I looked at Edward, wondering if he’d be cheered by a spectacle that only the civilised can manage. He swallowed and stared down at the unspoiled silk of his shoes. I shrugged. Perhaps the heat was getting to him.
At last, we came to the other gate that Karim had mentioned. This led from the desert. I shouldn’t have been, but I was surprised by the volume of traffic on that road: heavy-laden camels and other beasts of burden, wagons piled high with produce, slaves and merchants of every colour bringing goods to market. By comparison, the Beirut road had been empty. In the old days, it had been the roads up from the sea ports that carried most trade with inland cities. Roads into a desert had military uses only. But the Saracen familiarity with the desert, plus our own hold on the sea, had worked another revolution in the conditions of everyday life.
We were now passing through the main gateway into the city. Above us, in gold letters set into the granite, the one inscription anywhere to be seen said in Saracen: ‘There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is His Prophet.’ Inside the gateway was one of the remnants of much older work that had survived the Persians. This had recesses set into it and was covered with plaques. But the statues had all been removed. So far as I could tell, the inscriptions had been cemented over or otherwise obliterated. All that was left and that I could read was a partially obscured notice of a tax remission granted by some emperor whose name was now missing. We passed into a large courtyard, surrounded by very high walls. At the far end of this was another gate that led into the city. Here, the little people who’d been going in or out had been lined up to bow down before the three chairs and all their army of guards as they went by.
I had assumed a very short pause in this holding courtyard before we went through the other gateway into the city. People of our quality are not to be delayed by local guards. But the far gate was shut, and no one seemed inclined to get it open. Now, some other commander of the gates – this one of normal size, but with a false beard – crept out through a side door into the city, and began a whispered conversation with Karim. The brown face tightened again. He gave me a long and thoughtful look. Above the gate into the city, I could see what had been three plumes of smoke now as a single rising cloud.
‘Your Magnificence will forgive us,’ said Karim with false jollity, ‘if we await the restoration of order on the city streets.’ He got down from his chair and clapped his hands. Attendants hurried out of a low building, in their hands cups of honeyed ginger cooled with snow from the mountains. I took and drank, and ignored the smell of burning that drifted from behind the far gate as often as the breeze lined up. I uttered some non-committal politeness to Karim. But he was listening again to a low and urgent commentary from the man with the false beard. It was too fast and low for me to follow. So I sipped again and dug round in the front pouch of the carrying chair for my fan. Before I could find the thing, Edward was flapping his own at me. I smiled graciously and settled back. Someone behind me arranged the cushions into a more convenient softness. Karim went over to the doorway of the building to continue his conversation.
‘So what went wrong, My Lord?’ Edward asked.
I sniffed at the thin smoke that was now about us like a mist, then realised the boy hadn’t got his tenses wrong. He was still asking about the past. I tried to think of a neutral answer. But if Karim could just about make himself understood in Greek, neither he nor anyone else within hearing distance could be supposed to know a word of Latin. Though I’d keep my voice low, we were safe enough. We could discuss the Victories of the Just from whatever point of view we pleased.
‘Two days later after that triumphant celebration of world empire restored,’ I said, ‘we got a letter in comically bad Greek. It was brought to us by someone who was passing by Jerusalem with a train of camels. While we were otherwise occupied, some merchant who claimed an acquaintance with the Archangel Gabriel had unified all the Saracens under his own rule. He’d ever since been preaching them out of their less constructively barbarian ways. Now, he was inviting Heraclius, Lord of the Earth, to bow down before him. Of course, the letter went unanswered. Shortly after, the merchant died. That should have been the end of the matter. But this new faith didn’t die with its founder. His followers waited a couple of years, then burst out of their desert homes.
‘At first, we thought it was just an opportunistic raid. The Saracens had been an occasional pest for centuries. Then, after our efforts at reinforcement failed, we found that what had been taken back from the Persians was lost again for good.’
I laughed bleakly. ‘When he gave his victory speech in the Circus in Constantinople, Heraclius departed from the text I’d written for him and referred to some prophecy a monk had jabbered down from atop a column: that before his reign ended, the Euphrates would no longer be the frontier between two empires. The man was spot-on, it turned out. Sadly, that river does now run through a single empire – it just isn’t now our Empire! Still, it might have been worse.’ I thought of those desperate holding battles we’d fought along the southern borders of our Asian Provinces. In Syria, and then Egypt, we’d lost our two richest provinces to these people. But we’d kept the rest. It might have been worse. And worse it might still be.
But the inner gate was now opening, and fingers of black smoke drifted through. I stared a question at Karim, who looked back, trying to keep the embarrassment from his face. He got back into his chair, and the carrying slaves took hold again of the long poles to front and back.
‘You might ask,’ I added quickly, ‘why we didn’t put up a better fight. But, you see, the all-conquering armies of Heraclius had been paid off, and we had no money to raise more. It didn’t help that Heraclius had flooded the regained provinces with tax gatherers – though worse than that were the priests he sent in to bully everyone into the Monothelite Compromise.’ Yes, the Monothelite Compromise. Sergius and I had been very proud of that. Properly sold, that could have ended two centuries of dispute over the Nature of Christ. Trust Heraclius to try imposing it at sword point. We’d simply got three verbal farts for the theologians to cry at each other, instead of two. But I put the sad recollection from mind and carried on with the matter in hand. ‘The Saracens caught us off balance. If Heraclius had died of a seizure in that Jerusalem ceremony, I’d certainly have got young Constans to take the right action.
