John Dalmas - Return to Fanglith

"With a holy amulet."

Gunnlag's brows knotted, so I went on. "There were three Saracens in the first scouting party. I caused the first two to fall from their horses unable to move. They should still be lying there, alive. The third I caused only to go numb, and let him ride away to his army. I was hidden in shadows, and they were unable to see me. All he could tell his commander was that two men had fallen from their horses without the twang of any bowstring, and that he had gone numb and nearly fallen from his saddle without being struck a blow. And that there had been a terrible sound, as of a soul in torment."

I said all that a sentence or two at a time, so that Arno could translate. After the last sentence, Gunnlag said something and Arno turned to me again.

"He says his lookouts at the notch reported a sound like that."

I nodded. "Then, a while later, about eight more came. I caused four of them to fall; I'm afraid I killed one of them. The rest fled."

When Arno had repeated this in Norse, Gunnlag frowned again and said something more. Again Arno turned to me. "He wants to know why you didn't kill them all."

I shrugged. "I am a holy monk." Arno's eyebrows raised at that, of course, before he passed it on to the Norseman. "And besides," I went on, "when the Saracens find them, their commander will be confused and mystified. All the Saracens will be. Dead men they would understand about, especially if I'd killed them with arrows, or sword or knife. And from what I've heard, Saracen knights have no great fear of death or other men. But what could it be that paralyzes them, and makes such a terrible sound? That will put fear in their hearts, at least while it's dark."

When Arno had finished interpreting, Gunnlag stood, peering intently at me.

"Then," I went on, "I climbed the side of the ravine, and at the top was attacked by another Saracen knight. I regret that I had to kill both him and his horse. There was no time to use more delicate magic, may God forgive me." I motioned with the shield. "I took this from him," I said. "I may want it when daylight comes.

"And Arno," I added when he'd finished interpreting, "tell Gunnlag that if he sends warriors down the ravine to see, they should not kill or rob or even touch the fallen men they find there. If any of his warriors go there, they should pretend to be mystified at what they see. The paralyzed men will remember it, and tell their commander."

Gunnlag pursed his lips thoughtfully. Then, without saying anything more, he went and woke up two of his men and talked to them. They left, carrying shields and swords. Arno and I walked over to the mass of sleeping Varangians. One of the disadvantages of going to bed late, in a situation like that, is that you have to sleep at the edge, where there's not so much body heat.

When we lay down, Arno murmured a question of his own. "Why did you do it? Tomorrow it will make little difference. We are all dead men then, unless God, through some saint, intervenes."

I hadn't even thought about that before. "I did it," I said, "because-because tomorrow some saint may intervene. Or some angel. And I want us to be alive if one does."

It struck me then that he'd asked the question as casually as if he was asking whether I thought it was going to rain. I don't think he put as much importance as I did on the matter of living or dying. Then it struck me that I wasn't making as big a deal out of it as I would have a month earlier, or a week as far as that's concerned.

I closed my eyes. It had been an extra-long day, and I'd hiked a lot of miles. Even cold, and with my stomach grumbling about no food, I went right to sleep.

The first time I awakened-just barely-was when a Varangian I was lying against got up. I was vaguely aware that it was starting to get daylight, then went right back to sleep. The next time I awakened, the rising sun was in my eyes and just about everyone was up. I thought about a drink of water, then remembered there wasn't any. The nearest water could easily be a mile away.

I got up and stretched, noticing that most of the rowing soreness was gone. And I remembered that this was, would be, the day of reckoning. I went over to where I'd left my shortsword the night before and put it back on my belt.

That's what I was doing when I heard the distant halloos. Walking to the south side of camp, I looked in the direction the calls had come from. Two Varangians, lookouts, were trotting from the direction of the notch. Apparently the Saracens were coming up the ravine.

Arno was standing near; now he came over to me. "Gunnlag sent men down the ravine after you came back," he said. "They found two men dead and four men down, unable to move. Apparently you used a higher setting on them than you did on me that time."

He was grinning. I didn't feel like grinning back. A Norman might feel cheerful on a morning like this, but I was no Norman. I recalled the time he referred to- our first meeting, in Provence, on the road from the Cenis Pass. That was the first time he'd tried to take my weapons from me.

The Varangians didn't look glum either. They weren't saying much, but mostly they looked either cheerful or grim; a few looked thoughtful. Most had been mercenaries in the Byzantine army, and the others were probably veterans of battles in other places. I suppose all of them had been close to death at times. Besides that, from what Arno and Gunnlag had said, their whole culture was warlike. That would mean they'd almost have to feel different about danger and death than I was used to.

"Do you still have power in your stunner?" Arno asked.

I nodded. "Enough for a few more shots, I suppose."

Smiling, he fondled the hilt of his sword. "That is one advantage of our weapons here," he said. "They last as long as you can wield them. Unless, of course, they break. And Saracen swords are too light to break Norman blades."

The lookouts had reached the foot of the knob now, and slowed to a walk on its steep slope. At almost the same moment, the first few Saracens rode up through the notch.

Over the next quarter hour, something more than two hundred appeared, maybe as many as two-fifty to three hundred. They trotted their horses easily in a rough column of twos toward us, and I wondered if they'd attack us right now instead of besieging us. When their lead riders reached the foot of the knob, they separated, half of them bypassing us on the knob's steep flanks to the ridge crest on its other side. This put half of them on the south end and half on the north. None stayed on our flanks, which were too steep to ride up, but the Saracens could attack from both ends if they wanted to.

"What now?"! asked Arno.

He shrugged. "They'll probably wait and let us get thirstier."

I was already thirstier than I could ever remember being.

"And maybe try to get the Varangians to use up their arrows," he went on. "But I doubt that will work. These Varangians are no Lombard peasants called to war, scarcely knowing a sword from a spade." He gave me a friendly clap on the shoulder; it was like being hit by a club. "You have never seen a battle like this will be," he told me. "Watch well, while you still live! Breathe deeply of it! Let the sounds fill your ears! And when you go to meet God, keep the memory of it; it may help to pass the time in heaven or hell."

I'd settle for watching the Saracens from a distance. Their horses were noticeably more lightly built and graceful than the Norman destriers, and the Saracen knights were colorful in robes that covered whatever their armor might be.

Then four of them rode partway up the knob, stopping out of bowshot. One, apparently their commander, rode another few feet and shouted to us in a language I'd never heard before. Apparently the Varangians didn't understand it; at least none of them shouted anything back. Then he tried another, which I thought might be Greek. And it seemed to be, because Gunnlag stepped up on a boulder and called back. The Varangians laughed. The Saracen commander, after staring for a moment, turned his horse and trotted back, followed by the other three.