The mosaic of shadows da-1

by Tom Harper

  Some of this I had heard in rumour, and some in gossip, but nothing so terrible, so utterly desolate. And so vividly told: I doubted Helena’s words all came from the boy’s crude, untutored tongue. I have always noticed the poetry in my daughters.

  I looked at Thomas with new compassion, wondering that he had survived such ordeals. He must, as Helena said, have understood much, for his blue eyes were moist with hemmed-in tears, and his hands were tight fists.

  ‘When was this?’ asked Anna.

  ‘Two months ago. A month later he arrived in the city and was forgotten. He survived alone for a week on the streets, before a disreputable man found him and promised him gold to join his sordid designs. What choice did he have?’

  Aelric reached across the table and touched Thomas’s shoulder. ‘You were brave. And lucky, though perhaps you think otherwise now. In my homeland, I saw many boys like you.’

  ‘If that’s his story, then I think you did well to get him to speak of it,’ Anna told Helena. ‘For all we smear them with ointments and wrap them in bandages, most wounds need light and air to heal. The wounds of the mind most especially.’

  Helena looked pleased.

  ‘But you should respect your father. You never could have helped the boy if Demetrios had not rescued Thomas as he did.’

  Now I looked smug. Doubly so, in fact.

  From there the meal relaxed, though several times I saw the others watching Thomas with oblique glances. Anna talked of her profession, with Zoe and Helena a keen audience, and Aelric let them prod him for gossip from the palace, the fashions the ladies wore and the tastes of the empress. They were genial company, and the candle was burned low when at last Anna rose and announced she must go.

  ‘I’ll walk you to the monastery,’ offered Aelric.

  ‘I can manage. The Watch have almost forgotten the curfew these last few nights, since the rumours of the barbarian army spread. The streets are so busy that under a full moon, midnight might be confused for noon.’

  ‘But there’s a new moon tonight, and if the Watch aren’t looking there’ll be more than late guests about.’

  ‘Take Aelric,’ I pressed. ‘Think what satisfaction the moralists would derive if something happened to you after you ignored their precepts on coming to dinner.’

  While Aelric sought out his cloak, I walked Anna down the stairs and helped her wrap her palla over her head. The night was freezing, and in the orb of the lamp I held I could see a few, tentative snowflakes drifting from the sky.

  ‘That will make the plight of the homeless worse,’ observed Anna. ‘I’ve already seen a dozen families with chills and frostbite, forced to seek medicine when a warm fire would have saved them.’

  ‘Perhaps it will freeze the barbarian army too, if indeed they exist. Then your patients can go back to their villages.’

  Anna was tugging at her cloak. ‘Can you adjust this, Demetrios? My brooch has come unclasped.’

  I reached forward, my hands clumsy on the frozen metal. I had to lean close to see where I worked, but the honeyed perfume on her neck distracted my senses in dizzying fashion. So much that I could scarcely tell afterwards whether, as I fumbled in the dark, I had indeed felt the warmth of her lips brush against my icy cheek.

  ‘There.’ I fastened the clasp and stepped back, as the pounding beat of Aelric’s tread heralded his arrival. ‘Thank you for your company — and for risking the moralists’ reproach. It’s rare that I entertain friends.’

  ‘It was a pleasure.’ A snowflake landed on the tip of her nose, melted, and slid down onto her lip. She licked it away. ‘And a pleasure meeting your family. Strong-willed girls — they do you credit.’

  ‘When they don’t abuse and insult me.’

  Aelric emerged into the street and looked up at the sky. The snow was falling thicker, now: already a soft layer covered the road like goose down.

  ‘I’ll be back in an hour,’ he said. ‘I’ll try not to wake you.’

  He took Anna’s arm, and I felt a burst of jealousy that she did not snatch it away immediately. I tried to laugh at myself — if I could barely think about finding a husband for my daughter, how could I contemplate my own desires? Helena, certainly, would never forgive me.

  I said goodnight, and watched the pair of them disappear into the falling snow.

