The Sword of Damascus (45 page)

I looked at the dark, menacing stillness of the grove. Even I might have thought twice before stepping into that, come the dusk – certainly if I knew Meekal was lurking somewhere inside.

Chapter 52

‘I think you’re a bloody fool,’ I said, still in English. ‘If any of the agents I used to employ had confessed to half your incompetence, I’d have sacked him on the spot – and cancelled his pension too.’ I looked at Edward over the top of my visor. I pulled off my wig and dropped it on the desk. Now we were out of the open, the night heat was turning sticky. I took a deep breath and looked hard at him. ‘But I want you to tell me again,’ I said gently, ‘and this time, try to give me a connected account,
exactly what you saw and heard
. I don’t care what you think you saw, or what you think any of it might indicate. I want the facts as you witnessed them, and nothing more.’

The boy gulped down another mouthful of wine, and looked for reassurance at the bookshelves of my office. We’d got back here without trouble. The guards Karim had already taken care to double outside were all too busy sniffing their bowls of smoking hashish to pay that much attention. A distribution of what gold I’d not lavished on the carrying slaves had shut their mouths, and might keep them shut; besides, if they were already in her pay, I didn’t suppose anyone would be comparing the time I’d left Khadija with the time of my return. I’d helped get Edward out of his pissy, vomit-stained clothes, and he’d sat an age shuddering in the warm bath I’d drawn for him with my own hands. I noted how the weals were already healing on that marvellous skin. But, if the bruises and remaining cuts still hurt, he wasn’t calm enough to pay attention to the pain. Now, I stood over him, pouring wine into his cup, and hoping he wouldn’t pass out before I got enough of those tearful and discontinuous fragments to reconstruct the whole story.

‘Did you recognise any of the other men?’ I asked. That was in itself a useless question. But it served to draw the main attention away from Meekal. Karim hadn’t stayed around to share in the boy’s lesson, and, once I was dressed up and ready to go, Edward had got himself ready to tag along behind. As I might have expected, he’d stopped a little too long to feast his eyes on the snake woman. By the time he’d pulled himself away, my chair was nowhere in sight. Instead, he’d wandered lost for a while, hoping he’d see us all again by chance.

‘Very well,’ I sighed. I hurried him to the main events. ‘You are sure it was Brother Joseph?’ I asked. ‘It isn’t easy to disguise yourself as a eunuch – especially when you have a beard like his. What makes you so completely sure it was him?’ You might think it a silly question. But I wasn’t telling Edward anything of what I’d been up to that evening. And, supposing he hadn’t seen or guessed that Joseph had followed us to Caesarea, his last sight of the man had been far off in the western seas of the Mediterranean.

‘He spoke Latin,’ came the answer through chattering teeth.

I thought of a dab of opium in the wine cup. But you can’t be sure of the effect that will have on the very young.

‘But you weren’t close enough to hear what was said,’ I prompted. The boy nodded. But he’d heard the other man addressed as Meekal, and guessed that he was the Governor of Syria. They’d spoken together a long time outside the hall where the geometry lesson was still in progress. Apparently, Joseph had spoken in cutting tones about the teacher’s ability. Then the pair had moved just outside Edward’s hearing. Meekal had laughed much and shaken his head at some repeated urging. Beyond that, Edward had got nothing from the conversation. Joseph had eventually melted into a crowd, and the choice had been come back here to bed or follow Meekal about. He’d done the latter – and much he’d got from it with his total lack of Saracen. Meekal had gone to a meeting of the palace guards, where he’d been greeted with much cheering. He’d then spent a long time in some low building without lights. He might have been in conversation with one or with many men. Edward had tried listening at a window, but the shutters had been pulled to, and it was impossible to make sense of the faint noises from within.

At last, he’d followed Meekal into the grove. I groaned as he said again that he’d not once noticed my chair. Since he’d been flitting about in the shadows, and my own lack of night vision was to be expected, there was no disgrace in my not having seen him. But he’d never make a spy with that degree of attention to his surroundings. I didn’t mention that Joseph had seen him; that would only have sent him into another sobbing fit.

