The Curse of Babylon (15 page)

‘I can’t get my clothes loose,’ she said. ‘Where are your hands?’

‘I left them against the wall!’ I answered with a nervous laugh. And, much more of this strain, and there they’d drop off. But I arched myself back and began a shuffling move down Antonia’s body to where, just below her knees, I’d find the hem of her petitioning robe. From here, it was a return upward into still greater warmth. I’d expected the knife would be on the outside of her leggings. What use, after all, of a weapon that could only be got at by stripping off? Of course, it was underneath the clinging wool and linen mix. It would have been no more useless in a street fight if she’d left it under her bed. But this wasn’t a street fight and, pushing myself towards the cord that secured her leggings about her waist, I felt more positive than at any time that day since jumping out of my cold pool. She’d tied the leather in a neat bow that I was able to pull straight apart. I took the leggings between my teeth and began pulling them down. It was harder than it sounds. At last, though, my face was resting against her undepilated nether parts.

I heard her voice, muffled by two layers of fabric. ‘It’s about the
right
thigh,’ she said sharply.

‘Er, yes,’ I replied, trying to sound natural. I’ll not go into the details but one inward breath and a hot flush ran upward to my chest. If getting into bed with Shahin had required a double helping of the green beetle juice, this
was
a drug. Despair and cold forgotten, I took another breath and I thought I’d go off on the spot. But I put the throbbing ache in my groin out of mind. ‘Right thigh it is,’ I whispered, my mouth very dry. So far as I could tell by brushing over it with my lips, the knife was about four inches long and was held in a sheath that was buckled on the inside of her thigh. The belt was just a little too tight for me to pull it down past her knee. I could choose between chewing through the leather and using my tongue and teeth to get the buckle undone.

Antonia tried to sit up but the stretched ropes held her upper body tight. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

I smothered the giggle I hadn’t managed to keep from breaking out. ‘If any of my eunuchs had told me I’d be doing
this
before the day was out,’ I answered, ‘I’d have sacked him on the spot.’ I flicked my tongue against the buckle. It had the taste you’d expect. ‘In all my time as Lord Treasurer, I’ve never so far shaken hands with a petitioning agent.’

Antonia said nothing but I felt a slight tremor in her body that might have been a laugh. She spread her legs another couple of inches so I could have a better go at the leather. I squeezed my buttocks together and tried not to groan as I poked forward with my tongue.

Chapter 15

Antonia could have saved me both time and a pulled muscle in my tongue if she’d explained the double loop in the buckle. But, with much poking and biting, I did finally get there. I’d almost got the thing apart when there was a sudden bump against the side of the ship. It caught me off balance and my lower face was jerked into the moist space between her thighs. For a moment, I thought someone had come into the cabin and was beating us apart. But there was another impact of wood against wood and, unbalanced again, I was knocked as far to the right as Antonia’s robe and my own bonds would allow.

The ship had struck something. Were we sinking? With a lurch into panic, I thought of water pouring into the cabin from every direction. I was squirming back into position when the ship steadied and I heard a babble of Syriac. We’d made contact with another ship. My panic took a different turn. Shahin had given every indication that we were here for the night. But was there now to be a change of plan? Would the cabin door soon fly open? Was the plan for us to be moved to another ship for the run past Constantinople?

I gave up on delicacy and got myself back in place. I pushed and bit and pulled. It was no time before I had the buckle undone and was shuffling backward into the cold air. Like a dog returning a thrown stick, I pushed my head forward again until I made contact with Antonia’s hands. She took a while to get her own wrists free. After that, it was very fast. She pressed her body against mine as men shouted overhead.

‘Do you know what they’re saying?’ she asked.

‘Too fast and too many voices,’ I said. It was nice to sit here, free and no longer chilled from all directions. She kept her body against mine. I put an arm about her and squeezed gently. It fell gradually silent overhead and the squeaking of timbers resumed, though in an oddly restrained manner.

Nice as it was, we couldn’t sit here all night. I got up unsteadily. I could stand with my head pushed forward. I felt my way about the walls of the cabin. I’ve said we were below the waterline. The only way out was through a locked door, which I was about to push gently against when I heard the faint sound of a man droning away in Syriac. I held my breath and listened. It was, so far as I could tell, just one man. He was more than halfway through a long invocation of the Virgin that included an aggressive statement of the Monophysite heresy.

I thought quickly. I felt my way back to Antonia. ‘Can you speak Syriac?’ I asked. She couldn’t. I thought again. Greek wouldn’t do for what I had in mind. I doubted our guard would understand. He’d only call for help. He might call for help in any event but I had to try. ‘Then repeat after me,’ I said, ‘one syllable at a time.’ It took repetition after repetition to get her able to speak the sentences and to sound as if she understood their meaning. At last she got there.

‘The Lord Alaric has bit open a vein,’ she called out in a scared voice. ‘I fear he is dying.’

For a moment there was no response. Had the man heard? Had he gone off for help without making a noise. Then, as I was forming another and still more urgent sentence, I heard a key pushed into the lock. Almost before I could get myself in position, the door opened an inch and a bar of lamplight shone into the room.

‘I no longer hear his breathing,’ she said. ‘I feel his blood soaking my clothes.’

‘I have a knife with me,’ the man warned. ‘You be very careful.’ Cautiously, he pushed the door wider apart and stepped through it. ‘You’ll be careful if you know what’s good for you.’

And careful I was. I made sure to stand well back as I snapped his neck from behind. I scooped him into my arms and held him till his legs had stopped kicking. I carried him over and dumped him where I’d been tied. He landed in a heap and settled with his head flopped over to the left and his mouth sagging open. I turned and looked out into the now-empty space between the hold and the ladder that went up to the deck. The lamp could stay where it had been left – it sent in enough light for what I needed – but I picked up the knife.

