I stabbed someone in the guts when he ran at me. I got someone else in the bladder. I jumped on to a statue plinth that I think had been kept vacant for Priscus when he died, and slapped the blade of my sword three times against a bronze torch bracket. ‘All able-bodied men in formation behind me,’ I shouted in the comparative silence that followed. ‘We’re going outside!’ I stepped down and waved my sword threateningly at those in the gateway who were still turned in my direction.
I gave a quick inspection to my little army. You’d never have thought they were slaves – no, not even the epicene youth who spent much of his time shrilling over mixtures of depilation wax. Every one of us a marauding barbarian again, we raised our swords and let out the battle roars of our various races.
I heard a discordantly high voice among the shouting. I looked for and pointed at Eboric. ‘Not you!’ I barked. ‘You’re far too young.’ Rado gave him a rough push away from the group. He sat down cross-legged beside a man I’d seen him kill and began to cry.
I took a step forward. ‘Kill only if you have to,’ I remembered to shout as we picked up speed. Of course, I’d heard similar exhortations from the Church, when handing over heretics to the civil authorities. Mine had exactly the same effect on the blood-frenzied mob that followed me against the wall of trapped and terrified humanity. We hit with something like the impact of a drunkard deflowering a virgin.
Trying not to slip in the blood I was shedding, I forced my way to the foot of the steps. I looked about for the last place I’d seen Antonia and pushed on alone into the crowd. I pushed and punched and kicked and prodded. I could guess that the city guard was pressing forward from both directions. Everyone intent on loot was already inside the palace. Those I was now pushing through were, for the most part, more frightened than hostile. A gap opened before me. I don’t know if it closed behind.
‘Antonia!’ I bellowed in a voice as terrifying as my strong right arm. ‘Antonia, where are you?’ I felt a sudden pricking against my right side and turned in time to rake my attacker across his throat. Spraying blood, he fell back against a monk, whose arms were raised in terror and in prayer. Clutched at by the dying man, the monk went down, and his warning cries to those stepping on him were lost among the general clamour. Swept sideways by a collective shudder within the crowd, I tried and failed to reach out to him. I saw him get to his knees and go down again. My heart beat still faster and black spots came in front of my eyes. I tried to work out where I’d last seen Antonia tangled up with Theodore. It must have been somewhere now behind me. But I could no longer turn. As if held in the arms of a dancing giant, I was moving further and further away from where I wanted to be.
The crowd thinned out as I came in sight of the catapult. I stumbled forward. ‘Where is she?’ I shouted at its scared operator. He opened his mouth to scream and tripped forward over the tightened bowstring. I had enough sense to throw myself forward as it finally snapped. I heard its high singing tone a few feet overhead and its return, and the dull thud of wooden arms into the dense crowd of fools who’d thought there was safety beside those stretched torsion springs. Ignoring the shrieks of the injured and dying, I scrambled back to my feet and killed a man who might simply have tripped over me. I killed another man who came at me with a length of wood. I killed yet another who was standing in my way. Like a man who cuts his way through brambles, I pushed forward to where I was sure I’d heard a woman screaming. I must have passed through the oncoming city guard, but have no recollection of doing so.
It was Simon who was driving the wagon. He looked round at my bawled challenge. Laughing like a madman, he turned back to raise his whip. I lifted my sword and darted forward. One of his men squealed something and scrambled backward in the wagon. Laughing as madly as Simon, the other man lifted something dark and very large and swung it over the tail of the wagon. Once again, I can’t remember the exact sequence of events. Thrown at me like that, the dead Treasury clerk should not only have thrown me backwards, but also dashed my brains out on the paving stones. Instead, I somehow landed on top of the squelching body and was back on my feet almost at once. I had to unhook my sword from where it had gone into the chest cavity. But I was soon racing forward again and wondering how I could best jump on to its tail. Though the rest of her was out of sight behind a crate, I’d seen Antonia’s legs kicking away like a hanged man.
