Tom Harper - Siege of Heaven

‘No!’

I had been staring into the knots and whorls on the river’s surface and could not see behind me. Suddenly, a strong arm reached around my chest and hauled me backwards, yanking my trailing arm out of the water. I fell on my back, paddling my limbs in the air like an upturned crab while Achard and Aelfric and the others stared down on me in surprise. I rolled away and looked back to see Bilal lifting himself off the deck and smoothing down his cloak.

‘What was that for?’ I asked, breathing hard.

‘It is not wise to touch the river.’

‘Why not?’

Keeping his arm well clear of the water, Bilal gestured over the side. ‘Do you see that?’

I looked, but could see nothing in the swirling silt. Perhaps there was a dark smudge beneath the surface, like a fish or sunken log, but I could not be sure. It might have been the shadow of a cloud.

‘The river is infested with crocodiles — and too many careless unfortunates have given them a taste for human flesh.’

‘What are they?’ I had heard the name of crocodiles, but only in the company of mythic beasts: leviathans, basilisks, griffins and the like. ‘Is it a fish?’

‘A lizard. Longer than a man, and with jaws that could tear a horse in half.’

Even in this strange and ancient land, where men built mountains and the seasons never changed, it was hard to believe. ‘Do they really exist? Have you ever seen one?’

‘I can see three at this very moment.’

The Franks, who had been pretending not to listen, glanced over their shoulders and shifted in their seats, away from the side of the boat. But Bilal’s gaze was fixed on the far bank. With a tremor of terror I looked up, half expecting to see a trio of winged dragons snorting fire as they ripped a horse limb from limb. Instead, there was nothing — only the sloping shore and a few tree-trunks that had floated away from the shipyard lying on the mud.

‘Are you trying to make fools of us?’ Achard demanded.

‘They are sleeping at the moment.’

‘And do they become invisible when they sleep?’

‘They lie still as logs.’

I pointed to the long shapes I had taken for fallen trees. ‘Those?’ I squinted harder, shading my eyes against the sun, but even under close scrutiny they looked nothing like the monsters Bilal had described. Their bodies tapered into what might have been snouts, and there were small bulges by their sides which could have been stunted feet, but otherwise they looked no more alive — or dangerous — than rotten wood.

Achard evidently thought so too. ‘I have seen mice more dangerous than your monsters.’ He leaned back against the side of the boat and draped an arm provocatively over its edge — though when I peered down, I saw that he took care to keep his hand just above the water. I wondered if he was trying to goad Bilal into an outburst he would regret.

Bilal simply looked at him seriously. ‘I hope you never have to learn otherwise.’ He glanced across to the island. ‘But I think we have admired the caliph’s shipyard long enough. There is something on shore you should see.’

He spoke a command, and the crew hauled the boat forward against the current. The island slowly slid past, ending at a wooded point with a slim minaret rising through the trees and a dock by the water. The barge steered towards it, and soon bumped up beside a flight of stone steps. Bilal stepped out and beckoned us to follow.

At the top of the stairs, a broad and well-paved path led between orange and citron trees towards an arched gateway. Here it was easier to believe that autumn was coming: the desiccated leaves had curled back on their stems, tinged with brown; others had fallen and lay in heaps at the side of the path. They barely rustled as we passed in the still air.

We halted at the gateway, though there were no gates to stop us. Stone walls led away in both directions, framing a wide courtyard. A small mosque stood in one corner, and a square tower rose on the far side opposite us.

‘Wait here,’ said Bilal. He disappeared through the arch.

The six of us — the four Franks, Aelfric and I — stood in silence. The heat in the air and the flies buzzing around us made a strange contrast with the dead leaves by our feet, as if we had entered a new world where seasons collided without reason. It was an uncomfortable feeling — not helped by the weight of Achard’s unblinking eyes on me.

I had to speak eventually to dislodge that stare. ‘Do you ever wish you’d taken the vizier’s offer and returned home?’

Contrary to what I had intended, my words only seemed to double the force of Achard’s gaze. ‘What offer?’

I paused, wishing I had kept silent. I tried a noncommittal shrug, but Achard’s interest was as fixed as his stare. ‘Did the vizier say you could return to the Army of God?’

‘There seemed little purpose staying here when. .’ In the back of my mind I could almost hear Nikephoros’ jeering laugh as I plunged towards another indiscretion. I wished Bilal would return, but there was no sign of him. I took a deep breath.

‘You know that al-Afdal has conquered Jerusalem?’

‘Of course.’ Achard’s studied indifference could not have been entirely contrived, but I noticed that for the first time he had dropped his gaze.

I shrugged. ‘There seemed little left to negotiate.’

‘But you chose to stay.’

I didn’t choose to stay , I wanted to scream. I would give half my life to be back in Constantinople now . ‘While there is any prospect of peace, we must work to achieve it,’ I said piously. ‘Blessed are the peacemakers.’

Achard looked surprised. ‘You cannot make peace with Babylon — only destroy her, as was prophesied.’

Now it was my turn to stare at him. Did he mean the abstract, biblical Babylon or the kingdom where we stood at that moment? Either way, it was a foolish thing to say, and I looked around anxiously. I did not know whether to be relieved or alarmed when I saw that Bilal had reappeared.

‘Come.’

He led us across the courtyard to the tower opposite. As we approached, I saw that its walls were not the evenly cut masonry they looked from a distance, but were built from a host of different stones, which seemed to have been plundered from across the ages and hammered, chiselled or cemented into one. Some of the lower stones were carved with shocking pagan images: men with heads like birds and jackals; men bowing prostrate with sheaves of corn; crows and beetles. Others were decorated with scrolls and rosettes, and curved as if they had once framed windows or doors. One of the stones even bore an inscription in Greek, though so old I could not read it. It unsettled me to see it there amid all those relics.

An old man in a white robe awaited us by a doorway. He bowed courteously, though there was anxiety in his eyes as he spoke to Bilal in Arabic. Whatever his concerns, I saw Bilal dismiss them with a shake of his head, and the man reluctantly stepped aside. Just before we entered, Bilal turned to us.

‘This is one of the most important sites in Egypt. Few outside the court are allowed to see it.’

His words seemed at odds with the sight that greeted us as we ducked through the doorway. Inside was a dim, square-sided chamber that seemed to rise the full height of the tower and, more curiously, to drop away almost an equal distance below. Broad windows had been cut into the tower’s walls, and though they seemed to admit less sun than they should it was enough for me to see that the entire tower was one tall shaft, with a staircase winding around its edges until it disappeared into a pool of blackbrown water at the bottom. From its centre, an eight-sided column rose to a stone beam above our heads.