The Blood of Alexandria (16 page)

Something else worth asking was how extensive the Brotherhood’s network was within the Viceroy’s government. What Martin had turned up was certainly disturbing. But I checked the train of thought. I looked again at Martin.

‘I told you earlier, Martin, to drop your investigation,’ I said in my very firm voice. ‘I trust you will now do so. Nicetas sealed the order. It looks drafted in the local style. Even so, our own involvement must be at least suspected.’

I paused, letting the implication of this sink into Martin’s already scared mind. The door opened and a slave crept into the room, carrying a tray of refreshments. Macarius took them and pushed the slave back out. He sniffed at the jug and nodded. He poured wine into a large cup and handed it to me. I drank. An opium pill would have been nice to settle my thoughts and take away that dull pain from my shoulder. But the wine would have to do.

‘Even so again,’ I said, now in lighter mood, ‘this Brotherhood seems to have struck, and in as public a manner as can be imagined. No doubt, the subsidy will once again be reinstated when the fuss has died down. If and when that happens, it will be none of our business. And, Martin – you will this time make it none of your business. For the rest, we have other work entirely. So far as its effect will be to raise the condition of those from whom the Brotherhood appears to draw support, I don’t expect any untoward consequences for ourselves.

‘Now, while I have no intention of bringing anyone to justice, there are certain things I must know about Leontius and his final movements. Martin, I want you to go and secure any papers you can find in the house. You will not object, I hope, if Macarius takes your place as secretary when I interview the household.’

As I got up to move to the door, I caught sight of my face in a little mirror fixed to the wall. No point moaning now at Macarius, but it would have been useful to be told about the smears of dried blood.

Chapter 15

I glanced at myself again in the mirror. A little more sleep would have come in handy. But the masseurs had managed to press most of the youth back into my features. And if my bruised shoulder was hurting like buggery, it would have hurt still more without the opium. All told, I looked better than I felt, but didn’t feel as bad as I might have.

‘His Imperial Highness will be pleased to see Your Magnificence,’ the eunuch trilled in an effort at the grand style of Constantinople.

I grunted and walked past him into the Viceroy’s office.

‘Greetings, my dear Alaric, many greetings,’ Nicetas called in Latin from his chair. He waved me to the seat opposite and fell back exhausted. Like his Imperial cousin, he was from Carthage, and could be trusted to fall into his native language whenever Greek proved too much of a strain. This morning, his leg was giving trouble. The smell alone as I walked in had told me it had turned bad again. His shaven face was pale and haggard. That the remnants of his dirty blond hair had been carefully dressed to cover his scalp only added to the appearance of broken-down health. A monk was intoning prayers while slaves retied the bandage.

‘Patriarch John has loaned me the little finger of Saint George to have bandaged next to the flesh,’ he added, noticing my look at him. ‘I’m sure it will have more effect than these worthless doctors.’

Saint George? I asked myself. Saint George? There were so many of them out here, it was hard to keep track. Wasn’t he the sausage maker – or was it the arms dealer? – who’d been torn apart here by a mob back in the time of Julian? No point in asking. Nicetas reached over to a low table and picked up a scrap of parchment.

‘I’ve had a letter,’ he said, ‘from some trader among the Saracens. He lives in one of the inland towns.’ He broke off and looked at the map of Egypt and surrounding territories that was a mosaic covering the entire wall on the far side of the room. I followed his glance. Someone had been at it recently with coloured chalks. All the Red Sea ports of Egypt had been circled and connected by lines to ports on the facing coast.

‘Anyway,’ Nicetas said, passing the letter over to me, ‘the man tells me that God has been sending him messages these past two years via the Archangel Gabriel. Apparently, the pagan rulers of his home town don’t like his efforts, and he invites our support.’

I skimmed the letter. It was rather a quaint production. Written in a debased Greek, with a few Latin characters thrown in, it went on and on about these alleged messages. The recipient plainly thought himself in good standing with the Almighty.

‘I’m thinking to send the man a set of the Gospels on fine vellum,’ Nicetas added.

‘I’m sure their effect will be most edifying,’ I said. ‘However, your cousin the Emperor has interests in Arabia that suggest a more substantial gift. Saracen mercenaries are useful to the Persians as well as to ourselves. Promoting the True Faith among them will further our efforts to bring them into at least friendly neutrality.

‘I would therefore recommend in addition a small sum of gold – oh, and perhaps some dancing girls. I’m sure they will go down very well if our man is having that bad a time.’

Except for the monk, who’d been mumbling away throughout, we fell silent. Nicetas had the best rooms in the Palace. Though the weather had turned hot again, with nearly fifty feet of ceiling height and those big northerly windows, the heat was less than intolerable.

‘Heraclius mentions you again in a letter that arrived the other day,’ he said, beginning again with a sudden jerk. ‘As ever, he speaks very highly of you. He instructs me to continue giving all possible help with implementing the new land law.’ He paused and looked over at the bigger of the three windows.

I glared at the monk. He gave me one of those ‘fuck you’ looks that favoured clerics always try on their betters. It didn’t work with me. I glared steadily back. At last, he made the sign of the Cross over the bandaged leg and got himself out of the room. With low bows, the slaves followed.

‘I understand it was at the urging of Priscus,’ Nicetas continued once the doors were pulled shut. ‘Even so, you have been here long enough to know the folly of going into the Egyptian quarter at night.’ He tried to say more, but the effort was too much. He sank back again exhausted.

I refilled his wine cup and put it to his lips. He swallowed a few times and closed his eyes. I thought for a moment he’d nodded off on me. But the lids flickered and he was back again.

