The Warring States (The Wave Trilogy)

by Aidan Harte

  Bobbing wildly, leaving the shattered maelstrom behind, the skiff climbed wave after wave, high as hills. While Sofia struggled to take down the sail, Levi bailed furiously. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’ He could not believe Ezra’s response to their calamity.

  The Ebionite was reading: ‘The Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind—’

  Levi saw Ezra’s eyes widen as a great waterspout rose from the heaving water. ‘Well, that’s not good.’

  The spout danced on the waves like a great arm connecting sky and sea, pulling them together. When the spout came closer to the skiff, Ezra raised his voice: ‘Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge?’

  The spout retreated.

  Isabella felt two arms around her waist, pulling her back. She opened her eye under water and saw the pale hand grabbing her wrist. The air in her lungs escaped in a gasp. Then, feeling darkness edge into her, she steeled herself. She released the rim of the font, grabbed the hand holding hers, pulled it towards her mouth and bit down hard on the thumb.

  ‘Whooaahahaa!’ Norcino howled and ripped his bleeding hand out of the shit bucket.

  Carmella roared with effort, and all at once Isabella’s body came free. They fell on the baptistery floor together. Isabella spat out the shrivelled yellow thumb – like something belonging to a corpse – and lay there, half-drowned in a puddle of blood and water. Carmella reached out and took Isabella’s hand and began singing the Virgin’s song. Isabella, her eyes rolled back in her head, joined in weakly.

  ‘Look!’ Sofia cried.

  The waterspout wobbled wildly, and the base turned a violent red. In seconds the polluting colour had reached the sky. It hit the cloud with the explosive rush and crack of a forest fire. Spears of lighting fell as Heaven purged itself in a bloody monsoon.

  Norcino howled and kicked the bucket against the door, mumbling in the forgotten tongue of Babel.

  The water shot up from the font in a great pillar and struck the baptistery’s golden roof so hard that the mosaic shattered. Water and gold rained down on the two girls.

  And Ezra’s eyes returned to normal. He looked suddenly older. ‘I’m sorry, Sofia. He found us. Wind failed. Pray water does not.’

  Like a great flag buckling, the sea’s whole surface writhed under the electrical scourge, and wave after wave struck the boat, coming from all directions.

  Sofia screamed as the sea enveloped them.

  Water screamed louder.

  PART IV:

  CITY OF GOD

  O God, the waters saw thee; they were afraid: the depths also were troubled …

  Psalms 77:16

  CHAPTER 65

  The first assembly on the bridge since Piers Becket’s wedding inevitably evoked old memories and new tensions. Yuri allowed few of his men to attend. Giant though he was, he lacked Levi’s standing with the condottieri – they’d been restive since the real podesta left. A small podium had been set up beside the towering mass of the shrouded statue. A somewhat enervated Sister Isabella opened proceedings with a prayer, then Fabbro rose. Standing together, Pedro and Maddalena watched Fabbro climb the podium. He looked older since his wife’s death. When he reached the top he looked about in mild distress and after a moment climbed down. ‘It is pointless making lofty speeches in front of friends.’

  Maddalena rolled her eyes to Pedro at this obvious bit of theatre, but it generated few smiles amongst the still sullen crowd. Pedro was already eager for the ceremony to end. Since his return, he found Signoria business increasingly distasteful. The orphanage – a dyke to prevent the flood of unwanted bastards from drowning Rasenna – had become more pressing than the cloaca, and he willingly lost himself in the practicalities of the work.

  Fabbro carried on as if he had received an ovation: ‘Friends, I see you standing there like so many separate towers and I realise what our problem is.’ He held up a golden coin. ‘Money. It makes people crazy. In hard times, poor families stick together, but as soon as they get a little money, the quarrelling starts. Quarrels aren’t the worst of it, either. There’s no one so prone to bad taste, bad investment and bad behaviour as new money. Well, friends, I have a confession: I’m new money. We’re all new money. Rasenna has never been so wealthy. Mistakes are natural – but if we make mistakes, let’s make them together. If we stumble, let’s stumble together. A tower divided must fall. If we are to succeed, it can only be together, as one tower. The Signoria speaks for you, minor guilds as much as major. Our interests are one. We must put the same trust in our government that we do in our walls and flags. We must be a tower in which no part can further its interests at the expense of the others. In a world where a cold northern wind is blowing, it is all we have. In Concord, in Ariminum, these institutions are failing, each tower, each class, each person against one another. Let not Rasenna go that way! Let there be harmony. From today, let there be one tower.’