‘On the other hand, Heraclius may for once have been right when he buggered up what little resistance we could offer. When they were attacked, the Persians didn’t have our choice in the matter. For prestige reasons, they had to stand and fight. They threw everything we’d left to them at the Saracens when they invaded. They were utterly defeated, and their whole empire was swallowed up. We at least were left with the Asian Provinces, where even the common people are Greeks. It may – it really may – have been for the best.’
The lesson was over – rather, my part of the lesson was over. The inner gate swung fully open, and we were carried swiftly forward into the capital of an empire five times larger than the one now ruled from Constantinople.
‘We cannot proceed along the Avenue of the Righteous War,’ Karim said hurriedly. Directly before us, the street had been blocked with large cloth screens. These were held steady by men whose bearded faces my tired eyes weren’t up to seeing in detail, but whose posture indicated nothing happy. I didn’t for a moment doubt that all this was for my benefit. I gave a friendly wave. ‘I am informed that the street has been closed for essential repairs,’ Karim went on. ‘But the Baths of Omar will surely impress My Lord. They can accommodate more people than all the public baths of Constantinople combined. If we go this way, we shall approach them from behind.’
‘Let it be as you wish, my dear young friend,’ I cried happily. If I cocked my good ear in the right position, I could just make out bursts of wild shouting, and perhaps a clash of arms, far behind those fluttering cloth screens. If Edward could hear anything out of the ordinary, his face said nothing. I directed his attention to the remains of a triumphal
column put up in ancient times. The statue that had once topped it was long gone – perhaps it hadn’t survived the Persian occupation. The column itself was now surrounded by scaffolding, and was coming down a section at a time.
Chapter 34
‘On behalf of His Majestic Holiness the Caliph, Commander of the Faithful,’ the Grand Eunuch trilled in very dramatic Greek, ‘I must announce that Your Magnificence is our most honoured guest. All that you may require, it shall be our pleasure to give.’
I looked out of the window at the bronze pipe that was loosely held in hoops six feet apart. These, in turn, were clamped to the outer wall. I didn’t need the demonstration he’d failed to arrange. I could see that, if the animals on the ground moved fast enough, it would rotate, and water would be carried up by its internal screw to the vast copper tank that took up most of this floor of the tower. I wanted to ask how the screw would be turned that carried water from this tank to the one that must have been set into the roof of the tower. I also wondered how much noise all this would make as it grated round and round in those weather-roughened hoops. But I suspected I’d get no sense out of the creature. Better to wait and see for myself.
‘It is to free you from the polluted air of the city that I have given you rooms in the Tower of Heavenly Peace,’ he explained, just a hint in his voice to give the true motive. ‘You are free to come and go as you please. You merely need to have the carrying slaves summoned with your internal chair to be moved up and down, and to be taken where you will within the great space of a palace adorned by His Majestic Holiness. The servant quarters, be assured, are on the floor beneath your own. The most loving and eager slaves of His Majestic Holiness have been assigned to obey – indeed, to pre-empt – your every request.’
I grunted and asked about my books. Looking on the bright side, the smoke of Constantinople had increasingly got on my chest. And it would be interesting to have a good view over Damascus.
‘They have not yet arrived,’ the answer came. ‘There was – ah – trouble on the road that has blocked communications with Beirut for anyone not guarded so well as My Lord was on his journey. But I can promise that everything will have been collected from your lodgings and sent over.’ He ushered me out of the empty room and got us all back into our carrying chairs, then set the panting slaves to continue about their business of carrying us up the long and airless, winding ramp that filled the innermost column of the tower. Except it didn’t rotate, it was a larger version of the water screw. The only light here came from bronze lamps that hung, at regular intervals, from the underside of the next upward turn of the screw. If there was a little staircase somewhere, it wasn’t evident on my first inspection.
Our journey finished right at the top of the tower. The Grand Eunuch beckoned to one of his assistants, who produced a golden key. With a push and a gentle click, this opened a door of cedar wood set flush into the wall. I passed into a corridor lit by glazed windows in the ceiling. There’s no point giving my first impressions of the layout of my suite within the palace. After a comically tortuous route through the city, and then the interminable magnificence of my reception in the great entrance hall, I was too tired, and too bursting for another piss, to pay that much attention to my surroundings. So I’ll tell it plain. We were housed at the top of the eastern tower of what had, when we ruled, been the Governor’s residence. Now, repaired and much enlarged, and all pagan and Christian imagery doubtless removed or painted over, it was the palace from which a depressing and constantly growing fraction of mankind was ruled.
