The Silk Tree (10 page)

Justinian’s eyes narrowed. ‘For a holy man it seems to me you’re worldly beyond your station, Brother Paul.’

‘Clemency, I knew you would require detail and considered thought, so I made it my business to have the facts at hand.’

‘Go on.’

‘Sire, I merely wished to point out that when in possession of the seeds this drain will cease. No more tons of gold to your bitter enemy – perhaps even a net inflow when you begin exporting your crop to others. Surely this is worth an investment of, say, four thousand …?’

‘You present a compelling argument. Just for my curiosity, pray, what reward do you seek for your services? A fee against—’

‘Sire!’ Nicander blurted, shocked. ‘This is not the way of one in the fellowship of the holy Saint Agnes!’

He allowed a beatific smile to settle. ‘If it pleases, Your Effulgence, it would gratify my king were you to establish a church to Saint Agnes and provide us with such monks as are necessary to teach our people the true way of the Lord in these parlous modern times.’

‘A church? I would think that possible. And clerics – you shall have them both. Provided you are successful in bringing back to me the seeds of the silk tree.’

‘Then …?’

‘It does seem you have a case, Brother Paul. I’m minded to assist. If you’re going forth to cross the earth at great personal hazard, why should we not risk our own paltry three thousands?’

‘Sire, four.’

‘Hmm, four. Now let me help you, Brother. The tribute convoy to Persia leaves shortly. You will have escort and rations all the way to the shores of the Erythraean.’

‘Thank you, Majesty,’ Nicander managed.

‘Further, I would not have it on my conscience if I allowed men of God to go into the world without they have attendants. You shall have two of my finest compulsors to look after you. To carry your bags, as it were, and assist in bringing safely back my seeds.’

‘This won’t be necessary, Your Resplendency, we—’

‘You will be provided with a holy relic to present to your king. Perhaps the finger bone of Saint Anthony?’

‘You are most generous, Divine Majesty.’

‘And holy scriptures, of course. You have no objection to the writings of the sainted Athanasius?

‘So now there is little more for you to concern yourselves with. Return to your cell with our blessing, to fast and prepare yourselves spiritually for the journey. Rest easy, holy brothers – you will be guarded day and night, have no fear. Your attendants will take care of the chest of funds when they have been assembled. You are to be relieved of responsibility and anxiety for all profane existence.’

They spoke in whispers – the guards posted were only paces away outside their cell.

‘You think … he knows?’ Nicander said, his voice unsteady.

Marius grunted, lying on his back on the simple wicker bed and staring up at the dark ceiling. ‘So why let us go?’

‘We’re trapped in this cell. Peter Barsymes won’t go near us now, John the Cappadocian is no use – he’ll deny us anyway – Lady Antonina dare not show herself at this level. We’re on our own, Marius – do you hear what I’m saying?’

‘That’s good – we don’t need anybody now.’

‘Are you mad? We’re caught up in a crazy scheme that’ll see us on a boat to nowhere or the edge of the world, and you say we don’t need anybody?’

‘I’m saying it’s all down to us, and that’s how I like it.’

‘So what do you suggest we do now?’

‘We wait for the right moment and get out fast with the doings, why not?’

‘The attendants,
remember
?’

‘Two little servants? Nothing to worry of, Greek.’

‘These are compulsors!’

Marius levered himself up. ‘So?’

‘Known in the business world as “tax extraction agents”, and hard men, believe me, friend!’

‘Oh?’

‘They know all the tricks, have been everywhere, eat a Sarmatian muscleman for breakfast – each – and are blind loyal to Justinian. Only sent in where other persuasions fail.’

‘Why …?’

‘Can’t you see it? There’s two ways to look at it. Either he believes that we’re two innocent holy men needing protection from a wicked world, can’t be let out alone – or he wants us to get the silk seeds, then these two seize ’em, and after disposing of us in a permanent way, present them to their master, secret safe.’

‘Ah …’

‘So we’re in trouble either way, my good friend.’

‘What’s that bloody noise?’ Marius groaned, awakening in the pre-dawn light.

The insistent knocking made Nicander stir, too. ‘See what the matter is,’ he muttered, pulling his blanket over his head.

Cursing under his breath, Marius opened their cell door. Two men stood patiently. ‘What do you want?’ he growled.

‘Are you gentlemen not yet risen? Sorry to disturb. We’re your attendants come for you,’ said the taller of the two.

‘Can we enter? Get acquainted, like.’

‘Well, make yourselves at home!’ Marius said sarcastically as they pushed past. Both, he noted, wore a knee-length chlamys, plenty of room to conceal weapons.

Nicander emerged from under his blanket. ‘Why are you here at this hour? We’re—’

‘Ship sails soon. We’re to see you on it.’