  14

  I awoke early after strange dreams. The house was achingly cold, and I huddled tight under my blankets to try and generate some warmth. Despite Helena’s efforts of the night before, there was a hunger in my stomach which only made my limbs seem colder; the last two days of the fast would, as ever, be the hardest.

  I raised myself on my elbows and peered over the edge of the bed, to see how Thomas fared on the floor. Anna had scolded me for leaving him there, lecturing that evil vapours lurked near the ground, but Aelric had found a straw mattress and the boy had seemed comfortable enough since then.

  He was not there.

  I rubbed my eyes and looked again. The blankets were thrown back, and there was a depression where he had slept, but of Thomas there was no sign.

  I rose, and brushed past the curtain into the main room. Perhaps he had come to pick over the crusts of the last night’s meal.

  He had not. Nor was Aelric there — his mattress, though recently used, was empty.

  I was growing uneasy, but not yet overly concerned. For the past few mornings Aelric had left early to fetch bread from the baker; I supposed this time he might have taken Thomas with him. I pushed open the shutters on the front window, hoping to see some sign of them in the street.

  The shutters did not give easily — the icy night must have frozen their hinges — but as they at last swung open I was dazzled by the crisp light which poured in. The entire street was turned white, drenched in a sea of snow as far as my eyes could reach. Nothing save the wind had stirred it, and from my high vantage it seemed as smooth as the marble floors of the palace. And as cold.

  Only a single figure broke its pristine coating, a solitary man almost directly below my window. He wore a monk’s habit, but even in the chill of the morning he had pulled back his hood, so that the skin of his tonsure stared up at me. Breath steamed from his lips; he did not move, but seemed to be watching for something.

  I stood for a moment as if the air had frozen my very soul. Was this the monk, I asked, the man who had contrived to murder the Emperor? Why should he be standing in the bleak dawn outside my house? But then, who else would be standing there? And Thomas was missing.

  I shook free my amazement and ran to the girls’ room.

  ‘Helena,’ I said, ‘Zoe. Wake up. The man I seek. .’

  As my eyes adjusted to the gloom after the brightness of the street, my words fell away. One mystery at least had been solved.

  ‘Thomas! What in all Hell’s dominions are you doing here?’

  He was sitting on the end of their bed, wrapped in a blanket and staring at me with wild, uncomprehending fear.

  ‘Helena! Is this your mischief? Are you mad?’ Outrage and urgency wrestled in my mind. ‘Never mind; we will talk on this later. A dangerous man — the man I seek — is outside our house, and I cannot let him escape. If Aelric comes and I am gone, tell him to follow if he can. And you,’ I said to Thomas, ‘get away from my daughters’ bed and cloister yourself in my room. I will deal with your wickedness presently. And yours likewise, Helena.’

  Battling the confusion that raged within me, I pulled on my boots, grabbed my knife and hurtled down the stairs.

  I came into the street and blinked; the monk was gone. Had I imagined him? No; I could see his footsteps in the snow, the trodden circle where he had waited, and two parallel lines where he had come and gone. I followed them with my eye and there, just at the crossroad, I saw a flash of darkness on the snow disappearing around the buildings.

  With the chill air rasping in my throat, and my sleeping tunic no protection against the cold, I chased after him. Nothing stirred in the snowbound streets, and the trac
ks were easy to discern, if not to follow. The snow rose above my ankles, tumbling into my boots and trickling down so that my feet were numb and sodden. Even with the effort of forging a path my legs trembled with the cold, and I wished with a burning fervour that I had seized a cloak, perhaps some leggings, before leaving. But then I might have missed him, for those few minutes’ delay with Thomas and Helena had given him a start which I could not close, and for the first half-mile I barely saw him save in fleeting seconds before he turned another corner.

  Mercifully, he did not make for the heart of the city, where the marks of others might have obscured his trail, but seemed instead to aim for the walls. Up winding alleys and treacherous stairs I followed him, sliding and stumbling where the driven snow masked hard contours. Forgotten washing, frozen like lead tiles, hung on taut ropes above me; but no-one appeared at the windows to haul them in. It was as if the winter storm had stilled the entire city, all save me and the man I chased.

