Their faces showing utter exhaustion, the men from the Prefecture sat down in a clean patch beside the stake and called across the road for a jug of wine. They leaned forward to stretch their tired muscles, then sat back to rest in the sun. As the crowd parted and let me through, I was carried close by the carriage. I heard the desperate, terrified cries of those still waiting for their end. Maddened eyes stared out from behind the closely set bars. A hand was pushed through and raised as if for mercy as I was carried past. I raised a cloth soaked in lemon scent to block the sudden smell of shit and vomit from within.
I wasn’t able to count how many other carriages were being trundled up and down the road. Nor could I count the number of bodies, already swollen by the gases of their internal corruption, that had been stacked out of the way in side streets. Their faces covered by spiced cloths, slaves struggled with the carrion birds and ravening dogs to pull the bodies out and pile them into carts for carrying away. Much longer, I knew, and the internal corruption would generate the seeds of a pestilence to sweep away further multitudes.
The Palace square was a forest of the dead and dying. The sudden shock of seeing it stopped my breath. I wanted to poke at the maidservants and have them carry me round to one of the other entrances. But I sagged back in my place, unable to move, and those women carried me steadily forward with no more feeling than if we were entering a garden. Every stone grating had been put to use, and I could see for the first time why they had been placed in their otherwise inexplicable pattern. Longer stakes had been used here, and each one held up to six bodies, all impaled with some of ingenuity. I saw men impaled through their stomachs and out through their bottoms. I saw men impaled in the other way. I saw men impaled in ways that may have let them stay alive all morning, and that might not kill them until after darkness had fallen. All around me, the cries of those who still lived mingled with the calling of the carrion birds and the swarming of the flies.
‘Where’s your ticket?’ a voice screamed beside me.
I looked round. It was an armed man. He had the look of a cavalry soldier, though he had no horse. So, the reinforcements I’d ordered in had eventually arrived, I thought.
‘Where’s your fucking ticket?’ he screamed again. He waved a long cavalry sword at me.
The chair shook as every one of its female carriers cried out in a unison of terror.
‘I am,’ I replied, ‘the Senator Alaric, Legate Extraordinary from His Imperial Majesty to His Imperial Highness the Viceroy.’ I stepped unsteadily down from the chair and tried to breathe through my mouth. I didn’t know how to tell the women to go back to the Mistress, but expected they’d get the idea. ‘Do not presume to ask me for identification,’ I said with a look down my nose.
The soldier opened his mouth for what I had no doubt would be a stream of very ripe abuse. Before he could spew any of it my way, however, someone else came running over.
‘My Lord! My Lord!’ he cried happily in Latin. ‘We’d heard you were dead. It is a true delight to see you in such good health.’ He was one of the Slavonic guards. He had a bandage round his left arm, and didn’t look as if he’d shaved or even washed in days. He waved the cavalry soldier away and led me through the Palace gates.
As I walked into the entrance hall, I could hear my name passing from voice to voice. There was a crowd about me before I’d got halfway across the floor. Faces bobbed in and out of my sight, calling my name. Hands stretched out to touch my robe. I’d never thought I was so popular. Even the eunuchs looked happy. I had no choice but to stop and give a little speech of thanks to God for my preservation, and of thanks to everyone else for being pleased I had been preserved. There’s a big difference between a cheering crowd and one that wants to rip you apart. But, if the Mistress assured me I was well, I could feel my legs trembling. All I wanted now was a long drink and maybe an opium pill or two.
Chapter 48
‘So how did you get out alive?’ I asked Priscus a second time.
