Arcanum

by Simon Morden

  55

  The solar was full of men, and not the sort of men that the solar usually saw. It used to be a place where the rich, the powerful, the influential gathered to make small talk and become richer, more powerful and better connected. Not today.

  Then the long, sunlit room became slightly fuller, and slightly less manly. The door opened, and the babble of voices, some of them barely broken, cut off as quickly as beer from a barrel when the tap is closed. Felix walked in with Sophia behind him, and navigated his way to the far end of the room through the gap that opened for them between the worn boots, dusty breeks and patched jackets.

  Ullmann was waiting for them there.

  “Is this enough, my lord? I could have taken more, and I could have taken less, but I used my judgement and presumed two dozen, plus myself, would be a good number to start with. All true Carinthians, with Carinthia’s best interests at heart.”

  Felix looked up at the front row of men. To a soul, they looked honest and poor, hard-working and keen. To them, this was an adventure. To him, they were simply tools to be exploited and used as weapons. Perhaps not simply – it was needful and expedient – but Ullmann had called them and they’d come. He needed those who were loyal not just to him, but to the idea of Carinthia.

  “You’ve done very well, Master Ullmann.” The numbers were more than he’d asked for, and it was possible that some of those gathered might have previously gone over to Eckhardt. There was no way of telling; Ullmann’s judgement was the only measure he had for now. “Now find me a chair.”

  Ullmann took one from next to the table, set it in the middle of the room, and steadied Felix as he climbed onto it. Sophia passed him a folded piece of parchment from the stack she was carrying.

  The room, already silent, was now still.

  Felix looked down at every man there, then at Sophia. If there was a weakness here, it was the lack of women. He already knew there were things a man would tell a woman that he wouldn’t tell a man. Ullmann would have to go out onto the streets again and see what he could do.

  “Gentlemen,” he started, wishing that he would grow and that his voice would deepen so it didn’t sound like a mouse’s squeak. “Master Ullmann has picked you because you want to protect Carinthia from its enemies. Your duties will be varied. Sometimes it may be taking a message securely from my hand to another’s. Sometimes it may be going to another town beyond our borders and sending back information. Sometimes it may be dangerous. Some of you will die. If any of you don’t wish to be involved, leave now, with my blessing. If you stay, you are sworn to oaths of loyalty and secrecy.”

  He waited, and the men in front of him waited too. Not one moved so much as a foot. They did glance at each other though, perhaps seeing if any would bow out. None did.

  “Very well. I have letters of authorisation – not enough to go around yet, more will be written – letters that permit you to take anything and do anything in my name. Misuse that freedom of action, and I will have you pressed in the main square, along with your collaborators. Use it properly, and you will be properly rewarded. For now, you answer to Master Ullmann, and he answers to me. After twenty-five years’ service, you will have land and titles for you and your families, because Carinthia rewards its loyal sons.”

  That was the end of his prepared speech, the one he’d been practising all morning and had only partly written himself. He knew he shouldn’t go on, that he should let Ullmann take over, but as he searched the men’s faces for a sign that he’d said enough, he caught the opposite mood. He needed to leave his script and say what he felt.

  “When the magic failed, we found we were all living in a different world. It’s not the world we were born to, any of us, but it’s where we have to make our homes now. If we want to keep those homes safe, we have to do things differently. You’re our scouts, the ones ahead of the troops. Before we think about raising an army or what weapons to use, you’ll be telling us what we have to defend ourselves against. If you fail, Carinthia falls. It’s as simple as that.”

  Perhaps they weren’t so used to someone in authority being so candid, and the mood of the room grew uncomfortable. Sophia frowned at him, and pointed subtly towards the floor.

  He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to explain.

  “I’m trying to make you understand how important your role is. It’s not more important than what others are trying to do now, but I’ve told them the same thing. If you’re going to build something, you need stone and wood and tools and someone to wield them. If you’re missing one of those things, nothing happens. We’re at that point. We need to get everything together first. Then we need to build, tall and strong. When the storm comes, which it will, we need to be ready.”

