‘I was told you were here,’ said Martin when the door was closed again. He looked at the large but now hidden mound of flesh. A dark stain was seeping through the blanket. He swallowed and looked away. He looked at me and also looked away.
I rubbed at the bruise on my left shoulder. I’d be stiff for days but, all told, had nothing to complain about. I looked at the Chief of Police.
‘You’ll need to leave a couple of men in the street,’ I said. ‘But I see no further reason for your involvement. This is a matter for the man’s family in Letopolis.’
A look of relief on his face, he bowed his way out, muttering something about needing to make an entry for the next public order report.
‘Well, my dearest,’ said Priscus as he lifted a corner of the blanket for a final look at what had been Leontius, ‘I think I’ll take that as my own invitation to retire. It’s been a glorious day, and I have so much to consider. Oh’ – he paused by the door – ‘did I overhear you back by the Egyptian quarter talking about Alexander’s mummy? Do say that I did.’
‘I believe it’s been in the basement of the Library since the temples were closed,’ I said. ‘So far as nothing could be uglier, I suppose it must be an improvement on Leontius.’
‘Decidedly!’ he said with an appreciative smack of his lips. ‘Well, I really must have a look at the great man. After all, we have so much in common, what with the Persian War and all.’
‘Before you go, Priscus,’ I said, ‘I’ll note that you may have been one of the last people to see Leontius alive. I hope you’ll not mind if I call on you tomorrow for a brief discussion.’
Priscus stopped by the door and smiled. ‘My dear boy,’ he cried in mock alarm, ‘you surely can’t think I had a hand in this? I’ve told you I could have done it much better. Besides, aren’t there the little matters of means, motive and opportunity? You did give me a most interesting lecture on these things. Don’t think I ever forget a word of what you say to me.’
I grunted and rubbed my shoulder. I couldn’t, I had to agree, think how or why Priscus might have murdered the man. But it was annoying – so much learned in one afternoon; so little hope now of following it up.
‘Now that you’re here,’ I said to Martin once the door was closed again, ‘I want you to help me go through the man’s papers. In particular, we need to look out for a packet that may not yet have been opened and filed.
‘Macarius,’ I said, turning to the figure who’d been standing silent throughout, ‘I want the entire household lined up in the big front hall. Sit them about a yard apart, and make sure they don’t speak to anyone until I’ve had each one in for questioning.’
‘The packet you seek, My Lord, will not be here,’ he said.
I gave him a hard stare.
‘I also observed the meeting between Leontius and his agent,’ he explained. ‘I was not so close as you were, and was not able to hear all that passed between them. However, I did follow Leontius back to this house. He was met at the city gate by another man on horseback who took delivery of the documents he had bought. I heard a reference to Letopolis, and assume from this that Leontius wanted everything taken off to his manor house in Egypt.
‘Certainly, I had already discovered that he was planning a trip to his estates – this despite your instruction that no one should leave Alexandria.’
The things I wanted to ask of Macarius were beginning to accumulate like snow before an unused gate in winter. But they would need to remain unasked for the moment. He was continuing.
‘I must, My Lord, inform you that all the circumstances of this murder indicate involvement by the Brotherhood.’
‘What in God’s name are you talking about?’ I asked. Martin might have jumped as if he’d seen a ghost. I was wholly in the dark, and in no mood to be kept there.
‘The Brotherhood,’ Macarius answered, ‘does not usually operate in Alexandria, and prefers in general to shun the Greek regions of Egypt. But it does maintain a strong presence in the south of the country, where, indeed, it is often the effective power.’
I took one of the entrail pots from the chair on which it had been placed and sat down. I rubbed again at my shoulder and looked round for something to drink. It was probably for the best that the only wine jug in the room was on the floor overturned.
‘You’d better continue,’ I sighed. ‘Since I have no choice but to investigate the murder, I’ll need to know exactly what this Brotherhood is.’
