To the south, Leo’s spies had sent word that Caliph Umar’s new fleet had already left Egypt and been spotted in the Aegean, approaching the Hellespont. It would not be long. He had to admire the young caliph’s courage. A more cowardly ruler would have cut his losses by now. A more prudent one, certainly. But the Arab generals thought they still had dice to play. Alas, they would soon discover that one of the dice, at least, was loaded against them.
He heard footsteps on marble. He straightened up, tightening his fingers around the lion-head grips on the arms of his throne. The time had come to pick a fight. . .
‘You seem tired from your ride, Abdal-Battal.’ Maslama’s envoy looked a shadow of the proud young warrior who had brought his master’s representations on the other side of winter. The lines of his face cut deeper, his once gleaming beard was now dull and unkempt.
‘It was the wait that was tiresome, Majesty.’
‘The demands of state, Lord Battal. You understand.’
‘My master’s patience has long run dry. But soon you will pay the price for the lies you have told.’
‘I thought it was I who summoned you here. Yet it seems to be you delivering me a message.’
‘Time has run out, Byzantine. Open your gates or the city will be razed. Every man slaughtered. Every woman and child enslaved. You have two days.’
‘I shall save you more waiting, since you find it so tiresome. Our gates will remain closed.’
Al-Battal stooped his head. ‘Then the fate of the city is sealed.’
Leo considered the young man before him. Doubtless accustomed to getting his way. Yet to have his bubble burst. ‘I heard you took a Christian abbess to wife from Amorium. Is it true?’
The handsome almond eyes narrowed. ‘It is true my wife was once a Christian. But she was shown her error. God is one.’
Leo nodded. ‘And you do not fear him. God, I mean. That despoiling one of his maidens would stir up his wrath against you.’
‘It is we who are the instruments of God’s wrath. Allah takes no pleasure in error. But He is merciful and she is happy. Hers will be the fate of the Queen of Cities.’ His eyes burned bright with conviction.
‘Hmm. We shall see.’
‘You’ve had your chance to submit, Byzantine. But now the sword of Allah will fall.’
Leo smiled. ‘Then let the shield of faith arise.’
Gerutha hurried on through the shadowy streets. She was clutching the neck of a wine-flask she had swiped from the kitchens on her way out of the palace. Old habits meant that even now she didn’t want to visit Alethea empty-handed. She gripped it tight lest she miss her footing on the crooked pavings or else slip in some pile of excrement and drop her gift.
It wasn’t long before she saw the familiar lamp on the street corner, and her nostrils caught the more welcome smell of newly baked bread. But when she turned onto the Street of the Bakers and peered down the lane towards Cornelius’s wine shop, she saw only a small group of men seated on stools around an upturned bucket. But not a hair of Alethea.
She remembered that the old woman had said she sometimes slept in a doorway further up the street. It was the middle of the afternoon, but if she’d been drinking. . . Gerutha passed the wine shop and continued down the lane, checking each doorway and nook all the way to the end of the street. There was no sign of Alethea. She returned to the wine shop and, ignoring the glances of the men drinking outside, put her head inside. ‘Cornelius?’
The wine-keeper looked up from his broom and cast a bloodshot eye in her direction. ‘Who’s asking?’
‘I’m a friend of Alethea.’
A blank look.
‘The woman – the beggar – who sits outside your shop.’
‘Oh, her,’ he said in a gruff voice. ‘Thought she doesn’t have no friends.’
‘But you know her, don’t you?’ Gerutha replied, trying not to let her impatience get the better of her. ‘You let her sit there every day.’
‘She sits there all right, so long as she doesn’t bother my customers. Or me.’ He tapped his temple. ‘She’s crazy.’
‘Well, do you know where she is?’
‘It’s no business of mine.’
‘Can you at least tell me the last time you saw her?’
‘Don’t know.’ Cornelius expelled a long whistle. ‘Three, four days ago. Couldn’t say exactly.’
‘But isn’t that strange?’
Cornelius shrugged. ‘I told you. It’s no business of mine if she’s crawled off some place else.’
