‘When the Great Alexander invaded and expelled the Persians, he was at first welcomed by the Brotherhood and was offered much assistance. Greeks then were not hated by the natives, and their own victories over the Persians were taken as an example of what could be done, given the right spirit of unity. When, however, he died in Babylon and his general Ptolemy hurried here to make himself King, there was a reaction against the Greeks.
‘The Ptolemies, however, turned out to be less hostile than expected to native customs, and the Brotherhood went into decline, reappearing only during the breakdown of order in the final reigns, when it operated as an order of brigands. It was suppressed by the Romans and, for centuries after Egypt’s incorporation in the Empire, the Brotherhood was known only from old stories.
‘It became prominent again after the closure of the temples, and has grown mighty since the decay of Imperial control over the south. It sometimes inclines to the Old Faith – and you know already that this continues in the south. More often, it is associated with the less compromising wings of the Monophysite heresy. Whether from Rome or Constantinople – whether by Latins or by Greeks – it remains pledged to end all foreign rule, and to restore Egypt to the sway of its own Pharaohs.’
‘Very interesting,’ I said drily. ‘So we have a robber band that legitimises itself by attachment to something that may have existed in the past, but that probably existed only occasionally.’
‘Not so, My Lord,’ Macarius broke back in. ‘The Brotherhood has rituals and an organisation that do point to long continuation. For example, every member must be tattooed on the small of his back with the name in the old Egyptian writing of the greatest native Pharaoh. More importantly, it is his duty to produce two sons. This done, he must pass the remainder of his life in strict continence. There are further rituals and customs of which the initiated never speak. But all the evidence is of long continuation.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Martin,’ I snapped suddenly, ‘do come away from those lamps. You’ll have a fire going if you don’t stop knocking them over.’ It was no excuse that I’d fancied a look myself ever since ordering them in to illuminate the murder scene. Like everything else in the house, they were in the hideous style of the ancient Egyptians. Some of the stuff, mind you, was impressively solid. Forget the workmanship – one or two pieces, such as this array of lamps, must even have been valuable on account of their materials. If Leontius hadn’t furnished the whole place from tomb excavations, I’d have been surprised. Quite fitting, I thought, Leontius had come to the end he had. No doubt the style of his murder had been prompted at least partly by the surroundings.
‘Macarius is right,’ he blurted out. ‘This is all to do with the Brotherhood.’ He stepped back from the array of lamps. ‘These people were big in Antinoopolis. No one crossed them – no matter how big he was with the government in Alexandria.’
‘So, what do you know about the Brotherhood?’ I asked. It was nice that even he knew of some organisation I’d been here months without so much as hearing about.
Martin looked back, his face pale in the light of a dozen lamps. ‘I’ve been looking again into those payments we were discussing,’ he said. He stared at Macarius. After some internal struggle, he decided to go on properly with his explanation. ‘That subsidy to the Temple of Isis – you know it’s been cancelled five times. What I’ve now found is that every official who signed the cancellation order was murdered. Only one case was ever investigated, and the report is missing from the archives.’
I sat awhile in silence. Macarius was his usual impassive self. He’d not moved from the position he’d taken on first coming into the room with Priscus and me. Martin looked, as ever on these occasions, undecided between shitting himself and passing out. I stood and walked back over to the corpse. The fine blanket had settled over its contours, and it really might as well not have been covered at all. I lifted the blanket and looked under at the twisted, staring face. Priscus knew his business, and I had no doubt Leontius had been kept alive far into the murder. What I did wonder was how he’d been kept quiet.
Yes – there were questions to be asked of those scared, silent slaves I’d seen lurking in the hall.
‘It seems to be the case,’ I said, making sure to emphasise the mood of doubt or hypothesis, ‘that we have one of those instances where two separate intrigues come accidentally together. Somehow, Leontius had got to know about the subsidy. How he got to know may be connected with his interest in Egyptian antiquities. With his known talent for understanding the wider implications of his acts, he used this to trip me up in yesterday’s meeting. Those parts of this Brotherhood adhering to the Old Faith were consequently angered. He has now been punished for setting events in course that led to the sixth cancellation of the subsidy.’
I thought back to the conversation I’d overheard outside Alexandria. It would have closed matters if Leontius had been intending only to blackmail me into backing off from the land law. But he’d been planning to blackmail me into leading him to something that would make him powerful. That was one of those leftover details that tends to wreck neat explanations.
Something else worth asking was how extensive the Brotherhood’s network was within the Viceroy’s government. What Martin had turned up was certainly disturbing. But I checked the train of thought. I looked again at Martin.
‘I told you earlier, Martin, to drop your investigation,’ I said in my very firm voice. ‘I trust you will now do so. Nicetas sealed the order. It looks drafted in the local style. Even so, our own involvement must be at least suspected.’
I paused, letting the implication of this sink into Martin’s already scared mind. The door opened and a slave crept into the room, carrying a tray of refreshments. Macarius took them and pushed the slave back out. He sniffed at the jug and nodded. He poured wine into a large cup and handed it to me. I drank. An opium pill would have been nice to settle my thoughts and take away that dull pain from my shoulder. But the wine would have to do.
