Spira Mirabilis (19 page)

As the cliff’s shadow fell across the first caravan, shrill cries made them all look up, then over their shoulders.

The bandits came pouring down the side of the foothills, mounted on camels and screaming, ‘
Illa – illa – illa!
’

There was no room to turn back, nor any point in doing so, nor had they time to count how many bandits were behind them – but it hardly mattered. They were on their own, and their best chance was to get deep into the wadi and find a narrow pass at which they could make their stand.

The Sicarii were not about to let such a rich prize escape. Soon they were riding alongside the convoy, their slings spinning – then suddenly the caravans slowed and parted, revealing what was concealed in the centre: a troop of mounted Lazars.

‘Every man for himself,’ cried Sofia, and the Sicarii took fright and scattered into the wadi’s depths.

Basilius, gleeful that his ruse had worked, led the chase, crying, ‘Follow me, Lazars!’ even as a hefty stone from a sling bounced ineffectually off his armour.

The wadi divided, and though some of the Sicarii went straight, the majority veered left, closely followed by Basilius, who found himself riding though a steep, narrow ravine. Just as he started to get claustrophobic, the ravine opened out into a large arena-like space. His men, following close behind, watched in amazement as the Sicarii abandoned their camels and started clambering up the sides of the cliffs on ropes lowered from each side.

Basilius chortled and whipped out his throwing axes. ‘Target practise, lads,’ he called.

As his men’s laughter echoed through the arena, Basilius noticed something uncanny: the space was dotted with five immense circles of lush grass. The abandoned Sicarii camels had also noticed, and the Grand Master’s glow of triumph faded in an instant.

As the animals crossed onto the grass, each circle buckled and transformed into a sinking vortex. Where the grass and horses vanished, spindly plant limbs exploded and Basilius watched,
frozen with fear, as one of his men was lifted from his saddle by two tendrils and pulled apart before his eyes. Persuaded that it was wise to be elsewhere, Basilius whipped his horse into a gallop. He guessed the way behind would be blocked by Sicarii bandits – he didn’t even bother to look behind to confirm that, or to see if any of his men were following him. Most of them weren’t: they were ripped to pieces or swallowed before they had begun to realise the horrific threat they were facing.

Only a handful of Lazars managed to brave the flailing forest of death and survive to tell the tale in Akka.

*

The driver’s nose was bloodied, but he did not flinch. ‘I was simply providing for my family.’

Sofia and her gang were still aloft, waiting till the ground was stable before descending to join the rest of the Sicarii who were already busy stripping the caravans, hooting joyously as they smashed barrels of the prohibited wine, drunk on vainglory. Bakhbukh sat watching uneasily. Yūsuf had evidently sampled some of the loot and was simply drunk.

‘I did not ask for your justifications.’ He tapped his riding stick against his leg, irritated by the man’s bravery. ‘I asked if you took silver from those who make an idol of the Prophetess. The question is simple. Yes or no?’

‘I don’t understand politics, master.’

Yūsuf said sympathetically, ‘That is irrelevant. Your actions have ramifications, whether you committed them in ignorance or not. I am the leader of the Sicarii – the renewer of the Radi-nate – and so I am burdened with terrible responsibility. I have one final question for you: which hand committed this crime against God’s people?’

The prisoner made a half-hearted attempt to bolt, but Zayid held him down as Yūsuf, trembling with righteous anger, cried,
‘Tell me which hand or I’ll take both – and your family will suffer the same fate!’

‘I need both to work, master! If I cannot do my job, my family will starve. I’ll give you anything—’

‘Anything I want, I’ll take. Choose!’

The man broke down and proffered his shaking right hand.

‘What is this?’ Sofia was covered in dust from the chase and weary from the climb.

‘A trial.’

‘He’s a driver. That’s no crime. Set him free.’

When Zayid dropped his sword, Yūsuf barked, ‘Pick that up. They are collaborators.’

As greatly as the Sicarii loved plunder, they loved argumentation more, and raised voices drew them like molasses draws flies.

‘So you’ve already passed sentence?’ Sofia said scornfully. ‘Some trial.’ Then, so that everyone could hear, she said, ‘Akka and all the Oltremarine cities are full of Ebionites who survive by working with the
franj
. Will you punish them too?’

‘If they are guilty – yes!’

