I was thinking also of an awning to keep the sun off me. I’d be up here several days running, sometimes through the hottest hours. As I was deciding between silk and linen, the foreman and everyone else threw themselves down for a long grovel.
‘Ah, Meekal,’ I said without turning, ‘I was wondering when you’d put in an appearance.’ Even my defective hearing wasn’t enough to blot out the sound of his breathing: I might have had an angry bull behind me. I turned and made the feeblest pretence of a bow.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he said with the sort of quiet menace that can swell very fast into hysterical screaming. He waved at the half-dozen large astronomical instruments.
‘I’m a newcomer myself to solar observations,’ I said with a bright smile. ‘Until that young man cowering at your feet enlightens me, it’s all a bit of a mystery. However, I do think that big machine over there with the electrum plates is used for finding the angle of separation between two stars. I’m sure I’ll find it useful for something.’
Meekal put his head down and walked a few paces along the roof.
‘Have you any idea,’ he said, turning back to me, ‘how much these devices cost?’
I held my arms wide out and pulled the appropriate face. ‘It isn’t my concern either,’ I added. ‘The deal is that I ask for whatever I need. The funding is your problem.’
Meekal pushed his face close to mine. ‘The deal is that you complete my project,’ he hissed, now in Latin. ‘From what little sense I’ve had from Karim, these are for your private researches.’
I sat down and stared at Meekal. I picked up a fly whisk and waved it vaguely about my head. Everyone else was still clutching the ground, as still as in death.
‘Then, if you’ll pardon me for saying,’ I sneered, still in Syriac, ‘you’re a right barbarian. We aren’t talking here about a recipe for fish sauce. I need complete freedom to research as I see fit. Do you want the Caliph to stand up and cheer when I set those kettles off? Or do you want to offer him an unusually vigorous steam bath?’
‘I have just finished a meeting with the Caliph,’ came the response in a voice that really did remind me of one of my kettles. ‘He was accosted on his return to the palace by the Director of the observatory you had just plundered. His Majestic Holiness was not pleased.’
I got up and laughed. I walked close to the edge of the roof and rapped hard with my stick on a bronze adjustment bar.
‘So that’s how it is,’ I cried in a loud voice. The breeze had dropped down again, and my voice was flat but clear. I made sure to keep in Syriac. ‘When the Commander of the Faithful is away, you’re top dog. When he’s back, you answer to his finance clerks. And to think you betrayed your family, your country, your religion for this. I could have got you made Exarch of Italy. Why, you’d have had more authority as Prefect of Cartenna!’
Meekal glanced down at the carpet of grovelling bodies. ‘Get off this roof – all of you!’ he snarled softly. He waited until everyone had darted through the hatchway in the centre of the roof that led down to the access ramps. He kicked the hatch closed and came back to me. I was back in my chair, and was pretending to inspect the handle of my fly whisk. He stood over me. His black robes heaved in time with his breathing. ‘If you cannot do so in private, I do suggest, for your own good, that you show some respect in public.’
‘Fuck you, Michael!’ I answered in Greek. I looked up at the cloudless sky. My left leg was hurting, and I could feel the need for a piss coming on.
‘Is there one reason,’ he asked slowly and with much effort, ‘why I shouldn’t have these things collected at once and taken back to where they belong?’
As I was wondering how he’d react to my standing up and pissing close to his feet, I heard the first scrape of the water screw. It was over on the far side of the tower. But, without the insulation of walls and glazed windows, the laboured, squealing, grating sound was unpleasant on the ear. I clutched hold of a brass lever and pulled myself up. I held out my arm for Meekal to take. Together, we made our way across the roof to where the covered water tank was placed. For the moment, the noise came from below, as water was pushed up the rotating lower screw to the tank within the tower. Then, with a more continuous and still louder screech of bronze pipe within bronze hoops, the upper screw began to rotate. At first, it was just a shuddering movement of weather-corroded metal. Then, with a loud splutter, the first bright splash of water jumped on to the collection pan and was channelled into the lead tank. It was like watching a giant, if sluggish, ejaculation as the tank was slowly filled. Far below – perhaps right on the ground, perhaps within the tower itself – there came the higher sound of a whip and a suppressed cry. Someone laughed unpleasantly, and there was another crack of the whip.