  Now he was done. He jumped off the chair, and stood next to Sophia as Ullmann took his place.

  “This is your first job: to announce a grand council that is to take place here in Juvavum two weeks from today. You’ll be divided into pairs. Each pair will go to the furthest part of the land, and call all those with something to say to arrive no later than the full moon. Start with the most distant places, work back towards here.

  “Now listen: this isn’t just for the earls and merchants and freemen. Anyone who wants to come can come. They can leave their land like a freeman can, and don’t you suffer any nonsense: earls’ lands won’t be earls’ lands for much longer, no matter if there’s an heir or not to claim them. When the prince calls a grand council, he means what he says. All Carinthians are welcome, and no one’s to be left out.

  “We’ll divide the map up, find horses for those who can ride. Get your warrant from Mistress Sophia, your purse and your assignment from me. Let’s form an orderly line.”

  Felix watched carefully how Ullmann handled the proceedings. His easy manner with the men made them feel like part of a street gang, but beneath that was a hard core of determination. The mostly rough-and-ready apprentices, carters, vendors, stevedores and messengers – they knew who was in charge, this bright and articulate chancer from the countryside.

  Sophia, too. She was confident and aloof. She rarely smiled, and when she did, it was at their eagerness and their mistakes, not at them personally. They were much closer in age to her than Felix was: they could be forgiven a little banter, but she did nothing to encourage it. She rewarded politeness and frowned on familiarity, making it abundantly clear that she was untouchable, unassailable, like the fortress walls themselves.

  Felix himself was the source of their authority, but he didn’t know how to use it. That troubled him. He’d made mistakes already, been betrayed by people he’d trusted, and he had little idea of how to avoid making those same blunders in the future when the stakes were just as great. So much to learn.

  Ullmann dissected the map of Carinthia, detailing different pairs to visit the towns and villages, from the Venezia border down to the Bavarian lowlands, from the high valleys to the gates of Wien. If there weren’t enough horses in the stables to carry them, they could take them from elsewhere and compensate their owners. If there wasn’t enough food in the kitchens to keep them going, they could take it from wherever they wanted. They were to claim swords from the armoury, even if they had no idea how to use them: they could learn another time. Making it up as they went along, much like he was having to.

  It felt all very hasty. Perhaps that was a good thing. Making quick decisions meant that at least they were doing something, even if it was wrong.

  Suddenly, it was all over. Lists of names had been taken, the amount of money given to each man recorded, their routes through Carinthia noted. They probably wouldn’t reach everyone, but they’d catch enough that almost all would feel included.

  Ullmann took the lists with him as he went, bowing at the door. “My lord, it’ll be done, and done well.”

  The door closed, the latch clicked, and they were alone.

  “Sophia?”

  “Yes, Felix?”

  “We should be glad he’s on our side.”
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br />   “Who? Max Ullmann?” Sophia crossed in front of him to sit next to the fire. “He’s an interesting find, for sure.”

  “He has the common touch. He inspires people.”

  “Felix, come over here.” She reached out and pulled a chair close to hers, and he reluctantly joined her, fearing a lecture.

  “Having a common touch and inspiring people,” she said, “makes him sound like he’s walked straight out of the pages of Cicero. And I very much doubt he’d enjoy wearing a toga.”

  “He has ideas. Radical, dangerous ideas.”

  “All of which you told me about last night, and I told you that the only thing that makes his ideas radical is that they haven’t been tried before. Or that they have, but not for a very long time. There’s nothing wrong with ordinary people owning their own land: in the Torah, that’s one of HaShem’s promises, with everyone sitting in the shade of their own vines and fig trees.”

  “It’s not the way we’ve done things.”

