A Storm at Samos

The voyage to Antalya was uneventful. The ship had ghosted into the vast bay at dawn two days later. Cadfael liked Antalya. The magnificent backdrop of the Taurus Mountains, peaks touched by the first rays of the rising sun, took his breath away. White marble buildings stood out against the still-dark loom of the land. It would be a while before the sun climbed over the eastern horn of the bay. Even so, the port was abuzz as they tied up. Cadfael’s feet had barely touched the dock before he was accosted by a stranger who demanded to know if he had the news.

“There has been an attempt on the Emperor’s life!” The man was beside himself with excitement. “Some say it was the Ottomans and others that the King of Antioch was behind it. “

Cadfael was surprised to think that Count Bohemond, the self-styled King of Antioch, would stoop to hiring assassins and said so. The man shrugged.

“Haven’t you heard? Bohemond has raised an army of Normans and had vowed to make himself Emperor. They say he plans to force the Church to submit once more to Rome. They also say that there are those within the palace who wish him all success. I dare say there are, if he has been generous enough!”

Cadfael nodded. The one thing he had learnt about the Byzantines was there were few limits to their venality. Bribery was endemic and favours traded like fleeces in Shrewsbury market. Neither was he surprised by Bohemond’s stated intention to make himself Emperor. From what he knew of the turbulent knight, it was entirely in character and, given the man’s military genius, entirely within his compass. However, Cadfael felt, Bohemond would make his challenge openly. There was nothing underhand about the man and Cadfael doubted that he would even stoop to bribery. Others may do so in his name, of course. Still, it was important news. A war would seriously affect trade and therefore his own prospects.

There was a fresh cargo ready to load so Cadfael had little opportunity to learn more until later that evening. He made his way to the tavern favoured by sea-captains and heard again the news of the attempted assassination. The would-be killer was a slave belonging to a highly placed member of the Emperor’s entourage. The slave had been summarily executed but the master had taken poison before he could be put to the question. No one was any the wiser as to the forces behind the attempt. The affair was something of a nine days’ wonder. Byzantines were inured to the regular round of usurpation and bloody coups. It was a constant theme of Byzantine politics. It ran like a flawed seam through the rock of the State. Talk soon turned to other things and two of the company set out their chess pieces and began to play. Cadfael watched idly for a while. They used the traditional pieces, which looked to be of their own making, carved from driftwood. Some of the others drew closer to watch the game and there was a deal of wagering on the outcome.

Cadfael took the opportunity during a lull in the game to ask one man, who seemed to be an authority on the game, if he had ever seen the Patriarch used instead of the Vizier. The man frowned and shook his head.

“I’ve heard that some use Norman Knights in place of the Elephants but I‘ve not heard of the Patriarch at all.”

Cadfael let the matter rest. He drained his cup and bade the rest a good night. It was a warm, still evening and the air was close and thick. He soon found himself sweating as he walked and felt the oppressive heat might presage thunder. He was startled by a hand upon his arm. It was one of the captains from the tavern. The man had clearly followed him out.

“What do you know of the Patriarch?” The man’s voice was a sibilant hiss in the darkness.

Cadfael shrugged. “I saw such a piece once, that is all.”

“Some things are best unseen and better yet, not spoken of.”

“And you say so?”

“That I do, Norman, and you’d best pay heed to my words.”

“Who are you?”

“A captain, like yourself.”

“And something else besides, I’ll warrant! So, the truth, what does this Patriarch mean?”

“The truth is it? Then you tell me where you set eyes on such a thing and I’ll give you your answer.”

Cadfael drew the man out onto the dock where none could overhear them. He briefly explained what had transpired on Samos, leaving out only Ariana’s part. The man gave him a grim smile that did not reach his eyes.

“Then it has begun,” he said. “Well, you have given me your tale and I must now give mine. My name is Antonius. I am a Greek yet born in Sicily and a seaman for a score of years and more. I serve no man but own my own vessel and ply my trade between here and the west. Men count me honest and I give them no cause to think but so.

“Three months past a man came to me. He was seeking passage from here to St Simeon. I was bound thither with a cargo of ingots for the Normans at Antioch so saw no harm in taking him along. He fell sick on the passage and was delirious. In his ravings he spoke of the King of Antioch. Bohemond makes no secret of his ambition so I paid no heed, at least, not until he mentioned the Patriarch.

