CHAPTER 76
They waited for the queen’s decision. And waited. And as they waited, Sofia’s belly grew rounder. She had always taken her body for granted. A bandieratori sweated and suffered in the workshop so that whatever else betrayed him in the streets, it would not be his body. The bovine, lumpen, achingly slow thing looking back at Sofia in the mirror was base treachery.
Since she refused to go veiled, Akka’s streets were barred to her. She objected to the restriction, though she had no wish to return there. The air down in the bazaar was adhesive, hopeless as sap oozing from a fallen tree. She found herself thinking fondly of the cleanliness of the desert, where the wind never ceased and the sun consumed all shadows. The wind lost its roar in the labyrinth of streets soaked in Oltremarine art, which, with the exception of the Madonna Muerta, was an inhuman vocabulary of geometrical ornament. Motifs that began as stylised plants became abstract patterns, intellectually brilliant, but lacking all warmth: clockwork flowers. The sea’s thunder penetrated her dreams in the same way the salt corroded the Lazars’ armour. She was out there, in the middle of the unbounded water again, with Ezra roaring at the heavens as the sea sank beneath them and a wall of spiralling water surrounded them.
It wasn’t just her; all Akka was on edge. By now Sofia was used to the near-panic that overtook the poorer quarters as everyone rushed to buy provisions on the eve of Sabbath. But tomorrow was not Sabbath, and there had been a nervousness in the air all week. The people milling in the streets were dressed more sombrely than usual, and that morning she and Levi had watched the seneschal leading Lazars out of the main gate. It was almost as if they were evacuating the city. Levi went to investigate – no part of Akka was closed to a man.
Sofia circumnavigated the wall and found Arik perched on the east side, watching his falcon’s shadow sweep over the dunes. He held his arm out and called her.
His back was turned to Akka; his spirit too yearned for the freedom of the Sands. The patriarch was leading a procession through the streets below. Dolorous chants competed with the din of clashing cymbals. He was followed by a sumptuous train of Akkan ladies, all veiled, of course, but dressed in black instead of their usual vivacious colours. They cast ashes on their heads, weeping. In the midst of them, four slaves carried a float with the Madonna Muerta, wreathed in incense and sprinkled with black petals and desert thorns.
Sofia asked, ‘Where are all the Lazars going?’
The bird landed on Arik’s gauntlet. He deftly replaced its hood and fed it some meat. ‘Ask Fulk.’
He was ill-at-ease in the city, but also with her – she was just another Frank now.
‘I’m asking you.’
‘It’s a show of force while the Festival of All Souls lasts.’ Seeing Sofia’s confusion, he scornfully indicated the procession below. ‘This blasphemy. Today’s the Day of the Innocents.’ Arik’s face didn’t usually reflect his feelings, but today his disgust was obvious. ‘It’s a warm-up for the main event: tomorrow is the Day of the Dead.’
Knowing Akka’s chauvinistic citizenry, Sofia was sure the Day of the Dead would be a sombre memorial to the fallen, followed by vows to revenge them. ‘What if a tribe attacked the city during the festival?’
‘That’s what the Lazar patrols are for. But it’s unlikely; my people give Oltremarine cities a wide berth at this time. I myself am going to sell Dhib in Nazareth. You’re welcome to come – but if you stay, however much they press it on you, don’t wear a mask. Stick by Fulk.’
‘He’s staying, then?’
‘Someone has to stay sober.’
Sofia followed the procession through the streets from her vantage point, watching as the intensity of the mourners mounted, culminating in the women ripping off their veils and tearing their hair and scratching their arms and cheeks. Suddenly there was a clamour from the streets, shouts and yells, and the Lazars patrolling the walls started descending as fast as they could move.
Levi came running. ‘Get to your chamber and lock the door,’ he cried.
‘What is it?’
‘Prince Andronikos tried to kill the queen!’
A scream from below cut the air and the patriarch and the women scattered, diving to either side as several riders burst through them. The slaves carrying the statue could not move so fast – they and it were smashed under horse hoofs: the prince’s axemen, with Lazars hot on their heels.
Confusion reigned in the palace. Accounts varied: Prince Andronikos and his men had apparently stormed the throne room, cutting their way through several slaves, and Fulk and the queen herself had kept them at bay until more Lazars arrived.
‘I gave him something to remember me by,’ said Fulk grimly.
That’s when the fight had taken to the streets: the prince was counting on popular support, but he had seriously misjudged the city. The bawling of his daughter filled the throne room, an incongruous sound against the sight of corpses being hauled away. The queen did not appear to notice either; she paced and wrung her hands. ‘No sign of him?’
