James Heneage - The Walls of Byzantium

‘Wait!’ he said. ‘I need to write it down. Fabio, bring me a pen.’

But Luke went on talking, but to Omar. He said, ‘The compound mixture is complicated. The amount of each ingredient must be mixed with exactitude. It is like Greek fire, which, they say, no one man ever knew the full formula of.’

By now, the Venetian had the means to write. He bent over the parchment. ‘Say it all again. Slower.’

Luke took a deep breath. At last he’d seen smoke. He felt like a necromancer summoning forth magic from the depths. He glanced at Omar. He’d seen it too, curling in wisps from the flagstones, gossamer-thin.

Omar caught Luke’s eye and nodded.

Understood .

Di Vetriano was busy with his pen. ‘Say it again.’

The Venetian Fabio had seen the smoke too. He opened his mouth to speak.

But Omar spoke first. He looked round at the tribesmen and shouted: ‘Karamanids, you have defiled the tomb of Seyit Battal Gazi! You will burn in hell for this deed. See, the flames come for you!’

Luke pointed to the wellhead, where the smoke was seeping more thickly through the cracks. The guards either side of him had seen it and were yelling to their kinsmen in the shadows.

Di Vetriano looked up. He cursed and got to his feet. ‘What is this?’ He stared at the wellhead and then spun round to face Luke. ‘What have you done?’

The Karamanids were now backing away from the smoke, their boots squelching in the water that was already an inch deep. There was a strong smell of sulphur. The man next to Luke turned and began to pull back the bolts on the door.

Di Vetriano aimed his crossbow at the closest tribesman.

‘Where are you going?’ he shouted. ‘It’s just vapour!’ He moved to the wellhead, slung the crossbow over his shoulder and took the metal ring in both hands. ‘Help me!’

A tribesman came over and took hold of the ring beside him. They both heaved.

The two men fell back as the stone came up. Fire rose into the room with a roar, a livid tongue of orange and red that shot upwards the height of a man. When it fell back, the water around it caught fire. The floor of the crypt was ablaze.

The Karamanids were already at the door, thrashing at their clothes, desperate to escape the wrath of the saint. The door opened and gusts of wind swept in over their heads, fanning the flames behind them.

Di Vetriano had risen from the water, his clothes alight.

‘Fabio, get them back!’ he yelled, trying to sweep the fire from his shirt.

But Fabio had other priorities. He’d tried to stop the tribesmen but they’d ignored his crossbow and pushed him back against a pillar. Then, as his finger had searched for its trigger, Luke had rushed him.

Now the two of them were locked in an embrace, the Venetian’s back to the pillar. He’d managed to draw a dagger from somewhere and held it an inch away from Luke’s face. But Luke was stronger and the dagger was being forced slowly back so that, quite soon, it was pointing at the ceiling.

Luke’s hand turned quickly on the man’s wrist and the dagger dropped. A second later, Luke’s forehead made contact with his nose and his knee came up into his groin. Fabio went down and, as he did so, Luke hit him again.

Luke spun round.

The sopracomito was standing behind Omar on top of the tomb. He had his forearm around the old man’s neck and the crossbow dug into his side. Omar’s face was knitted with pain but he uttered no sound. The beam above them was alight.

‘Ingenious,’ said the Venetian. ‘You set the cistern alight with Greek fire.’ He looked around the crypt at the carpet of fire around them. ‘Where did you get it?’

Luke saw that di Vetriano’s finger was on the crossbow trigger and that his hand was shaking. He saw something wild in his eyes. He said, ‘Give me the old man, di Vetriano, and you can go.’

But the Venetian was shaking his head. There was sweat coursing down his cheeks. He pulled Omar more tightly to his chest and the old man grimaced. Still no sound came from him. ‘Oh no. I will leave this place,’ he said, pressing the crossbow into Omar’s side, ‘and the old man will be my way out.’

‘You won’t make it,’ said Luke. ‘You have one crossbow bolt and the Karamanids have fled. Be sensible, Vetriano.’

The Venetian was untying Omar’s hands with one hand, keeping the crossbow aimed at Luke with the other. He stepped down, pulling Omar with him. The water was no longer alight and there was only smoke rising from the wellhead. He moved to its edge, glancing down. He brought the crossbow bolt to Omar’s neck.

‘Where is your accomplice, Magoris? The one with the Greek Fire?’

Luke didn’t answer. He’d heard movement behind him.

Fabio .

The other Venetian had got to his knees, sweeping the blood from his nose and eyes with his arm and shaking his head. Luke could hear him searching in the water for his weapon.

Di Vetriano said, ‘Fabio, go and find the man with the Greek Fire.’

But Fabio wasn’t listening. He saw no reason why Luke shouldn’t die before he went anywhere. He’d found the dagger and was wiping the blade against his sodden shirtsleeve. He stood up.

‘Fabio?’

Fabio staggered forward, lifting the blade to strike. One step, two steps. Then he stopped. His mouth was open, blood spilling over his bottom lip. He let out a groan and fell forward into the water. Vinsanto red.

Bennedo Barbi was standing in the courtyard with a crossbow in one hand and rain drumming on his shoulders. In his other hand was a canister strap.

Vetriano laughed. ‘Thank you, Barbi. I’d have done the same myself but I need the bolt. Now throw me the canister.’

Barbi didn’t move. Di Vetriano pressed the crossbow bolt further into Omar’s neck. ‘Magoris, tell him to do it.’

Luke said, ‘throw it, Benedo.’ His voice was flat.

Barbi walked up to the doorway. With a metallic crash, the canister landed at di Vetriano’s feet. He kicked it into the wellhead and they heard a splash.

‘You’re right, of course, Magoris. I’d not get far with all those trigger-happy monks outside. So I think I’ll leave in the same way that you, presumably, got in. I imagine there’s an outlet somewhere. I’m sure I’ll find it’ He glanced down at the hole. ‘The water’s no longer aflame and without the Greek Fire, you won’t be able to re-light it.’

He was edging towards the edge of the wellhead, the old man with him. Would he kill Omar before he jumped?

Luke thought quickly. He has one bolt .

‘You still won’t make it, Vetriano,’ he said. ‘I posted a guard at the tunnel entrance.’

One crossbow bolt. One guard .

Vetriano frowned, considering this information. Then he’d decided. He pushed Omar away and jumped. Another splash.

Luke span round, ‘Where is it?’

It was propped up outside the door, out of sight. Barbi reached around the door and dragged it inside and over to the wellhead. He found the tinderbox in his pocket, wrapped in oilskin. He unwrapped it, fumbling.

Luke pulled the canister to the opening and aimed the tube below.

‘Ready?’

The flint was struck and the tube spat flame. The water below caught fire and, out of sight, they heard the scream of a man alight. The sound came and went, loud and muffled. It went on for a long time. At last it stopped.

Barbi turned to Luke. ‘It’s a bad way to die. You either burn or drown.’

Later, when the fire had gone out and the rain stopped, Luke and Omar sat on the walls of the monastery and waited for a new day to begin. Luke’s sword was leaning against his thigh. There was a single star left in the sky.

‘Kervan Kiran,’ Luke said, looking up. ‘Plethon’s star.’