Spira Mirabilis (5 page)

Fulk didn’t try to deny it. ‘The waste is that we could have peace with the Ebionites. They don’t covet our cities – they never have. Jerusalem was all they craved, and now it’s occupied by a force hostile to all men. The empire’s fractured and our half is crumbling. We’re spent, and the queen knows it better than anyone. She’s content now to let the hourglass drain until her mask takes its place amongst her ancestors.’

‘So why fight for her?’

‘Because that’s what our fathers taught us to do. A poor excuse, I suppose.’

She knew better than most the compulsion of feuds, however old. ‘You’d be a better king than she is queen.’

‘Impossible. “Who represents the whole people must himself be whole”,’ he quoted, ‘and I am walking corruption.’

‘Your affliction
is
terrible, but she’s rotten from the inside.’

‘Stop!’ he cried, standing. ‘It’s sinful for any vassal to whisper against his queen, and still worse for a son.’

‘And what of the patriot who foresees his kingdom’s ruin? Should he too remain silent?’

He grabbed the pew for support and bowed like a penitent. ‘You cannot turn me against her.’

‘The truth at last. Not so hard, is it?’

There was the mount, but surely this was not Jerusalem? The Winds had no dominion here. The Waters had deluged this city. Instead of an ark, she sat in a narrow little boat on a sea carpeted with bodies. More floated gently down about her like the leaves of autumn. She did not wish to see them and stared instead at her ferryman’s back. It was not Ezra, no – it was someone much younger, with the bearing of an engineer. Might it be—? She longed to ask the stranger to turn around, but she knew that was forbidden.

One of the drifting bodies stirred as it came close. With white bloated hands, it pulled itself up onto the prow. The bloated, long-dead face next to hers was a face she knew. The ferryman raised his oar to stave in Giovanni’s head, but before the oar descended, he cried, ‘Wake up!’

Sofia opened her eyes to darkness. Lately she was grateful if she managed a few hours of rest uninterrupted by the baby’s kicking or strange dreams. She felt her eyes: wet again. God, why was she crying so much? Expecting mothers, she knew from midwifing, were crazy as cats in a bag, but this was more than that. If even Fulk, who Catrina had sacrificed as a babe new-born, remained so blindly loyal there was every reason to be upset.

The door opened. ‘Mistress? I heard you cry out.’

‘Just a bad dream, Abdel.’

The sight of the Moorish slave who guarded her chamber door made her smile. She wasn’t completely friendless. The queen expected Abdel to spy on Sofia; instead he told her the court gossip and found whatever foods she craved from the kitchen.

He looked into the darkness behind her. ‘No wonder, Mistress! You left the window open – how often have I told you? That’s how the Jinn enter.’ He closed the lattice, then, after scolding her some more, left her to her thoughts.

Reclining there, staring at the moonlight diamonds the lattice scattered over her chamber, it was easy to recall that early dawn nine months ago in Rasenna, when she had woken to find a buio standing by her bed. The buio had asked her to be God’s Handmaid.

Why had she answered as she did? In a word: Giovanni – but it wasn’t logical. The two things she knew about the man she loved flatly contradicted each other: Giovanni was dead, but water could not die, so Giovanni was … what? To speak of individual buio was as absurd as speaking of the drops of water that made a river. Her lover had betrayed his country, sacrificed his name and, finally, his body. Even if the Handmaid’s lot was ultimately grief, she owed him. And so she had said yes, and only months later had she realised to what she had consented. She had not sacrificed her life but her child’s. No wonder she couldn’t sleep. She was as bad as Catrina.

Suddenly she tensed, guilty ruminations forgotten. Abdel had said she’d left the window open, but she distinctly remembered closing it. Something
had
woken her. Slowly she turned. The shadow standing by the window was no buio. She reached under her pillow.

‘Looking for this?’

The knife was illuminated in the moonlight.

‘Fulk?’ Sofia whispered to the chill night, balling her fists in anticipation. The queen had finally condemned her to die. Of course she would send her son to do it.

‘Relax. If I’d come for that you’d never have awakened. I’m here to get you out. Morning will find Levi and Baron Masoir with Sicarii daggers through the chest.’

Sofia leaped up. ‘I have to warn Levi—’

‘Relax. Levi’s the one who told me. Khoril told him after they got the Moor’s ensign drunk. Arik is helping him now.’

‘You expect me to believe the queen didn’t share her plans with her loyal Grand Master?’

