Free The Sword of Damascus by Richard Blake Page B

possibilities. One is that I’m a pirate chief masquerading as a rather aged Greek of the higher classes. The other is that I’m telling the truth. I’ll leave it to you to decide which is the case. But please don’t spend too long about it. The Saracens are planning a raid on your city. Only I can stop this.’
    Anyone with an ounce of imagination could have raised several other possibilities. But this was a prefect with no imagination at all.
    ‘You will excuse me a moment, My Lord,’ he said. He got up and bowed and led his secretary over beside the icon. I couldn’t hear any of their whispered conversation. But it was easy to guess its frantic course. Every so often, they’d turn and give me a suspicious or merely frightened look. The wine I’d finished on board to steady my nerves now decided to announce its presence in my bladder. I left the remains of my water cup untouched. I wiggled my toes and wondered how long all this would take.
    It wasn’t that much longer. I could see the secretary was still for demanding further and better particulars. The Prefect, though, had decided his best course of action was to get rid of me at the earliest moment. He sat down opposite me again and smiled nervously.
    ‘You must appreciate that I don’t have responsibility for every detail of the administration,’ he said, speaking fast. ‘I will, of course, order a full enquiry. Even if it will report after your departure, I promise it will spare no one if guilt is to be laid on any individual. If there are lessons to be learned . . .’ He spluttered on more about the independent enquiry he’d order and how no one would be spared.
    What was the wanker about to tell me? I went cold all over. I set my face into a mask of bureaucratic immobility and stared straight at him.
    ‘You see,’ he continued, ‘your men came ashore yesterday morning. They didn’t come here to give their purpose, but went straight to the market. There was some – there was some altercation. The reports didn’t tell me exactly what happened. But it seems that one of your men was hanged yesterday afternoon. The others are in prison awaiting my justice.’
    ‘You hanged one of my crew?’ I asked once I was able to trust my voice. Never mind the piss I was increasingly desperate to have – I nearly shat myself. ‘This may be a serious matter. Are you able to tell me which of the four you hanged?’
    ‘You will appreciate, My Lord,’ he said, now blustering again, ‘that one shouting barbarian is very like another. It required five men to get his neck into the rope. As it was, he nearly tore down the gallows.
    ‘Would you like to see the body?’ he asked suddenly. ‘It’s still hanging. I think the birds . . .’ He trailed off.
    Sixty-odd years of dealing with higher level administrative trash than this had left me in no doubt of how to put the frighteners on. I kept up the look of chilly distaste and thought frantically. If they hadn’t hanged Edward – and, even if he were the most expendable of the four, I was relieved about that – there was a two in three chance that Wilfred would be in the clear back on board the ship. If it were Hrothgar, though . . . I trailed off myself. Wilfred would assure me it was all in the hands of God. As for me, I’d find out soon enough.
    ‘I will sign an immediate order for your men to be released,’ the Prefect said after another whispered row that I hadn’t been able to follow. ‘Sadly, it may not be until mid-afternoon that they are released. You see, the gaoler is a most devout man. Every morning, he goes off to pray before the shrine of the Blessed Rugosius, and takes the keys with him. Until he returns, you must regard yourself as our guest.’
    ‘Very well,’ I said briskly. ‘I want them out of prison at the earliest.’ I looked closely at the secretary. There was something unpleasantly thoughtful about his face. ‘In the meantime, I shall be grateful for a bath and a change of