He looked up from the list of names placed before him on the Viceroy’s desk and laughed. ‘My dearest Alaric,’ he said, ‘did you really think I could be killed by a handful of wogs? I don’t think I ever told you about my part in the loss of Serdica. That was back in the early days of Maurice, when I was just a staff officer. It was all rather boring at first. Then, one night, ten thousand savages – every one of them as big and blonde as you, and every one of them fighting mad – came pouring over the wall. The whole garrison was put to the sword. I was the only one not to be-’
He broke off as a secretary knocked and came in with a sheaf of documents. As Priscus arranged them on the desk, I saw that every sheet was another list of names. Priscus looked briefly down the columns. A couple of times, he took up a pen and crossed out some of the names. Once or twice, he added others from memory.
‘These ones,’ he said, holding up one of the more crowded sheets, ‘I want impaled. For all these’ – he signed his name on one of the smaller sheets – ‘the punishment is blinding and confiscation of property. For all the others, it’s burning. Do make sure to tell me if we run short of timber from the demolished buildings. In view of the Patriarch’s message, we’ll hold all further executions over till tomorrow. As for the blindings’… He paused and measured out a spoonful of one of his powders. He tapped the shaft of the pen on his teeth and thought. ‘As for the blindings, cancel them. I hereby degrade everyone on that list to the class of the freeborn poor and sentence them all to the galleys.’
‘How is Nicetas?’ I asked when we were alone again. I had thought of asking about Alexander. But then I’d seen the splintered box lying in a corner of the office. It still contained an entire leg and some larger fragments of the trunk. Of the head I saw no sign.
Priscus refilled my cup and pulled over a candle to heat his powder. ‘Resting,’ he said after another long pause.
I’d not expected any other answer from the moment I saw Priscus sitting so firmly at his desk. ‘Once I found the mob couldn’t get in,’ he went on, ‘and wasn’t doing much to cut through the lead on the roof, I decided to leave him for a day and a half in the Church of the Apostles. When I did eventually have him let out, he was more dead than alive. All that had kept him going, I am told, was repeated cups of communion wine. He had the priest bless every mouthful.’ He paused again, and breathed in the fumes of his evaporated powder. He pitched forward, banging his head up and down on the desk.
Nothing could kill Priscus. Nothing could harm Priscus. I’d known him too long now even to hope otherwise. I refilled my cup and drank deeply.
Getting sense out of the clerks in my office had taken an age. In the end, though, I’d heard how Priscus had somehow made his way back to the Palace and taken charge of affairs. No one could accuse him of irresolution. He hadn’t waited for the reinforcements. Instead, he’d lined up all that remained of the Palace garrison and led it out in person to a massacre of everyone who didn’t run for cover. He’d cut his way to the Prefecture and recruited every one of the quaking officers to his little army. With them puffing up his numbers, he’d slaughtered until the streets ran with blood and until every one of the rioters lucky enough to survive had burrowed his way back into the filthy slums from which he had issued. Now, order was fully restored, and it was time to punish all those who’d called the mobs into being before losing control of them.
‘Have you ever seen a man eaten to death by maggots?’ Priscus asked heavily. He looked up at me, tears carrying the mascara down his face in green rivulets.
I shook my head.
‘Then remind me in six days’ time, and I’ll take you back under the Prefecture. You’ll find the Viceroy’s secretary in a cell of his own. He came the high and mighty official when I staggered in here more dead than alive. Of course, I beat him to pulp when he tried to stop me from laying hands on the Great Seal. His death sentence was for treason. The manner of his death is for pissing me off.’
He sat up again, his mood brightening. He r
eached into a drawer and pulled out the Great Seal. Every one of my own intrigues since arriving here had been connected with getting Nicetas to use this as I desired. I’d never thought of just taking it. So long as Nicetas lay sobbing in his bed, surrounded by priests, Priscus was the supreme power in Alexandria and for as deep into Egypt as Imperial rule might still reach.
‘My darling Alaric,’ he said with one of his more charming smiles, ‘if I seemed less than overjoyed when you walked in, that is because I already knew that you were still alive.’ He reached into another drawer and took out a leather packet. From this he took out a folded sheet of papyrus. ‘This was waiting for you two evenings ago, when I got back from burning the poorer half of the Egyptian quarter. I hope you’ll not mind that I opened it in your absence. It does answer a question I know has been hanging on your lips ever since you walked in here.’ He pushed the folded sheet across the desk.
