The Guns of Ivrea

by Clifford Beal

  The High Priest stopped and looked to his attendants before turning his attention back to Kodoris. Only now did it seem that the old man was beginning to understand, or remember, the nature of the audience. “Very well, Magister,” he replied, giving Kodoris a look that suggested he did indeed remember and that he was loathe to have to discuss it at all. “Boys, get me turned around!”

  Once Brachus was seated on a cushioned chair near the foot of his heavy four-poster bed, he motioned for Kodoris to sit in another. Without waiting, the youths manhandled the gilded oak monstrosity into position next to the High Priest.

  “That will do now. Go and fetch the wine and the goblets.” The boys bowed, their grease-slicked hair unmoving, and hurried from the bedchamber. They came back bearing a finely engraved silver ewer and two large goblets which they set to filling.

  “I need to confide the further details of the matter to you, Holiness.” Brachus took a proffered goblet in both hands, the better to keep it steady. Kodoris looked to the attendants before continuing.

  Brachus glanced up. “Eh? Ah, yes, I see.” He waved one hand to the boys who bowed and left, shutting the door behind them. Kodoris set his goblet down upon the table. He leaned in towards Brachus and spoke, his voice firm but quiet. “I have made a discovery in the tomb. Something that could bring ruin on the Temple Majoris. It is something that requires your… guidance.”

  Brachus raised the goblet to his lips with both hands and took a long drink.

  “You sent me down into the tomb of the prophet because you feared there may have been ruin after the earth shook. You were correct in your assumption and the tomb has been broken. Broken such, Your Holiness, that the remains of the prophet could be easily seen.” Kodoris swallowed hard before continuing. “I do not know how to relate this to you but the prophet was… not wholly a man. I don’t know what kind of deformity afflicted him but, his bones… his bones appeared to be like those of a fish-man. A mer creature.” Even the act of giving voice to these words brought him nausea and he shifted his weight and took in a deep breath.

  “At first, my thought was that it was a cruel blasphemous jest, carried out many years ago but undiscovered until now. But I came to see that it is truly the prophet’s remains. Everything else in the sarcophagus pointed to it being he. But you… you must tell me otherwise.”

  Brachus looked down into his goblet which was moving almost rhythmically in his palsied hands. Kodoris leaned forward again, looking into the face of the High Priest. He found little reaction.

  “Your Holiness, did you understand what I have told you?”

  “Mer,” Brachus mumbled thoughtfully, as if to say, That makes sense.

  Kodoris gripped the fabric of his robe in his right hand and squeezed tight. “My god. You knew. You knew all along and yet you sent me down there without a word of warning?”

  Brachus had turned slightly flush now. He did not look at Kodoris but instead worried his wine goblet. “I did not actually know. But I am not surprised by what you have found.”

  Kodoris could feel the anger welling up inside him. “You sent me down there without telling me you had suspicions?” He had always had contempt for Brachus; far too old to be running the Faith anymore yet yielding to no one or no counsel. And now, in this moment, any vestige of respect he had harboured for the High Priest was scattered like dust blown in the wind.

  Brachus took a long sip of his wine and set his goblet on the table. “The rumours of Elded’s lineage had all but died out two centuries ago. I myself had almost forgotten.”

  “But you knew of the rumours?”

  “Take some wine with me, Magister. It is very sweet. The best of Milvorna.” Brachus strained to prop himself up again to reach for the table.

  Bumbling old fool. Has he half-forgotten or is he lying?

  “Your Holiness. How do you know of such rumours? I have lived for sixty winters in Valdur and have never once heard the like.” Kodoris lowered his voice to a whisper. “Was the prophet a mer? Half-mer?”

  Brachus rubbed at the centre of his forehead with the back of his hand. A weak rumbling in his throat meant he was trying to come up with something to say. “There are some things, Magister, that only the Nine are allowed to know.”

  “The Nine Principals? They are privy to this revelation?”

  Kodoris was not among them. It was rumoured he was to be elected to the Grand Curia of the Holy Temple within a few months as at least two of the principals were not likely to survive the summer and most definitely would not see the coming winter out. But he was still waiting.