‘Then you’re a fool.’ She glowered at Zayid until he released the driver. She helped him stand, then turned back to Yūsuf, ‘I’ve known people like you all my life: always making examples of other people, never being one. I was that way once, until someone taught me better.’

‘It
is
the Law, Contessa.’

‘Bakhbukh, punish this man and you persuade ten like him to seek Catrina’s protection. Pardon him, and you recruit his family and friends. We have an army of potential allies in the cities of Oltremare. Give Catrina sleepless nights and she’ll drive them to us with her cruelty. This is how we’ll win.’

‘The Law is the Law,’ Yūsuf repeated.

Bakhbukh looked between Yūsuf and Sofia, and sighed. ‘Then the Law … is wrong.’

Yūsuf threw down his knife in disgust and stalked off.

Sofia turned to the driver. ‘Who do you work for?’

‘Baron Masoir.’

‘Don’t lie to me, fellow. I saved your life.’

‘It’s true, I swear! His widow, Melisende Ibelin, is running the business since Masoir was—’ He stopped and cast a wary look at Bakhbukh and the other Sicarii, then said simply, ‘Since the baron died.’

‘I want you to relay a message to your mistress, my friend. Tell her that Baron Masoir was not killed by Sicarii. Tell her that as long as Catrina sits on the throne, no caravan from Akka will be safe. Tell her it’s time to choose.’

The caravans had been picked clean and the Sicarii were mounting up on their reserve mounts when Yūsuf returned and announced, ‘I have meditated and communed with God and I have decided that the Contessa is correct: for the time being we must bend in order to win the people to our righteous cause. When we have Akka – then will be the time to ensure that the Law is observed with due rigour.’

After allowing the embarrassed silence to continue for an agonised minute, Sofia said, ‘Thou art most sage, O Nasi,’ and tapped her camel forward.

As the Sicarii followed her, Yūsuf wondered whether he’d just won or lost.

Half a dozen younger Lazars had gathered outside the door of the throne room to eavesdrop on their beloved Grand Master being on the receiving end of a verbal evisceration for once.

‘A fool: that’s what I look like. I look like
you
, Grand Master. Is that acceptable?’

‘If I may say in my defence—’

‘You may
not
. This isn’t the Haute Cour. I want no more silly adventures. Find out where they are.’

‘With respect, the Sicarii lairs have been secret for years—’

‘We have thousands of Ebionites in Akka. Someone must know something. Get out there and encourage them to be good citizens. Well? What’re you waiting for?’

‘About the – your – the prisoner’s sentencing,’ Basilius stuttered. ‘Have you set a date?’

The patriarch looked on, secretly amused at the Grand Master’s blundering. As long as Fulk lived, Basilius could not feel secure in his position, but in his anxiety he quite failed to appreciate the queen’s dilemma. Traitor or no, Fulk remained a Guiscard. Killing Guiscards was not unprecedented, but it was not something to which she wished her subjects to grow accustomed.

‘When I do, Grand Master, you’ll be the first to know – now
get out
! What the devil you smiling at, Chrysoberges?’

‘Forgive me – a nervous twitch. You do know that if this disruption continues, Majesty, we won’t be able to celebrate All Souls?’

‘As you value your head,
never
say that again. That is the debt
we owe our ancestors and I will not betray my subjects – the living
or
the dead.’

‘Of course, forgive me,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s just that – if you will permit me to observe – the new Grand Master lacks Fulk’s guile.’

‘I told you never to mention that name again.’

Basilius was missing more than that, and they both knew it. Some of the longer-serving brothers had deeper scars too, wounds that left them as hollow as the Empty Quarter; these strange ones rallied round the new Grand Master.

‘What the Grand Master lacks is
men
. We need an army capable of finishing the job. What of my uncle’s successor? This base-born charioteer chap?’

‘By all accounts Prince Jorge secured the Purple Throne with surprisingly little red. The question is: will he come if you send for him?’

‘He is my vassal,’ she said crossly.

‘It pleases the Byzantines’ vanity to claim to be part of our holy enterprise. They recognise our lordship because it costs them nothing to do so. Whether and what they will pay for that privilege is a question—’

‘You and your endless questions. Let me pose you this: is Akka not the first city of Oltremare? Am I not its queen? I well remember the mace’s weight when first I took it up. This little prince will come when I call and he’ll help me crush this rabble. Then we’ll give Akka a Day of the Dead for the ages.’