Our rooms were wholly contained on the top floor of the tower’s big outer rim. Some of these rooms were connected to each other by doors. All could be reached by an inner corridor that hugged the cylinder of approach ramps. Though not of equal size, each room had the same depth of about thirty feet – this being the broken radius from the outer wall of the tower to the inner corridor – and, of course, had the general shape of a fan. In every room, the arc of the outer wall allowed for plenty of window space. This, plus more of those glazed ceilings, meant the whole suite was bathed in light.
I say we were on the top floor. Beneath us were another five, and the third housed the break in the water-raising system. With the exception of this third floor, and the one directly beneath us, which housed the slaves and all the other ministers to my wants, the others had been locked, their doors secured by red seals.
Leaving aside that we were sixty feet up, and the only access was through a door two inches thick with an outer lock, an emperor himself would have had trouble to complain about the arrangement and the furnishing of our accommodation. Indeed, bearing in mind that the present Caliph kept up the show of simple living that Muawiya had used as legitimising propaganda after murdering his way to the top, I may have been given the most luxurious quarters in the whole palace. And if it was ultimately a prison, what else had I expected?
After a long and thoughtful interlude in the facilities – no shortage of running water, I could see; and there must have been a separate firehouse for us somewhere up on the roof to heat us in winter and the water all year round – I rejoined the Grand Eunuch, who’d been waiting in one of the public rooms of the suite. I knew Edward well enough now to see the rising alarm behind the impassive mask of his face. I made a feeble pleasantry about the lack of need for any of the silver lamp brackets that hung from the ceiling of every room. He smiled briefly, then went back to examining the two-foot panels of glass that were fitted together to stop up all the windows.
The Grand Eunuch coughed slightly to regain my attention, then beamed and struck a pose of obsequious love. He pointed at a small ebony box that occupied a table all by itself near the window. I stared as the box was brought ceremoniously forward. What was this? Some piece of jewellery – more of those endless little gifts that were supposed to put me in a good mood?
‘It was decided a long time ago – and by no less than His Majestic Holiness,’ the creature now squawked – ‘that My Lord should be made to feel as much at home as could possibly be achieved. Beyond all else, you will surely appreciate the trouble taken by our agents at the very edge of the universe to locate this particular object.’
It would never do for me to hurry forward for an inspection. So I motioned Edward forward to take the little box and open it. For the first time on my first day in Damascus, I gave way to completely unfeigned astonishment.
‘How on earth did you lay hands on those?’ I gasped. That eunuch had finally got me, and I couldn’t be bothered to hide the fact. I looked incredulously at the false teeth. I took them into shaking hands. Yes, they were mine, sure enough. One of the front ivories had been somehow chipped – as if someone had tried using them to chew on a bone. But this had been carefully filed smooth. Otherwise, the cleaning aside, they were exactly the same as when I’d reluctantly pulled them out for that bastard ship master to get me across the Channel. I pressed them lightly together, noting the tension of the springs that held them apart. I opened my mouth and slipped them in. The loss of two further upper teeth left little gaps that a goldsmith’s attention would be needed to repair. But the gold plates still fitted perfectly on to my gums. I snapped my jaws together with a gratifying click, then turned to Edward and recited two of the more complex verses from a Callimachus ode. He looked back at me, horrified fear now plain on his face. I laughed and tried out further sentences in Latin and Saracen. A shame sound has no mirror. It would have been good to hear the difference these objects made to my apparent age. Never mind the slight soreness I’d feel for a day or two – nor the endless drooling of excess saliva – as I got used to them again. It was a glorious meeting with an old friend I’d missed almost every day, and never thought I’d see again.
I showed off my teeth with a smile at no one in particular and pretended to pay attention to the vague superlatives the Grand Eunuch gave in place of an explanation. In truth, I had no need of the details. I’d already discovered how small the world can be, given limitless money an
d intelligent determination. Without feeling the need to pretend helplessness, I left my stick where I’d put it and walked over to the largest of the windows. A blur of domes and minarets and scaffolding and the cheerful brown of roof tiles, Damascus lay before me. I tried to see if the largest building – it occupied the far side of the square fronted by the palace – still had a cross on its central dome. Even in the good light of the afternoon, that was beyond me. But I licked the upper plate of my falsies, and thought happily of some experiment I’d had to break off in Constantinople when I heard the Emperor’s guards were hurrying across the City for me.
‘I cannot begin to express the joy that His Majestic Holiness has brought me,’ I declaimed. ‘I cannot begin to express the love that your own goodness of heart has kindled within me.’ The Grand Eunuch simpered and looked at his fingernails. His main assistant went into a fit of polite giggles that he hid behind both hands. ‘One thing only I ask to make this the most perfect day of my entire life.’ I paused. He leaned forward, ready to anticipate my smallest wish. ‘I beseech you to send into my presence – tomorrow morning, if possible – three of the finest glassmakers in Damascus, together with three of the finest shapers and polishers of precious stones.’
The Grand Eunuch now looked puzzled. But after all that bleating about hospitality, it wouldn’t have done even to ask a question. He turned to the smallest of his assistants, who took out a waxed tablet and scratched importantly away.
‘Do ask them to bring their tools,’ I added, ‘and do ensure that they are men of good general intelligence.’
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