  “And you know that we can’t carry on with that old way. You know that, Felix.” She reached out and took his hand. She had strong fingers, and his hand in hers looked small and fragile. “Have courage. I know that your mother died, your father died, your stepmother died, your chamberlain and your earls died, your tutors left you, and your sword-master betrayed you. And died. But I have no intention of going anywhere. Neither does Master Ullmann, or Frederik Thaler, or Peter Büber. Well, perhaps Master Büber isn’t the best example to use here.”

  Felix tried to pull away, but she held him firm. “We can’t change our fate,” he said. “Everybody dies.”

  “This is why nothing’s changed in a thousand years. Did your Alaric dream for a moment that he could challenge the might of Rome and shatter its walls?”

  “It was foretold,” said Felix. “It was his destiny.”

  “If that’s what it takes, then I will prophesy over you and tell you that you’re destined for even greater feats.” She pulled his hand closer, and he had no choice but to move with it. “Did Alaric bring the Roman Empire down on his own?”

  “No, but…”

  “You won’t save Carinthia on your own, either. No king, no prince, ever rules alone. Your authority is not diminished when you share it; it grows. Every time you trust someone enough to make them a prince’s man, then your power and your reach increases.” She leant forward and pressed her forehead against his. “You’re not a tyrant, although that temptation will always be with you. Remember that tyrants get overthrown, but a well-loved prince is respected by his people.”

  “Sophia,” he said, “I’m scared.”

  “We all are. Part of me wishes that you’d stop telling everyone how close we are to disaster, but they have the right to hear it, I suppose.”

  “Lying to them isn’t honest,” he mumbled. Her breath was hot on his cheeks, and it made him feel more than a little strange.

  “Sometimes you have to lie to them to make them think they’re going to win. It only becomes a lie when they lose.” She disengaged one of her hands and rested it at the back of his neck. It was both cool and hot at the same time.

  “You mean, like when you say I’m destined for greater feats than even Alaric the Goth?”

  She laughed, and he laughed too.

  “Yes, just like that. There’s no one to tell me I’m wrong, though. Felix, you’ve been left by everyone you knew when you were a child, and you can’t be the prince they expected you to be because that’s just not possible.”

  “I’m still a child,” he said.

  “No. By any measure, German or Jewish, you’re a man. You’ve had blood on your face and blood on your sword. You’ve fought in battle and you’ve won. I don’t see many children doing that.”

  He sighed, and let her stroke his neck for a while. He didn’t feel like he was in charge – that was the problem. No, his problem: despite the moment of madness that had overtaken some of his subjects when Eckhardt had appeared, promising them a return to the old ways, they all seemed content now to maintain the fiction that he was still the Prince of Carinthia.

  His princeliness was the only aspect of the past to survive.

  “Can you get a pen, and some parchment?” he suddenly asked.

  “Yes, yes of course.” She fetched them and sat at the table, poised ready to write. The sun broke through for a moment, temporarily dazzling the two of them with its brightness.

  He could see more clearly in that brief, blinding interval between one cloud and the next than he had ever seen before. Perhaps Sophia was right: he could become greater than Alaric. But she could just as easily be wrong, and he’d die along with his palatinate.

  He’d aim high.

  “Write this: a decree against magic. Magic in all its forms and practices is from this time forbidden throughout every part of Carinthia. All magical books and items are forfeit. Various fines and penalties will be levied against those who keep forbidden items and practise forbidden arts. For the crime of necromancy, the punishment will be death by pressing.”

  Sophia wrote clearly in a neat Gothic script, and added, “By order of Felix I, Prince of Carinthia” at the bottom.

  “Would you get another piece of parchment?” he asked, and she fetched one from the drawer while he composed the words in his mind. He stared out of the window for so long that he was only reminded of her presence by her polite cough.

  If the first decree of his reign was going to cause trouble, the second was likely to cause worse.

