The Sword of Damascus a-4

by Richard Blake

  Knowing exactly what to expect, I held my breath as the door swung open and we stepped into the deeper gloom of a long corridor. If you’ve ever had a cat, you’ll know the beast’s genius for finding your most expensive rug or silk hanging, and then shitting all over it. Imagine this, left to dry out and go stale, and then shoved under your nose. Imagine this, plus the cat’s dead and putrefying body, and throw in a stinking fish – and you have some idea of how a prison smells. I clapped a scented cloth to my face and tried not to think about anything at all as I shuffled along that corridor. To the best of my ability, I blotted out the sound of sobs and whispered pleading from behind each of the wooden doors that we passed. Every time I’ve been in one of these places, I’ve told myself that this would be the last. It never had been yet. Perhaps even this wouldn’t be the last.

  ‘So, Grandfather, have you come to gloat?’ Meekal asked as his eyes got used to the lamp. His own cell was larger than I’d expected. But the main floor was reached down a flight of steps, and was covered in a two-inch carpet of liquid filth. I looked at this briefly as I reached the bottom step. I nerved myself and continued splashingly forward to where Meekal was sitting. He tried to get up as I approached. But the chain attached to his iron collar was too short to let him move more than a few feet from the wooden bench where he’d been sitting.

  I turned to the Syrian gaoler. He hadn’t followed me down the steps. He stood in the doorway, still holding his lamp.

  ‘Get out of here,’ I said coldly. ‘You can leave the lamp on the steps. I’ll summon you back when I’m ready.’ I heard the door swing gently shut. By then, though, I was already standing over Meekal. He looked up at me and tried to smile.

  ‘I’ve spent the past few days trying to clarify when you started working for the Empire,’ he said. ‘Was it when you were still in your British monastery? Was even your confiscation and exile part of the plan?’ He shuffled to the end of his little bench and made room for me. I sat down beside him, and tried to ignore the wet filth that soaked straight through two layers of silk.

  ‘Your question is irrelevant,’ I answered. ‘In a sense, I never stopped working for the Empire. A better question is when I realised what I was supposed to do. Answering that would take longer than I fear we shall have.’ I reached into the satchel I’d brought in on my back and pulled out a loaf of bread and some wine. I watched as Meekal ate his first meal since he’d been pulled, more dead than alive, from the wreckage of the Caliph’s platform.

  ‘You were a fool to disbelieve what I said,’ Meekal began again. ‘I really meant those words about joining the two empires. It would have been a fresh start for the world.’

  I looked down at my feet and splashed them in the filth. ‘The problem,’ I said, ‘is that I did believe you. And, in spite of all that happened to me there, it would pain me more than I can imagine to see the Empire fall. More than that, though – far more than that – would be the thought that the Saracens could then rampage without any real opposition through Europe. I would do all this again, and more, if it meant the call to prayer would never sound from the monastery in Jarrow. You are, of course, right that the Christian Faith means nothing to me. Your own new Faith has many advantages that we don’t need to discuss. But, for all its original idiocy, and for all that has been added to it, the Church carries within itself the seeds of something that, sooner or later, will germinate into what may never quite have been, but what might yet be.’

  ‘The Empire must fall,’ Meekal insisted.

  ‘I’m sure it will,’ I conceded. ‘But it won’t fall until there is some other line of defence against your people. I bought time the other day. I did no more than that. But I bought time that I have no doubt will be used.’

  ‘What do you suppose they will do to me?’ he asked.

  I looked at him and smiled. ‘You may not have heard that Karim is now Governor of Syria,’ I said. I waited for Meekal to finish his ironic laugh. ‘Yes,’ I went on, ‘though it won’t be his intention, the Empire will find him a most useful member of the Caliph’s Council. The Caliph has declared you an Enemy of God – a traitor, a spendthrift, a sorcerer, and an unwise meddler with the old families of which he is, after all, a member. I spoke with Karim last night. He refused even to consider softening your punishment. Tomorrow morning, you will be taken from this cell to be racked and, after that, tortured all over with red-hot pincers. You will then be taken to the usual place of punishment. Your extremities will be cut off. You will be blinded in one eye, and have one ear cut off. Then you will be crucified. There are other incidentals. However, since you have passed that sentence many times on others, I don’t need distress you with any further description.’