‘Believe what you like – you know your child’s doomed if you give birth within these walls. Arik said you know the Ebionite Quarter well now. Pay who you must to escape Akka – find a ship, or a caravan bound for Byzant.’ Fulk threw a veil towards her. ‘Change now, quickly. Basilius will soon be here.’

‘Who is to be blamed for the murders?’

‘Arik, of course,’ he said, as though the question was naïve. ‘In Akka, Catrina decides who’s Sicarii. Considering Arik’s brother is their leader, it’ll be easy enough to convince the people that he was a sleeper.’

‘But why?’

‘Because you were right. She wants war. Any rapprochement weakens her rule. The baron’s murder will cow the nobles and inflame the devout, but Levi’s is intended to prove that the Sicarii will drive Oltremare to war with Etruria. Akka flatters itself that exiles can always find succour here, so this is a good way to get rid of you without looking heartless. She doesn’t trust Concord, but handing you over will buy her time to prepare a fleet large enough to persuade them not to invade.’

‘The First Apprentice doesn’t want Akka. He wants me.’

‘She doesn’t believe that.’

‘You can turn around now.’

He studied her critically, then adjusted her headdress. ‘It’ll do. It’ll have to.’

*

Levi crouched behind Arik as they made their way through the empty corridors of the floor below to the battlements. ‘Fulk won’t
be able to get Sofia out,’ said Arik, ‘not unless we create a distraction.’

They reached a doorway and together poked their heads out into the chill night air. Akka slept and there were few sounds: the wind’s whisper, the plaintive cry of a night-fox from the Sands, the rhythmic gush of the filthy waves breaking upon the walls, the sound of half a dozen sleepy sentries occasionally stamping their feet to keep warm. The courtyard gate was being raised for Basilius and his men returning from their murderous expedition to the Merchants’ Quarter.

‘Can you swim?’

‘Before I answer that, tell me you’re not thinking of—’

A gong was struck, and as its sonorous echo died out, the blush of torches smeared the courtyard below. The wings of the palace lit up and the night’s hush was ripped aside by shouts and a sourceless locust-hum as the clackers of Akka’s churches spread the alarm.

‘The baron’s body’s been discovered,’ said Levi.

‘Then what are we waiting for?’

The sentries’ attention was on the streets below; the last thing they expected was a sword-wielding marauder charging them from inside the palace. Levi didn’t try to fight them – the longer he was exposed, the greater the danger – but instead he shouldered them aside and swept by in a mad dash.

‘He means to jump!’ Arik roared from the point Levi had set out, and the Lazars in the courtyard below started raising ladders, trying to head Levi off. He stopped to tip them over, but Basilius waited for him to pass before raising his own ladder. Getting close to the sea, Levi cast his sword and helmet aside.

‘Quick, Seneschal, throw!’ Arik cried.

Thanks to quick reactions and considerable luck, Levi managed to duck the hurled axe.

Basilius cursed the Grand Master’s pet Ebionite for a loud-mouthed
fool and took a second axe from one of the unconscious Lazars. He calmly watched Levi weaving left to right, working out where he would be in a second’s time.

Levi took the final few steps, held his breath and prepared to launch himself into space – just as Basilius released the axe. There was no pain, but Levi felt his legs and arms go dead as he dropped towards the scum-skinned sea and a darkness deeper than any he had ever thought possible.

*

Word travelled fast in Akka. The vessels belonging to the late Baron Masoir were already flying black flags – though his wife ensured that they continued to go about their business. The xebecs, Oltremare’s native ships, were strange mongrels: a crossing of Ariminumese galleys, Byzantine dromons and the dhows of the old Radinate. With their lateen rigs and jibs projecting like antennae they resembled a horde of locusts spawned from the oily water, vibrating hungrily, waiting to take wing.

Levi smelled of death – but not because of his wound, though it looked ugly enough. The stench was due entirely to his dip in the Lordemare. Arik had fished him out of the filth and now sat on the side of the dock wringing out his own shirt. He looked and smelled no better.

Seneschal Basilius and the patriarch stood behind the Grand Master and the queen, looking down upon their strange catch. Levi dearly wished to ask Fulk if the Contessa had got away, but it was crucial that he play his part to the end. He tried to sound unruffled. ‘Killing me will be a grave insult to the League.’

‘Merely grave? I shall try to be more imaginative.’ The queen was plainly furious. ‘Your League has nothing to offer me. Where has the Contessa gone? You obviously helped her plan her escape.’