‘So you followed Meekal along some narrow, winding path to a clearing,’ I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. ‘There were six men already waiting there. Beardless and with pale faces, they were all dressed in black, with high, pointed hats. They danced about him for a while, chanting. They then helped him out of all his clothes, and, naked in the moonlight, Meekal fucked a corpse. Is that what happened?’ Edward said nothing, but covered his eyes in recollection of the horror. I did manage to sound matter-of-fact. This was, however, a new departure for Meekal. If much had been alleged by the stupid monks he’d never gone out of his way to conciliate, not even the Emperor Constans in all his shocking glory had ever actually tried necrophilia. ‘The boy was dead,’ I asked in the same flat voice, ‘you were sure of that?’ He nodded. He said again how the stiff, naked body had been unrolled from the black shroud in which it had been lying on the ground when Meekal arrived. Edward had been close enough behind his bush to see the heavy cord still tied about the neck, and to see the ferocious delight with which the body had been enjoyed. And all the while, the moon had shone through the softly sighing branches, and owls had flapped and hooted overhead. I thought of the serving boy at the previous night’s feast. He’d been such a jolly young creature. But I was far too grown-up to join Edward in shocked tears. I also thought better than to remind him of his own tastes in love. I waited for the new shivering fit to pass.

‘Let us go back to the men in pointy hats,’ I prompted once more. ‘They had light, shaven faces. But you don’t think they were eunuchs?’ He nodded. I took that as a negative. ‘And there were six of them – you counted six of them for sure?’ He had. ‘The faces could have been painted white,’ I went on. ‘That would be fairly standard with the sort of proceedings you witnessed. Now, as Meekal fucked the corpse a second time, they danced about again, chanting in what you think was Saracen. It was after this, when they cut off the dead boy’s head, that all the birds woke up. You say that Meekal got up and joined them in shouting and waving their arms – though the noise was too great for you to hear anything.’ He nodded. ‘Very well. Once everything was quiet again, Meekal took up the severed head and danced with it held aloft. It was now that the others set up a regular chant – the same words over and over.’ I waited for the nod. ‘Can you repeat for me what sounds their words had?’ Edward opened his mouth. I leaned forward, hoping against hope. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought hard. Then he opened them and shook his head.

I could have beaten the stupid boy. I’d just got for myself a stick to wave over Khadija’s head if required. I could now have had a sharp little knife to shove into Meekal’s guts. As it was, though, I had enough. I patted Edward’s shoulder and reminded him of my words earlier that evening, about the usefulness of learning foreign languages.

‘It seems that you caught your nephew in some act of sorcery,’ I explained. ‘But you knew that already, I’m sure. I want you to tell yourself – and to keep telling yourself – that there is no magic. Leave aside whatever nonsense was clogging Meekal’s mind, all you witnessed was an act of physical grossness, following what I cannot regard as other than a brutal murder. However, the Saracens do believe in magic. If possible, they take an even dimmer view of it than the Christians do.

‘You’re bleeding lucky, young man, that no one saw you. By now, you’d be ripening somewhere for Meekal to shove a knife up your arse till it too could accommodate his massively engorged member.’ I cursed those stimulants Khadija had poured down my throat. They’d kept me going. But I thought for a moment Edward would puke up again. I got the wastepaper basket ready. But he controlled himself and drew himself up on the sofa to hug his knees.

‘What did it all mean?’ he asked. He squeezed his eyes tight shut.

I laughed softly. ‘The corpse-fucking we can take as an act of superstitious blasphemy,’ I said. ‘It’s the sort of thing people did on the quiet, back in the days of the Old Faith, before committing an act of the most desperate treason. There are varying explanations of its meaning. But the most reasonable is that it’s an act of ritual defilement, followed by cleansing. You say Meekal wheeled round and round at the end of his dance, then tossed the head into some bushes. I think you’ll find that he threw it in exactly the direction of the rising sun. The idea is that the thing takes on all the sins and general worthlessness of the killer’s life to date. All this is then communicated to the first person who touches the head when the sun is risen. The body can be dismembered and buried wherever may be convenient. I don’t suppose any of the parts will be discovered. In any event, one more body in a place like this won’t raise many eyebrows.’ Oddly enough, Edward seemed to find some comfort in my conjectural explanation. But, if this wasn’t the first time I’d tried lecturing him out of belief in it, he’d grown up – rather as I had – in a world where magic and divination were taken for granted.