‘It claims to be a very old organisation,’ Macarius began. ‘The story is that it was formed nearly twelve hundred years ago, when Cambyses of Persia invaded and extinguished the last native dynasty. For the next few centuries, it operated as a resistance movement, keeping hopes alive of a national recovery and largely confining the Persians to their garrison towns.
‘When the Great Alexander invaded and expelled the Persians, he was at first welcomed by the Brotherhood and was offered much assistance. Greeks then were not hated by the natives, and their own victories over the Persians were taken as an example of what could be done, given the right spirit of unity. When, however, he died in Babylon and his general Ptolemy hurried here to make himself King, there was a reaction against the Greeks.
‘The Ptolemies, however, turned out to be less hostile than expected to native customs, and the Brotherhood went into decline, reappearing only during the breakdown of order in the final reigns, when it operated as an order of brigands. It was suppressed by the Romans and, for centuries after Egypt’s incorporation in the Empire, the Brotherhood was known only from old stories.
‘It became prominent again after the closure of the temples, and has grown mighty since the decay of Imperial control over the south. It sometimes inclines to the Old Faith – and you know already that this continues in the south. More often, it is associated with the less compromising wings of the Monophysite heresy. Whether from Rome or Constantinople – whether by Latins or by Greeks – it remains pledged to end all foreign rule, and to restore Egypt to the sway of its own Pharaohs.’
‘Very interesting,’ I said drily. ‘So we have a robber band that legitimises itself by attachment to something that may have existed in the past, but that probably existed only occasionally.’
‘Not so, My Lord,’ Macarius broke back in. ‘The Brotherhood has rituals and an organisation that do point to long continuation. For example, every member must be tattooed on the small of his back with the name in the old Egyptian writing of the greatest native Pharaoh. More importantly, it is his duty to produce two sons. This done, he must pass the remainder of his life in strict continence. There are further rituals and customs of which the initiated never speak. But all the evidence is of long continuation.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Martin,’ I snapped suddenly, ‘do come away from those lamps. You’ll have a fire going if you don’t stop knocking them over.’ It was no excuse that I’d fancied a look myself ever since ordering them in to illuminate the murder scene. Like everything else in the house, they were in the hideous style of the ancient Egyptians. Some of the stuff, mind you, was impressively solid. Forget the workmanship – one or two pieces, such as this array of lamps, must even have been valuable on account of their materials. If Leontius hadn’t furnished the whole place from tomb excavations, I’d have been surprised. Quite fitting, I thought, Leontius had come to the end he had. No doubt the style of his murder had been prompted at least partly by the surroundings.
‘Macarius is right,’ he blurted out. ‘This is all to do with the Brotherhood.’ He stepped back from the array of lamps. ‘These people were big in Antinoopolis. No one crossed them – no matter how big he was with the government in Alexandria.’
‘So, what do you know about the Brotherhood?’ I asked. It was nice that even he knew of some organisation I’d been here months without so much as hearing about.
Martin looked back, his face pale in the light of a dozen lamps. ‘I’ve been looking again into those payments we were discussing,’ he said. H
e stared at Macarius. After some internal struggle, he decided to go on properly with his explanation. ‘That subsidy to the Temple of Isis – you know it’s been cancelled five times. What I’ve now found is that every official who signed the cancellation order was murdered. Only one case was ever investigated, and the report is missing from the archives.’
I sat awhile in silence. Macarius was his usual impassive self. He’d not moved from the position he’d taken on first coming into the room with Priscus and me. Martin looked, as ever on these occasions, undecided between shitting himself and passing out. I stood and walked back over to the corpse. The fine blanket had settled over its contours, and it really might as well not have been covered at all. I lifted the blanket and looked under at the twisted, staring face. Priscus knew his business, and I had no doubt Leontius had been kept alive far into the murder. What I did wonder was how he’d been kept quiet.
Yes – there were questions to be asked of those scared, silent slaves I’d seen lurking in the hall.