I took it up and unfolded it.
‘From the second and greater Pharaoh Meriamen Usermaatre Setepenre,’ it began, ‘to Alaric, Legate of the Greek Emperor – greetings and congratulations.’
‘I assume he’s the wog fucker who took Alexander’s head,’ Priscus broke in.
I nodded. He scowled and went back to scanning his death lists. I looked closely at the sheet. It had a few crossings-out and changes that made it pretty clear Lucas had written this by himself. It was good Greek and in a good hand. He must once have had the choice to be Greek or Egyptian. Why he’d not chosen the Greeks continued to astonish me.
Anyway, the congratulations were on my escape from his people. Apparently, they’d exceeded their instructions, and those ‘still in need of punishment’, would receive it from his own hands. He explained how the purpose of the attack had merely been to take me prisoner, ‘so that we might continue the business you cut so painfully short last month’. After much elaborations on his admiration for me, and his personal desire to continue ‘our most interesting discussions’, – I shuddered at that one – he got to the point:
You have, or are in a position to obtain, a relic of the Faith that we regard as of the highest value to the freedom of the Egyptian people. You will hand this to us – together with attestation from the appropriate religious authorities – at the midnight hour on the twenty-seventh day of the month of Mechir. For this purpose, you will attend on us in the market square of the town that sits in the shadow of the Great Pyramid.
You may bring armed men sufficient for your protection, and these will guarantee your safety when you meet with us. Do not presume to think your forces will be sufficient to overwhelm us. You will be on our territory. Do not presume to think we shall not observe your every move from the moment you leave the Royal Palace in Alexandria.
If you fail to attend on us in the place and at the time specified, I regret that we shall need to kill your servant Martin in a most unpleasant and prolonged manner. I have no doubt – bearing in mind your opinion of Martin and of the Faith – that you will do your utmost to comply with our wishes. The relic is as worthless to you as it is valuable to us. My only doubt is that you will believe Martin still to be alive. Since he has refused to write in his own hand to confirm this, I enclose evidence that you will surely regard as final.
The letter continued in a recitation of his praises for me, and of repeated promises for my own safety. I looked across the desk to Priscus, who’d gone back to chewing his pen.
‘Quite mad,’ he said. ‘Quite mad in all respects. By the way, dear boy, I’ve had the Egyptian date explained to me. Their calendar, I’m told, has no leap year, and so their dates and ours never line up in the same way. But this year, the date given is the 15th September.’
‘That’s twelve days from now,’ I said. ‘What is this “evidence” that Martin is still alive?’ I kept my voice neutral. I didn’t want it seen how my heart had leapt at the mere claim that Martin was still alive. Of course, I’d get him back. But it wouldn’t do to have this out with anyone – certainly not with present company.
Priscus smiled again, and reached back into the leather packet. He took out something rolled into a linen cloth, and passed it across to me.
‘You can trust me without hesitation, Alaric, that this was cut from a living body. You should know that I’m an expert in these matters.’
I unrolled the cloth. Within it, still reddened by exposure of northern flesh to the sun, was a left ear.
Chapter 49
The sun was fully up. The wind had fallen. The smell of death in the Palace square was omnipresent and oppressive. Priscus breathed in with an appreciative sigh and held the breath.
‘How many do you think you’ve killed?’ I asked with a change of subject. Priscus had pressed me to an early and liquid lunch. Now, we were outside, and free to take our conversation up again.
‘I’ll have the full report once all the bodies have been cleared away,’ he said. ‘My experience tells me, though, that it won’t be under twenty thousand. That will include the three thousand executions I’ve warranted. I think on our side we lost thirty men. If I could be left to manage that sort of proportionality against the Persians, I’d have Chosroes under siege in Ctesiphon.’ He breathed in again, and smacked his lips.