  “A proclamation of general freedoms. All those who call themselves Carinthians will be subject to the same laws, the same taxes and the same freedoms granted by Carinthia, without favour. Given the great service shown by the Jews of Juvavum to the palatinate, all Jews within Carinthia are considered true Carinthians, and no man is to say otherwise.”

  The scratching of her pen stopped. Her chair rasped against the boards, and her footsteps came up behind him. He found himself enveloped in her arms, with her tears running onto his head.

  Being a prince meant something, he decided.

  56

  She went back to the library, to order the scribes to copy more of the spies’ letters of authority. She was also clutching Felix’s new laws. The one against magic? She was surprised that it had taken him so long, and had been going to suggest it herself in time for the grand council.

  The one forbidding discrimination against Jews? It burnt in her hand. She’d never even thought of that. A few concessions, here and there. Wresting the sefer from the grip of the library was as far as she’d hoped, and Thaler, distracted as he always was these days, had already signed the transfer without so much as a murmur.

  There, echoing down the alleyways of Juvavum, was the sound of the shofar. How long had it been since that had been heard, proud and joyful outside the walls of the synagogue? She turned the corner into Library Square, and Rabbi Cohen was at the head of a procession – an armed procession, Jews with spears and swords and helmets over their kippah – in which two huge scrolls, ornate with gold and silver, were lifted shoulder-high.

  Cohen sounded the great coil of ram’s horn and the cantor raised his voice in one of David’s psalms. The people – her people – sang to celebrate the liberation of the sefer: the men-at-arms were surrounded by a cloud of women calling out praises at the tops of their voices, and children ran among them all, their Purim rattles finding a new use.

  They marched by, heading for Jews’ Alley, a noise, an event, that distracted the Germans from their journeys and their labour, and made them stare and wonder. Some of her neighbours spotted her, and their reactions were curiously mixed. She was, in turn, acknowledged, ignored, frowned at and smiled on.

  She looked down at herself. Her own clothes, the ones she’d fought in, were … somewhere. She hadn’t given it much thought. She was dressed now like a German princess for the want of anything else to wear – there were chests of women’s clothes in the fortress, unused and unlikely to ever be worn again. Prac
tical and thrifty, she’d taken them over.

  And her neighbours were no longer that: she and her father lived in the fortress now, and their house was empty and cold and still.

  Sophia watched the backs of the processors, a curious longing to be in among them mixing with the creeping realisation that she was now irrevocably separate; that was the price she personally had to pay.

  They were waiting for her in the library. She’d lingered long enough.

  Library Square resembled a builder’s yard. There were stacks of timber and piles of stone, and the sound of sawing and chiselling rattled off the walls of the surrounding buildings. Inside was barely quieter. The cap on the oculus was almost completely removed, with buckets of material going both up and down the tower of scaffolding in the centre.

  At last, though, there was natural light. Not enough that it didn’t need supplementing, but it was a start. Glazers and leaders were already attempting to construct something like a window to fill the gap, but the sheer weight and size of it was defeating them.

  Every problem they tried to fix simply provided them with another. And they were mounting up.

  Everyone wanted to speak to her and claim a moment of her time. Of course they did; she had the palatinate’s purse. She listened carefully and then, surrounded by clamouring tradesmen, simply held up her hand.

  Eventually, they fell silent. Taking one, two, three steps up the stairs to the first gallery, she turned to face them. They had followed her, waving bills and receipts in the air.

  “Gentlemen. This simply cannot continue. There is business and there is chaos, and this is chaos.”

  “Our suppliers need paying. Our men need paying,” called a builder.

  “They do.” Rather than accuse them outright of trying to gouge the royal treasury, she tried another way. “I am aware that your costs are greater than they would once have been because everything has to be done by hand. Food costs more, materials cost more, labour itself costs more. However – they are only worth what someone is willing to pay for them. There’s a natural, and understandable urge to add a little to each account in this time of emergency. However, for the moment, only the palatinate is hiring.”