‘You know,’ I said, speaking as best I could above the noise, ‘I’ve been wondering ever since I came here if some arrangement of gears wouldn’t cut out the need for a break into the pipe.’ I waited for the puzzled look on Meekal’s face to pass. I waited in vain. I shrugged and let him help me on to the low stool he’d carried across with us. Water was now running back down the pipe, and this was lubricating its movement within the hoops. The noise had changed to a dull, continuous grating of metal on metal. ‘It’s about seventy feet from here to the ground. There’s no reason why a single pipe of that length can’t be made. Each of the two existing lengths was cast in sections, then welded together. The two sections themselves could easily be joined. The limitation is that the highest rotation speed isn’t enough to push water the whole distance. That’s why the engineers broke the course with a supplemental tank. But if the rotation speed could be increased without limit, there might be no limit to how far water could be raised. That’s why I thought of gears.
‘Since yesterday, though, I’ve been thinking further. I used steam in our demonstration as a substitute for the real thing. But suppose you could match a steam kettle to the sort of wheel you see on a water mill. That, plus the gears, would give enormous force to any rotation. You’d be turning heat into motion. Has it ever struck you that all human might so far has been based on the power of human or animal muscles?’ I ignored the lack of response. I was speaking now more for myself than for Meekal. If he’d gone and thrown himself off the roof, I might have got up for a dance of joy. Or I might have carried on with the lecture.
‘Even when there is no limit to the quantity of muscle power, there are limits to its effective use. Yet heat can be generated wherever there are adequate supplies of fuel, and can be converted into both intense and rapid motion. Give me funding and a team of engineers and metal workers, and I’ll give you a machine that will raise water seventy feet – and have it spurting ten feet beyond that. Indeed, once the basic point is realised, of the conversion of heat to motion, I can imagine ships that sail regardless of winds and tide, and vehicles that can travel on the roads day after day at the speed of a galloping horse.’
‘You’ve been at that shitty opium again,’ Meekal sneered.
I smiled and sat up. I took off my visor and waved it at him. ‘Bearing in mind what I have already achieved,’ I asked, ‘must I make out the same case, in each and every other instance, for the benefits of understanding and controlling the world about us? Can you not at least see that the first civilisation to bow before the power of natural reason will conquer the world? Is not the weapon I am about to give you a feeble thing compared with what might one day be? Are not your own victories in the East as much an effect of chain mail and swords as of religious enthusiasm?’
Meekal gave one of his contemptuous laughs. He held out a hand to take my arm and led me over to the exit hatch from the roof. I stopped by one of the larger instruments. Its calibration marks told me it was of Alexandrian workmanship – possibly from before the Roman conquest of Egypt. For something of its age, it was in good shape. A pity, though, that seven hundred years hadn’t rendered it as obsolete as the numerals that had to be learned before it could be made to work. I pulled f
ree of Meekal’s grip and carefully sat myself on the warmed lead within the shadow of the instrument.
‘Do you remember that story told of Tiberius – the Emperor who succeeded Augustus in ancient times, not the one a hundred years back who came before the unfortunate Maurice?’ Still nothing from Meekal. I got slowly up and looked over the rooftops of Damascus. The breeze was coming up again. ‘He was approached one day by a craftsman who said he’d made a new sort of glass cup. As the Emperor reached out to take the cup, the craftsman let it fall from his grasp. Tiberius stood back to avoid the smashing of glass on the floor of his palace. Instead of shattering, though, the cup bounced on the marble. The craftsman took it up and produced a little hammer, so he could knock out the slight dent of the impact. Impressed, Tiberius asked if anyone else knew how to make such glass. “No,” came the answer. It was a secret known only to one man. Was he rewarded with a kiss of joy and a soft loan to build a bigger workshop? No, he had his head cut off. Let the secret of unbreakable glass be common knowledge, said Caesar, and no one would ever commission cups of gold and silver. After a while, no one would even buy new glass cups. The death of one man, he said, was essential, if thousands were not to lose their livelihoods.
