‘How did you know I’d go straight south after looking at those documents you left with Leontius?’ I asked.
Priscus smiled and shook his head. ‘Because I can read you like a book. Macarius had already told me about your spying mission. Leaving all that evidence of your financial corruption was as good as an instruction from Heraclius. I’d already put Lucas in place to lift you in Bolbitine. The idea was that we’d get you up here before Siroes arrived. As it is, I got you here just in time – and I had to treat poor little Martin with a roughness I’d never otherwise have found necessary.’ He smiled again and looked at Martin. ‘Do forgive me,’ he said with a stab at the apologetic. ‘You’ll get used to the loss in time. Otherwise, I can have you fitted for a nice red wig. And it was all for the higher good of the Empire. If I hadn’t been here, who can say what trouble Siroes might have made for us in Egypt and in Syria? As it is, things have worked out rather nicely. Chosroes has lost one of his most able men. The Egyptian Brotherhood is fucked.’ He looked at me again. ‘You even get your land reform.
‘Let’s face it – all’s well that ends well. You came up here to get dear Martin back. Uncle Priscus followed on to keep you from harm, and, of course, to foil a dastardly plot. We might tweak the story a little to have you in on foiling the plot. But there’s plenty of time for agreeing the details. I think Heraclius will now be inclined to forget any shifting of blame for that little local difficulty in Caesarea.
‘Yes, all’s well that ends well.’
With a soft thud, Lucas fell to the carpeted floor. Priscus got up and stood over him as the final convulsions took hold. Eyes bulging, his lips twisted back on themselves in a silent scream, Lucas jerked and twisted like a slave under the branding iron. I looked down at him.
‘He is still conscious,’ Priscus assured me. ‘Have you any last words for the Great Pharaoh?’
I shook my head. I’d sooner have continued with questioning Priscus. I had nothing to say to his victims. As I continued staring down at Lucas, his tongue forced itself out. It swelled and swelled, forcing his mouth open as wide as the jaws would stretch. It blackened in the lamplight. I thought it would burst. But it swelled further until both throat and nasal passage were blocked. The ragged breaths became more frantic, then stopped. Still the wild threshing continued, his face ever more contorted. As if from some inner fermentation, his body was now swelling. I heard a gentle ripping and smelled the eruption of shit. I saw a dark stain spreading over the front of his linen tunic. Then – suddenly – it all stopped. Hands now clamped over his face as in some closing gesture of depair, Lucas lay dead.
‘The punishment was just,’ Priscus softly repeated. He turned to look at Siroes, who still hadn’t entered the stage of convulsions.
He looked back at us, rage and hatred blazing from his eyes. I looked away.
‘What is your getaway plan?’ I asked. Unpopular as Lucas had been for his theological views, I couldn’t imagine that his people would be terribly pleased if any of them now chose to walk into the tent.
‘Time enough for that, dear fellow,’ said Priscus with a casual wave. ‘Do be a love and put that eggy tart down,’ he said to Martin. ‘I saw Lucas fussing round them earlier,’ he explained. ‘I don’t know about you, but I can almost smell the arsenic.’
Martin dropped the thing with a terrified grunt and went back to cowering by the tent flap.
Priscus went over to Siroes and looked closely at him. He reached for the bracelet on his left wrist and unscrewed the tip from one of its ends. He pulled out a two-foot length of fine cord. ‘Though somewhat distant,’ he said, ‘we are cousins. And – as I hope you’ll both agree – blood does have its duties.’ He stood behind Siroes, arranging the cord around his neck. He bent forward and kissed him on the cheek.
‘Goodbye, old friend,’ he whispered. ‘Be assured that if I ever lay hands on Chosroes, I’ll get even for you over the smashing up of your family.’ When the work was done, he sat heavily down and reached for his drug satchel.
I listened for any sign of disturbance outside. There was a distant sound from the diggers of something churchy. Otherwise, it was quiet. We might have finished another of our dinners and been getting ready to retire to our sleeping tents.
‘We do need to be away from here,’ I said again.