‘It seems to be the case,’ I said, making sure to emphasise the mood of doubt or hypothesis, ‘that we have one of those instances where two separate intrigues come accidentally together. Somehow, Leontius had got to know about the subsidy. How he got to know may be connected with his interest in Egyptian antiquities. With his known talent for understanding the wider implications of his acts, he used this to trip me up in yesterday’s meeting. Those parts of this Brotherhood adhering to the Old Faith were consequently angered. He has now been punished for setting events in course that led to the sixth cancellation of the subsidy.’
I thought back to the conversation I’d overheard outside Alexandria. It would have closed matters if Leontius had been intending only to blackmail me into backing off from the land law. But he’d been planning to blackmail me into leading him to something that would make him powerful. That was one of those leftover details that tends to wreck neat explanations.
Something else worth asking was how extensive the Brotherhood’s network was within the Viceroy’s government. What Martin had turned up was certainly disturbing. But I checked the train of thought. I looked again at Martin.
‘I told you earlier, Martin, to drop your investigation,’ I said in my very firm voice. ‘I trust you will now do so. Nicetas sealed the order. It looks drafted in the local style. Even so, our own involvement must be at least suspected.’
I paused, letting the implication of this sink into Martin’s already scared mind. The door opened and a slave crept into the room, carrying a tray of refreshments. Macarius took them and pushed the slave back out. He sniffed at the jug and nodded. He poured wine into a large cup and handed it to me. I drank. An opium pill would have been nice to settle my thoughts and take away that dull pain from my shoulder. But the wine would have to do.
‘Even so again,’ I said, now in lighter mood, ‘this Brotherhood seems to have struck, and in as public a manner as can be imagined. No doubt, the subsidy will once again be reinstated when the fuss has died down. If and when that happens, it will be none of our business. And, Martin – you will this time make it none of your business. For the rest, we have other work entirely. So far as its effect will be to raise the condition of those from whom the Brotherhood appears to draw support, I don’t expect any untoward consequences for ourselves.
‘Now, while I have no intention of bringing anyone to justice, there are certain things I must know about Leontius and his final movements. Martin, I want you to go and secure any papers you can find in the house. You will not object, I hope, if Macarius takes your place as secretary when I interview the household.’
As I got up to move to the door, I caught sight of my face in a little mirror fixed to the wall. No point moaning now at Macarius, but it would have been useful to be told about the smears of dried blood.
Chapter 15
I glanced at myself again in the mirror. A little more sleep would have come in handy. But the masseurs had managed to press most of the youth back into my features. And if my bruised shoulder was hurting like buggery, it would have hurt still more without the opium. All told, I looked better than I felt, but didn’t feel as bad as I might have.
‘His Imperial Highness will be pleased to see Your Magnificence,’ the eunuch trilled in an effort at the grand style of Constantinople.
I grunted and walked past him into the Viceroy’s office.
‘Greetings, my dear Alaric, many greetings,’ Nicetas called in Latin from his chair. He waved me to the seat opposite and fell back exhausted. Like his Imperial cousin, he was from Carthage, and could be trusted to fall into his native language whenever Greek proved too much of a strain. This morning, his leg was giving trouble. The smell alone as I walked in had told me it had turned bad again. His shaven face was pale and haggard. That the remnants of his dirty blond hair had been carefully dressed to cover his scalp only added to the appearance of broken-down health. A monk was intoning prayers while slaves retied the bandage.
‘Patriarch John has loaned me the little finger of Saint George to have bandaged next to the flesh,’ he added, noticing my look at him. ‘I’m sure it will have more effect than these worthless doctors.’
Saint George? I asked myself. Saint George? There were so many of them out here, it was hard to keep track. Wasn’t he the sausage maker – or was it the arms dealer? – who’d been torn apart here by a mob back in the time of Julian? No point in asking. Nicetas reached over to a low table and picked up a scrap of parchment.
