Daggers in the Dark (Book 3 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 23

655 AD, 35 AH

I twirled the dagger idly in one hand, watching my ships loaded and provisioned for the great expedition that was to come.

The conquest to trump all conquests. Plunder to put all others to shame, whether they be in Cyprus or Crete or Rhodes.

Ours was a journey to Constantinople. The storied seat of the Roman Empire. Whoever owns Constantinople owns the world.

I lingered some time longer on the hill that sheltered me and nursed my wounds the past few weeks, bidding it farewell as I studied the bustling of the troops by the port.

I looked down at the curved dagger in my hand. Odd and exotic to the eye. My plan for it played out in my mind's eye, ignoring the nearby footsteps. It was not Amina.

"Have you emptied the blade of its dosage?" came the voice of Lan Mei, the Chinese gladiator I had defeated in the pits, and subsequently freed using my earnings. It was a favor I planned to capitalize on.

"It will serve my needs," I grunted, looking one last time at the sea that seemingly stretched away into eternity. "It will serve me well."

***

Off the coast of Lycia, near modern-day Phoenix, Turkey

Another rough hurdle in the greying sea sent us rocking and bouncing in place, nearly toppling me off my feet and onto the slick deck. The heavy gales proved the hammer to the waves' anvil, forcing me, with its incessant shoving, to give ground where hundreds of enemies had failed. It was as though all the gods' might lay behind the force.

I should have brought Amina along, I thought, flinching as the overcast sky roared and the heavens shook, showering us with another volley of rain drumming against the deck, pounding against our skulls.

I should have brought Amina along, I repeated. It would have been better to have the presence of the gods, their blessing even. But ever since that night in Beirutus, something in our dynamic had changed. I decided the assault on Constantinople would have been far too precarious a situation to put her in. I sent her back to Damascus.

Damascus. The seat of Levantine authority. The seat of Mu'awiyah, my overlord. But now, this hub of power and wealth was absent of Mu'awiyah.

The governor of the Levant had gone through with his planned land assault on the capital of the Romans, towing his land forces north through Syria and west to penetrate the Roman strongholds and looming mountains, finding himself in Anatolia proper, and only a short distance away from the city most prized.

"Verily you shall conquer Constantinople. What a wonderful leader will he be, and what a wonderful army will that army be!"

That was the Prophet Muhammad's promise to his ummah – his community of believers. It was a saying that lingered in the minds of all present. A prophesy that some obsessed over. Perhaps that was another motive for Mu'awiyah to embark on this quest. To carve out a legacy of veneration. To have his name on the tongues of Muslims, repeated in praise and glorification, for eons into the future.

A worthy goal, indeed. One that I would benefit from.

After all, the body dies and the skin withers. The one thing man leaves this world with, the closest thing to immortality, was reputation.

Hanthalah ibn Ka'b, conqueror of Constantinople. Hanthalah ibn Ka'b, of the wonderful army that saw the eternal might of Rome fall.

If only Hanthalah ibn Ka'b can keep his damn footing, I thought, the ship lurching sideways again, my grip on it knuckle-white. I shook my head in bemusement, hearing Abu Musa the quartermaster roar with laughter, almost drowning out the vibrating groans of the sky. He spread his arms wide, drenching himself in rain and seawater alike.

Can't get much worse than this, I remarked sourly, trying to make out the Anatolian coast to our east side. I knew we were within sight of it. The damn rain obscured the view, though.

But I spoke too soon.

Further chaos erupted among an already disorderly fleet. Voices carried out underneath the gloomy, weeping skies, a message from the scouts finding its way down our lines.

"What is it?" I screamed at Mundhir, who was leaning over the prow in an effort to hear the news.

But it was 'Amr who turned around slowly, wearing a characteristic scowl on his face.

"May Allah protect us," he growled. "Romans."

***

Ships. I'd never seen a single one growing up.

Who would have known, only a few years prior, that the Arabs would have elevated themselves to the point that they would stand toe to toe with Roman might in the deep?

Ships. Not a single one in all my formative years.

But on that day near the Anatolian coast, riding the waves of the Mediterranean, I'd seen more than in my entire life combined.

An army of the damned things stood blocking our way into the open sea, swarming the foaming waters as far as the eye could see, the rain pouring overhead.

"They outnumber us more than two to one," 'Amr informed me. "God save us all."

"We've faced worse odds," I pointed out, our disheveled fleet closing up the distance with the equally unruly lines of Roman ships.

"Not on the waves," 'Amr argued.

"You'd think we killed the lot of them," I said, referring to the Romans. "But they're like roaches. You kill one, ten more sprout from whatever shithole they're from."

Our right flank would probably be secured by the coast. They could not use their ridiculous numerical advantage to crash into us there. Our left, however, was vulnerable.

Though the sea still proved turbulent, silence had fallen on those among our fleet, under the command of the general Abu al-A'war. Despite the lack of expression, one could easily spot the tension and panic that hung heavy in the air.

Water sprayed against us from all directions, not knowing whether they were droplets of rain or sea. Our vessels, floating about unceremoniously, with no formation or purpose to speak of.

And the Romans inched ever closer. Looming and imposing. Their ships looked larger than they actually were. It is funny what tricks our minds play on us.

Should have brought Amina, I thought.

I looked at the vast array of cross-woven sails that churned the waters white beneath their hulls in, massive and inevitable. I studied the faces of those on the other side – those that proclaimed themselves followers of the Muslim face. Frozen in their shock, their ships slowing to a crawl with a momentary shake from the livid sea.

I saw our formation in a pitiful state. Our ships individualistic rather than in collective harmony – a recipe for disaster.

And, I saw our doom in that uncertainty. I woke myself from my trance, then. When lesser men broke and ran away, Hanthalah ibn Ka'b stood his ground and faced off death in the face. When lesser men froze in their place, pissing themselves, Hanthalah ibn Ka'b prowled his ship, lurched into motion.

"Chains!" I called out in a guttural bellow, summoning every fiber in my body to put into my cries, straining to be heard and heeded. "Chains for God's sake, hurry. I want chains!"

With an impending sense of doom, and now a host of Arabs set back to a bustling purpose, I watched the Roman advance with growing impatience.

May the gods be on our side this day.

And so, I picked up my sword and shield.