The Warring States (The Wave Trilogy) (56 page)

It wasn’t just her; all Akka was on edge. By now Sofia was used to the near-panic that overtook the poorer quarters as everyone rushed to buy provisions on the eve of Sabbath. But tomorrow was not Sabbath, and there had been a nervousness
in the air all week. The people milling in the streets were dressed more sombrely than usual, and that morning she and Levi had watched the seneschal leading Lazars out of the main gate. It was almost as if they were evacuating the city. Levi went to investigate – no part of Akka was closed to a man.

Sofia circumnavigated the wall and found Arik perched on the east side, watching his falcon’s shadow sweep over the dunes. He held his arm out and called her.

His back was turned to Akka; his spirit too yearned for the freedom of the Sands. The patriarch was leading a procession through the streets below. Dolorous chants competed with the din of clashing cymbals. He was followed by a sumptuous train of Akkan ladies, all veiled, of course, but dressed in black instead of their usual vivacious colours. They cast ashes on their heads, weeping. In the midst of them, four slaves carried a float with the Madonna Muerta, wreathed in incense and sprinkled with black petals and desert thorns.

Sofia asked, ‘Where are all the Lazars going?’

The bird landed on Arik’s gauntlet. He deftly replaced its hood and fed it some meat. ‘Ask Fulk.’

He was ill-at-ease in the city, but also with her – she was just another Frank now.

‘I’m asking you.’

‘It’s a show of force while the Festival of All Souls lasts.’ Seeing Sofia’s confusion, he scornfully indicated the procession below. ‘This blasphemy. Today’s the Day of the Innocents.’ Arik’s face didn’t usually reflect his feelings, but today his disgust was obvious. ‘It’s a warm-up for the main event: tomorrow is the Day of the Dead.’

Knowing Akka’s chauvinistic citizenry, Sofia was sure the Day of the Dead would be a sombre memorial to the fallen, followed by vows to revenge them. ‘What if a tribe attacked the city during the festival?’

‘That’s what the Lazar patrols are for. But it’s unlikely; my people give Oltremarine cities a wide berth at this time. I myself am going to sell Dhib in Nazareth. You’re welcome to come – but if you stay, however much they press it on you, don’t wear a mask. Stick by Fulk.’

‘He’s staying, then?’

‘Someone has to stay sober.’

Sofia followed the procession through the streets from her vantage point, watching as the intensity of the mourners mounted, culminating in the women ripping off their veils and tearing their hair and scratching their arms and cheeks. Suddenly there was a clamour from the streets, shouts and yells, and the Lazars patrolling the walls started descending as fast as they could move.

Levi came running. ‘Get to your chamber and lock the door,’ he cried.

‘What is it?’

‘Prince Andronikos tried to kill the queen!’

A scream from below cut the air and the patriarch and the women scattered, diving to either side as several riders burst through them. The slaves carrying the statue could not move so fast – they and it were smashed under horse hoofs: the prince’s axemen, with Lazars hot on their heels.

Confusion reigned in the palace. Accounts varied: Prince Andronikos and his men had apparently stormed the throne room, cutting their way through several slaves, and Fulk and the queen herself had kept them at bay until more Lazars arrived.

‘I gave him something to remember me by,’ said Fulk grimly.

That’s when the fight had taken to the streets: the prince was counting on popular support, but he had seriously misjudged the city. The bawling of his daughter filled the
throne room, an incongruous sound against the sight of corpses being hauled away. The queen did not appear to notice either; she paced and wrung her hands. ‘No sign of him?’

‘He can’t be far – probably hiding in the Ebionite quarter,’

‘I saw a lone rider leave the city,’ said Arik, ‘going south.’

‘He’s fled, the dog!’ Fulk rasped. ‘He tried to take advantage of the festival, Madonna curse his blaspheming eyes. When I find him—’

Arik glanced at Sofia. ‘No, Fulk, you should stay. Akka needs you tomorrow. I’ll bring him back.’

‘You can’t go alone,’ Sofia started.

‘I’ll go too,’ said Levi. ‘Two of us should be enough.’

The queen gathered herself. ‘Podesta, I will not forget this. Arik, I charge you now: bring my uncle back alive, that I might show him clemency. I will not let my kingdom be again divided.’