They were standing in the doorway, within earshot of the drinkers outside. One of them set down his cup. ‘You looking for the old beggar?’ The man had the look of a coppersmith – big forearms and a ruddy face.
‘That’s right.’
‘Can’t tell you where she is.’ He took a slurp from his wine cup. ‘But I did hear something.’
‘You hear a lot of things, Joseph,’ said Cornelius.
‘Maybe. . . But that empty spot there tells me this one could be worth retelling.’
‘What did you hear?’ Gerutha felt the prickle of anxiety in the nape of her neck that she’d been carrying since the palace. ‘Please.’
‘Oh, I’ll tell, I’ll tell,’ he croaked and took another swig. ‘They pulled a body out of the Prosphorion yesterday morning.’ That was the naval harbour at the eastern end of the Horn. ‘The fish had taken a few bites out of it already.’
‘What’s that to do with Alethea?’
‘Could be not much,’ the man drawled. ‘Except the body didn’t have no legs.’
Gerutha felt a little sick, her mind filling with a vision of Alethea, drunk as a Dane in her crabby little box, toppling off the quayside. She would have gone under without a murmur. ‘Did she drown?’
The coppersmith shook his head grimly. ‘Wasn’t no drowning.’
‘How can you be sure? Anyway, the authorities must still have the body. I could go and identify her. . . if it is her.’
‘Ain’t no identifying to be done.’
‘Why not? The fishes can’t have done that much damage.’
‘God’s blood, Joseph,’ snapped Cornelius. ‘Spit it out, man.’
The coppersmith calmly drained his cup. ‘Thing is. . . whoever did for the poor bitch,’ he said, ‘cut off her face.’
Katāros hurried towards the rose garden that sat nestled in a quiet, sunny corner of the Daphne palace. He was late. He was never late. But the emperor had delayed him – Emperor Leo, the Isaurian, third of his name, a man so inflated with his own smug certainty that his eyes were sealed shut. Leo thought every possible move checked, that no one could out-think him, no one could thwart his plans. But he was wrong. Because he was blind to what was right under his nose. And now, soon, he would become the man who lost the empire that had stood for seven centuries.
Even so, they had little time. The escort he had arranged to accompany al-Battal and his riders back to the Golden Gate would soon arrive. Katāros had chosen the rose garden because it was close to the Hippodrome stables, a discreet corner where they could stroll more or less undisturbed and out of earshot of any sentinels patrolling the palace.
‘You are late,’ said the envoy, his sharp voice cutting through the warm air, fragrant with the first rosebuds of the year. ‘I begin to wonder whether you are any use to us at all.’
‘How can you say that after what I have given you?’
Al-Battal scoffed. ‘What have you given us? We are still waiting.’
‘I don’t understand. You’ve had the information for weeks.’ Katāros felt a horrible, gaping hole tearing open his chest.
‘We have had nothing from you. Only the corpse of the Jewish woman. It washed up on the shores to the west. But there was no sign of a boat, no information. Nothing.’
‘But. . . but,’ he stammered. ‘She had it all. . . Everything was on her. Drawings, procedures, formulae. It was all there for you!’ Katāros was babbling now, feeling his beautifully constructed pl
ans crumbling in his fingers.
Al-Battal’s eyes looked even blacker than usual. ‘Evidently she failed. And so have you.’
Thoughts of what he had done to extract the information from Nikolaos flashed in his mind. . . all of it for nothing. Nothing! The chasm in his chest began to fill with rage. ‘No,’ he hissed, his long nails digging into his palm.
‘Ibn al Kalb!’ swore the envoy. ‘It is worse than I feared then. The Egyptian fleet is already in the Marmara Sea. It will be here in a day. Two at most! Do you have the information still? In there?’ He pointed at Katāros’s head.
‘I think so.’ His mind was scrambling. ‘Yes. Yes! I have it. But it’s useless now. It’s too late.’
‘We can still get you out of the city. You must come with me right now.’
‘I can’t just ride out of the city. I’ll be recognized.’ He shook his head. ‘No. Fate has destroyed that chance.’