*

As attacks on Akka’s trade caravans escalated, the merchants petitioned the throne for protection. They argued that it was the queen’s duty to keep the trade-routes safe – what else were they paying taxes for? Catrina duly committed her Lazars to guarding the convoys, but in return she demanded a larger percentage of their profits. Some initially baulked at this opportunistic extortion,
but when their caravans returned empty – or failed to return at all – they bowed to the inevitable.

Just as Sofia had intended, the Lazars’ new duties meant their attention was divided and the merchants’ operating costs were increasing almost weekly. She changed the Sicarii’s focus to the keraks. Swift communication between the forts had always been one of their strengths, but now it became a weakness as the news of one successful Sicarii strike followed hard on the heels of another. Sofia kept up the tension by sending scouts in several directions each day, so that each garrison became certain they were next. When darkness fell, the Sicarii filled the hills with noises, so the whole garrison would pass the night in a state of high alert, every eye fixed on the Sands. A week of sleepless nights made the men worthless when the real attack finally came.

As they took kerak after kerak, Sofia came to know the men she fought with, and they her. The Sicarii trusted this strange queen come amongst them more than they ever would an Ebionite woman, though it was not Sofia’s martial prowess or her beauty that created this confidence. It was Iscanno. No singing angels surrounded his manger and no halo surrounded his smiling face. His laugh was sweet – but all babies’ laughs are sweet. It was love, and it emanated from him like warmth from a forge. The homesick looked at him and remembered home. The guilt-ridden heard his gurgle and remembered that they were once innocent. In a cruel world, perfect virtue is priceless. Sofia’s boy-child was a prodigy of love, and his mastery grew day by day until the cave of the assassins positively glowed with it.

For years the other tribes had treated the Sicarii as pests, like the jackals or the east winds, but mostly they ignored them because they made themselves a nuisance primarily to the
franj
. They could not, however ignore the circle of black towers surrounding Akka and no longer in Lazar hands. The Zebulun were the first tribe to seek alliance. They hated the queen as much as
any, but the real draw was the booty the Sicarii were winning. The Zebulun, though famous metalworkers, were not numerous, but it was a good start.

One day a strange hawk shadowed them as they returned from a raid. Bakhbukh lured it down, and found a message attached to its leg.

‘The Benjaminites want to talk,’ he announced.

‘What they want is our spoils. Where were they when—?’

‘Yūsuf,’ said Bakhbukh, ‘I understand that you’re wary after Mik la Nan’s trickery, but things are different now. The Old Man is currently under the protection of the Benjaminites – it is he who has advised their nasi to join us.’

‘Nothing has changed,’ said Yūsuf haughtily. ‘
We
are still the vanguard of the Radinate.’

‘You’ve smothered that flame trying to protect it.’ Sofia’s patience with his pretensions was exhausted. ‘We’ve had it easy so far, but the Akkans won’t lie back while we ruin their livelihoods. I’m not looking for martyrdom. Of course we must enlist the other tribes. Tell them we will come, Bakhbukh.’

Bakhbukh would once have spent hours trying to change Yūsuf’s mind – now he simply did as Sofia instructed.

*

A hundred unfriendly eyes followed Bakhbukh, Yūsuf and Sofia as they walked through the camp towards the great tent of Roe de Nail, nasi of the Benjaminite tribe. They lived in the shadow of Mount Gerizim, and their territory was Samaria, south of the badlands – the reason for their conflict with the migrating Naphtali.

Bakhbukh pointed to the overlooking cliffs. ‘Up there, Contessa, is the Cave of the Old Man.’

Yūsuf said mockingly, ‘Every rabbit hole in this land claims some association with the Old Man. He would have had to have lived three hundred years and been exceedingly fond of travel to have spent a single night in even half of them.’

Roe de Nail did not rise from his pillow to greet them. He was rotund and soft-skinned, and his silks were as fine as those that adorned his fifty wives. ‘We have heard tell of your exploits, Contessa, but you must not assume the Benjaminites are unskilled in war,’ he said, and indicated his scimitar. ‘Here is my famous blade. It has killed fifty-seven men – nineteen Gad, five Issachar and one Zebulun, and the rest Napthtali.’