‘I don’t think I caught your names.’

‘I’m Velch the Tuscan and he’s Nemasus of Massilia.’

‘We’re here just to keep you gentlemen safe, looking after details, like. Wouldn’t want a nasty barbarian taking advantage of you holy gentlemen, now would we?’

‘So, you’re guarding us. And our chest, too?’

‘Ah, now you’ve no need to worry yourselves about that there,’ he chuckled. ‘It’ll all be taken care of – just you get us to this Seres place and we’ll be doing all the rest.’

Nicander didn’t miss the quick flash between the two.

‘We’re holy men and used to our privacy. I trust this will be respected?’

‘Of
couuurrrse!
’ purred Velch. ‘We’ll be no bother at all.’

Nemasus produced two small bags from the hallway, which he tossed on one of the beds. ‘You can take as much as you like on the boat – as long as it fits in those. We’ll be back in an hour.’

Velch stood in the doorway, Nemasus to one side.

‘We are ready to proceed,’ Nicander said, looking pointedly at their bags.

The two compulsors did not move.

‘Our luggage?’

‘We don’t carry bags. Gets in the way of a sword arm, like. Now, if you holy gentlemen would go on ahead where we can keep an eye on you.’

In the quiet of the early morning the little group moved through the palace compound and out to the small harbour by the lighthouse.

Alongside the breakwater was a dromond, the sleek sail galley that was the navy’s chief battle weapon. It was being loaded by a chain of labourers and the yards already had sail bent to them.

The entire area was secured. A double line of armoured soldiers cordoned off the approaches to the vessel and a burly ship’s corporal made much of looking up their names on a slate before they were let through. At the gangway an officer also checked a list.

Hundreds of feet long, the dromond was equipped with fifty oars and two lofty masts with diagonal lateens across them. A full deck ran fore and aft, both for sheltering the oarsmen beneath and to serve as a fighting platform for archers.

As they boarded, Nicander spied a series of squat cases lashed down in a row on the centreline under cloths. Their chest would be amongst them.

They were escorted aft to the clear area before the cabin and left with their
bags until they could be attended to by the busy crew while the compulsors disappeared below. With a hundred men-at-oars pouring aboard, sailors hauling on ropes and the last stores being struck down it was no time to be in the way.

There was a long, piercing whistle followed by three short ones. Sailors sprang into position, lines were thrown ashore and they were poled clear. Then a sharp order rang out, along with a rumble of wooden thunder as oars were shipped and brought to a ready position.

The captain looked about, sniffing for a wind. Satisfied, he raised his hand.

A bull roar erupted from forward. The oars lifted and fell in a chorus of creaks, bit into the sea then lifted once more – and with a slither and thud dipped again together.

Nicander looked up to see the dry land retreating feet at a time. The ship gathered way and began slipping further off until, imperceptibly, their world changed to a watery one.

Soon all the familiar sights of Constantinople took on a different perspective, the great Hagia Sophia becoming model-like, a vision in white. The low bulk of the vast hippodrome was nothing more than an apologetic hump beyond the sea wall stretching down the coast.

His thoughts were interrupted by another barked order. The oars ceased their rhythm and the ship glided to a stop. They were now well out into the Propontis. Two other galleys took position ahead, on either side.

More orders cracked out and running feet thumped on the deck as sailors raced to their stations. Lines were thrown off, yards hauled around and sail was shown to the wind. As if bowing to Oceanus, the ship leant at an angle and with a final rumble below, oars were brought in and housed.

‘So, our last view of Constantinople,’ murmured Nicander. Marius remained silent.

‘You do realise, if –
when
– we’ve got it in the bag we can’t return. If something else happens, we’ll be cooked like a goose. Either way, this is the last we’ll be seeing of the old place.’

‘You sound sorry.’

‘Sorry! When every face I see could be in the pay of someone out for our blood – when you can’t trust a common serving maid, public races are corrupt and you’re dragged off the street to a torture chamber on the orders of some thick-brained idiot!’

Marius muttered something that Nicander did not quite catch.

The morning breeze strengthened and the ships stretched out together, their wake astern slowly dissolving into the distance.

A ship’s boy approached. ‘You the holy buggers?’

‘Brother Paul and Brother Matthew,’ Nicander said reprovingly.

‘You lot go there, then.’ The lad pointed to a small cloth hutch, one of five, set up on deck from lines carried back from the mainmast.

They humped their bags and found that their accommodation consisted only of two straw mattresses and a tiny locker with eating utensils.

‘Better’n some I’ve been in. They’ll bring blankets at night, I’ll guess.’ Marius grunted and snugged his bag as a pillow at the head of a mattress.

Outside there was nothing to be seen but a vast, endless grey-blue sea.

Marius stretched out. ‘So. We’re on our way, then.’

