trembling hand to me, as if he would stroke my face. I seized the hand and grasped it tight.
"Stand easy, brother," I told him. "We are soon leaving this place." Turning my eyes once more to the throng, I asked, "How many of the others still live?"
"All of them, I think," he replied nodding.
"Where are they? I do not see them."
By way of reply, the wily Dane raised his hands to his mouth, drew breath and gave out a bellowing roar. It was, I remembered, the sea marauder's war cry, now weakened and strained. He gave it again, and then cried, "Heya! Aidan has returned! Come, men, we are going home!"
The echo of Harald's shout died away to silence. I watched the gathered ranks as out from among the dead-eyed slaves came the wasted remnant of the Sea Wolf pack. My spirit writhed within me to see them shambling forth-some in pairs still, others by themselves, but all dragging their irons. Off to one side, one poor wretch hobbled towards me, his eagerness made pathetic by his lurching gait. His last steps were ill-judged and he tottered headlong to the dust. I reached down to raise him and found myself looking into Gunnar's haggard face.
"Aeddan," he said, tears streaming from his eyes. "Aeddan, thank God, you have come at last. I knew you would return. I knew you would not leave us to die in this place."
I helped him to his feet and clasped him to me. "Gunnar," I said, "forgive me, brother. I should have come sooner, forgive me."
"How should I forgive you?" Wonder made his features childlike. "You have returned. I knew you would. I never doubted."
I looked at the other slaves slowly making their way to where we stood. "Where is Dugal?" I said. "I do not see him." Once more, panic assailed me. Have I come too late? Dugal! Where are you, brother? "Where are the Britons?"
In the same instant, I heard a cry from across the yard. I turned and saw, stumbling forward through the press, the hulking figure of my dearest friend and brother. Vastly changed, he was-still, I knew him as I would have known my own self. "Dugal!" I cried, and hastened to meet him.
Seeing me, he half-turned and gestured to someone behind him, and then came on. We met in the centre of the yard before the whipping post where we had last seen one another, and where Bishop Cadoc had gone to death in my place. "Dugal!" I cried, my own eyes filling with tears. "Are you alive, Dugal?"
"Just so, Dana," he whispered, kneading the flesh of my shoulders with his hands. "I am."
Faysal appeared beside us just then. "We best move quickly," he reminded me. "The slaves and their masters grow restive."
To Dugal I said, "Do the Britons yet live?"
"They do," he said, and turned to the slaves looking on, their agitation increasing by the moment. No longer slack-witted, I could tell by the expressions on their faces they had begun to perceive that there would be no execution today. But the sight of strangers choosing slaves seemingly at random confused and excited them.
"Brynach! Ddewi!" At Dugal's shout two round-shouldered figures lurched from the throng. I would not have known them in a thousand years for the men they had once been. Brynach's hair was white and he walked with a stoop, and the young Ddewi had lost an eye. The hair and beards of both, like the hair and beards of all, were nasty, matted, lice-infested tangles.
I took up their hands and embraced them. "Brothers," I said, "I have come for you."
Brynach smiled; his teeth were discoloured and his gums were raw. "All praise to Christ, our Lord and Redeemer! His purposes shall not be seen to fail."
At his words my heart twisted within me. I wanted to shout at him: Christ! How dare you thank that monster! Had it been left to God, the mines would claim your rotting bones. It is Aidan, not Christ, who frees you now!
But I swallowed the bile and said, "We are leaving this place. Can you walk?"
"I will crawl to freedom if need be," he said, his mouth spreading in a grin. The skin of his lips split in the violence of his smile and began to bleed.
"Come, Ddewi, the day of our liberation has come. We are leaving our captivity." With the gentleness of a mother bending to an ailing child, the elder monk took hold of the younger's hand and began leading him away. It was then that I understood Ddewi had lost more than an eye only.
Some of the slaves across the yard began shouting at me. I could not make out what they wanted, nor did I want to know. My only thought now was to escape with the prize as quickly as possible. "We must go," Faysal said, his voice urgent, his eyes wary. "To wait any longer is to tempt the devil."