  ‘It is the will of God,’ he said, fighting to keep his voice steady.

  I opened the satchel again and took out a battered scroll.

  ‘I haven’t just brought you physical comfort,’ I said. ‘I found this in Beirut, and was thinking to send it to a friend I made in Africa. It is the third book of Lucretius – his long meditation on death as the end of all things. You may remember that I tried to make you read it when you were a boy in Constantinople. It led to one of the few disagreements I ever had with my darling Maximin. I bring it to you now. It was copied by a Greek scribe, and he lapses into the Greek alphabet here and there. But I’ve corrected the few actual errors. I hope you find the time to read it this evening. I’ll make sure you have enough light for the effort. I promise it will give you comfort – especially if you read it all the way to the end.’

  I was done. I stood up and moved towards the steps that would carry me back to reasonably dry stone. At the top of the steps, I turned and rapped my stick on the door.

  ‘But, Grandfather,’ came the now laughing cry from behind me, ‘you haven’t asked what I was really doing when I fucked the dead boy.’

  It was a question I had thought of asking. But since the boy’s head had vanished in the blast, I saw no point in asking what exact use had been made of the body.

  ‘Michael,’ I said, looking back down at the hunched figure, ‘I never imagined our parting would be of this nature. I did hope for so much that was better.’ I stopped and controlled my voice. ‘This is our parting. I shall not see you again.’

  I might have said more. I might even have gone back down to put a hand on his shoulder. But the Syrian gaoler was now pushing the door open, ready to take me back to where my carriers awaited me above in the sunshine.

  I sat a long time in my bath. I sobbed uncontrollably and rocked back and forth as the slaves sponged water over the tightly shrivelled skin of my back. For all he’d been a total bastard – for all he deserved everything that had happened, and more – he was still the son of the only child I’d ever truly loved. When Martin had brought the little baby from outside that church door in Constantinople, I’d adopted him on the spot. I’d taken him in my arms and called him my own. He’d been, throughout his life, the one consistent joy in my life. I’d wept for days in Carthage when I’d received that insolent notice from Michael of his death. Whatever lay in store for Michael – or Meekal: you say what you’d have me call him – it was richly deserved. It still didn’t wipe out that he was the child of Maximin.

  I took the refilled cup from a slave and drained it all in one go. I handed it back for more. There are some pains, however, that not wine – nor even opium – can wholly blot out.

  Chapter 67

  ‘I don’t see why I should answer – not, at least, within the Caliph’s dominions – to an agent of the Emperor.’ I looked stonily at Joseph until he shifted his gaze. I put my hands on the table and shuffled my feet on the floor.

  ‘My Lord Alaric,’ he tried again, still in his flawless Saracen, ‘this is not in any sense a formal interrogation. I merely asked if this object was yours.’ He nodded at the sharp little knife on the table. Still covered in blood where Meekal had opened his veins, it had done unexpected service ever since I’d borrowed it in Jarrow to sharpen my pen
s. I smiled and looked again into Joseph’s eyes.

  ‘I rather think it might be yours,’ I said.

  ‘I could have you killed for this,’ Khadija snapped at me. Twitching away beneath her veil, she sat beside Joseph. I stretched my legs under the table until I kicked against one of the four legs opposite me, and laughed.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘Karim would never allow such a thing, and you know it.’ We fell silent. It was the morning appointed for the execution of the traitor Meekal. Sadly for all concerned but himself, Meekal had taken matters into his own hands. Now, the three of us sat together in my grandest audience room. Dressed as an officer in the Caliph’s guard, Joseph had, so far as I could tell, made his way through the palace without challenge. I’d dismissed all the slaves to their own floor in the Tower of Heavenly Peace. I imagined Khadija had ensured that her own spies should have the day off from their work on the floor below that.