‘That being said,’ I mused, ‘while you really can fuck anything once, twice indicates a disturbing partiality.’ I thought briefly how, just that afternoon, one of Meekal’s fingers had been pushed up my bum. I shuddered. I’d not be repeating that experience in a hurry. But it was time to draw Edward’s attention from horror back to simple mystery. ‘I wonder,’ I continued, ‘what Meekal could have been doing with Joseph – in full view, and inside the palace. That is worth considering, don’t you think? I’ll bet you thought you’d seen the last of him when he was trussed up back in Jarrow. You never thought he’d follow us all over the world.’ I tried for a laugh. Just then, though, as if some invisible attendant had withdrawn his supporting arms, the stimulants suddenly wore off. I sat down heavily in my chair and fought off a fainting attack. I put up a hand to my nose, and looked at the dark stickiness on my fingers.

‘Whatever the case,’ I said with much labour, ‘we are where we are. If you find everything over your head, that’s just too bad. All else aside, your life now hangs on my cooperation.’ Edward looked up. I did now manage a laugh, even if it wasn’t a very pleasant one. ‘Oh, it’s all wickedly ironic,’ I said with a tired wave. ‘You forced me out of that monastery by threatening to slice up poor Wilfred. Now he’s dead, you’ve taken his place with Meekal. One day, I’ll get round to reciting the whole of one of those sicko plays Seneca wrote as entertainments for the court of Nero. I can think of one passage in particular that fits our situation. For the moment, we pretend none of this happened. We must simply hope that no one saw either of us.’

I got up and tried to stretch. It wasn’t my most successful move of the day. I let my arms fall limp. Was that more blood I could feel running down my chin? I pulled myself together. I leaned hard on my stick and moved towards the door.

‘I’ll see you to bed,’ I told the boy. I picked up the key to the main door as I passed the table on which I’d dropped it. ‘Yes, I’ll unlock,’ I said firmly. ‘If Meekal wants to send men in to throttle us while we sleep, some silly lock won’t keep them out. It will simply mean no one can get in to serve breakfast. Just as if nothing had happened, I’ll leave the door unlocked and the key in the outside lock. That’s what Karim bribed the slaves into accepting.’

‘Then, please, Master – don’t make me sleep alone,’ Edward asked. He jumped off the sofa and almost knocked me over with his scared embrace. I felt his warm body next to mine. I was so knocked out, it might have been a bag of warmed bricks. I put a hand on one of the unmarked areas of his back.

‘I suppose it has been a difficult couple of days,’ I said in what I hoped was a reassuring tone. ‘Oh, come with me,’ I said, dropping all pretence of emotion. ‘It’s not as if there was a shortage of space in the bed.’

Chapter 53

I woke in Jarrow from another of my dozes. I looked up into the leaden greyness of the sky. It was coming on to rain again. I’d have to drag myself back inside if I were to avoid getting wet as well as cold. I looked over at the gate that led back into the monastery. While I slept, a layer of oak planks had been nailed over it, hiding the weathered cross. I tried to think and to remember. But there was nothing clear in my head. It was as if I’d finally had the stroke people had been warning me against for years. I stopped and began counting slowly backwards in Greek, trying desperately to remember anything at all. I managed the counting. But each time I thought I’d grasped something solid among the contents of my mind, it seemed to shrivel then vanish in my hand.

I said I’d have to drag myself inside. But was I up to doing anything for myself? More jumbled fragments of memories. I gave up on thinking and looked down. I was sitting on a wooden chair with arms each side. Hadn’t this once been Abbot Benedict’s chair? If so, all the biblical imagery that had once covered the arms was now cut away or rubbed smooth. My legs were buried under a loose packing of blankets against the chill. I tried to move my right foot. There was a slight tingling, I thought. Perhaps there was a slight movement. It was hard to say.

I looked over to my left. I was sure this had once been the patch of grass where the boys would kick a ball about between lessons. But it all seemed so long ago. Again, the curtain came down between me and what I knew had once been a perfect memory. I shouted at everyone to go inside. No one looked round. No one got up from his place. Seated on the damp grass, the boys looked steadily forward. I tried to focus on the teacher. For some reason, this was a regular lesson – but in the open of a Northumbrian spring or autumn or summer. I willed myself to hear their chanted responses to the teacher’s lesson. But my hearing was no longer even what it had once been. It all sounded like a vague mumbling. But I tried harder. Now, I could hear something. Yes – it really was quite clear after all: