Tom Harper - Siege of Heaven

But Nikephoros was frowning and shaking his head. ‘I am grateful for your kindness, but our duty to the emperor must overcome thoughts of home. Your great victory over the Turks has changed matters, but I do not think it means we cannot be allies. Perhaps, by your leave, we could talk further on this. Who knows what common interests we may discover?

‘In the meantime, if the caliph permits it, we would be honoured to remain here as his guests.’

I did not know then how Nikephoros thought he could persuade al-Afdal to give up Jerusalem, but he certainly had no lack of time to consider it. After that first audience, the vizier showed little interest in continuing the conversation. Days lengthened into weeks, and gradually we forgot even to think of expecting another meeting. It did nothing to ease the burdens on my soul. I found that I slept later and later into the mornings; even when I did wake, I would pretend otherwise. I began to hate our quarters, though on the infrequent occasions that we were allowed out I suddenly found the prospect filling me with dread. All of us suffered from the long confinement, of course, and the perpetual pressure of being among enemies, but I seemed to feel it worst. Perhaps I only handled it worst.

Even when we did venture out into the palace grounds or the wider city, we never saw Achard and the other Frankish emissaries. Had they given up when they heard of al-Afdal’s victory and returned to the Army of God? Or had they concluded their own bargain with al-Afdal, one that would turn him against us? I tried to ask Bilal one day, but all he would say was that he had not been assigned to guard them. There was much more I wanted to ask him — had the murdered Turks ever been found? were we suspected? — but before I could think of a way to broach it, he put a finger to his lips and shook his head. He too seemed under strain — as did many of the Fatimid courtiers. If Nikephoros ever managed to speak with them to ask when al-Afdal might receive us again, their eyes would flicker in alarm and their faces crease with tight, automatic smiles. Al-Afdal had many things to attend to, they said: the welfare of the caliph’s subjects demanded his full energies. He would see us as soon as he could be sure of giving us the attention we deserved.

In the meantime, we were cast adrift on a sea of supposition and conjecture. We did not know why al-Afdal continually deferred us, we did not know how he would respond to whatever Nikephoros offered him, we did not know if he even still controlled Jerusalem, or whether the Army of God might have finished their journey and captured it for themselves by then. In which case, I thought, we would be left as mere flotsam, thrown up on a strange shore by the currents of distant storms.

***

One question, though, we did eventually answer. The Frankish envoys had not departed, nor been murdered in their beds, but remained at the palace in much the same condition as we did. We did not discover it by accident; instead, we found them waiting for us at the royal wharf on a river barge. I remembered Nikephoros’ dark warnings from before, that the vizier would not have allowed us to meet the Franks except to further his own designs, and wondered whether this portended some new change in our mission. Nikephoros himself was not there to see it — he had declined the invitation, claiming he had letters to compose, though he had not asked me to stay behind and write them.

Aelfric and I climbed into the boat and seated ourselves on cushions in the bow with Achard and another of his companions. Achard’s staring eyes followed Bilal as he went aft to relay some orders to the steersman, and he crossed himself fervently.

‘How can you stand to be around that black devil?’ he whispered in my ear. ‘To live among the Ishmaelite heretics is perilous enough — but I never expected to see the demons of hell walking the earth. The devil is gathering his strength for the final contest. When demons walk the earth, the last days are near.’

‘Not too near, I hope.’

‘Closer than you think. No man will know the day or the hour — but there are signs, for those who can read them.’

I looked at him in astonishment, wondering if the long months of confinement had unhinged his mind. He appeared to be in deadly earnest, but before I could question him further Bilal returned, and Achard lapsed into a sulky silence.

As the barge crawled upstream, the brick walls of the city faded behind us and we came into the wasteland beyond. Saplings had already grown tall in the disused fields, and toppled waterwheels lay broken beside siltedup channels. In the distance, to the south, I could see the ruined walls of the abandoned city.

‘ A destroyer of nations has come forth to lay waste your lands, and your cities will be ruins without inhabitants ,’ Achard muttered. I glanced at Bilal, but he showed no sign of understanding the Frankish — only the weary indifference of a man used to half-heard whisperings behind his back.

If I peered out from under the barge’s awning I could see the three fangs of the pyramids rising on their summit above the river valley. Closer to us, though, the river forked around a thin island, which seemed to have escaped or repaired the ravages of the civil war: low mud-brick warehouses lined the shore, and dozens of wooden jetties marched out into the water on stilts. Between them, a score of boats in various states of progress sat lifted on wooden cradles in shipyards. Some of them were little more than bare-ribbed hulls, but most seemed almost ready to sail to Constantinople if required. They were certainly large enough for the task.

I did not hear any order, but the boat suddenly slowed and stopped in midstream. There was no splash of an anchor; instead, the rowers kept their oars in the water and manoeuvred them gently to keep us steady. Even with the river so low and sluggish, it was an impressive feat.

‘Is this where we are going?’ Achard did not look at Bilal as he addressed him.

‘The caliph was keen that you should see his dockyards,’ said Bilal heavily.

I waved towards the shore. ‘All these ships are his?’

‘Of course. They will be ready for the next campaign season, when spring opens the seas again.’

I looked again. Of the ships that were nearing completion, all had heavy rams attached to their bows and fortified towers amidships. There was no mistaking their purpose. ‘I am not surprised he wanted us to see them.’

One of Achard’s companions tapped him on the arm and whispered in his ear. I could not hear the words, but I guessed them. When the Franks advanced on Jerusalem — if they had not already — they would have to take the coastal road, for the emperor could only supply them from the sea. I remembered the vast supply fleet I had seen gathering in Cyprus, and tried to imagine these skeletal vessels of the caliph encountering them at sea. One, even larger than the others and wanting only her oars, had a prow carved like a ravening eagle, and a copper-tipped ram which gleamed with menace.

We sat awkwardly in midstream and said little, listening to the creak of the thole-pins, and the hammering and sawing and songs drifting across from the shipyard. We were well into October now, and though the temperatures had cooled a little since our arrival it was still almost too hot to move. At home, autumn would be descending on Constantinople with falling leaves and shorter days, but here the sun shone and the palm fronds stayed green as ever in the still air. Only a few wispy clouds, far off on the sky’s horizon, hinted at a changing season.

I dropped my arm over the boat’s side and dipped my hand in the brown water. The current was stronger than I had expected; I felt a spark of pity for the rowers and their imperceptible efforts to keep us still.