‘I say, isn’t that a dactylic hexameter?’ Priscus broke in. ‘Would you say, Alaric, that was an hexameter?’
‘It might be,’ I said. I looked at Martin, who shrugged.
A big cup of wine, now he accepted it wasn’t poisoned, was bringing him back to what passed for his senses. ‘It would be necessary to know the quantities in the original language,’ he said.
He’d have said more, but I cut in, asking Macarius if he understood the words.
He shook his head. ‘They are words from a language unknown to me,’ he said. ‘But one must recite them three times, and then lie down, looking at the sky with arms and legs outstretched. The enemy will shortly after be annihilated in ways that include burning winds, or fire raining from the sky, or swallowing into the earth, or visitation of demons, or sudden pestilence, or the addition of invincible power to one’s own side. It seems to depend on the time of year.’
‘Sounds fanciful – though also rather interesting,’ said Priscus. He suddenly froze and listened. There was a gentle hubbub of voices outside the tent. He waved at Macarius to go and see what was happening.
‘I don’t know what you think of that crap document,’ he whispered once Macarius was out of the tent, ‘but Siroes was no fool. He’d not have come all this way for nothing. What would you say to a good look round that cavern for his object? If Alexandria is destroyed like the Cities of the Plain, or falls into the sea, or whatever, Heraclius and Nicetas can kiss each other’s arse before I have them beheaded in the Circus.’
‘You as Emperor?’ I sneered softly. ‘If this stuff does anything at all, you’d be another Caligula.’
‘And what of that?’ came the reply. ‘The Empire’s survived more than one demented tyrant. And, with or without that bloody object, I at least could fight off the Persians. If Siroes was right, however, just think what I could do. It wouldn’t then be a question of beating the Persians, or defending what we had with the peasant militias you keep crying up in Council. We could go on the offensive against the barbarians. We could bring back the West. We could do all that Siroes was suggesting for the united powers of the world. We could outdo Alexander and Caesar combined. The Empire would become-’ He fell silent as Macarius came back into the tent.
I’d watched in a kind of fascinated horror as Priscus had loomed over me and appeared to swell ever larger. It was like back in the dockyard. It stirred other thoughts that I fought to suppress.
‘A meeting has been called at the midnight hour for what remains of the Brotherhood Council,’ Macarius said. ‘There are also reports of lights moving about far to the south.’
I pulled myself together. A thought had suddenly occurred to me, and I was eager to share it with Priscus.
‘I presume the signal you mentioned earlier,’ I said, ‘was for the guards you brought up from Alexandria.’
Priscus smiled.
‘The idea was that they’d be lurking out in the desert until the signal was given.’ He smiled again and nodded. ‘They’d then rush in here and see off what was left of the Brotherhood.’
He reached for his drug satchel.
‘A strategy Alexander himself might have praised,’ I said with a mock toast. ‘Did you bother specifying outside which Soteropolis your men should be lurking?’
‘What are you talking about, my dear boy?’ Priscus answered. He frowned slightly, his face sliding visibly from complacency to concern.
‘When you terrorised that map out of poor old Hermogenes,’ I said, looking carefully at his face, ‘I assume you waited around long enough for him to tell you there were two cities called Soteropolis. You did make sure to specify the right one to your guards?’
I know that Priscus wasn’t the only one to have lost out here. But his face was the funniest thing I’d seen in ages. I put my head back and laughed as silently as I could manage. Priscus sat down with a sudden bump and reached for the wine jug.
Chapter 67
‘I don’t suppose we could get away with claiming natural causes?’ I asked when I was recovered enough to speak with just a nervous giggle. We all looked at the twisted body on the floor. The exposed parts of Lucas were now covered in dark blotches. As for the face – I’d seen more peaceful expressions on the impaling stakes. Siroes looked much better. But he didn’t count for present purposes. And there was the matter of the garrotte still embedded in the flesh around his neck and throat.
