Spira Mirabilis (16 page)

‘That many!’ She sat up abruptly. ‘What did you do?’

‘I must give Vanzetti his due: he knows how to set a trap. The dogs I sent down weren’t smart enough to spot them.’

‘What about your men?’

He sniffed. ‘They’re not much better. The first chap actually volunteered – he was a real bruiser, more muscles than brain, but he wasn’t gone more than a minute before he came racing back out, screaming at the top of his voice. Couldn’t really blame him, as he was followed by a stampede of braccia-long sewer rats.’

‘Charming.’

‘Well, I can see the funny side of it now,’ he admitted, ‘but it wasn’t an ideal start to the day. No more volunteers were forthcoming, so I set a fire in the entrance and blocked it off with heavy rocks.’

‘Why don’t you do that every time? There can’t be much air down there.’

‘It stinks like a Lazar barracks, but Vanzetti’s obviously taken precautions against suffocation.’

‘Well, we’ve always known he’s not stupid.’ Pointing out the obvious always cheered her up.

‘The second tunnel we found is a good example of the bastard’s ingenuity: the first man down failed to come up, so I sent another – and then Giorgio reappeared; claimed he’d seen no one else down there, and said that the tunnel sloped downwards until it ended in water. Not that I believed him, of course – they’ll say anything to stop me keep sending them down – but in the end I went myself.’

‘Well, that accounts for the smell.’ Maddalena wrinkled her nose at him and he raised his glass to her. ‘But what if something had happened? What would happen to
me
?’

‘Don’t worry,
amore
– I don’t make a habit of leading from the front, I promise you. It’s just so damn frustrating. Well, Giorgio was right, there
was
a pool – but no sight of the missing Marco, the first chap, so I held my breath and dived in. The tunnel went down a bit more, then it rose upwards again. I found a set of legs blocking the way up and managed to pull Marco free – nearly suffocated myself, mind, but I got him out in the end.’ He sighed. ‘Might as well have saved myself the effort. I dragged him back to the other side where I’d left my lamp and as soon as I got him out of the water I could see the poor sod’d been garrotted as soon he stuck his head out.’

Maddalena’s eyes were wide. ‘So what did you do?’

‘What could I do? Nothing to do but blow up the tunnel-mouth. That took a fair bit of powder …’

‘What about the third?’ Maddalena was stroking his arm now, transfixed. She’d been bored silly all day and even if her gallant knight was being shown up by Pedro Vanzetti’s superior planning, it was diverting to hear about. There was also a part of her – she was still Rasenneisi, after all – that cheered for every strip Uggeri’s men tore from the foreigners’ flag.

‘The third was this long, sheer drop. You remember Bastiano? The one who looks like a choirboy until he opens his foul little mouth? We lowered him down on a rope and when he shouted up that there was a second hole I ordered him to investigate.’ He sighed. ‘Of course I did. What else could I have done?”

‘And?’ she said impatiently, prodding him in the arm.

‘We dragged him up screaming: he’d been stabbed in the crotch with a broken flag-stick. Guess he’ll not have to worry about losing that lovely singing voice, eh? Anyway, that was it for me: I decided I’d rather be drinking with my lovely wife – then, to cap off a perfect day, we got into a running battle through Tartarus on the way home and lost another man somewhere in the ruins. All we found for our troubles was a boy with a sling, he couldn’t have been more than six. So we stuck him on a stick for the birds to dine upon and crossed the Midnight Road whistling jauntily.
Cin Cin
!’ He took a long drink and belched heartily. He smiled down at her. ‘You know you’re right. It is good to share.’

Maddalena wasn’t amused. ‘You can’t give up the north.’

‘If they want that wasteland, let them have it. I’m a soldier, not a pest exterminator.’

‘This is Rasenna. If you show weakness, they’ll overrun us.’

He yawned. ‘
Tranquillo
,
amore
. You’re quite safe. I may not be able to get at them, but it works both ways. I’ve spent enough time in trenches to know that time’s on our side. There’re no
laurels down there, just foot-rot and the flux. Vanzetti is holding Uggeri Galati back – he wants a glorious death—’

‘—and my head on a stick—’

‘Exactly, my little dove, and a lovely head it is too. So all we have to do is to sit tight, all nice and dry and fed on the high ground, and wait for the rat to come out of his hole.’