  Fabbro’s smile was laced with desperation as he waited for applause to erupt naturally here. A scattering of polite clapping came from the priors. ‘Rasenna, I give you the fourth lion!’ With undefeated enthusiasm he pulled away the sheet – he’d been around flags long enough to get a snap from it. This time the cheer was not forced, and Fabbro beamed like a new father to see the last lion finally in place with his brothers. Its golden pelt was blindingly beautiful.

  ‘From this day forth, a full watch is kept. Safe at last, my friends: at last the bridge is safe!’

  After a round of handshaking, Fabbro searched amongst the crowd for Jacques. The blacksmith stood at the back of the crowd in his apron and long-eared cap. Fabbro wasn’t surprised that the blacksmith had not dressed up for the event, but it was odd that he looked so displeased.

  ‘A wonderful job, Jacques! Rasenna is grateful. I’m grateful. Your hands have wrought something truly beautiful.’

  The blacksmith gave an almost imperceptible headshake. ‘The bridge was better without it,’ he said abruptly and stalked back to Tartarus with his trailing apprentice. This was more than an artist’s false modesty, and Fabbro was briefly taken aback – but he forgot it as another round of backslapping commenced.

  When the party was under way Maddalena whispered to Pedro, ‘Too bad the Contessa had to miss this.’

  ‘Don’t be unkind,’ Pedro said mildly.

  ‘You’ve become so virtuous since you set out so bravely to Ariminum, carrying all our hopes and dreams. A little bird told me Saint Sofia was carrying more than that.’

  ‘Maddalena, if you know what’s good for you— ’

  ‘I hardly think you should threaten me, little brother, after you bungled the negotiations so badly. No wonder she was so desperate to go. I’ve heard the whores of Ariminum are so numerous that they have a guild.’

  Pedro knew Maddalena was no model of chastity, but instead of calling her a hypocrite he walked away.

  ‘Well, now I know it’s true!’ Maddalena laughed.

  The condottiere on watch that night decided it was best to call his superior.

  Piers Becket yawned. ‘What is it? Has the invasion started?’

  ‘I— it’s— Well, I thought you should see this. ’

  He climbed up, and leaned forward to get a better look at the rider below the wall, waiting patiently at the North Gate. The banner he carried belonged to Concord.

  ‘Reckon he’s mad?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Becket, ‘but he’s wearing the uniform of a senior officer.’

  Ten minutes later, he and Yuri were escorting the unknown soldier into the city. Yuri insisted that the stranger conceal his banner, ‘For your safety.’

  Becket noticed that the Concordian rode alongside, instead of trailing them. ‘You know these streets, Lord Geta?’

  ‘I should think so. I studied under Maestro Agnolo Morello.’

  ‘Really? Can you handle a flag?’

  ‘Well enough, though I doubt I’ll have occasion to – I can see the rumours are true. Rasenna’s changed for the better. I congr
atulate you, Podesta.’

  Yuri looked at him coolly. ‘Rasenneisi changed by themselfs. No can force these peoples.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that. I mean, for finding a town to take you in. There’s no demand for condottieri in Etruria any more. I can’t think of a better place to retire.’

  ‘Don’t be envious,’ said Becket with bitterness. ‘Settled life’s no fun for a soldier.’

  ‘There’s women and wine, isn’t there?’

  ‘Plenty. Trouble is, you have to pay for it.’

  ‘You always do,’ said Geta solemnly.

  ‘That why you come?’ Yuri demanded. ‘Concordians not so popular here. Perhaps you remember this too?’

  ‘Rasenna’s grievance is against them who sent the Wave. I’m willing to fight against the engineers.’

  ‘Another sword, just what I need.’

  Geta smiled at Yuri’s goading; he knew the look of a soldier out of his depth. The giant was desperate for an excuse to deny him sanctuary. ‘My rank’s higher than yours, Russ, and I didn’t get it by being just another sword. You need to think beyond your immediate problems and old grudges. I can help.’

