Richard Blake - The Curse of Babylon

I glanced at the dead man. ‘It would have been useful to question him,’ I said.

Rado stood up. ‘Why?’ he asked sharply. He twisted in the direction of the singing eunuchs. ‘What is there to learn?’ He looked at me, suspicion on his face.

Eboric came from behind the boulder. He turned the dead man’s leggings inside out and held them up for inspection. ‘He lost a lot of mess in these,’ he said.

‘It’s often the case when you break a neck,’ I said. ‘I believe it’s the same with garrotting.’ I looked at my own stiffy. I got up and stretched again. Eboric smiled expectantly but I shook my head. This wasn’t the time or the place. Besides, I was thinking very hard. Rado had said seven days, going direct, from here to Trebizond. How long would it take a fast horseman — not able to make use of the postal stations — along the road from wherever Shahin had put in on the Black Sea coast to here? I could suppose a few days longer than we’d taken. Then again, Shahin had set out a day earlier than we had and must have landed a couple of days ahead of us. A direct messenger could do it. But why do it? There was no reason to suppose Shahin had known about the invasion. Why send anyone ahead, only to make contact with a small escort that might easily be missed? Why risk even one man who might be better employed on protecting Shahin and his precious cargo? Correction — why do without a man who might be better employed keeping Shahin’s skin intact?

I noticed that Rado was still staring at me. ‘Why not give the crotch a rinse in that little puddle there?’ I asked Eboric. ‘And let’s have a look at his other clothes.’

You do get used, after a while, to wearing someone else’s dirty clothes — even when you’ve just caused him to die in them — though it never gets easier once you’ve known better. The dead man had been smaller than me in every dimension. But Persian uniforms were made to be a baggy fit. So long as I didn’t try for any sudden or ambitious movement, this would do.

I looked at my reflection in the puddle. There was nothing I could do about my face, but the head covering under the helmet sorted the problem of my hair. I straightened up. The dead man’s horse would be a bigger problem. There was a look in its eyes that suggested a certain dislike.

Even if you can tolerate them individually, massed choirs of eunuchs are an acquired taste. Eunuchs obviously think otherwise. And, looking down at the beardless, radiant faces, who could blame them? So far as I could tell, all real movement along the pass had come to a stop. The occasional splashing forward through two foot of increasingly sewery rainwater was best explained as a closing up of gaps.

Rado pointed at a spot point about a hundred yards forward. ‘That will be the best exit,’ he said into my ear. I looked at the sheer opposite wall of the pass. I’d already seen how the gentle inclines on this side gave way on the other to much steeper, rougher places. My map showed the tapering gap between the passes as a standard blob of colour. To get from one pass to the other, though, would mean going over a smallish mountain.

The eunuchs suddenly turned their faces to the sky and buried the sound of their voices in a long clashing of cymbals and little bells. Alone among the grey multitudes brought to a halt along the pass, they had contrived at least to look happy.

I noticed Rado was looking at me. I smiled and shuffled forward on my chest, pretending to look for a less uncomfortable leaning position in my Persian clothes. ‘What are you planning, My Lord?’ he asked in a low, implacable voice.

I pretended not to understand him ‘Getting into the pass will mean going back a few hundred yards,’ I said. ‘It’s then a matter of forcing a way through a dense and mostly ill-tempered mass of humanity. Best avoid the eunuchs — they won’t shift for anyone. Their baggage carriers will be much easier.’

Rado slapped his hand impatiently against a stone. ‘And you’ll be coming with us?’ he demanded.

I took a deep breath and pulled myself away from the edge. Two weeks with Rado really had been like watching a butterfly emerge from its chrysalis. He hadn’t understood those dead Persians, but he knew me well enough. ‘I want to see what’s happening,’ I said, carefully choosing my words. ‘I know the King of Persia, and I can tell when he’s planning to show himself to the people. We need to know what course the army is taking and anything else that Chosroes cares to reveal.’

Rado was silent a moment. Then — ‘But you can see him from the other side of the pass,’ he said. ‘We’re sending word to Trebizond. What more is there to do? We came for the Lady Antonia. We’ll soon be running out of time.’ There was a sound of alarm, and of horror, in his voice that indicated he wasn’t only thinking of Antonia.

I slithered down and looked at the horse I’d inherited. It was proving an unbalanced liability. If I went down into the pass, the first thing I’d do there was to be parted from it. I waited for Rado to come and sit beside me. ‘I’ve sworn fealty to the Emperor,’ I said. ‘I’m one of the rulers of the Greek Empire. I won’t go into detail again but these duties override all others.’ I ignored Rado’s cry of anger, and hurried on. ‘Be at the highest point across the pass at dawn tomorrow. I’ll meet you there. If I’m not there, press on with Eboric to intercept Shahin. You’ve been reverting by the day to mountain raiders. I’m little more than surplus baggage. Shahin won’t be expecting trouble. Creep in by night, if you can — and only if you can — and snatch Antonia. Explain everything to Antonia. She’ll understand.’

I stood up and reached for the horse. It whinnied suddenly and reared away from me. The sooner I could get rid of it, the happier I’d be — happier and safer. I still hadn’t tried mounting it. Nor would I. Rado soothed it down. Walking slowly, I led the way along the narrow path to where Eboric was hiding with the horses in a sort of cave with an open roof. On our left, the eunuchs were deep into a song that celebrated the many virtues of Chosroes. You could hear the Great King’s fingermarks all over it — hardly surprising he had to write his own praises if you bear in mind how many court poets he’d murdered over the years. You couldn’t call it bad exactly. No one could deny that Chosroes had better taste than Nicetas and more technical skill in Persian than Leander had in Greek. But the overall effect was still absurd and it must only have been fears of the impaling stake that kept the eunuchs from being pelted with filth by everyone who had to listen to them.

As we approached the hiding place, the path turned sharply away from the pass and the sound of the choir no longer blotted out all other noises. I could hear the universal patter of rain and the gurgling of the many little streams in which it was collecting. I could hear Eboric’s whispered complaint that he was hungry and Rado’s sharp reply that the last remains of the goat couldn’t be scoffed till evening. ‘Get the horses ready,’ he said in a softer tone. ‘We’re moving out.’

We were back on the main path when a Persian voice called from behind me: ‘What the fuck have you been playing at?’ I turned and saw a dismounted officer making his way towards me. There was no doubt he’d been speaking to me. I gave my best effort at a Persian salute and stood to attention.

I’d still been dithering. Rado and Eboric together might have been able to tip the scale in the balance of fears and uncertainties. There’s nothing like having your mind made up for you. ‘Carry on past me,’ I said to Rado in Latin. ‘Remember what I said.’ Eboric’s mouth fell open with shock and I worried for a moment that he’d insist on a futile gesture. But Rado kept him moving. Another few moments and they were both leading the horses round a big rock that had bushes growing from it.