‘Eventually, his purges and inability to keep out of war with the Persians, and his inability to beat them in war, provoked, or enabled, the Exarch of Africa to start a second revolution. The Exarch put forward two alternative rival Emperors — his son, Heraclius, and his nephew, Nicetas. The deal was that whichever of them got first from Carthage to Constantinople and deposed Phocas would be Emperor. Nicetas came by land but got stuck in Egypt. Heraclius came by sea and had a smooth crossing. There’s more to the story, if you want to look at the details. But that is broadly what happened.’
The old man leaned forward. ‘So Heraclius is Emperor simply because he got here first?’
‘Yes,’ I said. Of course, there was more to it than that. Heraclius, if sickly, wasn’t an invalid. Heraclius wasn’t completely incapable of taking decisions. The old men were cackling away again in Syriac. One of them now switched into a different language, his voice rising to an ecstatic babble:
Ta-ak-bi-a-at pi-ka li-kal-li-ma i-na-ka
li-ip-ti-k .?u pa-da-nam pi-h ˘?? i-tam
h ˘??arrana li-iš-ta-zi-ik a-na ki-ib-si-ka
šá-di-a li-iš-ta-zi-ik a-na šêpi-ka
He ended in a long fit of coughing. ‘Well spoken, my brother!’ one of the others called out, ‘The ancient words of the Horn are filled with wisdom — if only we could understand them.’ Once again, I thought of the time. I could stand here as some kind of supplicant, and get nowhere very fast, or I could take a chance.
‘I understand that Heraclius has been consulting you.’ I said. I looked at the suddenly shocked and silent faces and tried not to burst out laughing. Had these transparent frauds been the best our Great Augustus could find? ‘He wanted your help to win the Persian War,’ I improvised with more confidence. ‘You procured the Horn of Babylon and assured him it would bring him victory. It was then stolen before you could give it to him. You have brought me here because you need it back. You need it because, when he returns to Constantinople, he will not be pleased to learn that the object you have told him is of the utmost power is now in other hands — other deeply unfriendly hands.’
I smiled and moved my weight to my right leg. There was no doubt I’d cut out hours of dancing round the subject. Just before Christmas, Heraclius had burned two astrologers alive in the Circus, and had afterwards given a pious lecture to the mob on the Satanic nature of horoscopes. All that showed, of course, was that he believed in astrology. No surprise, then, he was now wasting the poor taxpayers’ money on some for himself. He was credulous without limit. The real wonder was that, after four years of military failure, he’d stopped at consulting the stars. Why hadn’t he also tried sacrifices to the Old Gods, or conversion to the fire worship of the Persians? Perhaps he had.
I went back to the question I’d been asked. ‘Where does Nicetas fit into this?’ I asked. I waited for an answer. Where did he fit in? Had his people stolen the Horn? I could assume there was some connection between him and Simon. I’d overheard Simon confessing that he’d missed getting the cup for himself. Who had got to it first? What had Nicetas wanted with it? Did he want its power for himself? He was another superstitious fool — though too besotted with his monks to risk his soul with magic. Perhaps he’d wanted to use the cup and other evidences of blasphemy to blackmail Heraclius into abdicating. Or perhaps he’d simply wanted to spare Heraclius from the sin of astrology. But Shahin — where did he fit in?
So many questions, though where to begin? One of the old men now found his voice again. ‘Has the young barbarian read the words?’ he asked the compounder. ‘Can he be aware that whoever reads the words engraved by unworldly hands upon the Horn of Babylon will start a process that cannot be stopped and will end in the collapse upon itself of the entire universe?’ The compounder let out a terrified yelp and rocked back and forth in terror. Evidently pleased, the old men went back to their own conversation.
This would never do. I clapped my hands together. When the room was silent, I walked over to the curtain. Looking as outraged as I was impatient, I turned back to face everyone. ‘Whether or not you claim the Emperor as your master,’ I cried in Syriac, ‘you are all traitors by your own confession. You are traitors and blasphemers. I think we all know the penalties.’ That got their minds off the end of the universe. Most Greeks never learn Syriac. These men had taken it as read a barbarian wouldn’t know it. Crap astrologers that showed them to be, I might add. I walked back to the middle of the room. ‘If you want me to walk out of here and never come back, I suggest you should put yourselves in order and start answering my questions.’
‘My Lord is right in the essentials,’ one of the old men allowed, still in his own language. ‘But you must understand the danger in which you have placed yourself. The Emperor provided us with a box to shield him from the power of the Horn when it was given to him. You have touched the Horn with your bare hands. This is not safe for anyone who lacks the necessary training. None shall know happiness, though he get his heart’s desire. .’
‘Oh, shut up and be seated!’ I snapped. ‘I’ll have no more of this nonsense. The stars tell us nothing. The Horn of Babylon is a piece of silver looted from a tomb. You’ve already admitted you can’t understand whatever’s written on it.’ I looked from one shaking face to another. ‘If your methods gave true knowledge about the world, I think we’d have seen better results after so many thousands of years.’ There I stopped. I hadn’t time or patience for lectures on the nature of true science. I’d softened them for questioning and I’d now have some answers. ‘The Horn of Babylon,’ I said, ‘is wanted by a man called Simon. I want to know what connection he has with the Emperor’s cousin. I also want to know to what extent both these men are connected with the Persians, and why.’
I could say what I wanted. Fat chance I had of getting it. There was a loud cry of warning that came through the window. It rose to a shrill scream before suddenly ending. It was followed by a wild scraping of boots and a shouting of orders and by a firm banging of sword pommels on wood.
Chapter 28
I turned and pulled the curtain down. In the light from the candles, I could see that the door’s one bolt wouldn’t stand a hard shove from the other side. I looked about for something to wedge against it. Even before I could give up on that idea, someone banged loudly.
‘Alaric,’ Simon shouted, ‘I know you’re in there. I’ve given orders that you aren’t to be harmed. Put your sword down and stand away from the door.’
‘O Reverend Masters,’ the compounder begged, ‘let me stand within your pentagram of safety.’ Not speaking, the old men moved to its centre and clutched at each other.
I didn’t ask for permission. I stepped over the chalked line and kicked one of the candles over. ‘You can have this back in a moment,’ I said, picking up its iron holder. I carried it over to the window. I heard a scrape of many feet outside the door. ‘I’ve got my sword ready, Simon,’ I shouted. ‘Whoever comes in first gets it in his guts.’ That would buy me a little time. I swung the candleholder against the shutter. The whole rickety thing fell outwards and I blinked in the sudden brightness. It was a small window. I’d have to go out diagonally. Men were banging on the door and shouting. The men in the room were deep in argument over who had a right to be within the chalked line on the floor. I put my hands on the frame and heaved myself through into the daylight.