We fell silent as we made our way through the elaborately spaced avenues of the dead. They spread out before and around us. Wherever I looked was the blank look of death on faces still twisted in their final agonies. Like the sighing of winds in a forest was the soft groaning of the nearly dead. It sounded clear when the flies weren’t rising up in great buzzing swarms. You need a lot of opium and a bad night for dreams to produce the same horrors as Priscus had managed here. I resisted the urge to run back inside the Palace. I forced myself not to shudder.
‘There was no other way of settling the riots,’ he said, starting again. He must have seen something on my face of what I felt. ‘If Nicetas had taken my advice before the rioting began in earnest, the body count would have been closer to a thousand. But when you’ve lost control of a city as totally as he did, and when you have limited forces, promiscuous massacre becomes the only option. If you’re as disgusted as you seem to be trying not to show, I’ll tell you bluntly that you are partly to blame for the whole thing.’
I looked at him. Had the scale of killing embarrassed even Priscus?
‘Until you rolled into town with your notions of reform and improvement,’ he said, warming to his argument, ‘Nicetas was doing a good job – given the circumstances he’d allowed to come into being – of keeping Alexandria quiet. It’s a question of keeping the national groupings within the mob more at odds with each other than with us, and of neutralising dissent within the higher classes. What you did was to drive the higher classes to an alliance with this wog Brotherhood, and then into a desperate attempt to use the combined mob to put pressure on Nicetas. Even when they heard the Persians were sniffing about, they were so scared of what you were trying that they weren’t willing to back out until it was too late. Your “compromise” with the bastards came just a few days late. By the time you got that deal brokered in your office, the Brotherhood was already here in force, and had taken control of the Egyptian mob.
‘Oh, he could have handled things better than he did – and I look to you to countersign the letter of protest I’m drafting to Heraclius. But if you hadn’t presented Nicetas with a situation beyond his abilities to manage, he’d not have failed so completely.’
‘The land reforms have already been a success in Asia Minor,’ I said firmly. I thought round for a better argument to get me off the hook. You can’t argue with success, and Priscus had regained control in Alexandria with minimal forces. But if I could put up with accusations from fools like Nicetas, I didn’t like to hear them repeated and fleshed out by Priscus. Before I could find the words I wanted, Priscus stopped to admire one of the more inventive impalings. Here, the victim had been driven on to the stake through his collarbone. All vital organs had been avoided, and there were still remnants of life in
the twisted body. The lips moved in some silent prayer. Priscus called to one of the police officers.
‘Wine for the malefactor,’ he ordered curtly. ‘Bring him back so that he knows he is dying.’ He turned back to me. ‘I’ll grant your scheme has been working out better in the Asian provinces than I expected,’ he said. ‘Indeed, I’m convinced enough by it to have had the law implemented in the areas I recovered from Persian control. But Egypt is different – as you’d have quickly noticed had you paid more attention to people than to ideas. The wogs are slaves by nature. They are slaves for us or for someone else. Between enslavements, they are dangerous animals. You don’t get the same system of control, replicated century after century, with every variant of foreign and domestic rule, without a very good cause.
‘I want to tell you, however, that we both deserve a better master than Heraclius. I represent order. You represent hope. Within the space that we together create, there can be civilisation. Let us somehow work together, and we can save this Empire.’
‘You can try all you will for a soldierly ring to your argument,’ I said, looking at the dying face while trying not to see it. ‘But you came here already knowing that the Persians were in the plot. I’ll grant you got names and details from that racking that you didn’t already have. But you’d been lecturing Nicetas for ages on the need to guard the Red Sea ports. You were doing that two mornings after you first announced your arrival to me. I’m not sure how long before then you’d been lurking out of sight. So why wait for the rising? Did you come here to keep Egypt from the Persians? Or was it to win a battle in Alexandria that you couldn’t win outside Caesarea?’
The Blood of Alexandria a-3 Page 35
