The port of Trebizond lay in a large bay on the southern coast of the Black Sea. Behind it, in the distance, ranged a chain of snow-capped mountains. The gulf showed encouraging signs of movement as trading vessels came and went.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to board one of those ships and relieve them of their goods rather than go tramping as far as Baghdad?” Óttar grumbled.
Ishaq laughed, but it was a forced, anxious chuckle. “I think I should explain why that might not be a splendid idea, Jarl. Attack a trader, and you’ll incur the wrath of Caliph Al-Muktafi. Believe me that would not be the wisest of moves. It is true that the Abbasid caliph who rules the whole of Anatolia is renowned for his easy-going nature—quite the opposite of his father, who was infamous for his extreme severity and