‘Even so again,’ I said, now in lighter mood, ‘this Brotherhood seems to have struck, and in as public a manner as can be imagined. No doubt, the subsidy will once again be reinstated when the fuss has died down. If and when that happens, it will be none of our business. And, Martin – you will this time make it none of your business. For the rest, we have other work entirely. So far as its effect will be to raise the condition of those from whom the Brotherhood appears to draw support, I don’t expect any untoward consequences for ourselves.
‘Now, while I have no intention of bringing anyone to justice, there are certain things I must know about Leontius and his final movements. Martin, I want you to go and secure any papers you can find in the house. You will not object, I hope, if Macarius takes your place as secretary when I interview the household.’
As I got up to move to the door, I caught sight of my face in a little mirror fixed to the wall. No point moaning now at Macarius, but it would have been useful to be told about the smears of dried blood.
Chapter 15
I glanced at myself again in the mirror. A little more sleep would have come in handy. But the masseurs had managed to press most of the youth back into my features. And if my bruised shoulder was hurting like buggery, it would have hurt still more without the opium. All told, I looked better than I felt, but didn’t feel as bad as I might have.
‘His Imperial Highness will be pleased to see Your Magnificence,’ the eunuch trilled in an effort at the grand style of Constantinople.
I grunted and walked past him into the Viceroy’s office.
‘Greetings, my dear Alaric, many greetings,’ Nicetas called in Latin from his chair. He waved me to the seat opposite and fell back exhausted. Like his Imperial cousin, he was from Carthage, and could be trusted to fall into his native language whenever Greek proved too much of a strain. This morning, his leg was giving trouble. The smell alone as I walked in had told me it had turned bad again. His shaven face was pale and haggard. That the remnants o
f his dirty blond hair had been carefully dressed to cover his scalp only added to the appearance of broken-down health. A monk was intoning prayers while slaves retied the bandage.
‘Patriarch John has loaned me the little finger of Saint George to have bandaged next to the flesh,’ he added, noticing my look at him. ‘I’m sure it will have more effect than these worthless doctors.’
Saint George? I asked myself. Saint George? There were so many of them out here, it was hard to keep track. Wasn’t he the sausage maker – or was it the arms dealer? – who’d been torn apart here by a mob back in the time of Julian? No point in asking. Nicetas reached over to a low table and picked up a scrap of parchment.
‘I’ve had a letter,’ he said, ‘from some trader among the Saracens. He lives in one of the inland towns.’ He broke off and looked at the map of Egypt and surrounding territories that was a mosaic covering the entire wall on the far side of the room. I followed his glance. Someone had been at it recently with coloured chalks. All the Red Sea ports of Egypt had been circled and connected by lines to ports on the facing coast.
‘Anyway,’ Nicetas said, passing the letter over to me, ‘the man tells me that God has been sending him messages these past two years via the Archangel Gabriel. Apparently, the pagan rulers of his home town don’t like his efforts, and he invites our support.’
I skimmed the letter. It was rather a quaint production. Written in a debased Greek, with a few Latin characters thrown in, it went on and on about these alleged messages. The recipient plainly thought himself in good standing with the Almighty.
‘I’m thinking to send the man a set of the Gospels on fine vellum,’ Nicetas added.
‘I’m sure their effect will be most edifying,’ I said. ‘However, your cousin the Emperor has interests in Arabia that suggest a more substantial gift. Saracen mercenaries are useful to the Persians as well as to ourselves. Promoting the True Faith among them will further our efforts to bring them into at least friendly neutrality.
‘I would therefore recommend in addition a small sum of gold – oh, and perhaps some dancing girls. I’m sure they will go down very well if our man is having that bad a time.’
Except for the monk, who’d been mumbling away throughout, we fell silent. Nicetas had the best rooms in the Palace. Though the weather had turned hot again, with nearly fifty feet of ceiling height and those big northerly windows, the heat was less than intolerable.
‘Heraclius mentions you again in a letter that arrived the other day,’ he said, beginning again with a sudden jerk. ‘As ever, he speaks very highly of you. He instructs me to continue giving all possible help with implementing the new land law.’ He paused and looked over at the bigger of the three windows.
I glared at the monk. He gave me one of those ‘fuck you’ looks that favoured clerics always try on their betters. It didn’t work with me. I glared steadily back. At last, he made the sign of the Cross over the bandaged leg and got himself out of the room. With low bows, the slaves followed.
‘I understand it was at the urging of Priscus,’ Nicetas continued once the doors were pulled shut. ‘Even so, you have been here long enough to know the folly of going into the Egyptian quarter at night.’ He tried to say more, but the effort was too much. He sank back again exhausted.
I refilled his wine cup and put it to his lips. He swallowed a few times and closed his eyes. I thought for a moment he’d nodded off on me. But the lids flickered and he was back again.
‘The death of Leontius,’ he said with a change of subject, ‘is something I had been expecting since he worsted you in the Great Hall. Certainly, the document you had me seal the night before last might as well have been his death warrant. The Brotherhood seldom acts openly in Alexandria, but does not welcome any harming of its interests. Am I right that you propose to investigate his death?’