Pausing only long enough to make doubly certain that none of my friends was left behind, I counted eighteen Sea Wolves, and three Celts. To Faysal, I said, "Mount those who cannot walk." He hurried away, shouting orders to Bara and Nadr.
The chief overseer, who had stood aside biding his time, now pressed forward. "You take my slaves;" he protested, shaking his fist in the air, "what will you give me for them?"
Rounding on him, I said, "You have read the decree. It says nothing of payment."
"You cannot take my slaves!" he whined. "I must be paid!"
Ignoring him, I called to Faysal, "Is everyone ready?"
"Lead the way," he replied. "We will follow." He looked around at the guards, who appeared sullen and unhappy. Some shifted uneasily in their places, as if weighing the consequences of siding with the overseer.
"This way," I called, raising my hand and striding forth. I took but two steps and was stopped by Jarl Harald, who put his hand to my sleeve and said, "We cannot leave yet."
"Cannot leave?" I stared at him. "What do you mean?"
He glanced furtively towards the overseer, who still waved his arms in protest, crying his outrage at our uncaring treatment of him. Putting his mouth to my ear, Harald whispered a terse explanation.
"What?" I wondered in disbelief. "You cannot mean it."
He nodded solemnly. "We did not know you would return today," he said.
"I am sorry," I told him flatly. "There is no time."
Folding his arms across his chest, the king shook his head solemnly. "Nay."
Faysal, seeing my hesitation, hastened to my side. "We must go."
"There is a small matter yet to be resolved," I muttered, staring hard at the king, who remained adamant.
Faysal made to protest, then glanced at the Danish king, his face set in a stubborn frown. "Resolve it quickly, my friend," he relented. "I fear your decree will not detain this greedy fellow very much longer."
I looked to the slave master, who was now urgently gesturing for several of his guards to join him. There was nothing for it but to seize the lion by his beard, as it were. "Come with me," I ordered Faysal, "and bring two warriors."
Marching directly to the angry overseer, I faced him squarely. "We are leaving," I announced, "but not before the chains are removed and we have secured the bones of our brothers."
"Bones!" he brayed in disbelief. "There was nothing said about bones!"
"Listen to me well," I told him darkly as Faysal and the two rafiq came to stand behind me, "your worthless life hangs by a thread over the pit, but hear me out and you may yet save yourself."
The slave master subsided, grumbling and cursing.
"I was a slave here," I began. "On the day I left this place, two of my friends and I were to have been executed." The slow dawn of recognition broke over the man's fleshy face. "Faysal stopped the execution, but not before you killed an old man who gave himself in my place. Do you remember?"
An expression akin to fear crept into the overseer's sun-blasted features. Yes, he remembered it all now.
"Answer me!"
His eyes flicked to the two warriors whose hands moved towards the hilts of their swords. "It is possible," he allowed.
"That man was a priest of God," I said. "He was a holy man, and he was my friend. I will not allow his bones to remain in this accursed place. Therefore, we will take them with us." The overseer gaped, but did not disagree. "Now then, tell me where his body is buried."
"We do not bury slaves," the overseer informed me with smug self-assurance. "We throw their corpses to the dogs."
"If that is the way of it," I replied, my voice falling to what I hoped was a withering whisper, "you must pray to whatever god will hear you that we find his remains." I let him imagine the worst. "Show me where his body was thrown."
The overseer pointed to one of the guards. "That one knows. He will show you."
Turning to Faysal, I said, "See that the leg irons are removed, and then take the overseer into his house and wait there with him until I return."
As soon as the first slaves were freed from their leg chains, we set off: Harald, Brynach, Gunnar, Hnefi, no fewer than six other Sea Wolves, the guard and myself. Once out of sight of the yard, I took Harald by the arm, "We will take our time, but you must hurry." I told him then what I had in mind and ordered him to do the same. "Do you understand?"
Nodding, the jarl and his men hobbled off up the long slope in the direction of the mines, walking in a laborious, rolling amble; they had grown unused to moving their feet so freely. The guard watched them suspiciously. "Where are they going?" he demanded.
