Spira Mirabilis (52 page)

Hellebore threw the blanket from his knees and, with Femus’ aid, stood up. He thudded his trident against the pillar and called for silence.

‘Children, the Sea has cast up this siren to tempt us. The Great Eye wants to see if you are steadfast or not. Redemption
is
at hand, but today is not the day. We must cleave to our traditions like limpets to rocks.’

The crowd murmured. He might be blind, but Hellebore could see this was unpopular. ‘Who are you going to believe,’ he bellowed, ‘your eyes, or me?’

Femus stared down the crowd on his father’s behalf while the Whisperer whispered some more.

No Man’s mother was shaking stones over Bakhbukh. He was awake, though his breathing was shallow. Sofia knelt beside. ‘I’m glad,’ he whispered in Ebionite, ‘that I got to touch Etrurian soil, Mistress, but I do not think it agrees with me.’

‘Don’t be melodramatic. You’re coming with me, all the way to Rasenna. I’m going to show you Tower Scaligeri and that’s all there is to it. Stay awake,’ she said as she gave him a parting kiss.

‘Yes, my Nasi.’

Fulk looked at her. ‘Say the word.’

‘No – I didn’t cross the sea to slaughter Etrurians,’ she said
crossly. ‘You’re going to stay here and make sure everyone behaves.’

‘And you?’

‘The Old Man told me that one of his kindred would seek me out. He said her name was Befana.’

No Man turned to her, eagerly nodding. ‘Yes, Befana!’ he repeated.

Hellebore slapped his belly for attention and said, ‘Very well. Hellebore is fair and far-seeing. Let her go to Befana’s cave, if she can find it, but let no man help her. If she is She, the Great Eye will guide and protect her. If she is a siren, the rocks will break her.’

‘That is just,’ the Whisperer bellowed, and the villagers, who had forgotten how to argue, said nothing and looked at the stranger.

‘I accept,’ Sofia said.

No Man walked over to Sofia. ‘Come, I will show you the way. My mother will mind your boy.’

‘What’s this?’ cried Femus indignantly.

‘Where are you going?’ shouted the Whisperer.

‘Top man said no man may help her. I am No Man.’

The people murmured happily at this unexpected turn of events.

‘Indeed you are,’ said Hellebore, trapped by his own words. ‘You are that, and your father’s son. Go then and be careful, lest like your father you stumble.’

The Peoples of the Black Hand: A Bestiary

The pirates of Barbary had raided the Black Hand since antiquity, but one dreadful day they decided to stay. The memory of the occupation, which lasted several centuries,
¹⁷
remains traumatic for the primitive coastal peoples: the devil is represented in Sybarite village totems as a Moor and their greatest fear is that of polluted blood.
¹⁸

The Sybaritic religion is a strange hybrid too.
¹⁹
Much as the Marianism of Oltremare was infected by its proximity to the Ebionite heresy, so the Marianism of Sybaris bears few similarities to that creed practised in the North.
²⁰
Perversely, the Sybarites worship a Black Madonna.
²¹
They hold, like the Ebionites, that the Virgin was occluded and await Her return, confident that She and Her luminous child will restore Sybaris’ fortune.

Sybaritic self-segregation may suit their neighbours, but it has left the colony deformed by interbreeding. The men mutilate themselves further with a ritual cruel even by Black Hand standards. When a warrior comes of age, he
brings a lamb or a goat to the cave of the Sybil. The animal buys an audience with the crone, but to win a new name he must make a more lasting sacrifice: an eye. In return, she reveals his name. If the initiate lives, he returns to the tribe a man.
²²

The peaks afforded views of the wide sea. To the south, the storm over the strait was dispersing, though Sofia could still see nothing of the two fleets. She turned back to the flat stones interspersed with aromatic juniper and cistus scrub, which were giving way to a steep, sparse scape of jagged rocks. She quickly understood that by sending her to seek Befana alone, Hellebore had intended to kill her.

No Man crouched on a rock, staring vacantly, his nose occasionally twitching. ‘We’re being followed,’ he announced.

She turned and looked the way they had come, but she could see nothing but cloud shadow rippling over boulders.

‘Come on,’ he said, and scurried up a crag, as surefooted as the ibex of the Sands.

Sofia had expected to find the cave at the peak, but instead No Man brought her to the edge of the great pit.