“At first I thought he was saying the Patriarch favoured Bohemond, but that made little sense. Bohemond has vowed to reunite the eastern and the western Church under the Pope’s authority. So I knew I had not understood aright. He rambled in his fever but I learnt the truth.

“It’s no secret that Bohemond has been in Italy, raising men and money for his adventure. Three ships sailed from Brindisium to St Simeon carrying Bohemond’s treasure. Only two made safe haven in the port. The third was taken – some say by pirates – I know not. Now two factions search for the vessel, or, truth be told, its cargo, for it was the richest of the three by far.”

“This is news indeed! But where comes the Patriarch in all of this?”

“The missing ship is called ‘The Patriarch.’ My fevered passenger was one of Bohemond’s agents who sought her. He carried a chessman carved in the figure. I’ll stake my life it was a token so others of his ilk could recognise him. I have yet to tell you the heart of this. The man believed he’d found that which he sought. At Samos.”

“Did he say more?”

“No. When he recovered somewhat from his ague, he questioned me closely; asking what he had revealed. Like I said, men count me honest. I told him all he had let slip. He made me vow if I saw a man with a chess piece like his own I was to say there was grave danger; that others sought the Patriarch and would not balk at murder to achieve their ends. Three had died already in the search.”

“And did he name these others?”

“The Scorpions. At first I thought it invective but ‘tis, in truth, the name by which they go. They are a criminal brotherhood of the waterfront from Constantinople to Alexandria. Most are sailormen or work upon the docks. Their usual practice is barratry. They will place a captain on a ship with a few of their fellows among the crew. Once out of sight of land they seize the ship and sell the cargo where they may.”

“And this befell ‘The Patriarch’?”

“Perhaps. The man could not be sure. All he was certain of was that the ship was brought to Samos. I think they meant to trans-ship the cargo there and sink her, bringing the treasure home in another vessel.”

Cadfael nodded slowly. It was becoming clear to him at last. He thanked Antonius warmly and returned to the ship. He was now resolved to return to Samos as quickly as possible. He prayed he would not be too late.

The next day dawned with leaden skies. An oily swell met them as they left the shelter of the bay and wind was chancy, one minute full and on their beam and the next, taking them aback. There was little doubt a storm was brewing. Cadfael hoped against hope that they would make it to Samos before the weather broke. Towards noon, the wind picked up and they were able to make better progress. Cadfael was wary of squalls and had a man sent up the mast to scan the sea around them. The waves were broken now and white caps flecked the water about them. The ship rolled with an uneasy motion and the Bosun looked askance at the full canvas they were carrying but Cadfael was resolved to keep on all possible sail until he was forced to reef. He could not explain why he had abandoned his usual caution and there were dark mutterings among the crew, unaccustomed to being driven so hard.

Cadfael reasoned that they were running before the storm. With luck, they would reach Samos before it overtook them. He spent a sleepless night pacing the deck. He had been forced to take in sail when darkness approached or face a mutiny. It was one thing to be scudding along in the stiffening wind in daylight, to do so in pitch black was more than the crew would stomach. He had reluctantly agreed to reef and had seen the visible relief on the faces around him. It was clear they believed their captain had taken leave of his senses. All the while he fumed inwardly at the delay. He had visions of Ariana’s body, broken and bleeding, floating in the little harbour. Now he understood all that had transpired, he was doubly anxious for the girl and his old friend.

Dawn came to find Cadfael still pacing the deck, frantic with worry. The wind was now blowing half a gale and more canvas was out of the question. Iron grey seas marched behind them and it now needed two men on the tiller to keep the little ship on course. Even with the best will, they were still twelve hours from Samos. He rehearsed the arguments in his own mind:

Three months ago, Bohemond’s treasure ship had vanished. Report placed it at Samos. Three months ago a new Port Captain arrived; a personage who appeared somewhat grander than the post merited. Time passed and then Tyros the Factor came to Alexandros by night, insisting they put to sea. The pair returned the next day. Alexandros was clearly worried and refused to tell his only child where he has been. Shortly thereafter, Tyros is murdered with an oar taken from Ariana’s boat but bearing Alexandros’s mark. Alexandros is taken from his home by men in the night and not seen since. The Port Captain pronounces that Alexandros is the killer and duly impounds the missing captain’s ship and cargo. Both Tyros and Alexandros carried the token of Bohemond’s agents. There was only one explanation for all these events and Cadfael was fearful of his reasoning.