I turned to Antonia. ‘Take everything off except your leggings,’ I said. I thought of the wool they contained. ‘No, take everything off. I’ll help unbind your breasts.’ She looked nervously back at me. Now we had some light, she was able to see my continued state of arousal. ‘Don’t worry about that,’ I said dismissively. ‘I’ve just killed a man.’ I felt a sudden stab of concern. ‘You
can
swim?’ I asked. She nodded. ‘The sea will be cold. But you need to be able to move.’ She nodded again. Relieved, I helped her out of her clothes and took my knife to the linen bandages that had been compressing her since morning. I then cut the leash from her collar. Unable to look away, I stared at her smooth, naked body. I shut my eyes and found I could still see her. ‘We have to keep very quiet,’ I said, my teeth chattering – though not, this time, from the cold.

The sun was down in the south-west and its long afterglow had almost entirely gone as we crept on to the deck. Just in time, I heard the grunting of men who strain over something heavy, and got the pair of us against the deck cabin. We were both shivering in the frigid air. But we stood in the shadows and, so long as we stood still, there was no reason to suppose anyone would see us without thinking it a trick of the light. The Syrians were complaining about the dangers of a night passage. If I’d bothered to tune myself to their particular dialect, I might have learned something. But, if quieter, there was a more insistent sound of Greek. As I worked out that it came from round the corner on my right, the last afterglow of the sun went out. One of the Syrians brought out a piteous moan about having to stow supplies without a lamp. Another joined in. I reached out for Antonia’s arm, and shuffled carefully right.

Soon, we’d step into the cold sea. How, without light, we’d find our way to shore was a nagging worry. I’d come out on deck with the vague idea of taking something that floated. We could hold on to that till morning and hope we hadn’t drifted too far out or away from the shipping lanes. For the moment, it was worth hearing what those low and now almost-whispering Greek voices were about. Sure I’d not be seen, I put my head forward and listened.

It was Shahin speaking. ‘My dear Simon,’ he said in the low voice he only used when fighting back the terrors, ‘if you’re telling me the blond boy has the cup, and actually
touched
it, can you explain how he’s alive and in apparent good health?’

A few feet beyond where he stood, there was a scrape of fingernails against a bearded face. This was followed by a sharp and anxious intake of breath. ‘I’ve told you, My Lord,’ the man called Simon replied in a native though faintly southern Greek, ‘he was only the third to touch it. There may have been some loss of potency.’ He scratched his beard again. ‘But never mind this. I nearly had it! And I’d have it now if you hadn’t interfered this afternoon.’ He stopped and gave way to a nervous cough. I could tell nothing from his outline against the starry sky. But there was something about his voice that sounded familiar. Hadn’t he brought me that purported letter from Nicetas? With Shahin, his accent was broader and his voice more wheedling. But it was him. He must also have brought the fake summons from Lucas – he’d slipped it into the mess of other documents at my feet and waited for me to notice it. Worth asking, though, was why, if he was a principal in whatever matter this was, he’d acted in person.

Simon spoke again. ‘The plan was to get the barbarian somewhere quiet and beat sense into him. If that didn’t work, his mutilated body, dumped in a public square, would have caused enough chaos in his household for my man to slip in and recover the cup. I ask again, My Lord Shahin –
why did you interfere?
’

Shahin’s answer was one of the imitations of farting that Chosroes used to enjoy, and that might have saved him from the Shaft of Oblivion. ‘You should remember your place, Simon,’ he grated. ‘The rules of this game are that
I
give the orders.
You
obey them. It’s enough that you missed the cup when you assured me you virtually had it. You’re now telling me that Alaric beat you to it. Well, you can put yourself back into that boat and go looking for it. If you don’t have it by the time you see Shahrbaraz again, don’t expect me to put in a word for you.’

Simon coughed again and twisted round in the gloom. I thought for a moment he’d seen me. But he was looking east and I was in darkness. ‘I’ve already set another plan in motion,’ he said. ‘I’ll have the cup before midnight. I do urge, however, that we go downstairs and cut Alaric’s throat. My people are already getting nervous. Once they know he’s involved, I can’t speak for their loyalty.’ His voice took on a pleading tone. ‘Kill him. Give me the body. Kill the girl too. She’s a nuisance for other reasons.’

There was a brief silence. Then Shahin yawned. ‘You don’t lay hands on the blond boy without my written agreement,’ he snapped. ‘The girl is useful to control him. Now, go and find me that cup. No cup, let me remind you, no deal.’

In the final glimmerings of light from the sky, I saw Shahin step across to the rail and lean so he could stare down into the boat that had brought Simon out from the City. Simon followed. They began discussing the preparedness of the ‘chosen ones’. I could have stayed where I was, waiting to learn who these ‘chosen ones’ were and what they were expected to do. But I’d heard enough. Because we were passing into a darkness barely moderated by the stars and a thin sliver of moon, I only had to keep the pair of us from making a noise. I got myself in front of Antonia and hurried to the other side of the cabin wall. Bad luck that I bumped straight into one of the Syrians. Without any noise I’d troubled to hear, he’d got himself in my way. The first I knew of him was when his bearded chin made contact with my chest.

The bad luck, I should explain, was his. I still had a knife in my hand. Even as he drew breath to call for help, I took his beard in my left hand and pulled sharply up. I rammed the knife into the right side of his neck and pulled outward until I’d severed his windpipe. I silenced his last bubbling breath by clutching him to my chest. I held him tight as his blood sprayed warm over me, then laid him quietly down. I stood upright and wiped blood from my eyes. I looked down. So far as I could tell, the front of my body was covered in blood. It was a sudden and welcome barrier against the night chill. It made me more invisible in the dark.