  “The Nine decide the governance of the Faith and they hold its secrets. You know this, Kodoris. And you also know that you yourself are near to joining our table.” Brachus shook his head. “Would that your discovery had not come now.”

  Kodoris stood up. Slowly, he moved to the blackwood table, so close to Brachus that his robes nearly touched the garments of the High Priest. He grasped the silver ewer and refilled the goblet as Brachus shifted his small frame and lowered his gaze. Kodoris leaned over and gently pushed the brimming cup to Brachus.

  “It is too late for regrets, Holiness.” He set the ewer down and then leaned closer in, his meaty hands flat upon the inlaid table. “There is a dagger poised over the Faith and I must be told the truth if I am to defend it. You must confide to me what is known.”

  Brachus looked up into Kodoris’s face, his mitre slipping backwards slightly. “You are the Magister of the Temple Majoris… but I would need to consult with the others.”

  “You are the supreme head of the Temple Majoris, Holiness. And as commander of the Temple guard, I must know what is known. And I must know now.”

  Should I kill him now? I’ve already killed innocents for what has been exposed. He could have a fall—here in this chamber. Break his neck.

  The High Priest leaned back, cradling the wine. Kodoris could see the signs of growing alarm on the old man’s face but he was past caring about protocol. “What you say you have seen in the tomb,” the High Priest said, “it is borne out by the Black Texts.”

  Kodoris straightened up. “The Black Texts?”

  Brachus nodded. “Those certain books of Elded that have been suppressed for centuries.” His voice was practically a whisper. “His early gospels, the annals of his pilgrimages, and the seven laws he revealed are all sacrosanct. But these others were dictated by the prophet in his last years. After the Temple had been built but before it was finished. After Elded died, they were deemed heresy and the scrolls were taken away.”

  “You mean locked away,” said Kodoris, his voice quiet, urging more revelation.

  Brachus nodded again. “Yes. Locked in a secret vault in the undercroft with all other suppressed texts. These scrolls are all that remain of the later words of the prophet. Words that proved he had fallen under the sway of the evil Trinity or that his mind had fled the paths of reason.”

  Kodoris’s head swam. “I have served the Temple my whole life not knowing any of this. The faith of my father is…”

  “Is kept safe by our actions,” finished Brachus.

  And kept from ruination by a gaggle of senile old men, he thought. God help us. He was feeling sick again. He reached for the wine goblet he had thus far spurned and brought it to his lips. New terrors seized his mind. Was the prophet cursed—bewitched—at the end of his life? Was he enchanted into a fish-man and not born one? He shuffled to the window. He needed to see light and trees and birds once again.

  “Magister, were there others who beheld the saint’s bones?”

  Kodoris turned, wine spilling down his robes. “Others? Others you ask, your Holiness. There were others. But I have defended the Faith.”

  Brachus frowned. “Kodoris, this truth cannot be entrusted to the brethren. It is how we have guarded the Faith all these centuries. You do understand that?”

  A fall upon the marble floor, making sure his head strikes first. It happens to the old all the time.

  �
�Yes, your Holiness. I have taken measures.” The weedy rumbling began again in Brachus’s throat. “Definitive measures, your Holiness.”

  The High Priest blinked, gave a small nod, and sipped his wine. Kodoris placed his goblet on the table and loomed over him again. “And you will convince the eldest of the Nine to step down tomorrow due to infirmity. I will be elected in his place.”

  The eyes of the High Priest glistened and Brachus gave an even smaller nod than before.

  And Kodoris felt suddenly lifted. As dark as the revelations he had just heard were, they confirmed the correctness of the actions he had taken. He had not overreacted. Kodoris retreated and gave a court bow. “I am the Magister of the Temple and I will defend the One Faith with all in my power.”

  He had reluctantly dispatched the four guardsmen who had done the first deed at his secret behest. A generous measure of foxbane in half a rundlet of wine, offered in a private chamber as reward for service, had seen to that. One at a time, dragged in a blanket, he had taken them down into the tomb in the night. Their absence was put down to desertion.

