Richard Blake - The Curse of Babylon

I watched the boy take the scroll in both hands and wind it back to the beginning. He replaced it in the leather sleeve and took it over to the right space. I’d written a year before to the Emperor’s man in Rome, directing him to make a thorough search of the libraries that remained there. He hadn’t been able to complete my set of Tacitus. There were still five gaps in the space I’d set aside for all thirty books.

I waited for Theodore to come back to the table. I smiled. ‘Because we presently have the time,’ I said, ‘I’d like to you translate the whole of Plutarch’s Life of the Elder Pliny into Latin.’ His face dropped. ‘If possible, I’d like to see your draft before dinner tomorrow.’

He started forward at the noise by what may have been a block of paving stone crashed against the main gate. ‘Should we not go and see how big the crowd in the street has grown?’ he asked.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t propose to take notice of that until Samo comes and tells me it has filled the side streets.’ His face turning paler by the moment, Theodore bowed and went off to his writing desk in the theology room. When he was out of the room, I got up from my chair and went over to a big lectern close by the window. Books in the modern style have their uses. Portability isn’t one of them. My complete Herodotus needed two men to lift it and it could only be read while standing up. Of course, I was in no mood for Herodotus or anyone else. But I could see the shadow Theodore was casting from the other side of the open door. It wouldn’t do to be seen scoffing another opium pill so soon after the last.

Aware of the response I’d get, I pulled the blind fully up. ‘Don’t be a bastard, Alaric, Priscus whined from under his blankets. ‘You know how the daylight hurts my eyes.’

‘Then you should try getting up in the morning, like everyone else,’ I replied. He groaned loudly and the bed shook from his continual twisting. I paid no attention. If I wanted to see out of the window, I’d need to stand on something. I walked across to the nearest chair. I’d been with him when these clothes were brought in, washed and neatly pressed and folded. Instead of wearing them, he’d used them as a hiding place for uneaten food. I lifted one of the cloaks of fine wool I’d given him as a New Year present and only just avoided being splashed with the stinking slime in one of my best silver dishes. Carefully, I lifted all the clothes as a single unit. The babble of chanting and angry shouts that drifted through the window went straight out of mind.

‘Where did you get all these new silver coins?’ I asked. The sealed pouch had been slit open, and I had to bend down to retrieve the loose coins I’d disturbed.

Priscus lifted one of the blankets and looked out briefly. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ he said vaguely. ‘I took them from a bandit I killed and was keeping them for a rainy day.’ Another lie! There were only a few hundred of these yet in circulation. He must have been dipping into one of the sealed cash boxes stored under lock and key in the cellars. I controlled myself and finished stuffing coins through the gap in the leather. There was one missing from its compartment. I looked about but the floor was too cluttered to justify the effort of a search. A thought drifted through my head. I’d leave that for the moment, however. It required too much elaboration. I carried the now empty chair to the window. Though on the top floor, the quarters I’d given Priscus had their only window set back from the street. I had to squeeze my shoulders through and block most of the light that came in before I could see anything below.

Now out of bed, Priscus stood behind me. ‘Impressive size by the sound of it,’ he allowed, ‘but still no sign of positive direction.’ I heard him pull the stopper from another jar of my best wine. ‘We faced down a bigger mob when my grandfather had this place. Word had gone round again that he was eating human flesh. We had fifty thousand of these animals screaming their lungs out till the authorities finally decided to do their job. I don’t think we’ll have much trouble from the mob now assembled to call for your head on a spike.’ From the gulping noise that followed, he was draining half the jar in one go.

As I scrabbled forward another few inches, a loud roar went up from every direction. It went on and on, growing louder. It only died away to become a huge and grunted chorus of ‘Kill! Kill’ Kill’ Kill!’ Maybe Priscus was right about numbers. To be sure, the fall of population since the old days had diminished the size of any potential mob. But there must be thousands and thousands down there. It was a nuisance I couldn’t see them. I’d hoped I could avoid showing myself on one of the balconies. I slid back till my feet made contact again with the chair.

Priscus took this as a sign of alarm. ‘I’ve told you many times, Alaric,’ he laughed, ‘this place was built with trouble in mind. Haven’t you ever noticed the curve in all the outer walls, or the handy murder holes above every gateway? I think I heard the portcullis let down before each gate. The iron trelliswork on them is four inches by four. Though you may not appreciate their military value, think of them as saving on the expense of repairs to the bronze sheeting on the gates.’ He drank again. I heard his shuffling step across the floor and the renewed squeaking of his bed. ‘The only weakness is the front balconies. Make sure the guards you put there stay sober. I did think of having them bricked up when I took over. But you do need some air in this place.’

I stood down from the chair. ‘Do you fancy coming up to the roof with me?’ I asked. Not for the first time, his prejudice against the daylight was an affectation that got on my nerves.

Under the blankets, he curled himself into a ball. ‘You are joking, my dear!’ he giggled. ‘If you want to look down from there and shit yourself with fright, don’t expect me as your witness. Now, do pull that blind down again and leave me to get some sleep.’

I leaned both elbows on the front parapet. I stood away. Walking backwards up the tiled roof, I got my body more or less horizontal. I couldn’t see the front steps or the ten feet or so beyond them. But I could see how, for a hundred yards or so both ways, the Triumphal Way was packed with the noisy, swarming bodies of the poor. I tried to settle my nerves by calculating the size of the crowd. Priscus had sneered that it might have reached ten thousand — as if that were itself just a mild expression of the people’s disapproval. It looked to me closer to fifty, or even a hundred, thousand. The rest of the City must be deserted.

No one seemed to be looking in my direction. I slithered down again and put my hands on the top level of bricks in the wall and pulled back and forth. No movement. I pulled myself forward and, ignoring the pressure on my sunburn, kept my upper body straight. This gave a better view of things. Because I could see more of it, the crowd seemed much larger. Now its rightmost extremity was in sight, I could see how it was still being joined by newcomers. Right at the back, I could see a couple of closed and unmarked carrying chairs. Most of the crowd wore the dark clothing of the very poor. Here and there, though, were individuals or groups dressed in white. One of these robes was topped by a splash of red hair that could only belong to one of the senior managers in the Food Control Office. ‘A favourite has no friends’ was a saying I’d often had cause to repeat to myself. To be fair, I hadn’t gone out of my way, in the previous few years, to win friends in the administration or among the people at large.

But my attention was pulled back to the main area before my palace. Big men of the usual type were pushing and threatening to clear two spaces within the crowd about fifty feet apart. In these spaces, high stepladders were being set up.