Snot and tears running down his face, Priscus smiled blearily back at me. ‘I’ve told you, dear boy – it’s all in hand.’ He looked at Macarius. ‘Have you given the signal?’ he asked.
Macarius bowed.
Priscus grunted and pulled himself to his feet. He went back over to the body of Siroes and pulled at the clothing. With skilled hands, he felt over every inch of the three layers of cloth. He grunted and reached for a knife. He slit open one of the seams and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment. ‘I guessed it would be here,’ he said, speaking more to himself than anyone else in the tent. He unfolded it and squinted hard before handing the sheet to Macarius.
‘Do oblige us,’ he said. ‘I’ve little doubt your many talents stretch to reading Persian. This, however, is in Greek. I just don’t see too well nowadays after one of my black pills. Do let’s hear these no doubt magic words. Siroes died in the effort to make them effective. The least we can do, I suppose, is intone them over his body.’
‘Would My Lord have me read this?’ Macarius asked, looking directly at me.
I listened again. All was still fine outside – why shouldn’t it be? Martin was now sitting on the carpet and looking up at me, his face ghastly with shock and continuing strain.
‘Is it My Lord’s wish to know the contents of this document?’
‘Yes, it is,’ I said, ignoring the renewed protest I felt sure Martin was trying to form. I might have told him the words only had effect alongside the object. But I didn’t. ‘We might as well know what it says,’ I added. ‘Just be quick about it.’
Macarius took the unfolded sheet over to one of the lamps and looked hard at the faded script. From where I sat, it had an aged look about it.
‘It is a rather corrupt Greek,’ he said. ‘I think it might have been written by a Persian, and may be a translation of something from Egyptian. However, it says that, for the destruction of enemies – their destruction as a last resort – an object that is not described should be taken in sight of the enemy. There, its possessor, who shall have fasted and washed according to detailed instructions, must hold up the object’ – Macarius paused again and squinted – ‘while saying or singing: “Santi kapupi wayya jaja minti lalakali”.’
‘I say, isn’t that a dactylic hexameter?’ Priscus broke in. ‘Would you say, Alaric, that was an hexameter?’
‘It might be,’ I said. I looked at Martin, who shrugged.
A big cup of wine, now he accepted it wasn’t poisoned, was bringing him back to what passed for his senses. ‘It would be necessary to know the quantities in the original language,’ he said.
He’d have said more, but I cut in, asking Macarius if he understood the words.
He shook his head. ‘They are words from a language unknown to me,’ he said. ‘But one must recite them three times, and then lie down, looking at the sky with arms and legs outstretched. The enemy will shortly after be annihilated in ways that include burning winds, or fire raining from the sky, or swallowing into the earth, or visitation of demons, or sudden pestilence, or the addition of invincible power to one’s own side. It seems to depend on the time of year.’
‘Sounds fanciful – though also rather interesting,’ said Priscus. He suddenly froze and listened. There was a gentle hubbub of voices outside the tent. He waved at Macarius to go and see what was happening.
‘I don’t know what you think of that crap document,’ he whispered once Macarius was out of the tent, ‘but Siroes was no fool. He’d not have come all this way for nothing. What would you say to a good look round that cavern for his object? If Alexandria is destroyed like the Cities of the Plain, or falls into the sea, or whatever, Heraclius and
Nicetas can kiss each other’s arse before I have them beheaded in the Circus.’
‘You as Emperor?’ I sneered softly. ‘If this stuff does anything at all, you’d be another Caligula.’
‘And what of that?’ came the reply. ‘The Empire’s survived more than one demented tyrant. And, with or without that bloody object, I at least could fight off the Persians. If Siroes was right, however, just think what I could do. It wouldn’t then be a question of beating the Persians, or defending what we had with the peasant militias you keep crying up in Council. We could go on the offensive against the barbarians. We could bring back the West. We could do all that Siroes was suggesting for the united powers of the world. We could outdo Alexander and Caesar combined. The Empire would become—’ He fell silent as Macarius came back into the tent.