  ‘My Lord Alaric,’ Joseph said, his voice now conciliatory, ‘this is altogether a most irregular situation, and I must ask both of you to show continuing restraint. The Lady Khadija acknowledges your part in removing Meekal from what might otherwise have been a commanding position within the councils of His Majestic Holiness. She does not hold against you the unfortunate death under torture of several of her closest associates, nor her own brief confinement in a dungeon. She accepts that the betrayal of her conspiracy was a necessary part of your ruse to keep Meekal from visiting the former Monastery of Saint Theodore on the morning of the demonstration, where he would surely have discovered your intention. You have single-handedly achieved a revolution within the Saracen Empire that has reversed the policy of His Late Majestic Holiness Muawiya, and returned power to those born and bred within the Desert Faith. You may be sure that the Emperor is also grateful – though for reasons that it would be indelicate to discuss too closely in the presence of the Lady Khadija.’

  ‘Tell me, Joseph,’ I broke into his emollient flow, ‘how did you know that I’d do the Empire’s work? You were sent out to Jarrow to keep me safe from Cuthbert and Hrothgar. When that failed, you were sent after me to make sure I never got here. The orders then changed to making sure that I did get here, and that the more intrepid attempts on me by the Angels of the Lord came to nothing. But you never bothered telling me what I was supposed to do.’

  ‘As you said yesterday to Meekal,’ Joseph said very smoothly, ‘you never stopped working for the Empire.’ He looked back into my scowl and allowed himself a cold, bureaucratic laugh. He ignored the feeble attempt that Khadija was making to be heard. Doubtless, she was less interested in how he’d got a spy into the prison than in his own presence in Jarrow.

  ‘But, very well,’ he continued, ‘you deserve some kind of explanation. When Meekal first suggested your abduction from Jarrow, we heard both from the Lady Khadija and from our other spies. We quietly assisted the Lady Khadija’s own conspiracy to have you murdered before Meekal could lay hands on you. However, we made sure that her plan was never likely to succeed. I did not choose Brother Cuthbert myself. But I am impressed at the ability of our French agents to find so heroically useless a man, and at such short notice. Even so, I went out myself to Jarrow to make sure that Cuthbert’s plan failed and that Meekal’s succeeded. I than put myself through the motions of a pursuit across the Mediterranean, and of various murder attempts in Beirut and in Damascus. We needed Meekal to believe you were not working for us. And we needed the Lady Khadija to confirm this belief should we ever decide to betray her to Meekal.’ He allowed himself another chuckle as Khadija went into some kind of fit deep within her clothing. I poured myself a cup of wine. Joseph could stay with the water. He paid no visible attention to the slight, and continued with quiet enjoyment.

  ‘As you know, the plan did not at first work out exactly as was hoped. As Cuthbert was trying to open the gate of the monastery – not realising that Meekal’s people were now in charge outside – he was killed by the boy Wilfred-’

  ‘Now, do tell me about that,’ I broke in. ‘It’s something I guessed long ago. But I’d like to hear the details. What could have possessed poor little Wilfred to do anything so energetic?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Joseph said with some faint recollection of the annoyance. ‘But it was Wilfred. I have no idea what could have spurred him to that. I never thought him capable of lifting more than one of the lighter books in the monastery library. But Wilfred it was. This was an inconvenient act, as I now wanted the gate open. As the boy lay sobbing and calling on God to strike him dead for his sins, I did intend to open the gate myself. It was now that someone – almost certainly the boy Edward, whom I had never suspected of involvement – hit me hard from behind on the head. By the time I was able to get free of the monastery, you had all vanished.

  ‘I caught up with you off the coast of Africa. What you were doing there was a surprise to me. But, since I expected you to continue from there to Beirut, we needed to give you cause to believe that we wanted you dead. Even so, you made your way to Caesarea. There, I might have spoken to you directly. But I had no reason to believe you would have cooperated. So I instead nudged you towards Beirut. What happened thereafter needs no explaining.’