  Brother Kell, good brother Kell, served a second purpose. His heart had nearly burst as he laboured to bring Kell’s body up the stone steps, depositing it at the door to the physik garden. So too the body of the other blackrobe. And young Acquel was playing his part too in saving the Faith. Kodoris had made it plain to all that Brother Acquel Galenus must have led the other three greyrobes into murder and flight. A necessary lie. But their bodies, still deep in the crypt, would not be found in his lifetime. Blackrobe and greyrobe alike agreed it had been the mad desperate crime of young men who wanted escape from the drudgery of a monk’s life. The tomb of Elded was now sealed up tight once again and with it the dark secret. He had seen to that.

  But Acquel had to be found, and soon. He needed a Seeker.

  Five

  “HE WILL KILL me.” Acquel stared at the amulet that lay heavy in his palm. The Widow Pandarus stared too, then looked up at the monk.

  “What have you done?”

  Acquel shook his head. “He took this from me! How did it end up with me again? By God, he had it in his hand when I left him.”

  Timandra stepped forward and grasped his wrist. “This is the amulet you stole this morning? And you say you gave this to Strykar?”

  “He took it from me, I tell you. I’ve got to give it back. He knows I’m a thief—he’ll think I stole it back off him!”

  Timandra looked him in the eye. “Did you?”

  “By all the saints, no! Why would I do that? He’d run me through or else drag me back to the Ara!”

  She took the amulet from his hand and studied it. “It’s very old workmanship. I’ve never seen the likes.”

  Acquel’s reply was barely above a whisper. “I took it from Saint Elded. I took it from his bones.”

  Timandra’s free hand flew to her mouth and then, quickly, she blessed herself, touching forefinger and middle finger to forehead and right breast. She thrust the amulet back into Acquel’s palm and stepped back. “You’re a monk! You stole it from the fucking tomb of the Lawgiver?”

  Acquel collapsed onto his backside and buried his head in his hands, the golden chain of the amulet dangling down. “The captain took it from me. How did it get into my pocket?”

  Timandra squatted down next to him. “Listen, I’ll take you back up to Strykar. You can explain.”

  Acquel raised his head and looked at her like she was a simpleton. “Explain? How do I explain? I was standing six feet away from him when he held the amulet. I didn’t take it back. I swear to you!”

  “And this is why you were chased out of Livorna by the Temple guard?”

  Acquel’s shoulders shook and his head flew back as he laughed. “They don’t even know it’s missing. They don’t even know it was there.” Tears filled his eyes.

  Timandra placed a hand on his arm. “Tell me the truth. What happened to you?”

  Acquel rubbed a sleeve across his face and cleared his throat. He turned and looked at Timandra. “I saw the Lawgiver’s body. And everyone else who saw the Lawgiver’s body is dead now. They murdered them all. Except for me.”

  “What are you saying? Who was murdered?”

  “My brothers. The greyrobes and blackrobes. We saw something in the tomb that we should not have. And they killed us.”

  “Who killed who?”

  “The Temple Magister gave the order. He told the guardsmen to slay the greyrobes and Brother Kell. But I ran.”

  “Acquel, why did the Magister do that? What did you all see?”

  Acquel’s voice lowered and his words came out calmly. “I saw the saint. I saw his bones. And he wasn’t a man. I mean, he wasn’t completely a man. He… was a fish-man. A merman.”

  Timandra’s right hand shot out and grabbed Acquel’s face, pinching his cheeks. “You listen to me, man! Start making sense or I will drag you feet first to Strykar and watch while he guts you.”

  Acquel batted her hand away. “He was a mer! He was a goddamned fish-man.”

  Timandra sank back and leaned against the wagon. “It must be a mistake. His body must have been stolen and replaced with another.”

  Acquel shook his head. He’d already thought of that. “No. It was he. Still in his burial robes, thin as gauze and practically dust. I swear to you.”

  Timandra looked straight ahead, silent for a moment. If she was to believe the tale then her entire upbringing was now exposed as a lie. Her faith was built upon a dreadful secret that somehow had never been revealed. If it was true.