He pointed and said, ‘Her grotto is within.’

All she could see at the bottom of the pit was a small green lake. Just as she noticed how sluggishly the gulls were circling the pit, a deftly cast stone struck one’s breast and it dropped without a squawk into the water.

No Man told Sofia to stay close as he climbed down. The scree made it hard at first, but the ivy thickened the further down they got. When she reached the bottom, she saw the bones of birds and other small creatures scattered all around the edge of the lake. It was much warmer here, and smelled of sulphur. Scarcely a chink of water showed through the tiny round lotus leaves which covered
the lake; it shuddered like the skin of some great sleeping lizard when a noxious bubble rose from its depths or when winds whistled through the porous rock. No Man spotted the slain bird and manoeuvred it with his spear until it was close enough to grab it. He lifted it out and gave it to Sofia, then walked up to the ivy wall, stuck his hand in up to his shoulder and then pulled it back out. Sofia stood blinking in amazement until she saw the hanging ivy subtly swaying with the wind’s respiration.

‘Go inside. Lay your gift in front of the crater, then step back and close your eyes. If you are lucky she will accept your gift. If you are very lucky, she will speak to you. You may want to listen for days, but do not tarry. The inside air is fatal to men.’

‘And you?’

‘When you emerge, I will be waiting – or the men who have killed me.’

She pushed the ivy aside, found an arch cut into the stone and crawled inside, grimacing as bird bones crunched under her hands and knees. It wasn’t long before it opened into a circular space. The only light inside came from the tunnel, but the green glow illuminated the domed cavern surprisingly well, for its curved walls twinkled more like glass than rock. There was a crater in the centre of the floor, however, and that seemed hungry for light. The wafting blue fumes, a revolting blend of rotting eggs and putrid meat, made her gag. She laid the bird in front of the crater and then scampered back to the side and covered her face as she’d been instructed.

A wheezing cough echoed from the crater as a set of ancient fingers emerged, looking like the tendrils of a vast, bloated spider. As they explored the crater’s edge, the rest of an ancient old woman gradually emerged. Her claws found the carcase and she eyed it warily as she took an exploratory bite. She ate it up, feathers and flesh, then burped and wiped the blood from her face.

‘
Sallalation de ta leanamh
.’

The words were Etruscan. When Sofia didn’t respond, she broke a small bone and picked her teeth with it. Then in Ebionite, ‘A fine boy, your son. Congratulations.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sofia.

The crone tilted her head, rook-like, and switched to a northern Etrurian dialect. ‘Stop pretending not to look, Child. I’m the last of my kind. The Winds consumed the star-gazers and I shall give myself to the Waters presently, so time is short. Thirty years ago a girl who spoke this tongue sat where you now sit. She and her brother fled from a drowned world. They came south to start anew. He stopped in Salerno to study with the Doctors. She came here. I told her of great changes afoot.’ She pointed to the crater with her bone. ‘In the earth’s bowels, a war blazes. I helped her to perfect her art so that she would be ready when it erupted.’

‘The Reverend Mother died for me.’

‘I told her she would have to if she returned to the north. A brave one, she was. Are you that brave?’

‘I’ll do what I must to save my boy.’

She scampered over to Sofia like a spider. Her grizzled face came close. Her breath was earthy and ripe. ‘What would you do? Would you tear your breast like the pelican? The star-gazer told you that your boy was born to die. Even if you save Him from the worm, the debt must be discharged.’ She sniffed at her. ‘Ah, you don’t like that. I have long pondered it and in truth, it little pleases me either. Follow me and I will tell you the Earth’s secrets.’ She crawled back towards the crater.

‘No Man said that air is fatal to men.’

‘So it is. But we are not men, are we? Besides, you must die a little if you wish to be wise.’ And, like a flower drawing in its petals at night, she sank into the crater.

*

Even the seriousness of his wound could not dim Bakhbukh’s curiosity. ‘What’s happening?’

Warily Fulk watched Hellebore and the Whisperer conferring. There was some controversy upsetting the assembly, but there at Bakhbukh’s side he could not tell what. ‘Don’t concern yourself.’

‘Easy for you to say, Grand Master. Minding other people’s business has been my occupation.’ Bakhbukh attempted to smile but the pain made him grimace.