I ignored the hail of correspondence scrolls and leather satchels thrown out at me. I ignored how, bouncing up and down with joy, the man who’d heaved the body at me now reached out, showing the wooden box and the cup within it. ‘Stop, or I’ll have you flayed alive!’ I roared. I was running continually faster to keep up with the quickening pace of the horses. But I was just a few feet away from leaping on to the tail of the wagon, sword in hand to hack at anyone who tried to stop me. Simon looked round again. He shouted an order in Syriac and box and cup were pulled out of sight. Straight after, both men set hands on the big crate and pitched that at me.
I had to throw myself sharp right to get out of its way. The crate bounced once past me on the hard paving stones, and again. On its third landing, it burst, sending papyrus sheets in every direction. I looked against my will at the slithering, disarranging heap of Treasury correspondence. I was far from the screaming mob outside my palace and, my breathing aside and the pounding of my heart, the main sound on a completely empty Triumphal Way was Simon’s continued and maniacal laughter as he plied the whip and the horses picked up more speed.
Now the crate was gone, I could see everything. ‘Don’t follow us, dear boy!’ Timothy called back at me. He clutched Antonia harder against his vast front, a knife at her throat. ‘Stay where you are – that is, if you don’t want me to saw the little tart’s head off her shoulders.’ He laughed theatrically and was joined by a chorus of laughs and obscenities in Greek and Syriac.
My heart was pounding now like a brothel drum. I couldn’t move. But I put what little strength I could find into my voice. ‘You can’t get away with this,’ I shouted.
‘I can and will, my fine young savage,’ Timothy called happily across the increasing distance between us. He put his knee into Antonia’s back so she reared up again and screamed. ‘Lady Fate has slipped me a better deal than you had in mind. If you ever want to see her again in one piece, the whore is our passport out of the City.’ He watched me raise my sword and take a step forward. ‘I’ve warned you,’ he shouted with another pull at Antonia. ‘Don’t follow us.’
The wagon was thirty yards away and still picking up speed. It was moving almost as fast as I could run. Another few moments and it would vanish behind the Belisarius Memorial. Someone plucked at my sleeve. I pulled away and spun round, sword raised to strike.
Leander fell down and clutched at my ankles. ‘My Lord,’ he babbled, ‘please, My Lord, don’t kill me.’ I turned back to see what I could of the wagon. It had now gone out of sight. Faint sounds of rejoicing drifted back. They merged in with the continuing riot and probable slaughter far behind me. My domestics weren’t up to producing that volume of noise. The city guard must have weighed into the chaos. When in doubt, massacre had ever been their maxim. My legs gave way and I sat heavily in the middle of the road. The sun still slanted from the east, leaving tall shadows all about and a faint chill in the air. It couldn’t have been a quarter of a summer’s hour from when I was looking complacently down from my roof, to the completion of a horror that hadn’t yet impressed itself fully on my mind. I fought off the urge to bury my face in my hands and looked stupidly round. The Treasury clerks who must have been following me along the road, had caught up. Some of them were lamenting over the murdered body of their colleague. Others were hard at work, gathering up scrolls and loose sheets for heaping up before the statue of Cicero.
I looked up at Leander. One sight of his twitching face, and I pulled myself together. ‘Can you tell me where they’ve gone?’ I asked. Covered in blood, a man ran past me. Another, who seemed to have limped his way out of the m
assacre, fell against the colonnade. He slid down, leaving bloody trails from his hands on the marble, and was still. I got Leander’s attention by raking my sword on the paving stones. ‘Where have they gone?’ I asked in a voice that I couldn’t stop from trailing off in despair.
‘I overheard someone say there was a Persian ship in the Kontoskalion Harbour,’ he answered after as great an effort as my own to keep his voice steady. ‘How can there be Persian ships anywhere. Are they besieging us?’
I silenced him with an impatient wave. I thought. The Kontoskalion was the smallest of the harbours facing south. It opened on to the juncture of the straits and the Propontis. It made sense that Shahin had put in there. It was naturally sheltered and needed no bar to protect it – or to be shut against outgoing vessels. Driving his stolen wagon, Simon would need to turn off long before the Central Milestone and go past the law courts, down a bumpy incline. From there, it would be a quick ride through a road that bisected another poor district. He and his could be onboard with Shahin before I could get there with help. Even starting now, I’d have to run to get there in time.