‘The death of Leontius,’ he said with a change of subject, ‘is something I had been expecting since he worsted you in the Great Hall. Certainly, the document you had me seal the night before last might as well have been his death warrant. The Brotherhood seldom acts openly in Alexandria, but does not welcome any harming of its interests. Am I right that you propose to investigate his death?’

I shook my head. I’d slept on the matter, and was even surer that this was one of those things best left alone.

‘I am glad,’ said Nicetas. ‘You may think that his death has been of some benefit to our project. The opposition is now without a leader. Indeed, I had a deputation earlier this morning of his followers among the landowning interest. They assured me of their loyalty and of their active desire to help maintain order both in Alexandria and in Egypt. This being said, there remain other considerations which I am too unwell at present to discuss with you. While my cousin urges the land law upon me, he must understand – as must you – that our primary concern is the maintenance of order and of stability in the wider sense. I am inclined, therefore, to proceed more cautiously.’

More cautiously
indeed! At the speed he had managed so far to allow, more cautious would have meant going backwards.

‘And I’ve spoken with Priscus,’ he added. He looked away again. ‘He believes there will be a Persian attack on Syria come the spring. The exports of grain are too important to risk at any time, so we cannot afford trouble in Egypt.’

‘And what might Priscus have advised on this occasion?’ I asked, keeping my voice very steady. ‘Might it involve further delay?’

‘He always has the best interests of the Empire at heart,’ Nicetas said evasively. ‘I know that you operate under the direct orders of the Augustus. Even so, you must see that the unsettled state of things here may require some special dispensation from the law.’

‘Are you suggesting that Egypt should be exempted from the land redistribution?’ I asked, a touch of nicely judged menace now in my voice.

‘Not exempted,’ came the stammered reply, ‘just given more time for the implications of the law to be considered. Surely, bearing in mind Egypt’s unique importance, we should see how the law works in the other provinces. I agree that it might bring substantial improvements in tax collection and military service and in general order. But surely we need to bear in mind local circumstances for the short term.

‘Perhaps I should write again to Heraclius. He ignored my first letter. Perhaps this time . . .’ He fell silent again.

‘We cannot have any further delay,’ I said, breaking the silence. ‘The will of Caesar is that the law shall apply without exception throughout the Empire. If you are concerned about order in Alexandria, you might seal those orders for the dispatch of the grain fleet. It will be ready to go in the next few days. Already, it’s causing trouble. You may care to remember how the granaries are running short, and how many months we have until the next harvest. If the grain fleet is delayed, it will hardly matter that Leontius is no longer here to stir up the mobs and the higher classes on both sides of the Wall.

‘I might also mention once again your policy of sending forces out of Alexandria. I have no doubt the Red Sea ports are important. But I am not sure if we have enough men here now to suppress a rising of either of the mobs, let alone both.’

Nicetas shut me up by putting his hands over his ears and looking ready to cry. There was no point continuing. After four months of this, I knew his ways. I waited for the tantrum to pass. It did. He moved his leg a couple of inches. He winced from the sudden pain.

‘You must understand,’ he said, ‘that I am responsible for Alexandria and the whole of Egypt. After two years in the post, I know far more than Heraclius about local conditions. I’m not sure how, in present circumstances, I can seal those warrants you keep setting before me. The murder – the death – of Leontius removes one difficulty, but raises others. The country is so unsettled, so horribly unsettled. There are so many things about Egypt I should have explained to you before all this happened. If only I had more time . . .’

He trailed off again. A distracted look coming over his face, he picked up that letter from the Saracen. His lips moved quietly as he read it over to himself.

Chapter 16

‘But, my darling, are such cruel words appropriate for the man who saved your life?’ Priscus asked, sitting back in his chair. He raised his cup in a mock toast to the dust-covered boxes piled up against the wall.

‘I do assure you, my dearest Alaric, that I made not one mention of your land law this morning. If Nicetas called me into his presence, it was on other matters entirely.’

I breathed deeply and took another swig from my own cup. There was no reason to suppose Priscus had made his way here specially to block in Alexandria what he’d so bitterly opposed in Constantinople. He’d just taken advantage of a situation that had presented itself. Perhaps he was even telling the truth. It wouldn’t have surprised me at all if Nicetas had thought up the latest tactic for delay all by himself. Bloody Leontius! I thought again. Alive or dead, his talent for getting in the way was endless. I refilled my cup.

Just as I was opening my mouth for something really cutting, the door opened and Hermogenes came in. We dropped the matter and stood, composing our features back into the polite interest proper to this occasion. Behind Hermogenes, about half a dozen slaves were puffing and muttering as they carried in the heavy box. The lid was covered by a good quarter-inch of dust. But the sides were of polished ebony, and, if broken in places, the bronze handles were of elegant – and therefore very old – design.

‘I do beseech you, My Lords,’ the Head Librarian said anxiously, ‘to be most careful in your inspection. Even the slightest handling can be ruinous for something so delicate.’

‘Get it open,’ Priscus said shortly. He was looking hard at the box. He might even have been trembling. ‘You’ – he pointed at one of the slaves – ‘bring those lamps closer. I want to see properly.’

We looked in silence at what had, nearly a thousand years before, been the Great Alexander. He’d been brought in from still deeper into the Library basement than the room in which we’d been settled to wait.

‘That is him, isn’t it?’ Priscus asked softly, not taking his eyes from the dark, shrivelled thing in that box. ‘I expected it would be bandaged all over.’

‘The embalming, My Lord,’ Hermogenes explained, ‘was carried out by his Greek physicians in Babylon. They steeped the whole body in aromatic honey, having first prepared it by some art of the ancients now lost to us. The method was less intrusive than that of the Egyptians. So long as the honey was kept replenished, I understand that the body retained its living freshness and even suppleness for many centuries.’