Spira Mirabilis (21 page)

The queen’s handmaids were not alone as they listened, rapt, to Jorge’s frank confessions, how he’d revelled in the adulation, the taste of strange women, the cold music of silver and gold—

‘Alas, winning races is just part of a champion’s duties’ he said. Since the army was restricted from entering the city, ambitious nobles had to make soldiers of the mob. They pitted the Blue and Green factions against each other and armed them with cudgels and blades. As a champion, Jorge found himself unwillingly dragged into these street-fights. He always did what he had to, but never let himself be carried away with the mob – these were just shadow-battles, after all. Knowing that no matter how good an athlete, he would never be more than a pawn without military standing, he determined to acquire some with the same singleminded resolve that had made him a champion.

He laughed wryly. ‘You will be unsurprised to hear, Majesty, that the hippodrome is a playground compared to the army.
Rivalry chokes the ranks. The higher echelons have always been the preserve of the aristocracy, and I fear my popularity with the rabble was, if anything, a discommendation.’

The queen, a little surprised by his candour, gestured for him to continue.

‘The Dalmatian March is Byzant’s most dangerous frontier, but as that was where Prince Andronikos had made his court, that was where I went. I sold my stable and trophies to buy a posting – though my modest fortune was enough only to make me a kentarchos, a piddling rank, I treated it as a foothold.’

Jorge might have done his duty fighting the interloping Concordians, but courage was common on the March, which meant preferment was as far away as ever – until he realised that the quality that had made his fortune in the hippodrome – judgement – was as rare there as everywhere else. ‘Your uncle found organising things a terrific bore and so he was delighted to find someone willing to do it for him. He made me Master of the Camp, in charge of keeping the army fed, armed and battle-ready. There were many more prestigious positions, but none more influential, for every archēgētēs and kentarchos and tourmarchēs relies on the camp master.’

The queen was clearly enjoying herself. ‘And when my uncle obligingly got himself killed here—?’

‘I was always fast off the mark, Majesty. I called in my debts and rode in strength for Byzant. Two houses, alike in viciousness and ensconced in their respective townhouses, had turned the grand boulevards and piazzas of the Purple City into a battlefield, bringing religious observances, trade, and even the Games to an abrupt halt. Each of the rivals promised to restore order – but that turned out to be something only I could deliver. Faced with my hardened fighters, their respective followings melted away, the church first, then the nobility, and at last sense prevailed.’

He smiled, and at last Catrina could see the young man’s backbone
of steel. ‘The rival factions came and begged me for help – what could I do? Of course I had to be magnanimous, so I bade them publicly embrace and forswear further in-fighting. When the mobs in the streets clamoured that I be made a
real
prince, the bureaucrats that keep Byzant running – they are nothing if not practical – duly crowned me. I had to think of my people, first and foremost, and the pain they had suffered …’

Which was why Prince Jorge’s first act was to put out the eyes of the rival contenders for the throne, a skilful application of mercy and cruelty that confirmed their excellent choice to the Byzantines.

‘I can only agree,’ said the queen. ‘So we’re not
that
related. I can’t say I’m heartbroken about that. Family has proved such a disappointment.’

‘I have heard,’ said Jorge, discreetly lowering his voice, ‘of your son’s infidelity. Unworthy as I am, I offer myself as a replacement.’

‘I was blind, as only a mother can be. Alas, his outer corruption was nothing compared to the inner. Your words are some comfort to my grief. Come, let me embrace you then, as a son.’

The young prince, who had not quailed before the Concordian cavalry or the rioting mobs in the hippodrome, mastered himself and rose to his feet. He took her hand and lowered his head to kiss it, but then paused and sniffed it instead, as if inhaling an odour of sanctity. Suddenly the queen grabbed the hair at the back of his head and pulled him towards her. She kissed him, slowly, ravenously, and Jorge responded, first from chivalrous duty then from awakened passion. Courtiers looked elsewhere in mute mortification until finally the patriarch cleared his throat and the queen broke away.

She broke away with a dejected moan. ‘I believe we’ll get on famously, my little prince.’

