Tom Harper - Siege of Heaven

‘We sent them on to Jerusalem to fetch men to carry back your supplies.’

‘If they can carry the gold to pay for this, they’ll have enough men to carry back what they buy.’ He saw Sigurd’s scowl of disdain. ‘I’m offering them the keys to Jerusalem. They should pay well enough for that. Besides, it wasn’t easy to bring it here. There are Fatimid ships swarming all over these waters. Three nights ago they would have sunk us, if the wind hadn’t turned.’ He patted one of the nearby casks. ‘If God does want the Franks to have this, then He surely wants them to pay for it.’

Saewulf glanced out of a narrow window in the seaward wall. It had taken us most of the day to reach Jaffa and the sun was setting, a golden bowl pouring out its rays on the burnished water.

‘The Franks won’t be here before tomorrow morning. Stay with us tonight, and I’ll tell you about England.’

Whatever quarrels he and Sigurd might have had, Saewulf feasted us royally. His men had been out in the hills that day and brought back two boars and a small deer, which they roasted over a fire at the end of the dock. There was no lack of wood here. Waves lapped against the stone piers, fat sizzled in the flames and wine poured freely into cups, spilling as they clashed in toasts, then draining into thirsty throats. For all their captains’ hostility, Saewulf’s crew and Sigurd’s Varangians met each other with the joy of longlost friends, proving their delight in the quantities they drank. Many of the sailors, like Saewulf, had served in the Varangian guard at one time or another, and the rest all seemed to share cousins, half-sisters or friends in common.

‘To England,’ Saewulf toasted, raising his glance and then emptying it. ‘You should come back, Sigurd — see what a green country looks like. Escape all this dust and rock.’

‘Not while there’s a Norman sitting on the throne,’ said Sigurd. He emptied his own cup and poured another, splashing the wine in his haste.

‘You would never see him. You would walk in English fields, eat and drink English bread and beer, and see your grandchildren grow up where they belong. What does it matter who sits in the castles?’

The wine had infused passion into Saewulf’s usual detachment. His face was flushed, and he waved his hands earnestly as he spoke.

‘The Normans stole our country,’ Sigurd insisted.

‘England is still there. The white cliffs still stood when I sailed away. The only person who is keeping you out of your home is you , sitting here and sulking over injustices you suffered more than thirty years ago.’

‘What should I have done? Surrendered to them like you did?’

‘Surrendered?’ Saewulf laughed, the cup swaying in his hand. ‘Do you think I got down on my knees in front of King William and swore him allegiance? I have never seen him in my life. If I sailed you back to England tonight, do you think he would be standing on Pevensey beach to meet you — to fight you in single combat for the crown of the realm?’ Sigurd made to interrupt, but Saewulf carried on over him. ‘You’re no more to him than the mud on the sole of his boot. The only person who cares about your righteous exile is you. And when you’re on your deathbed, what will you tell your grandchildren? That you wasted your life because you could not bear to let go of your hatred? That your pride would rather you served a foreign king in a foreign land than live in your own?’

‘I would rather serve the man I choose, than the man who tore away my country, who killed my father and raped my family.’

‘That man died twelve years ago. One of his sons rules England now — and another, as I hear it, is a prince in your Army of God. Have you noticed that the emperor you adopted to escape the Normans has now sent you to fight beside them?’

‘The emperor takes his allies as he needs them,’ said Sigurd tightly.

‘And he abandons them when they’re no more use to him.’ Saewulf rose, swaying, though whether that was the effect of wine or his habit of being at sea I could not tell. ‘I know what you think of me — that you stand fast and defend your oaths while I go where the wind blows.’

‘And where the money calls.’

‘And where the money calls,’ Saewulf agreed. He was slurring his words now, slopping wine over the rim of his cup as he waved his arms. ‘But there’s nothing noble clinging to a rock when the tide is rising. Especially if the rock turns out to be nothing but sand.’

Sigurd lumbered to his feet, his face red in the firelight. ‘I came to Byzantium as an orphan: without family, without a home, without even a country. Now I am a captain of the guard in an empire that was young when our ancestors hadn’t even learned to build boats.’

‘An empire that has only survived so long by buying barbarians like you in the dark times — then throwing you out with the night soil the moment they see the dawn.’

‘Liar!’ bellowed Sigurd. ‘The emperor has never betrayed me. I stood beside him at the battle of Paradunavum, when almost every other man in his army had deserted or been slaughtered, and when we took our revenge four years later at Lebunium, I was at his side again. Are you telling me that instead of that, I should have spent those years scratching at soil that the Normans had left barren, grovelling in the dust each time a Norman rode by and praying his eye wouldn’t fall on my daughter?’

‘I’m telling you that when you’re among your own people, you know who your enemies are.’ Saewulf reached out and grabbed the golden ring on Sigurd’s arm, pulling him forward like a bull. ‘The emperor you love so much may have thrown you some crumbs when he was in trouble, but now he has betrayed you. Do you know why I have arrived here with a ship full of siege equipment?’

They were standing almost chest to chest now, Saewulf’s fingers still tight on Sigurd’s arm. I was amazed at his boldness. Sigurd towered over him; for a moment I thought he might slam his forehead against Saewulf’s skull in rage. But the sea-captain’s question had surprised him.

‘Did the emperor send you?’

Saewulf laughed. ‘The emperor sent the siege weapons — but not to Jerusalem, and not on my ship. I took them off a Cypriot convoy we surprised two weeks ago at sea.’

‘Piracy.’ Sigurd almost spat the word in Saewulf’s face. Saewulf shrugged it off.

‘Where do you suppose the Cypriot captain told me he was going with his cargo? To Jaffa, to help the poor Franks? No. He was going to Alexandria, to deliver these supplies to the Fatimid caliph to use against the Franks when he brings his army up to Jerusalem.’

Sigurd tried to pull away, but Saewulf kept a tight hold on his armband. ‘The emperor you love so much has betrayed the Franks — and you. You can hardly move on the seas out there for all the imperial grain ships hurrying to Egypt. The emperor has found new allies; now he will cast his old ones into the fire.’ He laughed again, a taunting, harrowing laugh. ‘At least he has betrayed the Franks because he wants to get Antioch back from them. You, who served him so faithfully, have been discarded simply because he cannot be bothered to save you.’

With a roar of anger, Sigurd tore himself from Saewulf’s grip, picked him up and hurled him against a pile of barrels. They tumbled over and rolled around the wharf like pigs on their backs. Sigurd bounded towards his opponent, but this was not the first dockside brawl Saewulf had fought. He was already on his feet, crouching low; he ducked aside as Sigurd sprang past him, kicking the Varangian’s feet from under him so that he sprawled on the stones.

I looked around. Dozens of ruddy faces were watching the fight, but none moved.

Sigurd got up, brushing dirt from his tunic. ‘Liar,’ he shouted again at Saewulf. ‘Why should I believe the word of a pirate and a traitor?’ He looked around, defying anyone in the crowd to defend Saewulf. ‘Would we be here if the emperor had betrayed us? Would we have spent the last two years fighting beside the Franks, crawling through deserts and over mountains?’ He was staring straight at me, and my face must have revealed the truth for he took a step towards me and demanded again, more loudly, ‘Would we?’