‘Go and tell them,’ Priscus said to Macarius, ‘that His Majesty is deep in conference with his guests, and will make himself available for other discussions in the morning.’
‘If it really is midnight,’ Martin piped up suddenly, ‘it’s my birthday. I’ve made it to thirty-two.’ He smiled and looked around.
I smiled a weak encouragement. I was coming down with a bump after my laughing fit. Even so, it was worth something that Martin had beaten a prophecy by which he’d set such store – and beaten it in what were not the most favourable circumstances.
Priscus raised his eyebrows. ‘Congratulations,’ he said, ‘though I still wouldn’t touch the eggy tarts.’ To Macarius: ‘Now, go and say whatever’s needed to send those fuckers away.’ When Macarius had gone out again, Priscus turned back to me.
‘I’m serious about another trip to the Underworld. I’m inclined to agree there’s nothing left down there but a few wog bones. The Santi kapupi stuff we can forget. But once we’ve chased the Brotherhood off, I think I will go down for a good look of my own.’ He paused as Macarius came almost directly back in. Again, he ignored Priscus and looked to me.
‘I must inform My Lord,’ he said, ‘that the Brotherhood Council is assured by His Grace the Bishop of Letopolis that His Majesty has been led astray by the Lord Priscus. They desire an immediate meeting to discuss this and other grievances. They propose to remain outside the tent until His Majesty chooses to show himself.’
Priscus pulled a face and swigged more of the wine. He looked again down at the body of Lucas. ‘At least they aren’t proposing to come in,’ he muttered. He pulled himself together. ‘Does anyone know where this other Soteropolis might be?’ he asked.
I nodded.
‘Well, I suggest we get ourselves over there pretty sharpish,’ he said. ‘Lucas may not have been their choice as leader. He was, nevertheless, the only one I left them.
‘Now, I don’t think I ever quite finished my account of the fall of Serdica,’ he said to me. ‘I got to the part where the ten thousand savages came pouring over the wall. What happened next was, they killed the whole sodding garrison, plus most of the civilian population. The reason I got away was because I kept my wits about me. I took one look at that blonde mob running down the main street at us, and made straight off in the other direction. I got to the far wall. I unbolted the gate myself, and didn’t look back until the town was a flickering glow miles behind me. I rode until morning, when I bumped into the relief column sent over by Maurice. You can be sure the account I gave was more heroic than the truth.’
He got up and walked over to the other side of the tent from the leather flaps. He pulled out his knife and quietly opened a long slash in the fabric. I felt the sudden chill of fresh air. A couple of the lamps flickered and went out. Macarius got them relit at once and pushed shades on to them. I looked over at the flaps. There was still a steady murmur of conversation outside. It sounded more impatient than suspicious.
‘Will you get your clothes on, Alaric?’ Priscus asked, stuffing his cat into a cloth bag. ‘Or do you intend riding naked through the desert?’
We got perhaps three miles across the moonlit sands before I heard the commotion behind me. I’d been wondering how long it would be before anyone noticed how silent the tent had fallen and walked in. Eventually, I was surprised it had taken so long. We must have made enough noise as we crept through the city of tents above Soteropolis, sniffing our way to where the camels were tethered. But we had got clean away. I was even beginning to think we might get to the other Soteropolis without
further incident. I was wrong about that. Looking back from the high dune at the glitter from within the cloud of dust, it might have been the whole Brotherhood in pursuit.
‘A few dozen at the most,’ Priscus said calmly. ‘And since the wind is blowing their dust forward, I’ll be surprised if they can see anything at all. They could ride us down over a long chase. But this should be a quick dash. I only hope your geography is better in the desert than it was in the Egyptian quarter.’
He laughed and pushed his camel forward down the other side of the dune. I heard the hiss of the parting sands. Martin clung hard to Macarius on the camel behind mine, squealing softly at every bump. I followed Priscus down. Once on the level, we picked up speed again. Keeping up with Priscus was impossible. His camel raced forward as if they’d known each other all their lives. The wind played cold on my face as we rushed along. As with distance, there is no concept of speed in the desert. But the stones that lay dark on the sandy ground flashed by as if they’d been dropping from the sky.