‘Chew this,’ said Fulk, offering some khat. No Man’s mother snapped it from his hand, sniffed it suspiciously and tasted a sprig. She made a face, but evidently satisfied that it was not poisonous, handed it to Bakhbukh.

‘Thank you, Madame.’ He chewed meditatively for a while as Fulk watched the argument growing more and more animated. ‘’Tis right that I depart now, Grand Master. I have overstayed my welcome, and the scenery has changed about me. This is a stage I hardly know. My nasi is dead, and I helped to finish his bloodline.’

‘You were not responsible for Arik’s fate,’ said Fulk, still watching the Sybarite chief.

‘Being advisor means everything is your responsibility, and by taking Yūsuf’s part, I drove Arik into the embrace of the
franj
. Tell the Contessa, I could not wait. But you must promise me something, Fulk Guiscard.’

He turned and looked at Bakhbukh. ‘Tell it.’

‘Go and see the Contessa’s tower on my behalf, and then take my bones back to the Sands. I will not rest until my dust is mingled with the Sands.’

Then, satisfied with Fulk’s word, he drifted in sleep, until coming suddenly back to lucidity, he added, ‘And since I cannot leave you without a word of advice: Melisende Ibelin is a good woman, but you are the rightful king of Akka. Your tribe needs its nasi no less than any other. Go home and take your throne.’

There was more than that to his words, Fulk knew. Without the axe to keep the tribes honest, they might easily fall back on their own turbulent ways.

The old Ebionite fell into a deep slumber from which Fulk knew there was no return. He contemplated the chair he had left empty in Akka when a sudden squall of raised voices brought him back to his present predicament.

He looked over to his knights. ‘Perhaps our Crusade shall end here too, brothers,’ he murmured.

*

It was hours before Sofia returned to the surface. Just before she crawled out, she stopped and – not looking back as instructed – said, ‘Back in the village, my friend is—’

Two ancient coins shot out of the hole and the crone’s voice came from far away. ‘Gone. Your spoiled knight saw him out and his soul has already merged with the Winds. And you shall find another friend waiting. You shall never lack for friends, until the very end. Then, when most you need one, you shall be friendless …’

Sofia peeked out of the ivy warily and found No Man calmly sitting by the pool. The body of Hellebore’s son was floating in the reflection of the moon. They didn’t speak until they were close again to the village.

‘Will you get in trouble?’

‘I’ll be killed,’ he said without regret. ‘What did she tell you?’

Sofia glanced back before answering, ‘Everything, except what I wanted to hear.’

*

When the villagers saw No Man return with the Contessa, they fell down and wept at their deliverance.

No Man’s mother returned Iscanno to Sofia.

‘Fulk,’ Sofia cried, ‘what have you done?’

‘Not a thing,’ he said. ‘We merely looked on as justice was
done. There was uproar when the Sybarites discovered Femus was missing. Knowing Hellebore, they knew exactly what he’d sent his over-muscled son do. The other one – they call him the Whisperer – he tried to stop them, but I think they’d had enough. They’d kept the Law – they’d been faithful for centuries, waiting for this day – and I guess they weren’t going to let it pass because one old blind fool wished to hold on to power. The Whisperer got off lightly – they only took his tongue. The Top Man’s head is over there, next to the Concordian captain.’

‘Where’s Bakhbukh?’

‘Paradise,’ Fulk said simply, and showed her the body. The old man looked restful.

Sofia laid the ancient Etruscan pennies on his eyes and whispered, ‘Godspeed, my friend.’ That hour when she would be friendless was one hour closer.

The day’s miracles were not over. For the first time in centuries, strange ships came to the sharp-toothed mouth of Neo-Sybaris’ harbour. The Sybarites gathered at the moorings, spears and rocks in hand, ready to attack if the Contessa commanded it, but tears sprang to her eyes as she recognised the tall scarecrow of a man in the foremost boat.

‘These are my friends,’ she said.

*

Even with a paranoid, hesitant commander, the Concordians accomplished the final push in two days and made camp near the slopes of unsleeping Vesuvius before entering the pass between the Lattari and the Picentini Mountains. Much to Geta’s annoyance, Leto again slowed the pace, fearing ambush at every step.

Finally, they saw Salerno. Far from the fierce fight they were expecting, the city was not just abandoned; it was burning. To discover all the agony of dragging the siege-engines south had been for naught? That was the final insult.