‘I’ve had a letter,’ he said, ‘from some trader among the Saracens. He lives in one of the inland towns.’ He broke off and looked at the map of Egypt and surrounding territories that was a mosaic covering the entire wall on the far side of the room. I followed his glance. Someone had been at it recently with coloured chalks. All the Red Sea ports of Egypt had been circled and connected by lines to ports on the facing coast.
‘Anyway,’ Nicetas said, passing the letter over to me, ‘the man tells me that God has been sending him messages these past two years via the Archangel Gabriel. Apparently, the pagan rulers of his home town don’t like his efforts, and he invites our support.’
I skimmed the letter. It was rather a quaint production. Written in a debased Greek, with a few Latin characters thrown in, it went on and on about these alleged messages. The recipient plainly thought himself in good standing with the Almighty.
‘I’m thinking to send the man a set of the Gospels on fine vellum,’ Nicetas added.
‘I’m sure their effect will be most edifying,’ I said. ‘However, your cousin the Emperor has interests in Arabia that suggest a more substantial gift. Saracen mercenaries are useful to the Persians as well as to ourselves. Promoting the True Faith among them will further our efforts to bring them into at least friendly neutrality.
‘I would therefore recommend in addition a small sum of gold – oh, and perhaps some dancing girls. I’m sure they will go down very well if our man is having that bad a time.’
Except for the monk, who’d been mumbling away throughout, we fell silent. Nicetas had the best rooms in the Palace. Though the weather had turned hot again, with nearly fifty feet of ceiling height and those big northerly windows, the heat was less than intolerable.
‘Heraclius mentions you again in a letter that arrived the other day,’ he said, beginning again with a sudden jerk. ‘As ever, he speaks very highly of you. He instructs me to continue giving all possible help with implementing the new land law.’ He paused and looked over at the bigger of the three windows.
I glared at the monk. He gave me one of those ‘fuck you’ looks that favoured clerics always try on their betters. It didn’t work with me. I glared steadily back. At last, he made the sign of the Cross over the bandaged leg and got himself out of the room. With low bows, the slaves followed.
‘I understand it was at the urging of Priscus,’ Nicetas continued once the doors were pulled shut. ‘Even so, you have been here long enough to know the folly of going into the Eg
yptian quarter at night.’ He tried to say more, but the effort was too much. He sank back again exhausted.
I refilled his wine cup and put it to his lips. He swallowed a few times and closed his eyes. I thought for a moment he’d nodded off on me. But the lids flickered and he was back again.
‘The death of Leontius,’ he said with a change of subject, ‘is something I had been expecting since he worsted you in the Great Hall. Certainly, the document you had me seal the night before last might as well have been his death warrant. The Brotherhood seldom acts openly in Alexandria, but does not welcome any harming of its interests. Am I right that you propose to investigate his death?’
I shook my head. I’d slept on the matter, and was even surer that this was one of those things best left alone.
‘I am glad,’ said Nicetas. ‘You may think that his death has been of some benefit to our project. The opposition is now without a leader. Indeed, I had a deputation earlier this morning of his followers among the landowning interest. They assured me of their loyalty and of their active desire to help maintain order both in Alexandria and in Egypt. This being said, there remain other considerations which I am too unwell at present to discuss with you. While my cousin urges the land law upon me, he must understand – as must you – that our primary concern is the maintenance of order and of stability in the wider sense. I am inclined, therefore, to proceed more cautiously.’
More cautiously indeed! At the speed he had managed so far to allow, more cautious would have meant going backwards.
‘And I’ve spoken with Priscus,’ he added. He looked away again. ‘He believes there will be a Persian attack on Syria come the spring. The exports of grain are too important to risk at any time, so we cannot afford trouble in Egypt.’
‘And what might Priscus have advised on this occasion?’ I asked, keeping my voice very steady. ‘Might it involve further delay?’
The Blood of Alexandria Page 11