Twisting your body to look back on a galloping horse isn’t something for the inexperienced. I wasn’t that good on horseback. On the camel, I didn’t dare make the attempt. But I could try not to fall too far behind Priscus. He looked back every so often, and didn’t seem worried by what he saw. What would be done with us if we were outrun should have been playing on my mind. But whatever I thought of him in every other respect, Priscus was in charge here, and he knew exactly what he was doing.
The torchlight from what I presumed had been the wrong Soteropolis came in sight without warning. One moment, the sands before us were all dimly white. The next moment, there was a faint glare of yellow just a couple of miles in front of us. Priscus was now swaying backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, as, very smooth, he forced his camel to go ever faster. He raced ahead, the dozen yards between us rising to twenty and forty. I struggled to keep up, and would easily have been overtaken even by Macarius and Martin together, had not Macarius decided that I should be kept in the middle of the party.
I can’t repeat often enough that distances in the desert are hard to gauge. Seeing lights ahead is not the same as being among them. It isn’t the same as being within easy reach of them. We raced across the sands, in our ears the thunder of the camel hooves – and the shouting of our pursuers that grew ever closer. We had the advantages of fear and moderate skill and a very good head start. They had every other advantage, and this was beginning to tell.
Then, as I looked ahead, shapes seemed to rise out of nothing from the desert floor. They clustered in a mass, the moonlight glittering from their drawn weapons. Then they fanned out. Without seeing anything for sure, I raced past them. Far ahead of me, Priscus came to a sudden halt. He wheeled his camel round. I went straight past him, and I may have been a quarter of a mile ahead of him before I could get my own beast under control. By the time I could get back to him and Macarius and Martin, battle had been fully joined. I could see little enough in the moonlight. It was a set of confused if rapid skirmishes in which dark shadows reached up to mounted men, who wheeled round in fear, but were too surrounded for any getaway. I could hear the clash of weapons and the screams of men dragged down from their mounts and efficiently butchered. It was over in almost no time at all. Except for the bubbling screams of the dying and a continuing savage growl as if of some supremely powerful beast, the desert was silent all around us.
‘Get back on ride,’ a female said to me in bad Greek. ‘Go on to lights.’
I bowed to the Sister of Saint Artemisia, and tried to find some utterance simple enough for her to understand.
Her face shining with exaltation under the dark smears of what I took for blood, she paid no attention. She waved a dark and dripping sword at me. ‘Get back on ride,’ she said, pointing at the camel that was turning skittish beside me.
I found the Heretical Patriarch standing on a section of mud-brick wall that hadn’t yet fallen level with the desert. About a hundred yards behind me, the Sisters were marching back into the camp, their voices raised together in what sounded like one of the more ferocious Psalms. I got down from the camel again and knelt before him.
‘Your Holiness,’ I said. I got no further.
Anastasius took me by the hands and raised me up. ‘You are safe?’ he asked.
I nodded.
He looked at the other two camels. Martin was having one of his shaking fits as Macarius helped him down.
Priscus was looking confused. ‘Where are they?’ he called to Macarius. He’d been sure we were making for his guards. Anastasius and the Sisters were about as complete a surprise as if the object had dropped into his hands and started working. He looked at the Sisters, who were already tearing madly at the bread and cold meats set out on tables. Just in case more of the Brotherhood should appear, they’d placed their weapons within easy reach. Other than that, there was no evidence of the regular armed support he’d arranged with Macarius.
‘There may be much we need to discuss,’ Anastasius said, speaking to me again. ‘For the moment, let it be sufficient to say that you are safe in the hands of Mother Church. Of course, I discussed your letter with my brother patriarch, John. We were not happy that you had ignored my advice to stay in Alexandria. In view of the emergency, however – endangering, as it did, the whole of Creation – we decided this was a moment for setting aside every difference of creed and to work together. We had a message earlier from the local Bishop, and were planning our attack for the very early morning.’