‘If you want to see the effects of that mode of reasoning, go and look at the heap of stinking ruins that Rome has since become. There is no limit to the work that can be done and needs to be done by human labour. Improvements that increase the force of human labour simply increase the wealth and power of the human race.’
Still no words from Meekal. But I could now see the look of pained resignation on his face. ‘So I get to keep this lot for the next month,’ I said rather than asked. Still no answer. ‘Do be kind enough, then,’ I said with bright cheer, ‘to remind that foreman when you let him back up here, that this roof has a slight pitch, and that levelling wedges need to be placed under the planks.’ This time, he nodded.
‘Oh,’ I added, ‘if you want everything ready on time, I’ll need to spend several days at the old Saint Theodore Monastery. I’ll need to go into every one of the restricted zones, and pass and repass between them. This isn’t negotiable. I need more than one day to get everything ready. So you can either drag yourself out of Damascus with me, or dispense me from some of your security rules.’ I got a cold look for that. I ignored it. ‘And you can replace those mangy guards you’ve been using for my protection. Now the Caliph is back, I want a brigade of proper fighting men about me every time I set foot outside the palace.’
Another cold look. But Meekal was walking towards the hatch. You may think I’d pushed my luck quite far enough. But I could feel the jolly tiredness of an early siesta coming on. I rapped the lead covering of the roof with my walking stick.
‘And since you’re going that way,’ I croaked, ‘do have some beer sent up for me. Yes – beer and a piss pot. It wouldn’t do for me to piss over the edge of the roof. You never know at the moment who might be passing by underneath.’
Chapter 60
Because it kept me in the palace at a time when I had work to do elsewhere, the banquet was as much a nuisance to a busy man as a burden on an old man. But if I’d twisted like an eel to get out of it, Meekal had held me firm. And so, dressed in heavy finery, my head freshly shaven and bewigged, I was led to my dining couch as if to some place of execution.
The banquet was in the same place as before. There was scorching to some of the columns that hadn’t come off with scrubbing, and there was a small army camped all around the hall. This time, of course, there was no attack to cut short the proceedings. This time, also, I wasn’t anything like guest of honour. My own dining couch was at the far end of the hall, and my only dealings with Meekal were a whispered lecture as he came to stand beside me on the use of gold in the transmutation of materials. I gathered that His Majestic Holiness would spend the following day on an auditing of the research budget, and there was some opposition within his Council to the extravagance of the demands I’d made. But this was a brief lecture. How much of it Meekal really took in wasn’t my concern. He’d probably parrot the relevant points well enough. Besides, it had all been agreed long in advance that the Council wasn’t to be told enough to compromise the security of the project.
‘I’ll join you out in the desert before you arrive at the monastery,’ he’d said with one of his unpleasant glares. I had supposed Meekal would be stuck all day with the auditing. But, if I’d caused him further trouble with my demand for the additional gold bars, even that wouldn’t keep him stuck all day in the Council. The several days of freedom I’d pulled out of him, to potter about in the monastery to my heart’s content, would now be brought to an end. ‘Then it must be Karim who has responsibility for my safety on the desert journey,’ I’d replied. ‘The additional men seem to have scared off the Angels of the Lord. Just make sure to send out someone with Karim who knows how to direct a fight if one is needed.’
Meekal had given me a last doubtful nod, before going off to take his place beside the huge, glowering figure of the Caliph. He sat on his throne, as rigid as in the best Imperial ritual. Before him stood the leaders of his Religious Council, together with both Orthodox and Heretical Patriarchs of Jerusalem. Between them – perhaps to give them someone they could both agree on hating – was one of the Jewish leaders. Because all the Saracens were dressed in plain white, it hadn’t the full magnificence of Constantinople. But, if it might be lacking in the externals, this was – no one present could be in the slightest doubt – an event presided over by the richest and most powerful man in the world. The Saracens, of course, were let off with bows and acclamations. For everyone else, it was the full prostration. Even I was led forward at last, and helped on to hands and knees for the adoration of God’s Chosen One.