  ‘Sure. By turning around.’ Yuri snorted and rode ahead, leaving Becket to gossip with the foreigner.

  Pedro and Fabbro were discussing the imminent completion of the orphanage when Yuri showed up with the Concordian. Pedro rolled up his plans and left. If Fabbro shared Yuri’s suspicion, he didn’t show it. Yuri followed Pedro out. ‘Is wise to let them alone?’ he asked. ‘This one has shiny tongue.’

  ‘Don’t worry, so has Bombelli. He knows what’s in Rasenna’s interests.’ Pedro looked down at his plans. ‘I’m too busy to be a tour guide.’

  ‘Who’s your guest, Papa?’

  Fabbro looked up, wondering where his daughter had popped up from so suddenly. He bowed to the inevitable and introduced them. ‘Maddalena, this is Lord Geta of Concord. I was just explaining our delicate situation, and telling him that he’s welcome to stay, on condition that he keeps a low profile.’

  ‘Gonfaloniere, I specialise in delicacy. I’ll be quiet as a lamb, gracious as your fair daughter—’ He smiled at Maddalena.

  ‘We’ve heard Concord’s deluged by fanatics,’ said Fabbro.

  ‘The last Apprentice thinks he can control them. He’s wrong. Unless I misjudge, Concord’s about to tear itself apart. When that happens, someone will have to take charge.’

  ‘And that would be you?’ said Maddalena with amusement.

  ‘I’m flattered, Signorina, and accept your nomination with gratitude.’ He bowed low, and turned back to Fabbro. ‘You have nothing to lose by sheltering me, and much to gain.’

  ‘Yes, I see that. Is that all you need, shelter?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say no to a glass of wine.’ He kissed his fingers, glancing at Maddalena. ‘I was always fond of the local variety.’

  Initially the patrons of the Lion’s Fountain gave Geta a frosty welcome. No one had suffered as Rasenneisi had at Concordian hands, but the Hawk’s Company had suffered its share too. Geta appeased them by making it clear that he hadn’t fought at Tagliacozzo, and that he thought Luparelli better off dead. The officers of the company recognised Geta as a plain fighting man, as flexible and opportunistic as them, and he won over the rest by the simple expedient of buying their drinks, round after round. The brewer was delighted – Geta paid in silver that was much purer than Rasenna’s increasingly debased coinage. His brash charm, his familiarity with Rasenneisi dialect and mores and – above all – his unfeigned scorn of engineers impressed the bandieratori too. By the end of the night, Piers Becket wasn’t the only one following him like a puppy.

  ‘To Lord Geta!’ he proposed. ‘If every Concordian was like this son of a bitch, we’d have nothing to quarrel about!’

  ‘Madonna forbid!’ Geta gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘Then we’d have to work for a living.’

  CHAPTER 66

  Volume II: the Land across the Water MILLENNIUM

  The turn of the millennium was a moment of great hope, hope that drowned in disillusionment when the Messiah failed to return. Etruria’s impatient masses turned to the secular world for salvation. This turning, a challenge to Concordian hegemony, was tied to the demise of the Castilians. The Curia had restrained their excesses and fostered the growth of the towns,25 but once the Castilians were ousted and the other city-states began to grow in confidence and wealth, Concord’s claims of moral authority began to chafe.

  The Curia, now widely seen as a parasitical encumbrance, sought a distraction, and a mad melic obliged by initiating a vicious persecution of Marian Pilgrims to the Holy Land.26 In the centuries since the collapse of the Etruscan Empire, the Radinate and Etruria had coexisted by a simple but effective policy of ignoring each other’s existence.27 Etruria’s role was essentially passive.28 It did not contest Radinate dominance of the Middle Sea. It stoically endured raids by Ebionite pirates.

  That defensive stance changed as the Curia employed orators to proclaim the duty of all good Marians to free Jerusalem from the schismatics. Deus lo Volt! resounded from the marshes of Ariminum to the towers of Rasenna. Etrurians, briefly, had common cause.

  CHAPTER 67

  Water lapped her feet. Gulls shrieked insistently. What was so urgent? Sofia lay there with half her face submerged in water and an overwhelming desire to go back to sleep. The water was tepid and the air was cruelly hot.