By noon, they had reefed to a bare scrap of sail no larger than a man’s cloak. The wind was urgent now, moaning through the rigging like a soul in torment. Despite the heavily reefed sail, the little ship was flying through the water and it was all that the three steersmen could do to keep her on course. Spray was being ripped from the wave-tops and flung in icy volleys over the deck. Cadfael could hear the tortured timbers groaning with the movement as each wave lifted the stern and rushed under the plummeting hull, threatening always to poop the small craft. The sailors were terrified, certain their captain had gone mad to be driving the vessel so. They were unaccustomed to see such a thunderous expression on his face, a face that was normally open and cheerful of countenance. Yet somehow, his sense of urgency had communicated itself to them and they still worked with a will to obey his sharp commands.

It was not the first time that he had weathered a storm but usually, Cadfael would order the spars struck and they would lie under bare poles with a sea-anchor streaming astern to keep the ship’s head to the sea. Rain squalls added to their misery and visibility was barely a mile. Still he drove the ship onwards to Samos. During the afternoon the wind eased somewhat, as if the storm were drawing breath before unleashing its full fury anew. Cadfael took the opportunity to shake out one reef and the little ship continued its headlong rush towards his goal.

Ariana watched the gathering storm with mixed feelings. Part of her loved the wildness of it: she saw in the primordial power of the sea something that marked and confirmed her own humanity. On such days, she would often make her way to a low cliff to the east of the port and sit, wrapped in her cloak, watching the march of the waves as they hurtled shoreward to dash themselves to foamy ruin on the rocks below. She enjoyed the wild feeling of the wind in her hair, although she paid for it afterwards, combing out the snarls and tangles. This day, she felt the touch of that old excitement but it was twinned with apprehension. Cadfael had promised to waste no time in his return to Samos and she could picture his storm-tossed ship in her mind’s eye, battling with the rising storm. She prayed to St Anthony that he would have a care and take no chances in his anxiety to be back with her.

Nicodemus had assured her that Cadfael was a cautious captain, and she fervently hoped that this was so. The old seaman had looked at her with something like amusement in his eyes when she had expressed her concern for the Welshman. She had been about to defend herself, to declare that she was only worried because Cadfael had become a friend but she recognised the lie before it was uttered. She was attracted to him. He was not a handsome man but there was an open honesty about him. His plain, strong features spoke of the integrity within and she had seen him look at her more than once with frank admiration in his eyes that, she knew, was not born of lust More than anything, she realised, he had some incalculable capacity to make her feel safe. It was though, she thought, she could come to no harm if he were near. That, she decided, was a rare feeling for a man to engender in her, who was so self-sufficient.

Now, standing above the seething cauldron of the sea where it battered the headland, she strained her eyes to the northeast, willing his sail to appear. Something within her craved the sanctuary of his arms and she blushed at the warm feeling conjured by imagining it. Nicodemus stood a little way off, frowning. He hailed her.

“He’ll not come in this. He’ll heave-to and ride it out with sea room. He’ll not venture on to a lee shore.”

“I know he’s coming. I can feel it here.”

She placed both hands between her breasts to show Nicodemus the centre of this certainty. He smiled and shook his head, as if in wonder at her.

“These ships aren’t built to take such hard driving. Cadfael knows that. He’ll surely take the wiser path and wait it out.”

“As you say, Nicodemus. But I know he’s coming.”

They returned to scanning the horizon.

Cadfael, eyes rubbed red raw by the salt spray, was the first to catch the distant loom of land through a ragged hole in the lowering clouds. He guessed at the time. Without the sun by which to reckon the hours, it was all he could do. The sky behind was growing blacker by the minute and distant lightning slashed across the blackness. He figured that there were still two hours to sunset but, with the heavy cloud and driving squalls, it would be dark as night long before then. He had given no heed to what he would do once they raised the Island. Attempting the harbour was out of the question; they would be driven onto the rocks long before they could reach the shelter of the mole. Somehow, he had to bring them safe to shore.