As he spoke, the Master of the Works came in sight. I nodded to him. He bowed to me. I’d last seen him as I pushed him inside the Church of the Apostles and went after Martin. Other than assuming the whole of the Council had been saved along with Nicetas, I hadn’t thought of him since. He now stood before me, looking almost elegant in the cloak that partly covered his robe of office. He bowed again and moved past me. He stopped before Priscus, who was fiddling with the saddlebag on his camel.
‘My Lord Priscus,’ he said in a loud official voice, ‘I bear a warrant for your arrest signed and sealed by His Highness the Viceroy himself. The charges are desertion of your military post and high treason. There are other charges that you can read for yourself. My instructions are to place you in close confinement. Once in Alexandria, you will be examined by His Highness in person prior to being sent on to Constantinople for trial by or before the Emperor.’
Priscus snarled something and went for his sword. But the surprise had been total. Without that, he might have got back on his camel and bolted. No one could have stopped Priscus. Then again, where would he have gone? Even he wouldn’t have got far as an outlaw. Even now in the Empire, a warrant of that nature couldn’t be ignored. Resistance was futile, and it was impossible to fly.
‘You can add sorcery to the charges,’ I said with a smothered smile. ‘In that saddlebag you’ll find a magical text of the highest illegality. He was hoping it would assist him in his treason.’ I looked at Priscus.
He stared back more astonished than angry. ‘You fucking snake!’ he spat. ‘You came out here with all this ready planned.’
I made an ironic bow. I did think of a little speech about the Mandate of Heaven – or at least how I’d see him boiled alive in the Circus for what he’d put Martin through. But I’d had enough for one day. A good sit down now, and a cup of something hot, would do nicely. As I turned away, I saw Priscus throw down the sword he’d taken from Siroes, and go and sit quietly on a pile of mud bricks.
‘Your Holiness,’ I said to Anastasius – and why not concede him the title he claimed? – ‘I should much appreciate a doctor or such medical help as you can provide for my secretary.’ No one could glue Martin’s ear back on. But a dab of opium on those bruised piles would be an immediate comfort.
The sun would soon be up. Now they’d finished vomiting up the feast that had continued through the night, the Sisters were getting ready for prayers. I stood upwind of the camp and looked steadily towards the fai
nt glow on the eastern horizon.
‘My Lord is content?’ Macarius asked. He stood beside me.
I looked at his closed, impassive face. ‘Content is not the word I’d use,’ I said eventually. ‘But if its rules and purpose continue to evade me, I suppose the game is now over.’
Macarius stepped forward and looked back at me, the faint glow behind him. ‘A full understanding is not often given to men,’ he said. ‘But do you believe the game, as you call it, is over? You must realise that, before it does really end, you are called upon to act once more. No one can force your choice. No one can advise you. But you know what needs to be done. Whether and how you do this has an importance you might imagine, but will never know for sure.’
I stepped to my left and looked again at the eastern sky. The smallest ark of brightness was now peeping above the horizon, scattering the darkness of the night. I hadn’t slept in a day, and I felt suddenly very tired. What I most wanted was to lie down and sleep until noon. I’d then be able to think all this through. The politics had been easy, once I’d laid bare the various interest groups involved. But Macarius was right: there was still more to be done. If only I could understand the why of it. Sleep might banish the paralysing confusion I could now feel every time I tried to take thought. But there was no time, I knew. Without shifting his position, Macarius continued looking at me.
‘If you will permit me, My Lord,’ he said, ‘you have played your part very well so far. I was dimly aware of your doings before you left Alexandria. I do not think anyone else could have guessed your intentions. Even if what you might describe as luck gave assistance, it was a clever strategy to get back your secretary and ruin Priscus.’
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