Maddalena was about to say that sounded awfully like being used as bait, but Geta had lifted his feet onto the bed and was already snoring.

Sofia spent the next few nights anticipating an ambush that never came. She wondered whether Yūsuf was resigned to her presence, or if he simply could not persuade his men to abandon the concept of tribal hospitality. The old man, Bakhbukh, his chief counsellor, saw that she was fed, but otherwise she was left alone on her perch and treated like a bad-tempered animal that had decided to nest in their cave.

The children were more generous, following Jabari’s example. They were all orphans, and they quickly recognised a fellow reject. The tribespeople were called lizard-eaters for good reason: their favourite delicacy was the little gecko they called
dhaab
, which they roasted in its scaly skin. The child who caught it got the head, but they would give her the tiny liver and sweetbreads and the end of the tail, to make her milk rich for Iscanno. Lizards aside, Yūsuf’s operation was familiar to Sofia, for she’d been part of a condottieri band herself. Lacking the blood-ties that united normal tribes of the Sands, he relied on the promise of plunder to keep his men together, though competition for the few spice caravans that still risked the Sands was fierce as southern tribes like the Napthtali made their presence felt.

The cell she had happened upon was the hub, but there were more Sicarii units scattered in the hills of the badlands, for they were seen as enemies of the land and could not concentrate their forces. Yūsuf preferred the security of seclusion; he would occasionally allow Bakhbukh to travel between them, but more often he would force his deputies to come to him. Unlike the other
tribes, who found safety and growth in their webs of marriage alliances, the Sicarii remained friendless, and were so used to betrayal that suspicion had become habitual. Like the Lazars, they had put themselves beyond normal society, living among the bones of the dead and the scavenging dogs as they did. Some tribes believed the Sicarii had made themselves
traif
, an unclean people to be shunned.

In the absence of booty, Yūsuf tried to inspire with promises of future greatness, insisting that they were the vanguard of a new Radinate – but no one attended to his hectoring. It was plain that his words were nothing more than an attempt to justify his thievery. His fighting skill was unquestioned, but technique was less prized than being lucky, and lucky was one thing, the Sicarii had decided in the secret councils of their minds, that Yūsuf was not. His hold might have been strong once, but it was slipping now, still, Sofia saw no challengers rising. It was a poor crown if no one was attempting to steal it.

After his nightly harangue, Yūsuf would stalk off, leaving his angry, demoralised crew in peace to sit around the fire listening to Bakhbukh’s stories of Judas Maccabee and the first Sicarii. Bakhbukh had aching joints and haunted eyes, but when he told his tales, all weariness left him and his whole being was possessed by whatever hero he was singing about. The evening was never complete without his songs of the Golden Age and the marvellous deeds of meliks like Aaron al Rashid.

This night was different.

Yūsuf’s theme was the Naphtali’s incursion. Their presence was creating tensions, and not just with the Sicarii. Mik la Nan had invited Yūsuf to meet to discuss boundaries, and he was keen to go.

‘We might even make an alliance – we could take back our wells from the Benjaminites and our pastures from the Zebulun.’

‘I say again: this is foolish,’ Bakhbukh grumbled.

‘What else can you say, old man? Can you challenge me to my face or only whisper? I cannot defeat a witch, but I can defeat a base-born slave like you.’

When Yūsuf was done blustering, Bakhbukh asked pointedly, ‘Why does he wish to meet alone?’

‘How should I know? Perhaps he’s surrounded by meddling old fools who think they know better than their nasi.’

‘Why you?’ Sofia interrupted from her perch. ‘That’s the question you should be asking, Yūsuf. The Sicarii are weak.’

Before Yūsuf could complain that only those within the circle were allowed to speak, Bakhbukh said, ‘Mik la Nan says that every other tribe has made an accommodation with the foreigners.’

‘The Napthtali are as foreign to me as the
franj
,’ said one of the circle haughtily.

‘We’re Ebionites. That’s all that matters,’ snapped Yūsuf. ‘And this is none of her concern!’

But Bakhbukh was intrigued. ‘What does the Contessa say?’

‘I say that sons inherit their father’s weaknesses as well as their strengths. Yūsuf ben Uriah is making the same mistake that Uriah ben Sinan made.’

‘What do you know of my father?’ Yūsuf said indignantly.