He bellowed into the wind for the men to wear ship and alter course a little to the north. If he could weather the headland, he reasoned, they could take shelter in one of the small bays on the western side where the holding ground was good for an anchor. The ship lurched and the motion grew uneasy with the quartering sea. The ship’s high freeboard took the wind and he noted that they were moving almost as fast to leeward as they were making forward. It would be a near-run thing. He heard the bosun’s cry of alarm as the man saw they were being driven down towards the headland. He vaguely noticed the two cloaked figures standing at the cliff’s edge and somehow he knew who they were. His heart gave a little leap but he allowed himself no time to think about her now. Their peril was all too plain.

He did the one thing that he knew was certain death and yet it seemed the only possibility. He altered course towards the point. The ship leapt forwards, wind and waves now acting in concert on sail and hull. The bosun screamed in terror, certain Cadfael meant to kill them all. He forced himself to wait as they drove down upon the rocks. Then, when he thought he left it too late, he flung his whole weight on the tiller. The ship slewed, carrying its momentum, as it swung beam-on to the sea.

On the cliff top, Nicodemus shook his head in wonder and Ariana cried out in alarm. She felt she could almost reach out and touch the plunging masthead. Then she saw what he had done. It was a mad gamble.

Cadfael felt the ship touch once and then break free. The backwash from the breaking sea had seized her and pushed her back, away from the waiting fangs of the rocks. In the seconds between that and the next incoming wave, she was round; clear of the headland and into the open expanse of the bay. Now, in the slight shelter of the cliffs, she rode easier and Cadfael grinned maniacally at the shattered crew. They were gaping at him awe-struck, scarcely able to comprehend that they were still afloat. He wiped the streaming salt water from his face and bade them see to the ship.

Half an hour later, in the last of the fading daylight, they dropped anchor in a small shingle cove. The bosun reported that one of the planks had sprung when they touched the rocks but that the damage wasn’t bad. They plugged the leaking seam with canvas and pitch; it would hold well enough for the moment. Here, out of the wind, the sea was calmer. Cadfael could still see the waves piling up outside the cove but they were sheltered from the worst of it, a mere stone’s throw from the gently shelving beach. A second anchor was streamed to hold them snug and Cadfael turned his mind to getting ashore. Ariana was safe; at least, she was at present. That was a greater source of relief than his own survival.

Two hours later, a dripping Cadfael changed into a borrowed tunic and laughed at Nicodemus’s vigorously shaking head. The older captain swore that Cadfael had the luck of the Devil himself. Ariana, huge-eyed, smiled shyly. The three had gathered aboard Nicodemus’s ship. The storm had now unleashed its full-throated madness and thunder rolled and boomed, temporarily drowning out the drumming of the rain on the deckhead. Now, dry again and warm, Cadfael felt overtaken by a feeling of lassitude. It was not unlike his reaction as a soldier after a battle. Once the frenzy and horror had subsided, there followed a sensation of sated heaviness as if the body slowed to recoup and the mind dulled to blank out what had gone before. He roused himself with difficulty.

“I think I understand much that was previously hidden. There is still more to be uncovered yet, but, with your help and God’s grace, I believe we can see our way.”

The other two listened in silence as he recounted his chance meeting with Antonius and all that he had learned.

“It appears to me that it fell out thus: The Scorpions brought ‘The Patriarch’ to a hidden anchorage hereabouts. Some of Bohemond’s faction discovered the ship, or at least the whereabouts of its cargo, for I believe the ship was too well known and they probably scuttled her after unloading the cargo. Let us surmise that it was Tyros who found the treasure. He enlisted your father’s aid, Ariana, in moving the cargo to a place of safety. It was then, I believe, he gave your father the token so those who came after would know him as a friend.

“I think our friend Demetrius, the new Port Captain, is at the root of it. His arrival coincides with the taking of ‘The Patriarch.’ When he discovered the cargo gone, he somehow learnt that Tyros was involved and had him taken. I expect that they put him to the question before killing him. They probably heard of the night voyage of the ‘Star of Libya’ and went looking for your father. I doubt that Tyros told them. There would have been enough idlers on hand to witness their departure or arrival.