Tom Harper - The mosaic of shadows

I waved my arm to the far end of the street, where the cavalry were regrouping. ‘Their next charge will surely sweep us away,’ I called. ‘We cannot withstand them.’

‘I will fight to the death,’ Sigurd answered, his face crimson with blood and anger. ‘There is no honour in surrender.’

‘There is less honour in leaving my daughters orphaned. Die for the Emperor, if you must, but do not waste your last strength in some skirmish of no account. The barbarians will value us far more as hostages than as corpses.’

The keenest of the Frankish cavalry were already beginning to urge their mounts forward, kicking at their flanks and bellowing the war-cries of their race. Lances tilted down; they would be upon us in seconds.

‘The Varangians never surrender,’ Sigurd shouted wildly. ‘We do not leave the battlefield before our enemy, except in shrouds. Stand and fight!’

But his was a lonely voice in a lonely place. Whether Varangians would indeed have fought to the last I do not know; the Patzinaks would not. All around me, those who could still stand cast down their swords and shields and lifted their arms to show they were finished. For a moment I thought the Franks would ride them down even then, but at the last they divided themselves and rode into a circle around us. Sigurd alone resisted the inevitable defeat, snarling and prowling and hurling challenges at our captors, but at length even his head dropped, and his axe fell to the ground.

The barbarians did not address us, but let their spears speak for them. Those ahead began to ride away, while those behind advanced, jabbing at our heels. They did not even allow us time to drag our wounded to their feet, and I saw at least one man, still alive, casually trampled under the cavalry’s hooves. Shame and fury were evident on all our faces, none more than Sigurd’s, but we were impotent: the Franks could have butchered us in seconds.

They herded us like swine back to the forum. The grain carts were gone, doubtless swept clean of all their load, but a crowd many faces deep had gathered. They were expecting us, I realised, taking in the gleeful expectation around me, just as the archers and cavalry had expected us. It sickened me to think of the ease with which we had been trapped.

Four tables had been dragged together on the far side of the square to form a crude platform, on which a dozen of the Frankish captains now stood. All were in armour, and many had their faces obscured by helmets, but the man standing at their centre was bareheaded — and familiar. He was the fair-haired duke, Godfrey, who had received Count Hugh’s embassy in his tent: I remembered he had treated the count courteously, if warily, while his brother pissed on the floor. Though I was numb from the battle, from the forced march at spear-point and the peril of our predicament, the sight of him gave me reason for hope.

Hope which vanished as the leader of the cavalry cantered around the square, reined up his great bay stallion before the stage, and tugged his helmet from his head. His dark hair sprang out in unruly curls, as though he had just risen from his bed, while beneath it the skin was as cold and pale as ever. Baldwin, I remembered, the unlanded brother of Duke Godfrey.

He slipped from his horse and crossed to his brother, a triumphant smile on his face. He spoke brashly and quickly, waving his arms towards his captives and directing his words as much to the crowd as to his brother. He spoke in Frankish, but there was little misunderstanding the vicious exultation in his voice. He seemed to be pressing some sort of argument, for several times the duke interrupted him sharply, but the mind of the crowd was clearly with Baldwin. When he addressed them directly they cheered and applauded, while when he jabbed his finger at his brother they whistled and jeered.

They must have agreed on something, though, for at length Baldwin leaped down off the platform and advanced towards us.

‘No doubt he comes to tell us how much our ransom will be,’ I whispered to Sigurd. ‘Did you understand any of what was said?’

Sigurd shook his head, the agony of surrender still plain on his face.

Without waiting for a translator, nor making any effort to discover which of us was the leader, the barbarian captain approached the nearest of the Patzinaks. The guard’s arm was bleeding, gashed by a spear, but he lifted his chin and drew back his shoulders as Baldwin stopped and stared haughtily down on him. He let his head drift away, then snapped it back and spat full on the Patzinak’s face. The Patzinak flinched, but otherwise kept still, while Baldwin grinned around at the approving crowd, accepting the murmur of agreement which greeted him. He was still facing them, still grinning, while his hand dropped to his sword-belt. And the grin never left his face as he spun about, pulled his sword from its scabbard and, in a single arc, sliced it across the Patzinak’s throat. There was not even time for surprise to register on the murdered guardsman’s face before he was dead on the ground. Blood began spreading across the stones around his body.

A roar of jubilation erupted from the crowd, and Baldwin gave a mock bow, wiping his blade on the dead man’s sleeve. His brother looked on with silent disdain, but he could not defy the mob whose cheering only grew as Baldwin took two exaggerated steps towards the next Patzinak. His blade hovered before the man’s face, darting left and right; then, as the guard tried to duck from its path he reversed the sword and stabbed it into the man’s leg. The guard howled with pain and doubled over, presenting his neck to Baldwin’s hungry blade. He probably did not even see the blow which killed him.

I closed my sickened eyes, then reopened them and looked to Sigurd. ‘We cannot endure this,’ I hissed. ‘He will murder us all for sport, if the crowd do not tear us apart first. We must escape.’

‘You said we would be worth more as hostages than corpses.’ I had never heard such bitterness as was now in Sigurd’s voice.

‘I was wrong. But if we are to die, we should die on our feet. And if we can avoid it altogether. .’

There must have been four score of us captive in that forum, and Baldwin’s barbarity had kindled the same determination in every soul. Now one of the Patzinaks acted. Refusing to be a willing sacrifice, he charged towards the edge of the square where the crowd was thinnest. The knight there raised his sword to chop him down, but the Patzinak ducked away under the horse and escaped it. I saw his hands grasp the barbarian’s leg and start to pull, while his shoulder must have collided with the beast’s ribs for it reared up on its hind legs, unseating its rider. He fell to the ground with a cry of terror, and in an instant his sword was in the hands of the Patzinak, who lunged towards the crowd with a great shout of defiance.

Desperation filled my lungs. ‘Now,’ I shouted. I snatched Sigurd’s arm and pointed to our right: as the Frankish cavalry and their rabble surged forward to stop the lone Patzinak, a gap had appeared in their cordon. I sprinted towards it with Sigurd close behind, crushed my fist into the single man who barred my way, and stuck my knee into his groin to be certain. He collapsed from my path. More cries and shouts sounded from behind me as Sigurd cracked and shattered the limbs of those who tried to stop him.

We were free, but I could hear the noise of many footsteps running after me. Whether they were barbarian pursuers or Patzinaks who had followed us out I could not tell and dared not look, but they pushed me on up a thin alley away from the forum, away from the confused commotion of the Frankish mob. I ran past the first two roads which turned off my path, swerved into the third and ducked immediately down another lane, hoping it would not prove a dead end, for the sounds of pursuit were everywhere about me. It was empty, but would not be so for long, and with so many barbarians we could not keep running around this maze for ever. I saw a crooked shed leaning against the wall of a house and made for its door, praying to my God that it would not be locked, while Sigurd pushed past me, scanning for any enemies approaching ahead.