‘Fate? Bah! You mean your own incompetence.’
Katāros ignored the slur, his mind already busy, seeking, seeking. There had to be something else, something to give them leverage over Leo, something of value to him personally. And all of sudden, he saw it. ‘There may be another way to get this peasant king to submit.’
‘The time for submission is passed. We will take the city with the strength that we have.’
‘Inshallah, sadiq,’ Katāros nodded. ‘Inshallah. . . But if it is your fleet that is destroyed, we need a piece on the board that keeps us in the game.’
‘Do you have such a piece?’
‘No. But we could get it.’
‘Can’t you speak with a straight tongue, serpent?’ The envoy glared at him. ‘Tell me!’
‘The emperor’s daughter.’ Al-Battal frowned, but in Katāros’s mind it was all slowly falling into place. He smiled. ‘Here is what we shall do.’
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
‘It’s him. It can only be him,’ said Lilla.
‘But we need solid proof before you accuse a man in his position.’ Even now, after all that had happened, Gerutha couldn’t break the old habit of fussing over the silk cushions on Lilla’s bed.
‘Can’t you leave that, Grusha?’ snapped Lilla irritably.
‘Aye, if you’ll leave off your pacing.’
Lilla gave a mirthless chuckle and stood still. ‘Katāros destroyed the proof we had. But it all fits. We should have seen it sooner.’
‘And now Alethea is dead,’ Gerutha moaned. ‘If only I hadn’t told him—’
‘None of that makes any difference now,’ Lilla said coldly. But seeing Gerutha’s pained expression she added, ‘Anyway, you weren’t to know, Grusha. How could you?’
‘We do now, though. And we owe it to her – and to all the others – to see that he’s stopped.’
‘Yes, but how? Whoever we tell, what can we say but that some old beggar got herself murdered, and might or might not >have been able to identify the fire-maker’s killer?’
‘You have to try. Go higher than Katāros. Go all the way.’
‘You mean the emperor?’
‘Why not?’
‘Why would he believe me?’
‘Because you’re persuasive. He owes you and he knows it.’
‘What has that to do with anything?’
‘It will get you a hearing at least.’
‘He’ll just think I’m settling a score against my tormentor,’ she added bitterly.
‘Maybe. Or maybe he’ll see the reason in it. It’s up to you to convince him.’
‘He won’t see me now. He’s busy with the defence of the city.’
‘But this is about the defence of the city!’ exclaimed Gerutha. ‘What could be more important?’
Lilla shook her head. ‘Katāros controls access to him. I can’t reach him.’
The two women stood in silence, for the moment con-founded.
‘What about Domnicus?’ said Gerutha at length.
‘What about him?’
‘He has access to the emperor at least once a day when the imperial family take the eucharist. Katāros never attends.’
‘Perhaps. . .’ Lilla considered this. ‘Aye. If it’s the best we have. . . Let’s go to him.’
There was a noise in the other chamber. Gerutha shot Lilla a searching look then went to the silk drape separating the two rooms. There was a shuffle of feet on the other side and Gerutha threw it open. Across the room, setting down a tray on the ivory table with her back to them, was Yana.
‘How long have you been there?’ demanded Gerutha.
The girl spun round and gave a little yelp of surprise. ‘Oh, you’re here already! I went to fetch some refreshment for your return.’
‘You took your time. I’ve been back a while.’
‘It’s a long way to the kitchens.’ Yana shrugged, and picking up the tray, she crossed to the bedchamber. ‘My lady?’
Lilla plucked a goblet from the tray and held it out for the girl to fill. Yana picked up the jug but her hand stopped halfway to the glass.
‘Well, go ahead and pour, girl.’
But Yana didn’t move. She was staring, mouth open, past Lilla and the rustling curtains. ‘Ships,’ she muttered.
‘What?’ Lilla spun around and saw for herself.
The Egyptian fleet had come.
Erlan and the Fat-Belly hurried to keep up with the emperor. Their little party was heading south through the palace towards the small domed basilica of the soldier saints, Sergius and Bacchus.
