Tim Severin - King's Man

Four hours later the exhausted officers of the tagmata trudged back up the slope to report total victory. In front of the palisade, the emir's army had been crushed. The majority of the Saracens had run away, throwing down their arms and fleeing into the scrubland. The rest of them were either dead or sat meekly on the ground, knowing that soon they would be sold as slaves. The tagmata had lost less than a hundred men killed, and four times that number wounded. Yet Maniakes scowled as he surveyed his officers.

'Where is the emir?' he demanded sourly. 'The kataphract's duty is to decapitate the enemy by killing or capturing their commander. Otherwise victory is nothing. The Saracens will regroup around their leader, and we will face another battle.'

Abruptly Maniakes swung round and faced me. I quailed in front of his bad temper.

'You there,' he shouted at me, 'tell your northern colleagues that now they are going to earn their pay. As soon as we get back to Syracuse, I want every galley to put to sea and blockade the coasts. Abdallah must not be allowed to escape back to Libya. I want him taken.'

He turned again towards the officers.

'The palace regiments and the kataphract will return to Syracuse. Light infantry and cavalry are to go in pursuit of the emir. Track him down. He must be somewhere. I want this matter settled for good.'

Behind me I heard someone mutter in Norse, 'What about our loot?'

Maniakes must have heard and guessed the meaning of the remark, for he stared icily over my shoulder at the Norsemen, and said, 'All loot taken from the dead bodies or found in the enemy camp is to be brought to the quartermasters. They will assess its value, and it will not be shared out until the tagmata is back in Syracuse.'

Syracuse knew of our victory long before the tagmata reached the city walls. With no hope of relief from Abdallah, the citizens opened the city gates. The Greeks in the population greeted us ecstatically, the Saracens with resignation. Naturally Harald's Norsemen were eager to know just how much reward they would receive after the great battle of Traina, and we contrived to delay our departure for the coastal patrol until Maniakes's quartermasters had made their calculations. In the end each man in Harald's war band received a bonus of thirty nomisma, more than three years' pay. Certain items, however, were kept back for distribution to the senior officers, and this led to an open quarrel between Maniakes and Herve, the leader of the Frankish mercenaries. The object of their dispute was the same bay stallion which had carried the nobleman that Iron Arm had killed in spectacular single combat, a superlative example of that breed of horse for which the Saracens were famous. When the stallion was led forward by a groom and shown off to Maniakes, there was not a man in the watching crowd who would not have wanted to own the creature.

Unwisely, Herve, who spoke some Greek, ventured a suggestion. 'Autokrator,' he proposed, 'the horse should given to Iron Arm in recognition of his victory over the Saracen champion.'

Maniakes took this remark as an affront and an encroachment on his absolute authority. 'No,' he said harshly. 'That horse will be placed in my stables. I keep the animal for myself.'

Herve blundered on, compounding his error. 'Surely that is unjust,' he said. 'Iron Arm defeated his opponent in fair combat, and by custom he should receive the weapons and horse of the vanquished.'

Maniakes glared at him, his scowl of anger deepening. The two men were facing one another in the main city square. With Maniakes were a few Greek staff officers, while Herve was accompanied by half a dozen of his mercenaries. This was a very public squabble.

'The horse is mine,' Maniakes repeated. He was now so angry that his voice had deepened to an ugly growl.

Herve opened his mouth as if to speak, and at that moment Maniakes stepped forward and struck the mercenary full in the face. Maniakes, as I have said, was a huge man, a giant. The force of the blow knocked Herve off his feet, though he was tall and strong enough to be capable of standing up to a normal assault. As the mercenary started to get up from the ground, his mouth bloody from a cut lip, the Greek general unleashed a kick that sent Herve sprawling once again. Maniakes was breathing heavily, his eyes filled with rage as he watched the humiliated mercenary slowly stand upright with the help of two of his men, who hurried forward to support him. Maniakes's staff officers stayed rooted to the spot, terrified by the fury of their leader. I remembered the warning of the Greek officer back in Constantinople that the new commander-in-chief demanded instant obedience, 'particularly from northern barbarians'.

No one said anything, and the stallion and his groom stood there until into this fraught moment entered one of Herve's mercenaries, Iron Arm himself. He detached himself from the group of onlookers and strolled across to the horse. As he walked, Iron Arm was pulling on to his right hand his heavy metal-plated gauntlet. Coming up to the stallion, the mercenary began to pet the animal, stroking the magnificent head and neck, patting his flanks and fondling his ears. The stallion responded with pleasure, turning his fine head to nuzzle the man. Then Iron Arm moved to stand directly in front of the animal, put his left hand behind his back, and clicked his fingers. The stallion's head came up, the ears pricked in curiosity, the eyes bright and questioning, wondering at the sound. In that instant Iron Arm raised his gauntleted right hand and delivered a terrific blow with his clenched right fist, right between the stallion's eyes. The stallion collapsed, his legs folding up, killed outright. Iron Arm calmly turned and walked back to join his comrades.

Next day Herve and his entire band of mercenaries left Syracuse and returned to Italy, refusing to serve under Maniakes again.

'WHAT A PUNCH that man has got!' commented Halldor. 'The Greek general is going to regret getting on the wrong side of the Frankish mercenaries.'

We were taking our galleys out of harbour to begin our patrol, and the death of the stallion was the sole topic of conversation.

'Maniakes has been in an evil temper ever since Abdallah escaped him. I doubt that the emir will be caught now. Abdallah has had plenty of time to make his escape back to Libya. Still, if we are cruising the coast, maybe we can make a few shore raids on our own account and pick up a little booty on the side.'

Halldor's Viking instincts were to be rewarded beyond his wildest dreams. Of the five galleys in our flotilla, Harald despatched two northwards to cruise towards Palermo in case the emir was still there. Two more galleys were sent to patrol the coast, facing across to Libya and the emir's most likely escape route. The fifth galley, Harald's own, had a more free-ranging task. We would search along the south-eastern coast, examining the bays and harbours for any trace of Saracen shipping capable of carrying the emir off the island. Now that Abdallah was on the run, we knew we could rely on receiving intelligence from the Greek-speaking population who lived along the coast.

For nearly a week, we made our way slowly along the rock-bound coast, looking into creeks and harbours, interrogating fishermen and finding nothing suspicious. It seemed that Sicily was quiet again now the emir was defeated, and the populace had returned to their normal peacetime lives. We were about halfway along the coast when we came to a long beach of white sand backed with low dunes covered with tussock grass. This itself was unusual, for most of the shore that we had seen was cliff and reef. I asked the Greek fisherman who was our pilot along this stretch of coast if this beach was ever used as a landing place, and he shook his head. Apparently the nearest village was far inland, and the fishermen had no reason to come there because the fishing in the area was bad. I translated his reply to Harald, and immediately the Norwegian's predatory instinct was aroused. He scanned the beach for several moments. We could see nothing. The beach looked quiet.