‘Before then, however,’ I continued once I had the general attention again, ‘I accuse Meekal of sorcery. I accuse him of sacrificial murder and necromancy, all in the interests of making himself Caliph in your place.’ I paused for the rising babble of shouts that I expected. Instead, there was complete silence. I heard the high splashing of blown sand against the wood behind me, and the call of a bird overhead. I glanced left to where Meekal was standing still. He had a hand to where his sword might be underneath his outer clothing. But he didn’t seem likely to go at me while I had the Caliph’s attention. I took a deep breath and continued with a slightly tarted-up description of what Edward had told me. I spoke quickly, wondering at every moment if Meekal would chance his luck with the Caliph by killing me before I’d come out with everything. But he seemed rooted to the spot.
‘And as the traitor to both God and man violated the corpse,’ I called out in a tone of horrified disgust, ‘his satanic accomplices danced about him chanting, “O, my brother, you shall be Caliph”! Yes, O Caliph, this I heard from the traitor with my own ears: “O, my brother, you shall be Caliph”! With spells and ceremonies forbidden on pain of death among all the Peoples of the Book, he called on the Dark One to assist in his work of treason. “O, my brother, you shall be Caliph”! “O, my brother, you shall be Caliph”! he was told – and told on the authority of the Dark One, to whom the traitor’s prayers are all truly directed.’
I’d got the story out. As I finished, I had to raise my voice – even if I stood in or near the best sound collecting zone – to speak above the gathering volume of terror and disgust. Eusebius was stretching forward in his seat, a look of near ecstasy on his face. The ministers and religious scholars were all pulling faces of exaggerated horror. At last, I was getting my reaction. Still impassive, though, the Caliph looked on in silence.
Trying not to behave like an old man, I moved with forced briskness back to where I’d been sitting. I ignored the grinding in my back and I leaned down and lifted the lead box. I turned back to the Caliph and held it triumphantly aloft.
‘Let the renegade Greek Michael tell you I am senile and deluded,’ I cried dramatically. ‘But let him then explain how this could be part of my delusion.’ I tugged at the lid that made for a perfect seal on the box. It came off with a gentle pop. I scooped off the top layer of the white powder with which it was tightly packed, and pulled out its main contents. I shook off the remaining powder, and – to what was now a collective and uncontrollable wail of fear – held aloft the severed head of the serving boy Meekal had chosen and throttled and then fucked.
Chapter 65
Even when desiccated, heads can be rather heavy. My right arm shook as I continued holding this one up for all to see. It may have been my preserving powder. Or it may have been the bright sunshine. But the head had a greyish tinge. Still, it was very well preserved. I’ll swear you could see the boy’s final gasp of terror on those rigid lips.
‘Behold the head of Meekal’s victim,’ I cried, still trying for a younger man’s voice. ‘I found it where it was thrown and have kept it safe all these months. Who, of those who were there, at the great feast of welcome for me, will deny that this is the head of the boy that Meekal took for himself.’ There was a slow nodding among some of the men about the Caliph, and more shouts of horror from the crowd.
‘And this is your “evidence”, O Magnificent Alaric of ninety-eight summers?’ Meekal now called. His voice, rediscovered, dripped scorn. ‘You tell me that, without assistance, you followed me through the palace to the unfrequented hunting grounds, and that you closely observed me in this alleged act of sorcery?’ He looked towards the Caliph. He turned suddenly and stared me in the face.
I smiled and stared back. I might have been lying through my teeth about what I’d seen him do. But I really had gone off there – and on foot, mind you – with Edward the following morning. While the boy had moped about, trying to look other than frightened of touching the accursed object, I’d spent ages poking round with my stick. It had then been straight into a leather bag, and back for quite a successful experiment in preserving. Meekal could sneer all he pleased at my faculties. The head really did speak for itself.
Or did it? Meekal was speaking again, and now with recovered confidence.
‘The man asks me to call him senile and deluded,’ he cried in his earlier manner. ‘I readily grant his wish, Your Majestic Holiness. He is indeed senile and deluded. He tells you that he saw all this nearly three months ago. Surely an act so grave as this should have been reported at once to the relevant authorities. Instead, he expects you to believe that he witnessed it, and said nothing, and then worked obediently for me in what he claims to have known would culminate in a further grave act.’ He paused and waited for his words to sink in. There was silence all around us. As ever, the Caliph looked on, still standing, his face drained of expression.
‘Your Majestic Holiness,’ he went on with a sneer, ‘I put it to you that what the Old One describes, even had it happened – which I deny – could not have been witnessed by anyone in his condition. He needs special equipment to see in broad daylight. And he tells you what he saw in the moonlight?’ Meekal laughed. Without looking again at the head, he walked straight past me. He went over to my chair and rummaged about in the luggage pouch. He pulled out a small glass bottle and a larger silver box. He held them up. ‘The man is old. But I hardly need call him senile. I hardly need even remind you of his apostasy from the True Faith – and, therefore, of his unfitness to be heard in accusation against one of the True Faith. I need only say that he has spent too long shopping at the apothecary.’ He held up the glass bottle and waved it above his head. ‘The Old One is a notorious drunkard and opium eater. For seventy years, he’s been fuddling himself every day – and boring everyone about him with accounts of his unbalanced dreams. Who can doubt he has now lost all sense of reality?
‘Treason? Sorcery? Murder? The only question worth asking is where the fool got his body parts.’ With a contemptuous snort, he dashed my opium bottle to the ground. I watched as it hit a stone and shattered, and the precious juice of the poppy drained into the sand. Meekal stepped closer towards the Caliph. ‘Let us end this ridiculous interlude,’ he cried in a louder voice than before. ‘The Old One can be led off to a place where he can do no further harm to others or to himself. The rest of us can proceed about the business for which we are gathered.’
There was a perceptible draining away of tension. Someone laughed as I let my arm down just a little too fast, and the head fell to the ground, leaving me clutching a handful of hair. I stared down into the dead eyes. As if of its own motion, the head rolled down a slight dip in the sand and stopped beside the broken bottle. I stepped forward and bent to retrieve the head. Of a sudden, I overbalanced and fell on to my hands and knees. My stick was a few feet out of reach, and I struggled vainly to get back to my feet. Someone else in the crowd laughed. There was another laugh from somewhere else. I could now hear a soft giggling from many places within the crowd. Again, I tried to get up. Again, I failed. When I looked up from the ground, the Caliph was now sitting, a sour look on his face. One of his people was trying to whisper in his ear. As he leaned forward, the Caliph turned away. Meekal was strutting about, pointing at various slaves whose job it was to get things ready for the trek over to the demonstration.
‘I’ll kill you for this with my own hands,’ he said softly as he passed me by. ‘I’m sure I’ll find a way to make it slow and painful – even for you.’ I ignored him. The sun had now resumed its course and would soon be at the highest point. For what little it was still worth, I’d carry on. I forced myself back to my feet and stood forward again, and raised my stick for attention. I was ignored. I thought of turning and rapping my stick on the sounding board. But would anyone have paid attention then? Far over on my right, the carrying slaves were already on their feet, and were preparing to come forward to collect those who were to witness Meekal’s crowning achievement.