‘He can’t be far – probably hiding in the Ebionite quarter,’
‘I saw a lone rider leave the city,’ said Arik, ‘going south.’
‘He’s fled, the dog!’ Fulk rasped. ‘He tried to take advantage of the festival, Madonna curse his blaspheming eyes. When I find him—’
Arik glanced at Sofia. ‘No, Fulk, you should stay. Akka needs you tomorrow. I’ll bring him back.’
‘You can’t go alone,’ Sofia started.
‘I’ll go too,’ said Levi. ‘Two of us should be enough.’
The queen gathered herself. ‘Podesta, I will not forget this. Arik, I charge you now: bring my uncle back alive, that I might show him clemency. I will not let my kingdom be again divided.’
After their departure the queen clapped her hands and her ladies-in-waiting and slaves retreated. Fulk was reluctant to leave her, but she insisted. ‘The sun will not slow on our account, Grand Master. You’ve preparations to see to.’ She picked up the baby and bounced it roughly in her arms. Though clearly upset by the attempt on her life, she tried to conceal it with gaiety. ‘I am so looking forward to tomorrow. As King Tancred made me, so Count Scaligeri made you. We owe them everything. To loan them our limbs once a year is a small price. What’s one day, after all? You’ll take part, of course?’
Sofia remembered Arik’s counsel and politely refused.
‘Are you sure? You can use one of my Family masks – no? Well, suit yourself. If I could persuade you by telling you what it’s like, I would, but the truth is, I never remember. Imagine being sated after a great feast, without remembering the feast – for a few hours, someone else takes charge of your body. Though the dead are legion, they have one thing in common: they are not alive. Perhaps the patriarch would explain it better, but let me try: the pleasures of flesh are obviously greater ecstasy than Heaven can offer. The dead are famished, and we live in a land of plenty.’ She held up the baby. ‘Don’t we, chubby cheeks? Yes, we do! Yes we do!’ She turned to Sofia. ‘Would you like to hold her?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Look at you! You’re a natural mother. Contessa – Sofia – it’s just us girls now. There is something I must ask you.’ Her eyes dropped. ‘Who’s the father?’
‘You’d think me mad if I told you.’
‘I see – an unsuitable person? The world is full of them.’
‘You could say that.’
‘I shall not press you. You’ve found sanctuary here. From questions, from whispers, from fear.’
Two hours before sunrise, clappers and cymbals called Akka’s remaining Lazars to mass. They had been fasting since yesterday, but they did not appear fatigued. The chapel was small – only the funeral of a man who owed no one money could have been held in it. The walls were limed white and decoration was absent, but for a faded fresco depicting two angels drawing back a drapery with the satisfied expressions of clever schoolchildren. The rather unconvincing effect was saved by the wonder they revealed: here was the sympathetic Madonna Sofia knew. It was surprising that the Mother of God was depicted as a corpse everywhere in Akka but here – but no, not surprising at all – death cannot inspire reverence in those who live in its shadow. The queen had given Sofia charge of the prince’s daughter, and she laid her cheek on the downy crown of her head and said a prayer for Levi and Arik.
Before dawn, Fulk did a final check of the city, then retreated to the walls. Stairs were barred and ladders drawn up. He was still enraged at Prince Andronikos’ treachery. Sofia understood loyalty; this was something else. He was taking it personally. When she asked about the festival, he was scarcely less impatient. ‘They wear a death mask for a day as a joke. Great fun for them, a security nightmare for us.’
While their masters howled though the Day of the Innocents, the Ebionite servants were busy preparing for the Day of the Dead. They rearranged the death masks in the Ancestor Room, laid out great banquets and then fled the city before the sun went down. Next morning, family members performed their ablutions and then tied blindfolds on each another. One by one they entered the Ancestor Room, and when they came out they were someone else. Nubile girls emerged wearing the faces of bearded soldiers, old men with the faces of beautiful boys. The great feasts vanished in minutes, and afterwards, other hungers were sated.
Fulk and his skeleton crew patrolled the walls as the mayhem let loose. Sofia tried to keep the infant calm, but the changed atmosphere was palpable.
‘You don’t partake, Fulk?’ she asked.
‘With this body? It would be unjust to the dead.’
Sofia didn’t believe his selfless act; he, like Arik, was obviously disgusted by the festival, but his fidelity to his queen trumped everything.
Sofia asked, ‘Are they really possessed?’
