‘I haven’t just brought you physical comfort,’ I said. ‘I found this in Beirut, and was thinking to send it to a friend I made in Africa. It is the third book of Lucretius – his long meditation on death as the end of all things. You may remember that I tried to make you read it when you were a boy in Constantinople. It led to one of the few disagreements I ever had with my darling Maximin. I bring it to you now. It was copied by a Greek scribe, and he lapses into the Greek alphabet here and there. But I’ve corrected the few actual errors. I hope you find the time to read it this evening. I’ll make sure you have enough light for the effort. I promise it will give you comfort – especially if you read it all the way to the end.’
I was done. I stood up and moved towards the steps that would carry me back to reasonably dry stone. At the top of the steps, I turned and rapped my stick on the door.
‘But, Grandfather,’ came the now laughing cry from behind me, ‘you haven’t asked what I was really doing when I fucked the dead boy.’
It was a question I had thought of asking. But since the boy’s head had vanished in the blast, I saw no point in asking what exact use had been made of the body.
‘Michael,’ I said, looking back down at the hunched figure, ‘I never imagined our parting would be of this nature. I did hope for so much that was better.’ I stopped and controlled my voice. ‘This is our parting. I shall not see you again.’
I might have said more. I might even have gone back down to put a hand on his shoulder. But the Syrian gaoler was now pushing the door open, ready to take me back to where my carriers awaited me above in the sunshine.
I sat a long time in my bath. I sobbed uncontrollably and rocked back and forth as the slaves sponged water over the tightly shrivelled skin of my back. For all he’d been a total bastard – for all he deserved everything that had happened, and more – he was still the son of the only child I’d ever truly loved. When Martin had brought the little baby from outside that church door in Constantinople, I’d adopted him on the spot. I’d taken him in my arms and called him my own. He’d been, throughout his life, the one consistent joy in my life. I’d wept for days in Carthage when I’d received that insolent notice from Michael of his death. Whatever lay in store for Michael – or Meekaclass="underline" you say what you’d have me call him – it was richly deserved. It still didn’t wipe out that he was the child of Maximin.
I took the refilled cup from a slave and drained it all in one go. I handed it back for more. There are some pains, however, that not wine – nor even opium – can wholly blot out.
Chapter 67
‘I don’t see why I should answer – not, at least, within the Caliph’s dominions – to an agent of the Emperor.’ I looked stonily at Joseph until he shifted his gaze. I put my hands on the table and shuffled my feet on the floor.
‘My Lord Alaric,’ he tried again, still in his flawless Saracen, ‘this is not in any sense a formal interrogation. I merely asked if this object was yours.’ He nodded at the sharp little knife on the table. Still covered in blood where Meekal had opened his veins, it had done unexpected service ever since I’d borrowed it in Jarrow to sharpen my pens. I smiled and looked again into Joseph’s eyes.
‘I rather think it might be yours,’ I said.
‘I could have you killed for this,’ Khadija snapped at me. Twitching away beneath her veil, she sat beside Joseph. I stretched my legs under the table until I kicked against one of the four legs opposite me, and laughed.
‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘Karim would never allow such a thing, and you know it.’ We fell silent. It was the morning appointed for the execution of the traitor Meekal. Sadly for all concerned but himself, Meekal had taken matters into his own hands. Now, the three of us sat together in my grandest audience room. Dressed as an officer in the Caliph’s guard, Joseph had, so far as I could tell, made his way through the palace without challenge. I’d dismissed all the slaves to their own floor in the Tower of Heavenly Peace. I imagined Khadija had ensured that her own spies should have the day off from their work on the floor below that.
‘My Lord Alaric,’ Joseph said, his voice now conciliatory, ‘this is altogether a most irregular situation, and I must ask both of you to show continuing restraint. The Lady Khadija acknowledges your part in removing Meekal from what might otherwise have been a commanding position within the councils of His Majestic Holiness. She does not hold against you the unfortunate death under torture of several of her closest associates, nor her own brief confinement in a dungeon. She accepts that the betrayal of her conspiracy was a necessary part of your ruse to keep Meekal from visiting the former Monastery of Saint Theodore on the morning of the demonstration, where he would surely have discovered your intention. You have single-handedly achieved a revolution within the Saracen Empire that has reversed the policy of His Late Majestic Holiness Muawiya, and returned power to those born and bred within the Desert Faith. You may be sure that the Emperor is also grateful – though for reasons that it would be indelicate to discuss too closely in the presence of the Lady Khadija.’
‘Tell me, Joseph,’ I broke into his emollient flow, ‘how did you know that I’d do the Empire’s work? You were sent out to Jarrow to keep me safe from Cuthbert and Hrothgar. When that failed, you were sent after me to make sure I never got here. The orders then changed to making sure that I did get here, and that the more intrepid attempts on me by the Angels of the Lord came to nothing. But you never bothered telling me what I was supposed to do.’
‘As you said yesterday to Meekal,’ Joseph said very smoothly, ‘you never stopped working for the Empire.’ He looked back into my scowl and allowed himself a cold, bureaucratic laugh. He ignored the feeble attempt that Khadija was making to be heard. Doubtless, she was less interested in how he’d got a spy into the prison than in his own presence in Jarrow.
‘But, very well,’ he continued, ‘you deserve some kind of explanation. When Meekal first suggested your abduction from Jarrow, we heard both from the Lady Khadija and from our other spies. We quietly assisted the Lady Khadija’s own conspiracy to have you murdered before Meekal could lay hands on you. However, we made sure that her plan was never likely to succeed. I did not choose Brother Cuthbert myself. But I am impressed at the ability of our French agents to find so heroically useless a man, and at such short notice. Even so, I went out myself to Jarrow to make sure that Cuthbert’s plan failed and that Meekal’s succeeded. I than put myself through the motions of a pursuit across the Mediterranean, and of various murder attempts in Beirut and in Damascus. We needed Meekal to believe you were not working for us. And we needed the Lady Khadija to confirm this belief should we ever decide to betray her to Meekal.’ He allowed himself another chuckle as Khadija went into some kind of fit deep within her clothing. I poured myself a cup of wine. Joseph could stay with the water. He paid no visible attention to the slight, and continued with quiet enjoyment.
‘As you know, the plan did not at first work out exactly as was hoped. As Cuthbert was trying to open the gate of the monastery – not realising that Meekal’s people were now in charge outside – he was killed by the boy Wilfred-’
‘Now, do tell me about that,’ I broke in. ‘It’s something I guessed long ago. But I’d like to hear the details. What could have possessed poor little Wilfred to do anything so energetic?’
‘I have no idea,’ Joseph said with some faint recollection of the annoyance. ‘But it was Wilfred. I have no idea what could have spurred him to that. I never thought him capable of lifting more than one of the lighter books in the monastery library. But Wilfred it was. This was an inconvenient act, as I now wanted the gate open. As the boy lay sobbing and calling on God to strike him dead for his sins, I did intend to open the gate myself. It was now that someone – almost certainly the boy Edward, whom I had never suspected of involvement – hit me hard from behind on the head. By the time I was able to get free of the monastery, you had all vanished.