‘I assumed I’d be captured, so I made sure I didn’t know.’

‘How very clever. Perhaps I’ll torture you just for fun.’ The
queen turned to Chrysoberges. ‘What say you, your Beatitude? What sentence is fitting for a mercenary who comes to disrupt my kingdom’s peace?’

After Baron Masoir’s assassination, the patriarch was eager to demonstrate his loyalty. ‘Schismatics should be themselves parted’ – he ripped his vestments, in passion or perhaps merely to illustrate his words – ‘for he who divides his own kind—’

‘But he’s not your kind,’ Arik interrupted.

Levi stared, numbed by this betrayal of confidence, but Arik did not meet his eye. Instead he risked a warning glance to Fulk before continuing, ‘He’s Ebionite, Majesty, by blood at least.’

‘You know this – how?’

‘He confessed to me that his mother was a slave. He even boasted how he had passed himself off as a Marian for years. It was
my
people he first betrayed. I should have let him drown.’

‘Jackal!’ Levi cried. He attempted to rise, but Fulk silenced him with a mailed fist. Levi fell back, nose and lip weeping blood.

‘Then we are both wronged,’ said Catrina. ‘For your years of service, I give you the honour of sentencing him.’

‘Most gracious,’ said Arik with a bow. ‘The punishment ought to fit the crime. He was born a slave, so put him to the oar and let him die one.’

‘A judgement worthy of Solomon,’ the queen said.

When the prisoner began to struggle, Fulk said, ‘Obviously the first one didn’t take. Care to try, Seneschal?’

Levi’s blood struck the ground, and his head a moment after.

‘Basilius!’ the queen chided. ‘He’ll never fetch a good price looking like tenderised beef.’

‘Don’t worry, Majesty,’ said Fulk carelessly. ‘I’ll see that he looks presentable when the time comes.’

‘Very good,’ she said. ‘And now, Arik ben Uriah, what punishment would fit your own crime?’

‘—Majesty?’

‘Don’t take me for a fool. You’ve been mooning over the girl for the last few months. I know you’re behind this.’

‘I will not deny it,’ Arik said before Fulk could intervene. ‘The Contessa asked for my aid when I first met her – I, who brought her to Akka. I am responsible.’

‘There’s more than that.’

‘You mean to start war amongst the tribes. While I was helping you to defend innocent merchants from bandits, I could convince myself I was not betraying my people. At last I must choose.’ He held up his head proudly so that she could see the martyr sincerity in his gleaming eyes and be persuaded.

It worked. ‘Until this day you’ve served us loyally. Though it’s more than you deserve, I will give you a soldier’s death, Be so good, Grand Master.’

Fulk began to protest, but Arik stopped him. ‘I’ve done my duty. Do yours swifly, my brother, and we shall see each other again,
be’ezrat HaShem.
’

‘Seneschal?’ said Fulk, holding out his hand, and Arik bowed his neck as the shadow of the axe blocked out the morning sun.

*

Levi opened his swollen eyes to see an Ebionite boy holding a pair of wool clippers staring at him. ‘All of it?’ the boy said again.

‘The lot,’ said Fulk. ‘He won’t sell with hair.’

As the boy drew close, Levi flinched, but the chain around his neck pulled him up short. His hands were manacled, so he raised a foot to try to defend himself.

Fulk caught it mid-air. ‘Relax. You need to be gone from Akka before the queen changes her mind.’

‘If Arik thought he was doing me a favour, he was wrong. I swore to protect Sofia—’

‘And she has few friends left. Arik’s dead, Levi. You getting killed too won’t help the Contessa.’

‘Then why are you selling me as a slave? I know these dogs
– they’ll just chain me to a rowing station and work me to death—’

‘—and feed your body to Leviathan. Yes, most likely, but there were few other options. The captain I’m selling you to is a Syracusan dog. Arik said you were raised in the Scillies.’

‘So?’

‘So I expect that you can speak the dialect. I know you can pick a lock. You have a gift for persuasion, though it availed you little here – my mother’s court is not, alas, a reasonable place.’ Fulk unpinned something from his mantel: a needle with a kink at one end and a small hook at the other. ‘Hide this on your person – not under your tongue; they will examine your teeth and make you talk.’

‘I’ll think of somewhere.’ He bowed his head, and told the boy to cut. ‘See her to safety, Fulk, or Arik will have died for naught.’