‘Does it matter?’ he said, then, softer, ‘Forgive me. I’m just— For the first few hours it’s play-acting, as far I can tell, but after dusk …’ He whistled dryly. ‘Then it gets rough. To start with, everyone’s just delighted to be alive, but later they weary; they feel themselves slipping away. Some go down fighting, and occasionally you get a really strong personality. They always bring a few back. You’ll see.’
They followed the prince’s tracks for several miles until they came to a place where the soil gave way to shifting sands and Arik swore and confessed that they might have lost him. He held his hand out and called, ‘Dhib!’
The falcon had been following so long that Levi had forgotten it, but now it swooped down and landed on Arik’s outstretched arm. He whispered some words to it and it took off again.
‘Now what?’ said Levi.
‘Now we wait. Tea?’
Arik poured the water onto a mint leaf and piled in several spoons of sugar. As he handed Levi the cup, he muttered, ‘לחײם’
‘חודה ךבה’ said Levi as he took the tea, then looked up guiltily.
‘Yes, I thought so,’ said Arik. He did not wait for confirmation. ‘When you were taken by my brother’s men, did you hear their plans?’
Levi sipped the tea. ‘I understood enough to know they were excited. They kept talking of the Old Man of the Mountain. I was surprised.’
‘Surely you’ve heard of him?’
‘I always thought my mother had made him up to convince me the Ebionites once were more than slaves.’
‘My father also told me stories. The Old Man was the greatest. He could cajole the cautious and tempt the greedy and inspire the timid. He united the tribes and almost pushed the Franks into the sea – almost. But he is gone, and they remain, too powerful. Too many.’
‘They said he had returned.’
‘Ha! Yusuf must truly be desperate to feed them such fantasies—’ Arik suddenly looked up and Levi did likewise, but he saw nothing but empty sky.
Then a cry came from above, and a distant speck became the silhouette of a bird.
Arik swallowed his tea and leapt up. ‘Come. Dhib has found something.’
That night Sofia slept on the walls, keeping the child warm against her own body. Bad dreams were interrupted by cries as the knights fought back half-hearted invasions of the lecherous dead. After the third such attempt, Sofia gave up any hope of sleep and sat up to watch the carnival. One of the Lazars, a young recruit, was badly bitten and she bandaged his wound. When the baby awoke, she was careful to keep her faced away from the city.
The streets were awash with drunken revellers and the alleyways with frantic couplings as long-dead lovers sought each other out with no regard to who or what their host might be; prim matrons pressed spread-eagled against walls, mothers and sons copulated, fathers and daughters; hardened sailors sweated with priests, tight-fisted merchants wept with joy as their slaves straddled them … This night Akka’s walls were a pen that kept the dead from spilling into the desert and the sea.
Sofia noticed some of the younger Lazars watching the proceeding with prurient interest: so not everyone was as committed as Fulk, as fully convinced that they had chosen wisely when they doomed themselves to corruption, isolation and chastity. She watched Fulk moving between these regretful souls throughout the night, bolstering their sagging spirits.
The carnality of the dead was insatiable. Although they only had new faces, Sofia could hardly recognise courtiers she saw every day, for their movements were at odds with their bodies: girls quivered arthritically and leered at mincing old men. Sofia was shocked to hear the queen’s voice amongst the moaning throng. She was lying on a stairway, grunting passionate imprecations as the patriarch’s head bobbed between her legs, gnawing away like a pig eating old vegetables.
They followed the bird’s shadow across the dunes until they came to a place where the sand gave way to rock. Arik promptly found the trail in the moonlight, but he was obviously puzzled. ‘He’s this way – but this is a different camel to the one he set out on. This one is near death. See, how close together the footprints are.’
When they caught their first sight of him, the prince’s camel appeared to be wandering aimlessly.
‘Looks like he’s sleeping in the saddle,’ Levi remarked, puzzled.
When they got closer the camel turned, braying plaintively, and Prince Andronikos tumbled to the ground. His throat had been cut and the smell was enough to tell them he’d been dead a while, though they had found him before the vultures could do much damage.
‘Sicarii,’ said Arik. ‘They wanted us to catch him, but not this quick.’
‘What’s going on?’ said Levi uneasily.
‘Get back on your camel.’ Arik handed Levi his waterskin. ‘Drink.’
‘What’s the rush?’
‘We don’t stop until we reach Akka. They mounted a dead man on a thirsty camel that knows this area. There’s water on the other side of this wadi. Don’t you see? They wanted us to follow the camel, but we caught it too early. Look: either side of the slope, see those rocks at the end of the wadi, in the shadows there?’
‘An ambush?’
‘And one we’ve not escaped yet. Are you ready? Ride!’