I shook my head. I’d slept on the matter, and was even surer that this was one of those things best left alone.
‘I am glad,’ said Nicetas. ‘You may think that his death has been of some benefit to our project. The opposition is now without a leader. Indeed, I had a deputation earlier this morning of his followers among the landowning interest. They assured me of their loyalty and of their active desire to help maintain order both in Alexandria and in Egypt. This being said, there remain other considerations which I am too unwell at present to discuss with you. While my cousin urges the land law upon me, he must understand – as must you – that our primary concern is the maintenance of order and of stability in the wider sense. I am inclined, therefore, to proceed more cautiously.’
More cautiously indeed! At the speed he had managed so far to allow, more cautious would have meant going backwards.
‘And I’ve spoken with Priscus,’ he added. He looked away again. ‘He believes there will be a Persian attack on Syria come the spring. The exports of grain are too important to risk at any time, so we cannot afford trouble in Egypt.’
‘And what might Priscus have advised on this occasion?’ I asked, keeping my voice very steady. ‘Might it involve further delay?’
‘He always has the best interests of the Empire at heart,’ Nicetas said evasively. ‘I know that you operate under the direct orders of the Augustus. Even so, you must see that the unsettled state of things here may require some special dispensation from the law.’
‘Are you suggesting that Egypt should be exempted from the land redistribution?’ I asked, a touch of nicely judged menace now in my voice.
‘Not exempted,’ came the stammered reply, ‘just given more time for the implications of the law to be considered. Surely, bearing in mind Egypt’s unique importance, we should see how the law works in the other provinces. I agree that it might bring substantial improvements in tax collection and military service and in general order. But surely we need to bear in mind local circumstances for the short term.
‘Perhaps I should write again to Heraclius. He ignored my first letter. Perhaps this time…’ He fell silent again.
‘We cannot have any further delay,’ I said, breaking the silence. ‘The will of Caesar is that the law shall apply without exception throughout the Empire. If you are concerned about order in Alexandria, you might seal those orders for the dispatch of the grain fleet. It will be ready to go in the next few days. Already, it’s causing trouble. You may care to remember how the granaries are running short, and how many months we have until the next harvest. If the grain fleet is delayed, it will hardly matter that Leontius is no longer here to stir up the mobs and the higher classes on both sides of the Wall.
‘I might also mention once again your policy of sending forces out of Alexandria. I have no doubt the Red Sea ports are important. But I am not sure if we have enough men here now to suppress a rising of either of the mobs, let alone both.’
Nicetas shut me up by putting his hands over his ears and looking ready to cry. There was no point continuing. After four months of this, I knew his ways. I waited for the tantrum to pass. It did. He moved his leg a couple of inches. He winced from the sudden pain.
‘You must understand,’ he said, ‘that I am responsible for Alexandria and the whole of Egypt. After two years in the post, I know far more than Heraclius about local conditions. I’m not sure how, in present circumstances, I can seal those warrants you keep setting before me. The murder – the death – of Leontius removes one difficulty, but raises others. The country is so unsettled, so horribly unsettled. There are so many things about Egypt I should have explained to you before all this happened. If only I had more time.. .’
He trailed off again. A distracted look coming over his face, he picked up that letter from the Saracen. His lips moved quietly as he read it over to himself.
Chapter 16
‘But, my darling, are such cruel words appropriate for the man who saved your life?’ Priscus asked, sitting back in his chair. He raised his cup in a mock toast to the dust-covered boxes piled up against the wall.
‘I do assure you, my dearest Al
aric, that I made not one mention of your land law this morning. If Nicetas called me into his presence, it was on other matters entirely.’
I breathed deeply and took another swig from my own cup. There was no reason to suppose Priscus had made his way here specially to block in Alexandria what he’d so bitterly opposed in Constantinople. He’d just taken advantage of a situation that had presented itself. Perhaps he was even telling the truth. It wouldn’t have surprised me at all if Nicetas had thought up the latest tactic for delay all by himself. Bloody Leontius! I thought again. Alive or dead, his talent for getting in the way was endless. I refilled my cup.
Just as I was opening my mouth for something really cutting, the door opened and Hermogenes came in. We dropped the matter and stood, composing our features back into the polite interest proper to this occasion. Behind Hermogenes, about half a dozen slaves were puffing and muttering as they carried in the heavy box. The lid was covered by a good quarter-inch of dust. But the sides were of polished ebony, and, if broken in places, the bronze handles were of elegant – and therefore very old – design.
‘I do beseech you, My Lords,’ the Head Librarian said anxiously, ‘to be most careful in your inspection. Even the slightest handling can be ruinous for something so delicate.’
‘Get it open,’ Priscus said shortly. He was looking hard at the box. He might even have been trembling. ‘You’ – he pointed at one of the slaves – ‘bring those lamps closer. I want to see properly.’
We looked in silence at what had, nearly a thousand years before, been the Great Alexander. He’d been brought in from still deeper into the Library basement than the room in which we’d been settled to wait.
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