  She stood up and brushed off her skirts. “Very well. I believe what you say you saw. But I’ll need more proof than your word for what it means.”

  Acquel looked up at her. “You think the Magister would order the deaths of six innocent men for no good reason?”

  She had no quick answer to that. “Come on, get up. I’ll take you back to Strykar. We’ll figure something out.”

  HE HAD MADE the mistake of holding out the amulet before making an explanation. Strykar’s eyes flashed anger and as he snatched the chain with his left hand, his right gave a cuff to Acquel that sent him sprawling.

  “So much for gratitude!” Strykar seized him and hauled him upright to land another blow.

  “Jules!” cried Timandra, as the burly soldier shook Acquel like a rabbit in a hound’s jaws. She grasped the back of the captain’s doublet. “Cousin! Stop!”

  Strykar half-turned towards her and then released the monk with a disdainful push.

  “Let him explain what happened,” she said.

  Lieutenant Poule stood near the back of the large field, tent near the table, leather jack in hand and a barely suppressed smile on his face. Acquel stood up, rubbing his cheek and thanking his stars that Captain Strykar had some respect for blood ties. And this tie he had not expected.

  “How did you manage that, monk?” Strykar jerked his doublet back down over his exposed linen and hose. “I put that thing in my belt pouch after you left here. How in hell’s name did you learn that little trick?”

  “I swear to you, in the Lord’s name, I did not steal that from you. I don’t know how it found its way back to me.”

  Strykar moved to retrieve his wine cup. “So I suppose you will tell me that Poule here lifted it from me when I took my belt off earlier and slipped it into your arse crack when you weren’t looking?” Poule grinned and held up both hands in surrender.

  Acquel felt a flush of anger in spite of his fear. “I did not steal it from you. If I had why would I have come back to hand it to you?”

  Strykar nodded. “Very well then. Start explaining.” The golden amulet clattered to the table.

  Acquel looked over to Timandra, not knowing how much to reveal to the captain and fearing that his precarious situation might be made even worse by what he had to say.

  “Tell him,” she said softly. “Tell him everything you told me.”

  Acquel stood straight as he could, arms at his side. “Y
ou know what I have stolen. But I didn’t tell you everything about how it happened. I didn’t break into Saint Elded’s tomb. I was chosen to go down there by the blackrobes.”

  Strykar nestled his brass goblet in the crook of his folded arms. “Keep going.”

  “I was one of a party of greyrobes and blackrobes sent below to see if the recent earth tremor had collapsed the tomb of the saint. It had, at least partially. The tomb was smashed and that is how I saw—and took—the amulet.”

  “And who else saw you do this?” asked Strykar. “Why did the Temple guard say you had killed someone?”

  Acquel bristled. “I’ve killed no one. And no one saw me lift the amulet either. They still don’t know.”

  Strykar gestured with the goblet. “So now we get to the heart of the matter. What exactly did you do down there?”

  Acquel again looked to Timandra. She was tense, he could tell, even in the poor half-light of the tent. But she nodded at him, urging him to continue.

  “I saw something—we all did—something that we should not have. The Lawgiver’s bones were exposed where the sarcophagus was broken. I saw him. He… was not like you or me. I mean, not like us.”

  Poule chuckled. “Of course not, you fool. He was a fucking saint, wasn’t he?”

  Acquel shook his head. “You don’t understand. He was a merman. Or half a merman… I don’t know.”

  Strykar laughed and Poule echoed him. “Good one!”the lieutenant chuckled.

  “I saw him with my own eyes. We all did. More too, so did the Magister Kodoris after we fetched him down. As soon as he saw the truth of the Saint’s bones he ordered all of the monks slain at the foot of the sarcophagus. His guardsmen saw to that.”

  Strykar wasn’t laughing now. “But you got away. How did you manage that?”

  “I was standing furthest away and as soon as I saw Brother Kell get run through, I ran for it. Got out before they could catch me and ran for hours. Until you found me.”

  Poule sidled up to Strykar. “See! I told you this one was going to be trouble, Captain. We should have turned him over to the Temple.”