  Then she distinguished another sound behind the tide: a breathless, huffing laughter. She opened her eyes and found herself looking at a strange feral dog with stripes like a cat. It smelled terrible. It was panting and padding a circle on the sand around her, getting closer with each circuit. It had a thick neck and powerful shoulders, but judging by its poking ribs and the way its long teeth emerged from slaver, it hadn’t eaten for a while. It reacted to her return to consciousness by sinking abruptly on its hunkers and preparing to jump.

  Suddenly a stone splashed into the water beside it, then another skimmed its flank. It hopped up indignantly, before bolting away, laughing miserably.

  Sofia rolled onto on her back and found a shadow standing over her: a dark-skinned youth, not much more than twenty. His hand rested on the dagger in a broken sheath in his belt. The blade was the only distinguished thing he wore, but his carriage was noble. His face was lean and boyish, though a few curled hairs stood out on his round chin and there was a thin attempt at a moustache under his heavy nose. His thick, expressive brows were ebony-black, like his knotted long hair, which was loosely wrapped in a shawl. Behind him, two dusty camels moaned and butted their massive heads together, making a sound like empty cork.

  ‘Are you alive?’

  Though Sofia was surprised to understand him, she played dead until he took a step towards her. Then she wound her legs around his and twisted, taking him off balance. As soon as he hit the ground he rolled, pulled his dagger free and pressed it – gently – against her neck. All else was hot, but the steel was cold. She flinched from it, amazed that she had been caught – he was fast.

  ‘So you are alive,’ he said.

  ‘And you’re a lousy aim.’

  ‘I wasn’t aiming to kill. It was only being a dog.’ His language was some barbaric variety of Frankish, mixed with an archaic version of the Ariminumese dialect. Sofia was grateful for the smattering of Europan tongues she had picked up during her time in John Acuto’s camp.

  ‘Where’s Levi?’

  ‘I’ve seen no other bodies. This Levi, he was your husband?’ His voice was calm and even; if the attack had angered him, his manner did not betray it.

  ‘A man I was travelling with.’

  He slowly took the blade away. ‘Your husband must be a trusting fellow, to let a woman in your condition travel, or a great fool.’

  ‘I didn’t ask for your opinion, heathen. Is this Oltremare?’

  ‘Technically, yes. But many parts of Oltremare are not safe for the Franj.’

  ‘I’m not a Fr
ank.’

  ‘And I’m not a heathen. I am Ebionite; my name is Arik, son of Uriah.’

  She noticed the piercing, restless eyes under the thick brows. They were the eyes of a bird of prey: a light-as-honey brown flecked with amber; little mercy in them perhaps, but no cruelty either. He held himself loose, yet poised and fully present, like other hunters Sofia had known.

  ‘We were bound for Akka. There was a storm.’

  ‘Yes, the winds were strange last night. You’ve bypassed Akka by many leagues, but it’s a day’s journey if you go by the coast along the plain of Sharon.’

  ‘Who is your master?’

  ‘God is my master, and yours, but I am employed by the Queen of Oltremare. Whom do you serve?’

  Sofia looked about at the wreckage – a torn sail, some splintered wood. Had Levi and Ezra washed up on another shore, or been swallowed by the sea? She took the sail and rolled it up. She saw the Ebionite watching her sceptically. She tried to straighten up, but assuming a queenly bearing was difficult in her bedraggled state. ‘I am the Contessa of Rasenna.’

  ‘I never heard of it.’ He coolly appraised her. ‘Perhaps you’re a runaway slave. I could sell you …’

  ‘I’m an ambassador of the Etrurian league.’ That was stretching the truth, but she needed to convey that he could get more by ransom than selling her as a slave. ‘I come offering an alliance … Arik.’

  He frowned, ‘A tribe’s allies are its neighbours, as are its enemies. You come from Ereb, a land of darkness far from here. Amity or hostility is equally meaningless with countries so far away.’

  ‘Unless you are the queen’s adviser as well as her slave, I don’t propose to discuss it. You will bring me to her. The queen would not thank you for keeping me waiting.’

  ‘The queen does not thank anyone. I am not her slave, or yours,’ he said.

  Sofia got the impression that Arik was the patient type. She gritted her teeth and tried a smile. ‘I would be most grateful if you would escort me.’