‘I earnestly hope so.’ Jorge schooled himself to remain still,
not to wipe his mouth. ‘While our clerks parse the details of our new affiliation, you must consider me at your service.’

He bowed and left, at the head of his retinue and his exkoubitores, and behind them followed a trail of admirers that had been hovering impatiently outside the throne room.

‘The bumptious rogue doesn’t just overstep the bounds of decency,’ the patriarch complained. ‘He
leaps
them! Your grief at your son’s treachery is natural, but he preys upon it.’

‘I’ll consider myself warned,’ the queen laughed. ‘And you, Grand Master. Do you too disapprove of this gay young knight?’

‘He is a base flatterer,’ Basilius growled. ‘He comes to bolster his position, not help us.’

‘Yes – isn’t it wonderful?’

When Basilius looked askance, the queen said, ‘We’re in no position to bolster
anything
, but it’s vital that our enemies
and
our allies think we are. If Byzant knew our true weakness, believe me, tradition would not keep them bound to us.’

‘He did offer his service,’ the patriarch remarked.

‘Yes, he did. One that free with promises can never expect them to be taken seriously. We will make what use of him we can, while we can.’

Byzant, a Study in Purple
by Count Titus Tremellius Pomptinus

A long mirror faced Fulk’s cell. The queen had it placed there to remind him of his betrayal. He tried not to look at it, but this morning he woke and found a young man standing before it, attentively grooming himself. He looked like he did a lot of that, dressed as he was somewhere between a soldier and a dandy. He spotted Fulk in the reflection and spun around with an open smile.

‘Good morning! I apologise for dropping in unannounced. I am—’

‘Please. I may be locked in a hole, but I did not grow up here, Prince Jorge. How did you get in here?’

‘One of the few boons of fame is that perfect strangers desperately want you to like them. The guard was most obliging.’

‘What brings you here?’

‘I came to Akka for your mother’s blessing,’ Jorge answered.

‘I mean what you brings you
here
. I should think a famous charioteer could find better company—’

‘I seek to know the whereabouts of a man, a Northerner like me who was a member of the Order of Saint Lazarus.’

‘You had best ask a Lazar then. I’m a whole man, as you can see.’

‘I tried, but the Grand Master says he remembers no Lazar by the name of Stephanos.’ He paused to watch Fulk’s reaction, then went on, ‘but then I gather that Basilius has only recently taken office.’ When Fulk remained tight-lipped, Jorge stood up. ‘Well, I can see you’re very busy. I won’t take up any more of your time.’

‘He remembers him all right,’ Fulk said at last. ‘Stephanos was seneschal before Basilius. That was about—’

‘Ten years ago,’ said Jorge. ‘I expect he’s dead now.’

Fulk saw the foreigner earnestly wished to be contradicted. ‘So you’ve come all the way from the Purple City? Stephanos used to tell stories about it. He said he’d bring me to see the hippodrome one day. That … wasn’t to be.’

‘He’s dead then.’

After Jorge was quiet a spell, Fulk said, ‘I can tell you about him if you’d—’

‘I’d be very grateful.’

Fulk looked up at the sliver of daylight that was allowed to penetrate his cell. He didn’t need to cast his mind back. ‘He wasn’t born into death like most of us – you know that, of course. So he had to work hard to acquire the skills the rest of us learn from boyhood. He never did master the axe, but he was always an excellent horseman and he built up an impressive stable.’

‘A gentle old fellow called Gustav showed it to me – you have some excellent animals, some really splendid form.’

‘They’re nothing like they were. We were still using heavy Europans
when he came. He thought that foolish, since knights no longer wear all the iron they did in the time of Tancred. He introduced lighter, hardier animals, horses with better stamina for the Sands.’

‘Ebionite breeds. How did he get their cooperation?

‘He was a stranger, and he had no blood-grudges. He knew enough about horses to win the respect of the nesi’im – no easy thing in itself – and he had the tact to keep them happy.’ Fulk turned away from the window. ‘He taught me many things.’

‘What happened?’