‘What all the Sands knows. That he was a brave warrior, but foolhardy to sit unarmed with an enemy who could only benefit from his death.’

‘He was betrayed by a bitch with no honour! I will not hear him called a fool—’

‘The world is wicked. He should have expected it.’

Yūsuf threw a cutting glance at Bakhbukh. ‘Perhaps he was badly advised.’

‘That same bitch,’ Sofia continued, ‘has welcomed Mik la Nan into her domain, on the condition that he brings her your head.’

‘What concern of yours is my head? I have given you a roof
under which to suckle your whelp, more than many would these days—’

‘—so much the worse for the cause of Ebionite hospitality. I don’t care a fig for your head; the only head I care about is my son’s. His safety is bound up with the Sicarii, and so long as they are led by one who will not listen to wise counsel, he is in peril.’

Yūsuf stood with dignity. ‘I sit here to dispense justice and to listen to my peers. I have heard what
my men
have had to say. Now I will take counsel with God.’ He strode out, and took the tension with him. No one objected when Sofia climbed down and joined the circle.

‘You mustn’t be offended by Yūsuf,’ said Bakhbukh. ‘He is capable of many things – but sustained thought is not amongst them.’

‘He’s not scared of Mik la Nan.’

‘He ought to be.’ Bakhbukh held his hands close to the fire. ‘The first time I heard of Mik la Nan, he was still young, nasi of nothing much but his family tent. One of his camels went missing.’

Sofia was not the only person listening intently.

‘Now, Napthtali camels do not
go missing
. They are stolen – and in that case, the proper way of it was to make a formal protest at the next tribal assembly and, if judgement went his way, he would be compensated.’

‘Was he?’

‘Mik la Nan made his own judgement. He rode through the valleys to the left and right of his lands and crippled his neighbours’ herds: three-score camels good for nothing but the cooking pot next morning. The Cat, as he became known soon after, neither knew nor cared which family was guilty. There are no secrets in the Sands and no deed is done without consultation. In his eyes, the family who had the family who had sat by and done nothing while his property was stolen was as
guilty as the family who had stolen it. His message was twofold: that you must make war on the Cat’s enemies or be counted as one yourself. The second message, which the Napthtali later made known throughout the Empty Quarter, was that any slight would be paid back tenfold.’

‘He overreacted,’ Zayid growled.

‘You were never a shepherd, were you? The Cat understood what others did not. The stolen camel was a test. A weak response would have led to more predation. From then on, his flock was inviolate.’

He paused, and then added softly, ‘And since then I have often wondered if a violent act that brings peace can truly be considered wicked, or if servility that invites war can be considered moral.’

Sofia asked, ‘If the Cat conquered the Empty Quarter so easily, what’s to stop him conquering the Sands? He’s not scared of the Sicarii.’

Bakhbukh snorted at the thought. ‘He did not come to conquer. The drought has simply pushed him north along with all the other wild things.’

‘Perhaps the offer is genuine,’ said Zayid, ‘and he’ll come alone to the parley.’

‘He would need no help to best a boy like Yūsuf.’

‘Yet Yūsuf will go,’ Sofia said.

‘One cannot keep a fool from his foolishness,’ said Omar, one of the older Sicarii.

‘So maybe it is for the best,’ said another, Abdo. ‘We’ve suffered under his foolishness for too long. Time enough he suffered.’

Sofia leaped to her feet. ‘Where are your heads? If Yūsuf’s taken, how long will these caves remain secure?’

‘He would never betray us,’ Bakhbukh thundered. ‘If you hadn’t embarrassed him, you mischievous foreigner, he wouldn’t be trying to prove his courage so foolishly.’

Sofia could see saw how much he cared for Yūsuf. ‘If you’re right, Bakhbukh, then the Sicarii name will be for ever disgraced for letting your nasi be captured.’

The anger left him and he said, ‘That’s true. I should stop him.’

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ she said sternly. ‘We need tasty bait to catch the Cat.’

The kerak erupted from the hilltop, silhouetted against a cold-red evening sky interrupted only by an anaemic streak of cloud.

Usually the tribesmen avoided such forts, but the old nasi rode purposefully towards it, leading his own camel, and another besides, through an arid gorge carpeted with black slates that overlapped like scales. The prisoner sitting bound on the beast trailing behind his was already irritable, but when he saw their destination, he became positively agitated. ‘If you don’t release me, I swear—’