The atmosphere of simmering hysteria around the palace and wider city was less obvious here. Although the emperor himself was wound taut as a bowstring. ‘I was wrong to doubt you. Both of you,’ he said, as they walked. ‘I’m not too proud to admit it. You’ve served me far beyond what I could have expected. But in this coming fight, I have for you one more task.’ His eyes flashed to either flank. ‘I pray I am right to entrust it to you.’
Erlan said nothing. If the emperor didn’t think them trust-worthy by now, no bleating words of avowal would convince him.
‘The strength of the empire – such still left to it – depends on the alliance between General Arbasdos and myself.’ The mention of the general’s name brought unpleasant memories to Erlan’s mind. ‘Half our remaining forces are loyal to him. He and I are bound, tight as brothers.’
‘Brothers have been known to turn on one another.’
‘So they have.’ Leo suddenly halted and glared at them. ‘He must survive this. He must. The fate of the empire depends upon it. That’s why I’m sending you to protect him.’
Erlan wasn’t sure he had heard that right. Was hoping that he hadn’t. ‘Protect Arbasdos?’
‘Yes. Keep him alive.’
‘Are you sure you can trust him?’
‘Huh. These days I have trouble trusting anyone.’ He gave a rueful snort. ‘As you’ve seen.’
‘I heard his steward Silanos was a traitor, although I can hardly believe that.’
‘That’s just it. I can no longer be sure. That’s why I want you to be with him. Watch him. And if there is any sign of treachery, any hint that he may be about to betray our naval forces to the enemy. . . I want you to kill him.’
The two friends exchanged a glance. ‘Takes a barbarian to do a Byzantine’s dirty work, hey?’ muttered Einar in Norse.
‘What did he say?’
‘He says whatever the emperor wills is his command, Majesty.’
‘He did not,’ Leo snorted. ‘But no matter. Either way, I know you will do your duty. When we’re done here,’ he nodded ahead, ‘you’re to report to the general at the Karabisianon on the Horn.’
The prospect of serving under Arbasdos was not one Erlan relished. But he had little choice.
‘You Northmen serve me well,’ observed Leo with more levity. ‘You should consider your position here. Afterwards, I mean. . . You could rise very high in this city. Both of you.’ But neither answered. ‘Think on it at least. You’re free men, after all. You can choose your ow
n path.’
They were arriving at the basilica. In the late-afternoon sunlight, the building was bathed pink on its western side; its eastern half swathed in shadow. The lines and curves of its dome and buttresses all formed a beautiful whole – symmetrical and satisfying to the eye.
And yet something about it made Erlan shudder.
Elsewhere in the palace, a very different conversation was taking place.
‘You told me to keep my eyes and ears open.’
‘I had assumed that’s why you’re here,’ returned Katāros.
‘You said if ever I did you a service, you would make it worth my while.’
‘Have I not been paying you all this time?’
‘Some. I want more.’
‘First tell me what you have for me.’
‘No. First I name my price. You accept. Then I tell you.’
‘For a slave, you are exceptionally impertinent,’ he said wearily. ‘Name your price then.’
‘Fifteen solidi.’
‘Fifteen? Not twenty? Not fifty?’
‘Fifteen is fair. And my freedom.’
Fifteen was a pitifully small sum for a betrayal. But doubtless more money than this wretch could dream of handling in her lifetime. ‘Agreed, then. Now speak up.’
The slave-girl smiled, a most unpleasant sight. ‘You’re in danger.’
‘What sort of danger?’
‘You’re to be denounced. My mistress knows what you are. I know what you are.’ The same chapped lips and stained teeth mouthed the word ‘traitor’. Despite his calm exterior, a shiver of dread rippled down his spine.
‘Why should I trust your word? You betray your mistress easily enough.’
‘You’d be a fool if you didn’t. But it’s your neck. Suit yourself.’ Yana held out a grubby palm. ‘Fifteen solidi.’
The eunuch’s mind was working, different thoughts flaring in different languages. . .
The girl was still holding out her hand. ‘Come on. Fifteen solidi, you said.’
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