I ran to Harald's side where he stood gripping the rail as if it was a spear. "The waiting is over," he said. "Now the fighting begins."

Slamming the oaken oar into the slot, I leapt onto the bench, recalling the last time I had tried my hand at rowing. It was in Ban Gwydd; we were fleeing the Sea Wolves, and I had never held an oar before. It was with a peculiar regret that I perceived I was no better oarsman now. The long timber was unwieldy in my hands, and cursedly awkward. I found myself alternately plunging the blade too deep, or merely swiping up a spray.

Gunnar, seeing my difficulty, took his place on the bench before me. "See here, Aeddan, man!" he called over his shoulder. "Just you do what I do, and all will be well."

I ceased my frenzied thrashing and watched him perform a few strokes: he pushed the oar forward and dipped it slightly before dragging it back, taking the strain in his shoulders and letting the blade glide through the water. Imitating his example, the oar became slightly less cumbersome, and the rowing easier.

Dugal and Brynach also settled nearby, and I told them to follow Gunnar's lead, which they did, very quickly acquiring the skill-especially Dugal, who with his strength could easily match the best of the Danes.

"We must be calling him Dugal Bull-Rower from now on," called Hnefi from his bench opposite Dugal's.

Those nearby laughed at his small jest, and I translated the joke for Dugal, saying, "This is praise indeed, coming from Hnefi."

"Tell him I will match him stroke for stroke and we will see who tires first," replied Dugal.

Soon every available hand on every ship was wielding an oar. Alas, now was the extent of the Sea King's losses cruelly apparent: of those who had sailed from Bjorvika with Harald, barely one in four survived; more than one hundred and seventy had begun the journey, and only forty-four remained alive. Thus, despite the aid of the Greek fishermen, the rowing benches were not crowded, and even with the help of the Arab rafiq-who were no seamen-the ships fared but little faster.

I soon realized, however, that Harald's aim was not to outrun the raiders, but simply to turn the longships into the wind and hope the raiders could not close on us. If we succeeded in holding them off long enough, there was always a chance we might achieve enough distance to allow us to catch a favourable wind and sail out of danger.

At first, the strategy appeared to work-and wonderfully well. As the longships swung onto their new course, the red ships turned to follow and we saw the sails fall slack. Moments later, the red ships slowed; having no oars, the raiders foundered in the water.

The Sea Wolves saw it and cheered. But then the raiders hauled the sails tight, and began pegging back and forth at long angles to the wind-a tactic which brought groans from the Danes.

"They know something of sailing, these raiders," Gunnar said. "They cannot catch us, but neither will we lose them. We must keep rowing and hope the wind falls."

Row we did, watching the red ships coursing relentlessly back and forth over our wake as the sun slowly arced across the empty blue vault of heaven. As the day grew long and muscles tired, dark oaths took the place of the easy laughter. The Greeks complained that they had been hired on as seamen, not slaves; and upon learning their complaint, Harald told them they could either row or swim, the choice was theirs-although rowers could hope for additional reward upon reaching our destination.

Others may have grumbled, but I relished my long toil on the hard bench, considering that each stroke of the oars drove us closer to Byzantium and Nikos's day of reckoning.

Sitting on my rough bench, I imagined how it would be:

We would sail into Theodosius Harbour, swarm through the gate, and make our way to the imperial palace, where, in a blaze of righteous fury, we would confront the astonished Nikos with his treasons and treacheries. Upon hearing the confession from the wretch's lips, the grateful emperor would deliver him into our hands for execution-which would be duly effected, but only after a particularly excruciating period of torture specially prepared by the Sea Wolves. The emperor, whose life we had so narrowly saved, would reward us fabulously, of course, and we would leave that accursed place forever.

The dream, pleasant as it was, came to an end when, early the next morning, the wind changed quarter, gusting smartly from the southeast. The red ships were keen to the change. Even as the Danes raced to raise sails, the raiders were swinging effortlessly back onto course.

"Up sail!" cried Harald, as Thorkel hauled at the steering oar, sending the ships onto a new course. Sea Wolves shipped oars and scrambled to the ropes to raise the sail. There came a groan and a crack as the mast took the weight and the great square sail snapped full. I felt the ship hesitate as the prow bit into the waves, only to spring ahead as the dragonhead came bounding up once more. In the space of three heartbeats the longships were flying before the wind like low-swooping gulls.

Oh, but the red ships were faster still. With each swell and surge of the waves, they came the closer, ever narrowing the distance between us. Soon we could see the hulls above the water, and only a little while later, we could make out figures aboard the raiding vessels. The Sea Wolves fell to counting them in an effort to reckon the number of the enemy, arguing over the estimates, and counting again.

It seemed there were at least thirty raiders aboard each of the red ships, while we had only a hundred and twenty-four men in all-Greeks, Irish, Danes, and Sarazens together. Also, we were four ships to their two, and even if we were outmanoeuvred, each raider ship would, as Gunnar had pointed out, find boarding two longships at once a most difficult chore.

But the raiders had something very different in mind, as we quickly learned to our deep and utter dismay.

The first attack came as, standing at the rails, we saw a white puff of smoke sweep up from the side of the nearest red ship. We heard a whirring whoosh like an entire flock of swans whistling through the air overhead. There sounded a sharp report from across the water. Crack! In the self-same instant, the mast was struck as by an unseen hand, shaking the tall timber to the keel beam, whereupon the topmost tip sprouted bright red-blue flames. The Sea Wolves gaped in disbelief at this dire wonder, and asked one another what it could mean. The Greeks, however, knew all too well, and threw up their hands in horror.

I became aware of someone shouting in Arabic. "Get down!" he called, and I turned to see Faysal clambering over the empty rowing benches in an effort to reach me. "Aidan!" he cried. "Tell them-tell everyone to get down!"

As he was speaking, a cry went up from those at the rail: another white cloud of smoke puffed out, followed by the strange whirring noise, and suddenly the sea gushed up over the hull to rain over everyone. I dashed seawater from my eyes and when I looked again, behold! the sea was burning with bright red-blue flames.

"It is Greek fire," Faysal told me. "The Byzantines use it against our ships in war. It is a liquid fire that burns everything it touches, and can only be extinguished with sand."

The sea hissed and sizzled where the strange flames danced, before sinking abruptly and throwing up a thick white cloud of steam. "We have no sand-what can we do?" I wondered, seeing no way to prevent the raiders from throwing the stuff. They seemed able to hurl it from a distance with startling ease and impunity.

"Let godly men pray to God," Faysal declared. "There is no deliverance apart from Allah!"

Harald Bull-Roar was once more master of his own ships and soul, however, and threw himself into their defence with breathtaking zeal. His stentorian call rising above the cries of the men, he commanded our small fleet to split, each ship to go its separate way; this strategy forced the raiders to confine their attack to individual vessels and choose their marks more carefully.