‘Like I said, he kept the tribes happy. The queen prefers them set against each other and she got her way. I only realised how skilfully Stephanos had kept the peace when I saw how quickly things fell apart. By the time I became Grand Master, the days of tribal councils and talking grievances through were long gone. Bridges take time to build. Burning them can be the work of a day.’

‘I meant, what happened to Stephanos?’

‘What always happens when someone disagrees with her.’

‘I heard,’ said Jorge, straining to keep his voice level, ‘that a Sicarii assassin killed him.’

Fulk glanced over the neighbouring cells to see if anyone was listening. ‘That’s the story certainly,’ he agreed, his voice lowered. ‘But I’ve hunted Sicarii for years. For all the noise they make, they’ve never been especially skilful at concealment. Whoever got to Stephanos would have had to get close. He’d never let his guard down to a stranger.’

Jorge took that in silence.

Finally, Fulk asked, ‘May I ask how you knew him?’

‘I competed against him in the hippodrome.’

‘Stephanos was a quadriga racer? I never knew.’

‘He taught me everything. I think he liked me because I was a decent judge of form and had my eyes on something bigger than
racing, just as he did. He always regretted being born too late for the great Crusade. He said there were no great fights left, just wall-building. Then he contracted leprosy. Before he left for Akka, he said to me, “You don’t choose your Crusade, it chooses you.”’

In the silence that followed, they remembered their mutual friend. Presently, Jorge unpinned a medal from his chest. ‘I’ve taken many prizes in the hippodrome, but the medal I’m proudest of is the one I won in Dalmatia.’

Fulk caught it and looked at it. It was an eagle with two equally fierce heads.

‘Byzant is surrounded by enemies. It had to learn to look east and west at once. Stephanos died because he forgot that.’

Fulk rattled his chains wryly. ‘I guess I did too. I won’t be here much longer. The queen is queasy about executing family, but she’ll let herself be persuaded eventually. Here, take this.’ In Fulk’s hand beside the medal was a ring. ‘Stephanos gave me that when I became a journeyman. He was a good man; I’d like to think there’s someone left who remembers his name.’

‘I’ll remember two good men,’ Jorge said. ‘Can I give you anything in return?’

‘The truth: why did you really come to Akka? You don’t need the queen to bless your accession.’

Jorge levelled a hard stare at him. ‘My predecessor met his end here. I wanted to know if I need to watch my back.’

‘I don’t believe that either. You knew Prince Andronikos. A fool like that was always going to get himself killed sooner or later.’

‘He was a fool, but it wasn’t mere power-lust that made him try to take over Akka. A war is coming – one that will make your disputes with the tribes look like schoolboy quarrels. I don’t expect help from Akka, but its weakness is a vulnerability the enemy could exploit. Concord has already tried the Dalmatian March and been rebuffed. The logical next step is to establish a foothold here.’

‘So,’ said Fulk, ‘you’re here to study our form.’

Roe de Nail agreed with undignified haste to Bakhbukh’s plan: hosting a tribal council in his territory brought prestige to the Benjaminite. The nesi’im of those tribes who had already joined the Sicarii answered the invitation. So did those who had not.

‘Intolerable!’ Yūsuf exploded. He’d been sulking since he learned that the Sicarii alone were excluded from the Nesi’im Council. ‘I start a fire and those scoundrels take credit for it!’

They sat a few yards away from the circle of chieftains, watching, along with those around every other fire, the men who were deciding their fate. ‘
Tranquillo
,’ said Sofia, though she would have preferred to be in that war council too. ‘All that’s important is that the Napthtali join us.’

‘My God, you’re naïve, woman.’ It especially irritated Yūsuf that Bakhbukh – who was widely respected as a fair-minded counsellor – had been invited to chair the council. Sofia didn’t envy Bakhbukh. Each of the nesi’im would be trying to dominate and petty arguments were inevitable. His job was preventing knives being drawn.

*

‘The Old Man has kept his promise to return when his people needed him. Our fathers’ fathers made a promise that we would follow him when he needed us.’

‘Do as you wish, Roe de Nail. I consider myself bound only by the promises
I
make,’ said Mik la Nan. ‘I’ve not come for womanly
talk of prophecy. I’ve come to find an arrangement whereby the tribes can live together.’