I got up slowly and leaned for support on Leander. I put all active thoughts of Antonia firmly out of mind. Giving way to horror and despair wouldn’t make me run any faster. I pointed back along the road. ‘Go and tell any captain of the guard you can find where I’ve gone,’ I said. I shook my head at his scared face. ‘I want as many armed men down there as can be spared.’ I pushed him in the chest. ‘Go!’ I shouted. I controlled my voice. ‘Explain yourself to anyone in uniform,’ I added. ‘He won’t hurt you.’
I sheathed my sword. Behind the ceremonial façade of the Saint Evagrius Monastery, there was a stepped alley leading down to the ruins of an old bathing complex. From here, I’d have to keep the sun as my guide through the courtyards of a poor district I’d never yet entered.
I lost my bet on our relative speeds. Knocking two of my own harbour officials out of the way, I ran along the docks and then to the end of the stone jetty. ‘Stop that ship!’ I shouted at no one in particular. I looked at Shahin. From across ten yards of water, he stared placidly back.
‘Accept, my beautiful Alaric, that you’ve lost on this occasion,’ he called out in Persian. ‘Now, here’s the best deal you’ll get. So long as no one follows us, the girl stays alive. Once I no longer need her, you get her back alive. Can I say fairer than that?’ He clapped his hands. Naked, a rope once more about her neck, Antonia was forced out on deck. She opened her mouth to cry out to me but a rag was stuffed between her teeth. Shahin ordered his men to pull her back inside. He leaned forward over the rail of the departing ship. ‘Do as I say and you will see her alive again.’ Unable to do otherwise, I fell to my knees and stretched out my arms to the departing ship. Shahin laughed and slapped both hands on the rail. ‘And remember,’ he jeered, ‘we Persians always keep our promises – did not the Great King tell you that himself??’ He put up a hand to cover his mouth. ‘Go home, Alaric, and count off the days till your bright reunion by impaling the Greekling conspirators against your Lord and Master Heraclius. I’m sure you have a complete list of them.’
He took out a napkin and waved it in mock farewell. Timothy came out of the deck cabin and, waving, stood beside him. They spoke to each other and rocked back and forth with laughter. The oars splashed more insistently on the silvery waters and I watched the ship move slowly out of the unguarded harbour. Out in the open sea, its sail came down with a gentle crash. Still kneeling, arms still outstretched, I watched until it vanished in to the disc of the still-rising sun.
‘I’ve orders from the Prefect to arrest you, Sir,’ someone said behind me.
Not getting up, I twisted round. Swords at the ready, the two harbour guards were stood well away from me. I closed my eyes in a supreme effort of will not to fall apart. I pointed at the other men streaming through the harbour gate. ‘If you speak with the city guard,’ I said with a composure that startled me, ‘you’ll discover the true state of affairs.’ I closed my eyes again. ‘This being the case, I want the Harbour Master here at his earliest opportunity.’
‘You fucking bastard!’ old Simeon shouted in my face. ‘Was this what you were planning all along?’ He waved at the dense thicket of the dead who covered the Triumphal Way. Sobbing quietly, relatives and friends of the fallen searched and poked among the bodies. They disturbed the usual million flies that had emerged from nowhere and kept back the hungry dogs. But amid the wreckage of so much life, normality was already returning to Constantinople. Not looking about, scented cloths pressed to their faces, men hurried past the dead about their business.
As calm as any man can be who’s bruised all over and covered in dried blood, I stepped away from Simeon. He’d lost a shoe in the panic and was still clutching a placard that said ‘Death to the Pension-Stealing, Yellow-Haired Bastard Alaric!’ Other than that, he’d come rather well through the massacre. Perhaps there were some too old and useless even for the city guard to think it worth killing. Avoiding the main patches of setting blood, I walked over to the catapult. I’d heard it go, but paid no attention to its effects. Tucked away somewhere in my head, there was a formula that would tell me how many thousand pounds of force the torsion springs had given each six-foot arm of the catapult. No need for calculations, however. Swarming with more of those bastard flies, the dead lay about like heaps of smashed and twisted statuary – statuary mixed in with the waste from a butcher’s market.