I’d watched in a kind of fascinated horror as Priscus had loomed over me and appeared to swell ever larger. It was like back in the dockyard. It stirred other thoughts that I fought to suppress.
‘A meeting has been called at the midnight hour for what remains of the Brotherhood Council,’ Macarius said. ‘There are also reports of lights moving about far to the south.’
I pulled myself together. A thought had suddenly occurred to me, and I was eager to share it with Priscus.
‘I presume the signal you mentioned earlier,’ I said, ‘was for the guards you brought up from Alexandria.’
Priscus smiled.
‘The idea was that they’d be lurking out in the desert until the signal was given.’ He smiled again and nodded. ‘They’d then rush in here and see off what was left of the Brotherhood.’
He reached for his drug satchel.
‘A strategy Alexander himself might have praised,’ I said with a mock toast. ‘Did you bother specifying outside which Soteropolis your men should be lurking?’
‘What are you talking about, my dear boy?’ Priscus answered. He frowned slightly, his face sliding visibly from complacency to concern.
‘When you terrorised that map out of poor old Hermogenes,’ I said, looking carefully at his face, ‘I assume you waited around long enough for him to tell you there were two cities called Soteropolis. You did make sure to specify the right one to your guards?’
I know that Priscus wasn’t the only one to have lost out here. But his face was the funniest thing I’d seen in ages. I put my head back and laughed as silently as I could manage. Priscus sat down with a sudden bump and reached for the wine jug.
Chapter 67
‘I don’t suppose we could get away with claiming natural causes?’ I asked when I was recovered enough to speak with just a nervous giggle. We all looked at the twisted body on the floor. The exposed parts of Lucas were now covered in dark blotches. As for the face – I’d seen more peaceful expressions on the impaling stakes. Siroes looked much better. But he didn’t count for present purposes. And there was the matter of the garrotte still embedded in the flesh around his neck and throat.
‘Go and tell them,’ Priscus said to Macarius, ‘that His Majesty is deep in conference with his guests, and will make himself available for other discussions in the morning.’
‘If it really is midnight,’ Martin piped up suddenly, ‘it’s my birthday. I’ve made it to thirty-two.’ He smiled and looked around.
I smiled a weak encouragement. I was coming down with a bump after my laughing fit. Even so, it was worth something that Martin had beaten a prophecy by which he’d set such store – and beaten it in what were not the most favourable circumstances.
Priscus raised his eyebrows. ‘Congratulations,’ he said, ‘though I still wouldn’t touch the eggy tarts.’ To Macarius: ‘Now, go and say whatever’s needed to send those fuckers away.’ When Macarius had gone out again, Priscus turned back to me.
‘I’m serious about another trip to the Underworld. I’m inclined to agree there’s nothing left down there but a few wog bones. The Santi kapupi stuff we can forget. But once we’ve chased the Brotherhood off, I think I will go down for a good look of my own.’ He paused as Macarius came almost directly back in. Again, he ignored Priscus and looked to me.
‘I must inform My Lord,’ he said, ‘that the Brotherhood Council is assured by His Grace the Bishop of Letopolis that His Majesty has been led astray by the Lord Priscus. They desire an immediate meeting to discuss this and other grievances. They propose to remain outside the tent until His Majesty chooses to show himself.’
Priscus pulled a face and swigged more of the wine. He looked again down at the body of Lucas. ‘At least they aren’t proposing to come in,’ he muttered. He pulled himself together. ‘Does anyone know where this other Soteropolis might be?’ he asked.
I nodded.
‘Well, I suggest we get ourselves over there pretty sharpish,’ he said. ‘Lucas may not have been their choice as leader. He was, nevertheless, the only one I left them.
‘Now, I don’t think I ever quite finished my account of the fall of Serdica,’ he said to me. ‘I got to the part where the ten thousand savages came pouring over the wall. What happened next was, they killed the whole sodding garrison, plus most of the civilian population. The reason I got away was because I kept my wits about me. I took one look at that blonde mob running down the main street at us, and made straight off in the other direction. I got to the far wall. I unbolted the gate myself, and didn’t look back until the town was a flickering glow miles behind me. I rode until morning, when I bumped into the relief column sent over by Maurice. You can be sure the account I gave was more heroic than the truth.’