‘Greetings, O Alaric,’ some eunuch chamberlain whispered in Greek as I finished tapping my forehead on the carpet. ‘Your presence is pleasing to the Commander of the Faithful.’
I gave a quiet sniff. It didn’t do to look up into the face of His Majestic Holiness. All else aside, it would have been a breach of manners for him to behave as other than a block of wood. I listened hard and counted the soft blows on the gong. In Constantinople, five blows during and after the prostration indicated a person of considerable quality. I thought Meekal had got five. I counted seven for myself.
‘If you feel another fainting attack come on,’ I muttered to Edward once I was arranged back in my place, ‘do sit down at once. Your job is to pour the scented water over my hands at the beginning and end of each course. Otherwise, you just need to smile and look pretty. We can get away after the iced fruits have been served. Meekal can’t say when they’ll be served. But it’s all agreed that no one will think the worse of us for leaving. I can then prepare a cup of something soothing. One dip in that of the afflicted member, and you won’t notice the pain.’ I grinned and pushed in my ear trumpet so I could hear more of the herald’s pompous oration. It had been going on an age, and showed no signs of ending. There had been a gigantic slaughter in some place with an unmemorable name. The arms of the Caliph had prevailed after a day of this, and there was a long detailing of the prisoners and property thereby won. I listened hard, but heard no indication that the False Caliph had been killed or taken. Almost certainly, this would mean another campaign in the civil war. Sad, this, for everyone closely involved – but no bad thing for the Empire.
As if he’d read my thoughts, Edward leaned forward and nodded at the main couch beneath the Caliph’s throne. I adjusted my visor and focused. Eusebius had already been watching me closely. I smiled. He noticed and looked away.
‘That, my dear, is the Imperial Ambassador,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t mean that the two empires are officially at peace. But it looks as if at least one side has run out of puff for the time being. I wonder if he’ll be invited to the demonstration the day after tomorrow. You can be sure he’s heard all about it.’ I had another look at His Excellency. You could have fitted out a border fort with the pr
ice of that gold and purple robe. Such, however, are the costs of diplomacy. ‘He’s the last known descendant of the Great Constantine – the one, that is, who established Christianity as the Empire’s official faith. One of his uncles was married to my youngest daughter,’ I went on. ‘It wasn’t a happy or a productive union, I regret to say. The moment he’d got himself knocked on the head in a Circus riot, she joined the Sisters of Saint Drusilla and spent the rest of her life stitching head coverings for lepers. She never spoke to me again. Eusebius himself studied with Meekal. They were pretty close for a while. I wonder if efforts will be made to bring back the Prodigal Son.’
But the Ambassador’s page was now holding up the gold ewer, ready to pour water over those fastidious, if quietly sticky, hands. I held up my own hands for Edward’s attention, and wondered what might be in the covered dishes that were now appearing in the hall.
‘The Caliph’s beard is very big,’ Edward whispered in English.
‘Well, he is the Caliph,’ I replied. ‘Another thirty years, and yours might be no less grand.’ This being said, I had a look as the Commander of the Faithful was carried past. ‘That heavy gloss only comes from regular eating of arsenic. Having a food taster is a step too far as yet away from the simplicity of the desert. But – it depends how you count them – at least one caliph has been murdered in the past fifty years; and poisoning is endemic throughout the East.’ I stopped as Edward did his business with the ewer and the cloth, then gave myself with modest attention to the jellied goat in honey.
‘Will there be dancing girls?’ Edward asked during a break in the eating. Someone was reading in an interminable drone from a book of religious jurisprudence that seemed wholly concerned with table manners. A screen in front of his face, the Caliph was being fed by a dwarf with three arms and a hump.
The Sword of Damascus a-4 Page 39