Tim Severin - King's Man

'Stand well back, Thorgils,' he warned. 'They've got archers down there, and some slingers.' An arrow clattered against the stone buttress.

'Can you let me have a dozen men?' I asked. 'I want to get to the armoury and see if I can bring up a scorpion or two.'

Halfdan looked at me quizzically. 'Since when did you become an artillery man?'

'I had a few lessons in Sicily,' I said.

'Well then, take as many men as you need. The mob has not yet got itself sufficiently worked up to launch a concerted attack.'

With a squad of a dozen Varangians at my heels, I headed towards the armoury. I hammered on the heavy double doors until a storekeeper pulled one of them open cautiously. He looked decidedly peevish. Doubtless he had hoped that he was in a safe retreat, well away from any trouble.

'I need weapons,' I blurted, out of breath.

'Where's your written order? You must have a signed authority from the archon strategos before I can issue any weapons.'

'Where can I find him?'

'Can't tell you. Haven't seen him all day,' said the storekeeper with an air of smug finality.

'This is an emergency,' I insisted.

'No paperwork, no weapons. That's my orders,' was the short answer I got.

I put my hand on his chest and pushed him aside.

'Here, you can't do that,' he objected, but I was already inside and looking around.

The armoury was generously equipped. I could see everything from parade equipment with gilded hilts and coloured silk tassels to workaday swords and pikes. Against one wall was a stack of the small round shields used by light infantry.

'Grab as many of those as you can carry,' I told my men, 'and take them back up to the ramparts, and get some of those bows from that rack over there and as many arrows as you can handle. Tell Halfdan that there are plenty more bows and arrows if he needs them.'

Meanwhile I had spotted the heavier weapons in the far corner of the store. I recognised the wooden stocks, the iron winding handles, and the thick stubby arms of the bows of at least a dozen scorpions neatly arranged. Looped around a wooden frame were the special bowstrings made of animal sinew. Trying to recall exactly what I had seen in Syracuse when Nikephorus had shown me round his siege tower, and again during the battle at Traina, I began to select enough items to assemble three scorpions. To the strongest man in my squad, an ox-like Swede, I gave all three tripods to carry. To the others I handed out the remainder of the parts as well as two large bags full of iron bolts. I personally took charge of the trigger mechanisms, as they looked fragile and easily damaged.

'Hail to the new technicians,' joked Lars as my men laid out the items on the walkway behind the parapet and I began to experiment how they would fit together.

As it turned out, the scorpions were easy to assemble. Anyone who knew how to lock together the complicated joints in shipwright's carpentry could do it, and several of my Varangians had that skill. Only the trigger mechanisms were puzzling, and it took one or two false attempts before I finally got them correctly installed and the scorpions were ready for use.

'Here, Thorgils, you get to release the first bolt,' offered Halfdan as he hoisted the completed weapon up on its tripod.

'No thanks,' I said. 'You wind up and pull the trigger. I want to watch and make sure that I have the tension right.'

Halfdan cranked the handle, drawing back the arms of the bow, placed a metal bolt in its groove, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. To my satisfaction the bolt flew straight, though Halfdan had overcompensated for the angle and the metal bolt whizzed over the heads of the crowd and smacked into the facade of the buildings opposite.

'Powerful stuff, eh?' commented Halfdan contentedly. 'Still, if I was going to kill someone, I would prefer to do it from close-up, where I can see exactly whom I despatch.'

My satisfaction at assembling the ballistae was replaced by dismay. Looking down into the crowd, I saw Harald. Standing a full head taller than those around him, his long hair and moustaches were unmistakable. Then I identified Halldor and several others of Harald's war band right behind their leader, pushing their way through the crowd to reach the front rank. All of them were wearing helmets and carrying their axes. Obviously the mob had broken into the jails and released all the prisoners. The insurrection had also found a common scapegoat. The mob was chanting, 'Give us the Caulker! Give us the Caulker!'

'Don't fire into the crowd,' I begged Halfdan.

'Are you crazy?' he demanded. 'Why go to the trouble of providing these weapons and not use them?' He reloaded, swivelled the scorpion on its mounting and took aim. The chances that he would hit Harald were remote, but I removed his hand from the trigger.

'Over there to the left,' I said. 'That's Harald of Norway, and behind him, Varangians.'

'So they've broken their oath and joined the rebels,' grunted Halfdan.

'You can't shoot down your own people.'

'No,' said Halfdan. 'That would be cowardly. Hand to hand is the only way. They're traitors.'

He abandoned the scorpion and unslung his axe. 'Time for a sortie, men. Show them that we mean business,' he announced.

I watched the reaction of my comrades. They looked as if they were in two minds whether to follow Halfdan or ignore him.

There was an awkward pause, which was interrupted by the sound of feet on the stone steps leading to the parapet. A Greek officer appeared, a man I recognised vaguely from the siege of Syracuse. He seemed competent, and there was no doubt about what he intended. He gestured for us to leave the parapet.

'We're taking over now,' he said in Greek, and I translated for Halfdan's benefit.

'Ask him what he wants us to do,' Halfdan asked.

The Greek muttered something about the Varangians being held as a strategic reserve, and that we were to wait in the open courtyard behind the Bronze Gate in case a frontal attack was launched. Halfdan seemed disappointed, but obediently he led our platoon down into the courtyard.

'That does it,' said one of our men as we watched a file of Greek heavy infantry mount the stairway to take up the positions we had just left. 'That was a lie about needing a strategic reserve. They don't trust us. They think we will join up with our countrymen outside the palace and throw in our lot with the rebels.' Angrily he stumped over to a bench, dropped his axe on the paving slabs and sat down. 'I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm going to wait here until the Greeks sort out among themselves who is really running this place.'

I knew that the platoon agreed with him, and that in a few moments Halfdan would entirely lose his authority. I had always judged Halfdan to be a decent type, if unimaginative; to save his dignity, I said, 'Maybe I could locate someone in charge who can decide where we can be most useful. It will save time if Halfdan comes with me so that he can explain the tactical situation.'

Without waiting for a response, I set off for Psellus's office in the chancellery. He was the only person in the palace whom I trusted to give me an honest answer: something odd was going on. The mob outside the walls was hanging back, as if waiting for something, and I did not know what it was. The Greek infantry who had replaced us on the parapet had appeared strangely complacent. They were not as bellicose as I had expected, and I did not know why. Perhaps Psellus could explain.

Halfdan and I met him in the corridor long before we reached his office, and to my astonishment he greeted us as his saviours. 'The blessed Demetrios himself must have sent you,' he exclaimed. 'The Pechenegs have abandoned their posts and fled, every last one of them, just when the Basileus needed them most. Are there any more of you Varangians?'