  I asked about the meeting Hrothgar had mentioned to Edward in Kasos. I got no answer. I dropped this and moved to the more interesting question of how he’d guessed I would act as I did. Joseph permitted himself another laugh.

  ‘There are some things that can be planned down to the smallest detail,’ he explained. ‘Other things must be left to the workings of Providence. God is on our side. We knew He would not allow you to do other than your duty. And you will not be aware of how much we had to trust to God.’

  ‘I know about the earthquake in Constantinople,’ I said with a look at Khadija. ‘I guessed what was expected of me when you spoke behind me in Caesarea. When I heard about the earthquake, I understood the reason. Tell me – how serious is the breach?’

  ‘The walls won’t be ready to withstand another siege for at least another three years,’ Joseph said. ‘Every time we think the work is nearing completion, the engineers find more evidence of undermining. What we have was enough to stop some barbarians earlier this year. It wouldn’t stop the Saracens if they turned up in force.’ He turned to Khadija, who, now she’d removed her veil, was looking rather cowed. ‘We had no idea, My Lady, how close Meekal was to success. We only knew that a renewed attack on the city – this time with our own weapons – would be successful. We were and are grateful for your own efforts to starve him of resources. But we could not afford to let him succeed in his project.’

  ‘Do you mean we could attack next year and win?’ Khadija asked. She sat bolt upright. I could see her whole body shaking with the horror of what she’d just heard.

  ‘I mean, My Lady,’ Joseph took up, ‘that you could have attacked and won. You could have attacked next year, or the year after that, or the year after that. You could have removed Meekal, and, even under your own incompetent direction, your people could have conquered the Empire. Partly thanks to you, that is no longer possible. I have no doubt you will win a battle here and there against us. I share Alaric’s view that we neither can nor should attempt the recovery of Syria and Egypt. You are welcome to Africa. But you really have now missed your chance to destroy the Empire. The next time you are in any position to go back on the offensive, we shall be waiting for you.’ He laughed again, now with more genuine humour.

  ‘Really, Khadija,’ he said when her face stopped twitching as if she’d suffered a stroke, ‘you have done yourself a considerable favour. One of these days, you will stand before Saint Peter. I am sure that, in view of how you have played your own unwitting part in our plan, he will overlook your noxious heathenism.’ She now got up and paced about the room. Serves the old bitch right, I thought. But Joseph still wasn’t finished. He looked back at me.

  ‘And so, My Lord Alaric, the question remains of what is to be done with you.’ He paused and smil
ed coldly into my face. ‘You will appreciate that you cannot be left in Damascus or in any other place ruled by the Caliph. You are the most dangerous man alive. I spent yesterday looking round the site of the explosion you produced. Within what remains of those monastery walls, there is nothing but a crater twenty feet deep, and the sand there has turned to a sort of glass that cracks and splinters underfoot. We cannot afford to let you do anything like that again for the Caliph. For all the good they would then be to us, we might as well leave the walls of the city unrepaired.

  ‘At the same time, His Majestic Holiness has already told Eusebius that you will not be allowed to return to Constantinople. The evidence of his own senses has told him not to allow you anywhere near your old laboratories in Constantinople.’

  ‘So, which of you will arrange for my “accidental” death?’ I asked. Joseph and Khadija looked at each other.

  ‘Karim is Governor of Syria,’ Joseph replied. ‘We all have good reason not to alienate him. That means that you must be left alive until such time as God calls you to Himself. We cannot tell ourselves any longer with confidence when that might be. Even so, you are to be spared.’ He paused again and smiled. ‘Have you never missed all your dear friends in Jarrow?’ he asked.

  ‘Not particularly,’ I sighed. I looked about at the heavy luxury of my audience room. I thought of the delights of Beirut. I thought of dawn prayers in that frigid chapel three thousand miles away.

  ‘Nevertheless,’ said Joseph, ‘you leave tomorrow morning. This time, of course, you will not go without luggage. But you leave tomorrow morning.’

  I pulled myself free from the renewed embrace and wiped the tears from Edward’s eyes.