Richard Blake - The Blood of Alexandria

‘Come, dear friends,’ Priscus called with a semblance of cheer, ‘let us drink to Success in Unity.’

Two firm voices, and one with a mutter, repeated the toast. We raised our cups. I drank.

I looked up in the sudden silence. Still full to the brim, three other cups had been set down again on the table. I looked at Priscus, who was now smiling expectantly.

‘Oh, Jesus!’ I cried. ‘I blame myself for this. I should have remembered what a fucking snake you were.’ I clutched at my throat and rolled my eyes.

‘You were right, Priscus,’ Lucas cried exultantly. ‘The barbarian drank as greedily as if he’d been a sick slave.’ He turned to me. ‘You can now look forward to an eternity in Hell for your impertinence to the Chosen One of Isis. You can see there what the demons think of your “State of Nature” and your “Perfect Freedom”.’ He took up his water cup and refilled it. ‘Did I not once tell you,’ he asked, ‘that I am now a sworn stranger to wine? Did that fact slip your drunkard mind?’ He spat in my direction and laughed. ‘No witch will save you now,’ he gloated. ‘You will die choking in pain before our eyes. The very night beasts of the desert will spurn your tainted barbarian flesh.’ He drank again and laughed triumphantly.

‘Do believe me, Alaric,’ Priscus said, now friendly, ‘that this was a difficult task. I did argue your case. But I was outvoted. And you will agree that your usefulness as finder of whatever this object may be is now at an end. Siroes is assured we can do the rest together.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said, now raising his voice again, ‘I give you the toast a second time: Success in Unity!’

I fell back and coughed hard. Siroes raised his water cup in another ironic toast and drained it.

‘Oh, Aelric! Aelric!’ Martin sobbed as he threw himself at me. ‘This is all my doing. You should have left me to die at the Church of the Apostles.’ He snatched the cup from my hands and drained it to the bitter dregs. He embraced me and slobbered a kiss on my cheek. My blanket fell loose and my nipple stiffened in the slight chill that I now felt around me. ‘O God,’ he cried in a loud voice, ‘let me burn in Hell for my sins. But show mercy on this blessed if foolish barbarian child.’ He dropped the cup and clutched at himself. ‘I feel death already clawing at my vitals,’ he called, now speaking still louder. ‘Let the agonies of death be just the prelude to my deserved sufferings in Hell. O God in Thy Mercy, let-’

‘Oh, do shut up, Martin!’ Priscus said wearily. ‘Whatever happens when you’re out of it, you really should remember your position in this world, and only speak when spoken to.’

I kicked Martin hard on the shin and pulled a face. That shut him up. I resisted the urge to laugh at the expression on his face. I rearranged my blanket and sat forward again.

‘Now, gentlemen,’ Priscus said to the whole company, ‘because I’m in talkative mood, I’ll tell you something not many people know.’ He took out one of the black pills he reserved for moments that he was already relishing. ‘Tittymilk of Hera is the finest weapon in the poisoner’s arsenal. I cannot recall how useful I’ve found it these past forty years for removing those inconvenient souls who cannot be got at by other means. However – and Alaric should know this – it is completely useless in wine. Never mind the taste, you’d need to be pissy drunk not to notice the smell.

‘In water, on the other hand, it has neither smell nor taste.’ He put down his own still full water cup and put the black pill on to his yellowish tongue. He washed it down with a long single gulp of his wine. He looked around, bright anticipatory pleasure on his face.

Siroes opened his mouth, his face gone suddenly grey. He looked at his empty cup. Lucas simply looked stupid.

‘Because I’m still in talkative mood,’ Priscus continued with a complacent look round the table, ‘I’ll tell you what you can expect. In the dose I’ve just administered, you should already be feeling a paralysis of the speech organs and of the limbs. This should last some while, the stiffness growing progressively more uncomfortable. You should feel the approach of death in some convulsions – convulsions that will be exquisitely painful and, from my point of view, conveniently silent.

‘Do have some more of this, Alaric, my dear boy,’ he said, leaning forward with the wine jug. ‘I’ll not grudge a taste to Martin. But it really is too delicious to pass up.’

I drank again and it set my teeth on edge. Martin was still retching and clutching at his stomach. I kicked him again, and followed this with a gentle slap to the unbandaged side of his face. Siroes and Lucas, now speechless, were beginning to tremble and to sweat heavily. Priscus smiled and stretched his arms. He sat back in his chair. He looked round for his cat. It was quietly shitting over in a corner of the tent.

‘I must thank you, Alaric,’ he said, ‘for playing along so well. Do tell me, though, how it was you managed to guess my intentions.’

‘I’ve never known you to trust anyone,’ I said. ‘I really couldn’t imagine you’d play along with these two a moment longer than you needed. It was when you had the water bowl filled right up that I guessed you’d been at work on the brim.’

‘Clever lad!’ he said appreciatively. ‘If I ever need to poison you, I see I’ll not be able to pull that one again. But how did you know the wine wasn’t poisoned? Three bodies, after all, might be just as useful to me as two.’

I smiled. The truth was that I’d taken a risk. If the wine had been poisoned and I’d refused it, death would have been at best delayed. Playing along, on the other hand, might keep me alive. And Priscus might easily still have some use for me in arranging the getaway. I changed the subject.

‘It took me far too long to realise the truth,’ I said. ‘Don’t you think it would have saved a lot of time and effort if you’d told me what you were about?’

Priscus smiled. He leaned across the table and pressed his fingers together. ‘Why not tell me, my dear, what it is that I was about?’ he asked. He looked at his two victims. His smile broadened.

‘I knew that last evening in Alexandria that you were trying to set me up,’ I said. ‘I didn’t yet know why. I knew you were up to something with Lucas, and I assumed it was treason – though I couldn’t work out why – even if you were plainly after the piss pot – you’d chosen a duffer like him for accomplice. My only surprise, though, when I saw you again in that scummy town was at your speed in getting up the Nile. I’d already realised, listening to Siroes and Lucas, that you hadn’t turned traitor.’

Priscus grinned and waved his cup at me.

I continued: ‘I supposed you’d some notice of what Siroes was up to and you came here to stop it. That’s why you really had Nicetas combing the Red Sea ports. A few hundred Persians in Jedda could be left even to Nicetas. Siroes, I could see, was another matter.’

‘My dear young fellow!’ Priscus said with another look at his two victims. ‘The Battle of Caesarea wasn’t a complete disaster. Heraclius did his best. Even so, we managed to capture one of the senior staff officers. He gave me some very useful information that supplemented our intelligence reports. I was able to learn that Siroes had been sent to Egypt on a mission to get something important, and that he would be able to claim the assistance of a light man from the West. I really couldn’t have you blundering into his clutches.’

With a gasp, Siroes moved his right hand in the direction of his sword. The effort was too much, and he fell heavily forward on to the table. Priscus had him back in position directly. He checked the pulse and smiled. He kissed him on the forehead and sat down again.