After their departure the queen clapped her hands and her ladies-in-waiting and slaves retreated. Fulk was reluctant to leave her, but she insisted. ‘The sun will not slow on our account, Grand Master. You’ve preparations to see to.’ She picked up the baby and bounced it roughly in her arms. Though clearly upset by the attempt on her life, she tried to conceal it with gaiety. ‘I am
so
looking forward to tomorrow. As King Tancred made me, so Count Scaligeri made you. We owe them everything. To loan them our limbs once a year is a small price. What’s one day, after all? You’ll take part, of course?’

Sofia remembered Arik’s counsel and politely refused.

‘Are you sure? You can use one of my Family masks – no? Well, suit yourself. If I could persuade you by telling you what it’s like, I would, but the truth is, I never remember. Imagine being sated after a great feast, without remembering the feast – for a few hours, someone else takes charge of your body. Though the dead are legion, they have one thing in common: they are not alive. Perhaps the patriarch would explain it better,
but let me try: the pleasures of flesh are obviously greater ecstasy than Heaven can offer. The dead are famished, and we live in a land of plenty.’ She held up the baby. ‘Don’t we, chubby cheeks? Yes, we do! Yes we do!’ She turned to Sofia. ‘Would you like to hold her?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Look at you! You’re a natural mother. Contessa –
Sofia
– it’s just us girls now. There is something I must ask you.’ Her eyes dropped. ‘Who’s the father?’

‘You’d think me mad if I told you.’

‘I see – an unsuitable person? The world is full of them.’

‘You could say that.’

‘I shall not press you. You’ve found sanctuary here. From questions, from whispers, from fear.’

Two hours before sunrise, clappers and cymbals called Akka’s remaining Lazars to mass. They had been fasting since yesterday, but they did not appear fatigued. The chapel was small – only the funeral of a man who owed no one money could have been held in it. The walls were limed white and decoration was absent, but for a faded fresco depicting two angels drawing back a drapery with the satisfied expressions of clever schoolchildren. The rather unconvincing effect was saved by the wonder they revealed: here was the sympathetic Madonna Sofia knew. It was surprising that the Mother of God was depicted as a corpse everywhere in Akka
but
here – but no, not surprising at all – death cannot inspire reverence in those who live in its shadow. The queen had given Sofia charge of the prince’s daughter, and she laid her cheek on the downy crown of her head and said a prayer for Levi and Arik.

Before dawn, Fulk did a final check of the city, then retreated to the walls. Stairs were barred and ladders drawn up. He was still enraged at Prince Andronikos’ treachery. Sofia understood
loyalty; this was something else. He was taking it personally. When she asked about the festival, he was scarcely less impatient. ‘They wear a death mask for a day as a joke. Great fun for them, a security nightmare for us.’

While their masters howled though the Day of the Innocents, the Ebionite servants were busy preparing for the Day of the Dead. They rearranged the death masks in the Ancestor Room, laid out great banquets and then fled the city before the sun went down. Next morning, family members performed their ablutions and then tied blindfolds on each another. One by one they entered the Ancestor Room, and when they came out they were someone else. Nubile girls emerged wearing the faces of bearded soldiers, old men with the faces of beautiful boys. The great feasts vanished in minutes, and afterwards, other hungers were sated.

Fulk and his skeleton crew patrolled the walls as the mayhem let loose. Sofia tried to keep the infant calm, but the changed atmosphere was palpable.

‘You don’t partake, Fulk?’ she asked.

‘With
this
body? It would be unjust to the dead.’

Sofia didn’t believe his selfless act; he, like Arik, was obviously disgusted by the festival, but his fidelity to his queen trumped everything.

Sofia asked, ‘Are they
really
possessed?’

‘Does it matter?’ he said, then, softer, ‘Forgive me. I’m just— For the first few hours it’s play-acting, as far I can tell, but after dusk …’ He whistled dryly. ‘Then it gets rough. To start with, everyone’s just delighted to be alive, but later they weary; they feel themselves slipping away. Some go down fighting, and occasionally you get a really strong personality. They always bring a few back. You’ll see.’

They followed the prince’s tracks for several miles until they came to a place where the soil gave way to shifting sands and Arik swore and confessed that they might have lost him. He held his hand out and called, ‘Dhib!’

The falcon had been following so long that Levi had forgotten it, but now it swooped down and landed on Arik’s outstretched arm. He whispered some words to it and it took off again.

‘Now what?’ said Levi.

‘Now we wait. Tea?’

Arik poured the water onto a mint leaf and piled in several spoons of sugar. As he handed Levi the cup, he muttered,
‘לחײם’