  The silence thawed as I came suddenly onto the Adrianople road. A few bold travellers ventured along it, mostly on horseback, but I had seen the monk turn west and now, with the snow thinner and the way straighter, I could lengthen my strides and close my pursuit. For vital seconds I was unseen and unnoticed, but then the monk cast his eyes back over his shoulder, saw me, and began to run. I tried to increase my pace still further, but there was little purchase to be had on that road and my legs were already stiff with cold. Thankfully the way was wide and straight, so there was no losing the monk, but he remained as far beyond my reach as ever. We careered through the trickle of traffic, kicking up plumes of snow behind us, though there was nothing I could summon to gain on him. But soon we would be at the walls, and then he would be trapped. He must have realised this, for at that moment he veered suddenly right down an alleyway. I flailed my arms to keep my balance as I followed him, but too late — he had vanished. I cursed my luck, and his wiles, but did not succumb to misery, for the snow was thicker again and his tracks were fresh.

  And then, it seemed, he flew away, for ahead of me the tracks stopped abruptly in the middle of the road. I came nearer and nearer, looking about for fear that he might have leapt into a doorway to ambush me, but he would have needed a giant’s stride to make that leap and there was nothing. Was there another Genoese invention which would carry men into the air?

  I reached the end of his trail and understood. He had vanished not into the air, but into the ground: the footmarks finished at a narrow hole, a dark circle in the spotless snow. The iron disc which had covered it lay discarded a little way away, and at its rim I could see the first rung of a ladder leading down. From the bottom, perhaps thirty feet below, the mirror-gleam of black water told me it was a cistern.

  A more cautious man might have waited there for help, for men with swords and torches to flush out the monk like a hunted boar. But the blood was flowing quick under my skin, and I did not know how many other tunnels might lead out from the chamber. Barely thinking, I lowered my legs into the hole and slid down the ladder. My palms burned with heat and splinters from the coarse wood, but I did not dare descend more slowly for fear that the monk might lurk at its foot, might drive a blade through me as I came down on him. When I could see the water was near, I pressed my foot against a rung and vaulted out into the darkness. The searing chill of the water clenched around me and I howled; had the monk been there he could have felled me at a stroke, for I was frozen in the icy water. I feared I might never move my limbs again so tight was its grip. My scream echoed around the dark hall, resounding off the domed ceilings and ranks of columns whose dim edges I could see in the pool of light shining through from above. Then there was silence. And then, at once some way off and all around, a frantic splashing.

  The monk, I thought, and that sound stirred enough within me to lift my legs and start pushing through the chest-high water. I did not move quickly, but it took only seconds to leave my well of light and pass into utter darkness.

  Was this how Jonah felt in the belly of the whale? I struck out blindly and felt a low wave ripple away from my chest, then slap against the surrounding forest of columns. One by one my senses deserted me: first sight; then sound, as the rushing echoes overrode each other in my ears; then, as the water numbed my soul, touch. I scraped against pillars and their pedestals and barely noticed, though the rough stone tore my shrivelled skin. Once my hand brushed something cold and clammy, and I started with a shout, but it was only a fish carried deep under the city by the aqueduct. I wondered if I had any more chance of escape than he.

  Too late, I realised the futility of my ambition. I would not find the monk down here. Even with a score of men and fires there would have been endless columns for him to duck behind; alone, and in the dark, it was hopeless. Now my only thought was to escape, to be out of these depths and back in the light. I spun around, feeling the water swirling about my legs, and searched desperately for that beacon of daylight where I had entered.

  ‘Deliverance is of the Lord,’ I mumbled through shivering teeth. ‘Deliverance is of the Lord. Out of the depths have I called thee, Lord; hear my prayer.’

  I thought I could see a smear of pale light somewhere to my left, surprisingly closer than I had expected. Had I stumbled around in a circle?

  ‘Christ have mercy. Christ have mercy. Christ have mercy.’

  I repeated my prayers with a ferocity I had not felt since my days as a novice, and with each ‘Christ’ I forced another step forward. Soon the saviour’s name was little more than a whisper, a puff of air hissed through frozen teeth, but still it drove me on. The light was near now, cold and silent and beautiful, and I stumbled towards it with new hope. I could see the rungs of the ladder, shining like steel where the daylight met them; I could see the small circle in the roof where the world awaited. And there, far beneath it, I could see a dark figure hauling himself out of the water. His wet robe clung close about him so that he took the form of an eel or a serpent, the wet fabric gleaming like scales; the limbs which he stretched upwards seemed to be webbed into his body. I gave a faint, gurgling cry, and plunged forward, splashing and flailing to reach him before he escaped.

  Even with the bewildering echo he must have heard me come, for I saw his head swivel round, and then his arms jerk up in frantic motion. I flung out a hand and felt it close around his foot; it pulled free of the rung as I fell back, but I did not let go. With a shriek and a howl the monk lost his grip, and there was nothing I could do to move as he came crashing down on me. His falling weight pressed me under and I sank, convulsing as my lungs drew in great gulps of icy water. I tried to stab him with my knife but my hand was empty: in the confusion I must have dropped it and never noticed.

  And that was my last hope gone, for my enemy had found his footing now and was holding me under, waiting for the water to drown the life out of me. I did not have the strength to resist, and a few feeble kicks did nothing to dislodge him. I had been a thoughtless fool to think I could trap him in this cavern, and now I would pay the price of pride.

  Calm descended. I ceased my struggle, and he must have been almost as drained as I, for he seemed content to hold me there and let nature take its course, without advancing the moment by further violence. I was suspended in the void; the waters closed in over me and the deep surrounded me; I could imagine that the fingers on my throat were nothing more than drifting weed. There are men I have spoken with, often after a battle, who claimed that in the moment of certain death they were transported to some earlier time in their lives, but I felt none of that: only a dull warmth creeping through my veins, a serenity in the knowledge that my struggle was gone, and soon I would be with angels. And Maria, my wife.

  But not yet. Suddenly the hands which held me down drifted away. I was rising through the water, and could feel a stinging on the crown of my head where it was exposed to the biting air above. Then it was on my shoulders, my back. My body drifted and my foot touched ground; I pushed up, and gasped as my head broke free. No-one pres
sed it back. I gagged and choked, coughing gallons of liquid out of my lungs and trying to overcome the wracking pain which had exploded in my head. Somewhere, I thought, I heard someone call my name.

  ‘Demetrios. Demetrios.’

  I opened my stinging eyes. It was not Maria, still less the angels. It was — against all hope and reason — Sigurd.

  He lifted me out of that cave and slung me over his shoulder, pumping ever more water out of me as his armour rose and fell against my stomach. Dazed and bedraggled, I saw the snow-bound city turned on its head. He carried me tirelessly, never stopping, up stairs and twisting passages, across great roads, down narrow lanes and through stout gates, until I was brought within a room and laid in a bed. I shut my eyes, and the soft voices over me did nothing to spur my consciousness. Instead, I fell into a profound sleep.

  I might have slept forever, but it was still light when I woke. My first awareness was that I was warm. Beautifully warm, beatifically warm, warm like a saint in God’s eternal gaze. A warm mattress was underneath me, warm blankets wrapped around me, and from somewhere behind the walls a bell was ringing.

  I rolled over, opening my eyes further. I recognised this room, with its whitewashed walls and small windows: it was the hospital at the monastery of Saint Andrew, and by a chest a little distance away stood Anna.

  She was not warm, not even remotely; she was entirely naked. She was brushing her hair, and the motion of the arm behind her head lifted her bare breasts like some antique statue. Her small nipples were puckered tight and hard, while by her hips the olive skin of her stomach rose gently as she breathed. Such was her lack of modesty that she did not even try to hide the dark shadow between her thighs.

  For a moment I stared like some virgin on his wedding night; then, overcome with guilt, I belatedly pressed my blushing face into the pillow.