He got up and walked over to the other side of the tent from the leather flaps. He pulled out his knife and quietly opened a long slash in the fabric. I felt the sudden chill of fresh air. A couple of the lamps flickered and went out. Macarius got them relit at once and pushed shades on to them. I looked over at the flaps. There was still a steady murmur of conversation outside. It sounded more impatient than suspicious.
‘Will you get your clothes on, Alaric?’ Priscus asked, stuffing his cat into a cloth bag. ‘Or do you intend riding naked through the desert?’
We got perhaps three miles across the moonlit sands before I heard the commotion behind me. I’d been wondering how long it would be before anyone noticed how silent the tent had fallen and walked in. Eventually, I was surprised it had taken so long. We must have made enough noise as we crept through the city of tents above Soteropolis, sniffing our way to where the camels were tethered. But we had got clean away. I was even beginning to think we might get to the other Soteropolis without further incident. I was wrong about that. Looking back from the high dune at the glitter from within the cloud of dust, it might have been the whole Brotherhood in pursuit.
‘A few dozen at the most,’ Priscus said calmly. ‘And since the wind is blowing their dust forward, I’ll be surprised if they can see anything at all. They could ride us down over a long chase. But this should be a quick dash. I only hope your geography is better in the desert than it was in the Egyptian quarter.’
He laughed and pushed his camel forward down the other side of the dune. I heard the hiss of the parting sands. Martin clung hard to Macarius on the camel behind mine, squealing softly at every bump. I followed Priscus down. Once on the level, we picked up speed again. Keeping up with Priscus was impossible. His camel raced forward as if they’d known each other all their lives. The wind played cold on my face as we rushed along. As with distance, there is no concept of speed in the desert. But the stones that lay dark on the sandy ground flashed by as if they’d been dropping from the sky.
Twisting your body to look back on a galloping horse isn’t something for the inexperienced. I wasn’t that good on horseback. On the camel, I didn’t dare make the attempt. But I could try not to fall too far behind Priscus. He looked back every so often, and didn’t seem worried by what he saw. What would be done with us if we were outrun should have been playing on my mind. But whatever I thought of him in every other respect, Priscus was in charge here, and he knew e
xactly what he was doing.
The torchlight from what I presumed had been the wrong Soteropolis came in sight without warning. One moment, the sands before us were all dimly white. The next moment, there was a faint glare of yellow just a couple of miles in front of us. Priscus was now swaying backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, as, very smooth, he forced his camel to go ever faster. He raced ahead, the dozen yards between us rising to twenty and forty. I struggled to keep up, and would easily have been overtaken even by Macarius and Martin together, had not Macarius decided that I should be kept in the middle of the party.
I can’t repeat often enough that distances in the desert are hard to gauge. Seeing lights ahead is not the same as being among them. It isn’t the same as being within easy reach of them. We raced across the sands, in our ears the thunder of the camel hooves – and the shouting of our pursuers that grew ever closer. We had the advantages of fear and moderate skill and a very good head start. They had every other advantage, and this was beginning to tell.
Then, as I looked ahead, shapes seemed to rise out of nothing from the desert floor. They clustered in a mass, the moonlight glittering from their drawn weapons. Then they fanned out. Without seeing anything for sure, I raced past them. Far ahead of me, Priscus came to a sudden halt. He wheeled his camel round. I went straight past him, and I may have been a quarter of a mile ahead of him before I could get my own beast under control. By the time I could get back to him and Macarius and Martin, battle had been fully joined. I could see little enough in the moonlight. It was a set of confused if rapid skirmishes in which dark shadows reached up to mounted men, who wheeled round in fear, but were too surrounded for any getaway. I could hear the clash of weapons and the screams of men dragged down from their mounts and efficiently butchered. It was over in almost no time at all. Except for the bubbling screams of the dying and a continuing savage growl as if of some supremely powerful beast, the desert was silent all around us.
The Blood of Alexandria Page 49