When the sun dawned, hundreds of discarded masks littered the otherwise empty streets. Naked, half-dressed citizens stole homewards, limping and bow-legged, their bodies left stiff, bruised and bleeding by their temporary occupants. Usually at this hour the bazaars would be filling with merchants preparing for the day, but all was quiet as the city slept off the previous night’s orgy.
Sofia woke to see Fulk and his men quietly descending from the walls. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I have to check for deserters. Stay here: this is when it’s most dangerous,’
‘No way. You watched my back all night.’
‘I don’t have time to argue.’
‘So don’t.’ She gave the infant to the injured Lazar and joined Fulk’s troop. Fulk unclipped his axe as he stepped onto the street. ‘People lock up when they get home so it’s easy to find the deserters. They make lots of noise. If you hear anything, get behind me.’ He divided his men into fours and sent them out across the city.
Fulk glanced at Sofia. ‘Feel the air?’
‘It’s clean,’ she said in wonder, ‘like the desert.’
Fulk inhaled with relish. ‘Enjoy it while you can. Hello, who’s this?’
Just inside the mouth of an alleyway stood an apron-wearing hulk. The blood on the apron wasn’t his. He wandered up and down, mumbling to himself. When he caught sight of the Lazars he went mute and statue-still, like a child, hoping to hide in immobility. Fulk nodded to his men and checked Sofia was behind him. ‘Don’t be scared,’ he murmured. ‘The hosts are the ones in most danger.’
Soon the butcher forgot his purpose and started mumbling again, arguing with an unseen other. ‘I’m not going back,’ he insisted in a girlish lisp. ‘I said No. It’s cold and it’s dark—’
The Lazars came closer, dragging their spurs in the dust, when suddenly the butcher brandished his cleaver and screamed, ‘I said NO!’
Fulk stood his ground as the butcher charged. His men either side waited patiently and when Fulk took a step backwards they stepped forwards, slamming their shields into the blundering mass. The cleaver flew up as he tumbled down and the knights fell upon him, pinning his arms.
Sofia caught the cleaver and smiled at Fulk’s disapproving snort. ‘What? You’ve got an axe!’
Fulk didn’t have time to argue; his men were struggling with the butcher. He sat on the man’s chest, gripped the mask on each side and pulled. An unearthly dual voice emanated from the butcher’s scabbed lips: ‘Nnnnuuughghgh-gh-ga,’ he groaned, while the girl within him screamed like a harpy, ‘SAID NOOO!!!’
The flesh clung to the mask as Fulk pulled and at last it came free with a ripping sound. There were bloody lesions on the man’s cheeks and forehead, but he was already snoring. Fulk held the mask like a dead rat – it belonged to a girl with a high forehead and a pouty, sulking mouth. He threw it against the wall under the nearest Madonna Muerta statue. The fragments fell to the pile of other would-be deserters from the Land of the Dead.
‘When a mask is broken—’ Sofia began.
‘They can never return. She knew the rules.’
They walked on. Amongst the occasional discarded mask lay the bodies of dogs and cats and goats. Once they came upon a partially eaten horse. ‘Supposed to lock the stables,’ Fulk tutted. He looked at Sofia. ‘Folks who starved to death tend to have an appetite.’
‘No kidding.’ She threw the cleaver in the air and caught it, getting used to its weight. It took an hour to circumnavigate the city, then Fulk sent his men out on a final random sweep of the backstreets.
Sofia accompanied him back to the citadel. A young knight standing outside greeted Fulk with relief. ‘Grand Master! Thank the Madonna – inside – I don’t know how they got in. All the doors were locked—’
‘How many?’
‘Two, I think.’
Fulk sent the Lazar to get some back-up. After he ran off, Sofia slapped Fulk on the back and flipped her cleaver nonchalantly. ‘Two? We can handle that.’
They walked down the corridor, which was lined with empty coffins. At the end, it split into two; to the left was a dark corridor, an ossuary, the piled bones feebly illuminated by thin shafts of morning sun. A dry musk filled the air. The other way led to the training hall, a large chamber illuminated by big circular windows. A pair of deserters were wrestling in the middle, though it was a clumsy affair: both parties were frantic with hate, but neither was used to their temporary body.
‘Old grudge?’ said Sofia.
‘Looks like. It’s better that they’re focused on each other.’ Fulk advanced with confidence. ‘Stay here. I’ll handle it.’
Sofia snorted and began to follow, when she heard a lapping sound to her left and paused. She saw a shadow – a white face – scramble by a shaft of light at the end of the dark corridor, and mocking laughter.