Simeon tugged at my sleeve. ‘My youngest boy is in there,’ he cried in an old man’s voice that no longer accused anyone of anything. ‘I can’t pull him out.’ He sat down in the mess and wept.
Drained of energy, I sat down beside him and thought what to say. My drug had long since worn off. The weariness now hit me with the force of that dead Treasury clerk. I put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Listen, Simeon,’ I said, ‘go home and wait. I’ll publish an amnesty towards the end of today. Until then, your placard will only get you into trouble. Go home and come out again this evening. The dead will all be laid out in the Prefecture building. You can collect your son from there.’ I noticed we were sitting a couple of feet from one of the ladders the seditionaries had been using. Its pine rungs were splashed with blood. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ I said quietly.
‘It’s the Master!’ someone shouted behind me. I got slowly to my feet and turned. It was Rado, leading a half dozen of my armed slaves. I could guess they’d gone off to look for me before Leander could get back with the news of where I was. Covered in blood and dust, they steadied themselves and gave the universal barbarian salute of sorrowful triumph.
It was Samo who got to me first. He’d looked out of the palace at the noise. Now, a body under each arm, he lumbered towards me. Eboric danced beside him, a severed head in his hands. ‘Master!’ Samo cried – ‘Master, we can’t find her anywhere!’ I fell into his outstretched arms. At last, I felt some shred of comfort. It broke through the iron grip I’d taken on myself and I found myself crying and crying as if I’d never stop.
Chapter 50
‘Don’t blame me, Alaric,’ Priscus said indignantly. ‘I was out all night – and in your service. I disabled the catapult for you. I covered you all the way to your meeting with Nicetas and watched you come out arm in arm with Cousin Timothy. You didn’t notice but I killed five men last night – five men, mind you, and every one of them out to get you. When am I supposed to have found time for dressing up and scaring silly Theodore completely out of his wits?’
Anyone else would have had a point. Not Priscus, though. I continued staring at him across my office desk. High on something else from his box of potions, I’d sealed every arrest warrant and given every order needed to retake control of the City. Now, as the sun was losing its power, Priscus was out of bed and ready for the argument I’d so far tried to keep out of mind.
I scraped my chair back and gave him the look of a man invested with absolute power. ‘If Theodore tells me he saw a demon in the chapel, o
r an angel, or Jesus Christ himself, we can agree he was deluded. However, he’s claiming he saw a figure dressed in black, who told him where the secret cupboard was, and how to get it open, and then to take its contents out of the palace. I’ll grant that everything else that happened was beyond even your control and that you knew nothing about my deal with Timothy. But, unless you can tell me who did appear to the boy, you’ll pardon me for blaming you.’
Priscus shook his head sadly. ‘It was meant to be, Alaric,’ he said. ‘Didn’t I tell you about the powers of the cup? It’s no accident it went out of your possession just as the seven days were coming to an end. You really should think yourself lucky. Shame about the girl, though, I’ll freely admit.’
I stood up, disordering a stack of draft proclamations for the next day. ‘You can stop wittering about that fucking cup,’ I snarled. I walked quickly over to another stack of papyrus and reached under it. I never had put the box properly together. The prised off side had remained separate throughout the past few days. Now, I held it up for inspection. ‘I was wondering why a box otherwise so elegant was only painted to look like ebony.’ I pushed it close to Priscus. ‘Look what I found underneath when I scraped the paint off.’
He took it and tried to read the writing in the advancing gloom. It was very small and covered both sides of the slat. ‘It’s letters and numbers and fractions,’ he said defensively. He brightened a little. ‘Astrological incantations,’ he added. ‘They must have been put there when Heraclius ordered a box for the cup. You know what he’s like.’
The Curse of Babylon Page 36