‘We must be heading for Alexandria. Ever been there?’

‘Bugger that!’

‘We’ll be putting in at a whole lot of ports beforehand.’

‘You know your way about, then.’

‘Well, I’ve been in the incense import–export business since I was a nipper. I know ships and shipping and there’s going to be at least a dozen stops down the coast before this one ever gets to North Africa.’

‘Well, we’d better get to planning,’ Marius came back.

‘What’ll we do about those two bruisers?’

‘Stands to reason – we get rid of ’em.’

Nicander frowned uneasily. ‘You can’t just—’

Marius rolled over and fixed him with a grim stare. ‘Nico. We make a break for it, whether it’s with the loot or no, those bastards – under Justinian’s direct orders – are going to kick up such a fuss as will have the whole country crawling with troopers. We’d have no chance. So …’

‘Still …’

‘Them or us.’

This was not how Nicander had seen things work out. ‘Putting that aside for now, I thought we’d first ask for our chest because we need to check it, then we know where it’s stowed. So we’ll be ready for any chance. After all, no one suspects us or what we’re going to do so, in a quiet port somewhere, we slip off to visit a monastery with our heavy holy scriptures in our bag …’

Marius grunted, closing his eyes in dismissal at the current conversation.

Restless, Nicander went out on deck.

There was a brisk breeze coming in over the quarter and the ships made a fine picture slashing through the easy swell. He looked up at the soaring curve of the big lateen sails, taut and fluttering at the edge. They seemed so much more workmanlike than the usual broad square sails of a merchantman.

He strolled forward. The rowers were visible each side under this main deck, taking it easy while they could.

Right in the bow was a slightly elevated forecastle. He peered over into it and saw their attendants, lounging with a cup of wine in the quarters of the weaponeer.

Velch raised his drink in mock salute. ‘Anything you need, Holy One?’

Nicander gave a wry smile: they obviously knew all the tricks, including how to find a comfortable berth. Here on the open sea they had no need to constantly watch over their charges.

As the afternoon came to a close the ships downed sail and headed purposefully under oars in to the darkening coast. This was the long Hellespont that separated Europa from Asia, and led to the outside world.

Nicander knew that at the narrowest part of the seaway was the port of Dardanellia, a trading harbour where the customs imposts for the Empire were exacted. That’s where they must be headed first.

He racked his brain, trying to remember what he’d heard about the port. Yes. On the Asian side opposite to Constantinople – berths alongside, an amiable population. A river, hills and wooded valleys not so far off. Beyond that still was the anonymity of the ancient lands of Troad and Lydia.

He and Marius had managed to see exactly where their chest was. Stowed under a pack of glassware right at the front of the second case, number XIV, it was only three feet long. It contained, however, over forty leather sacks neatly laced at the tops, packed tightly together under a layer of parchment scrolls and an intricately worked reliquary containing a finger bone of Saint Antony, together with other religious oddments.

Fearing the attendants’ interest, they had tut-tutted that the scriptures were so scanty but allowed it was all there, making much of seeing it safely restowed.

For now they must just be alert. Once it became clear how the ship was to be secured they could finalise their plans.

Ahead, slightly to the left, Nicander saw the first outer settlements of Dardanellia. The narrows shortened and the town grew in size but, one by one, the ships pulled past without slackening pace.

In bewilderment he watched as they left the confines of the strait and moved out into the eye of the sunset and the vastness of the Mediterranean Sea. A few miles further they raised an island, rounded it and dropped anchor.

Nicander returned to Marius, disheartened. Even if they got away with the chest by boat or whatever, on an island there was nowhere to go.

They spooned up the greasy slop that passed for supper in sullen silence.

‘There’ll be a proper port before long, never fear,’ Nicander muttered.

But it was the same all the way down the coast of Asia Minor. Even a naval ship did not navigate across the seas out of sight of land, it followed well-known headlands and seamarks to its destination and moored safely in a bay by night. Potable water for the rowers was brought aboard from the shore and the next morning they were on their way again.

After a week they reached Cyprus and the port of Paphos, ancient and with a thriving town where they loaded provisions and water for the next and final leg – across to Alexandria.

‘This is how we’ll do it,’ Nicander told Marius. ‘I know Alex well. The docks are along the waterfront below the Timonium. Cargo is landed next to
the ship under local guard until customs have assessed it and duties are paid. Then it’s freed to be moved into the warehouses while the inland shippers bring up their wagons. That’s when our men go to work.’

‘Our men?’

‘Who will have been paid to relieve the shipment of the goods we’ve told them to.’

‘Then?’

‘Meanwhile the four camels I’ll hire arrive and during the night we vanish.’

‘While the sailors and rowers are on shore, getting on the juice. Yes!’