One of the wrestlers pulled the other to the ground and pulled his ear off, but he didn’t appear to notice. Fulk risked a quick glance behind him. ‘Contessa?’
He was about to go and look for Sofia, but instinct made him turn again – just in time to see the two wrestlers coming for him, their quarrel forgotten. Fulk backed away as the pair charged, shocked: this kind of coordination between deserters was unheard of. He slapped the first in the face with the broadside of his axe and as soon as the porcelain mask cracked, the host tumbled over soundlessly, already asleep. The other was more nimble; he dived at Fulk, grabbing his axe hand. Fulk hit the ground heavily with a grunt and winced as his axe skidded across the slabs. The dead man’s clumsy, insistent hands found his neck and began to squeeze.
Down the other corridor, Sofia heard Fulk’s call, but didn’t dare answer for fear of alerting her quarry. She crept slowly from pillar to pillar, listening hard. A drip-fed pool was streaked with undulating trickles of blood. She walked around it, following a dragging trail to the end of the corridor. Between the shelves of dusty bones were side-vaults, stacked with grain-bags and barrels. The chuckling reminded her of the dogs that had encircled Arik’s fire in the desert; it echoed in the darkness between the uneven tempo of the dripping liquid.
Steeling herself, Sofia turned into the last side-vault. A girl was kneeling before a niche on the far wall. She had arranged something in the niche; Sofia could see a veil, but she couldn’t make out what it was attached to until she took a step closer, and suddenly gagged when she saw what it was. The body belonged to a dog, pregnant to judge from its heavy teats and pink hairless belly, but the bitch’s head had been replaced with a sow’s and painted with merry, garish cosmetics.
The girl turned around slowly, her arm held straight out. She held a small dagger in that hand. From her body, Sofia judged her to be about Isabella’s age, but her mask was that of a purselipped older man, a cleric or a notary, maybe. Her skin was beaded with sweat.
‘Porca Madonna! That’s you, Scaligeri! How could you be the Handmaid? You’re not pure. You’re not obedient.’ The guttural voice was full of mockery, the words it spoke a collage of syllables awkwardly hammered together. ‘You’re a selfless bitch who’s let everyone who ever loved you die to save yourself.’
‘Go back to Hell,’ Sofia said.
‘You’ll abandon that piglet in your belly, too, when the time comes, won’t you? ’course you will, dirty pig. Why don’t we save some time and let me cut it out? The way you cut Donna Bombelli!’ She threw herself at Sofia, knife shaking a little, nails clawing.
Sofia sidestepped and the girl rolled over neatly, chuckling.
Fulk came upon them, out of breath and limping. He took in the scene and lowered his axe. ‘If you remove the mask, you can go home and come back next year—’
‘Liar!’ the girl hissed, retreating into a pillar. ‘Fuuuulk,’ she crooned as she rubbed her back against it, ‘take it if you want, Fuuuulk. You needn’t abstain.’ The voice dropped to a whisper: ‘I won’t tell Catrina …’ She untied the front of her chemise. Her small breasts were bruised and scratched from yesternight’s entertainment.
‘You know you have to go back,’ Fulk said in the same soothing voice. ‘Take the mask off.’
‘I will if you will. You sound so sweet. I want to see your face.’
When Fulk took another step, she screamed, ‘Take the mask off!’ She put the dagger to her neck. ‘Show me, or I’ll take her with me into the Dark.’ A drop of blood formed around the dagger’s point.
Fulk turned to Sofia, eyes begging.
She understood, and looked away as he lifted his visor.
‘So beautiful,’ said the girl, lowering the knife and reaching out to touch him with her other hand.
He suddenly bellowed
‘Fulk!’ Sofia shouted as he turned, but she was frozen at the sight of his face: a knot of tangled crimson ropes.
The girl took advantage of the pause, expertly kicking the back of his legs and bringing him crashing to his knees. She held the knife to his neck and glared at Sofia. ‘Give me the piglet or I’ll kill him.’
‘Sofia, get out of here,’ Fulk hissed. The claw-marks on his cheek were just a more vivid red in a mass of matted blood.
Sofia stepped back. ‘I can’t do that.’
‘He’s coming back, Scaligeri! We hear of nothing else in the pit. He grows strong, like your piglet. I’ll tell him and my reward shall be great. Wherever you run, he’ll find you.’
‘Tell him I’m ready,’ Sofia said, and threw the cleaver. It turned over and over and over, and the handle struck between her eyes. The mask cracked apart neatly and fell, shattering as it hit the ground, followed a moment later by the sleeping girl’s body.