"Show us where you put the body of my friend," I commanded.
The guard pointed at the retreating Danes, and prepared to renew his demand.
"Now!" I told him. "I grow weary of your insolence."
The guard clamped his mouth shut, turned on his heel and led us in the opposite direction. We walked to a place behind the settlement and he showed me a small ravine, little more than a dry ditch choked with the tough little desert thorn bushes and twisted, stunted cacti. Judging from the bits of broken pottery and the stink, I guessed the refuse of the settlement was pitched down the slope. "There," the guard muttered with a downward jerk of his chin.
"We will begin searching," I told him. "Bring us a robe."
As the guard sauntered away, I told Brynach what I had in mind to do. He commended my thoughtfulness, saying, "Ah, a man after my own heart. May your compassion be rewarded forever." Then, raising his shaggy head, he said, "And Joseph made the Sons of Israel swear an oath and said, 'God will surely come to your aid, and you must carry my bones from this place.'" So Joseph's sons took up his bones and bore them out of Egypt."
"I will go down and see what I can find," I told him, and left him reciting Holy Scripture on the edge of the ravine. I picked my way carefully down the steep slope, sliding the last few steps. I found a broken stick and began poking here and there among the refuse, potsherds, and sheep dung. There were bones aplenty-mostly those of animals, but some human.
And then, half hidden under a pile of dung and shrivelled garbage, I glimpsed a wad of sun-rotted cloth and my heart missed a beat. The cloth was the coarse weave of a monk's cloak. I scraped away the refuse to reveal a tell-tale bulge. Squatting down, I lifted away the scrap of discarded clothing to reveal the discoloured skull of Bishop Cadoc. The bone was white where the sun had scoured it, but brown where it had laid in the dirt; there were scrags of hard-baked flesh still clinging to the underside, dry and black.
Laying aside the skull, I prodded a little more and turned up a long leg bone, and a single curved rib. Here and there, I found other bones: an arm without a hand, the lumpy cradle of a pelvis, some more ribs.
"Aidan?" came a call from the edge of the ravine above. "Have you found anything?"
"Yes," I answered, and told him what I had found so far.
I do not know what I expected; Cadoc had been cut in two, the pieces carelessly heaved into the pit, and the corpse worried by dogs. No doubt, there were pieces of the good bishop scattered from one end of the ditch to the other.
"Do you want me to come down now?" Brynach called from above.
"No, brother, I think we will not find much more."
"The skull is the most needful," Brynach told me. "And the leg bones. Do you have two leg bones?"
"Just one," I replied.
"Ah, a pity," sighed Brynach. "Still, it is a handsome gesture. God is smiling even now."
I moved further down the ravine and found what appeared to be a shoulderblade. I did not take it, though, for it was gnawed rough and covered with the teeth marks-those of dogs, and smaller, sharper ones that fit a rodent's jaws. The slave guard returned while I was searching among the rocks and refuse, and I ordered him to join me, bringing the garment he had been sent to find. He came, reluctantly, dragging a long, pale yellow robe of the kind the Arabs use to repel the sun and dust when travelling.
Taking the robe, I spread it on the rocks and shifted the bones onto it. Brynach crept a little way down the slope to watch me. When I finished, he raised his hands and declaimed aloud: "When I die, bury me in the place where the man of God is buried; lay my bones beside his bones." Lowering his hands, he said, "That is from the Book of Kings. Thanks to you, Aidan, we will bear our departed brother back to his beloved soil and give him a burial proper to his station."
I made no reply, ashamed of my true purpose and wishing that I had thought of this for its own sake. I looked at the meagre offering, a pitiable reminder of a great man's existence. No doubt a more diligent search would have reclaimed more, but I was growing anxious that we had been away too long already. So, I folded the robe over the paltry assortment, gathered the ends, and carefully swung the bundle onto my back. I climbed to the top of the ravine and, with Brynach and the guard, returned to the place where I had told Harald and his men to meet us.
There was no one in sight.