world shall tremble!’
There was another roar of enthusiasm. More men rushed forward and threw themselves down before the still figure of the Caliph. All about him, other faces were looking openly scared. Meekal bathed in the applause. He held up his arms and turned round and round. He pointed at me, and spread his arms wide. He put his head up and laughed – though the sound of his laughter was drowned out in the tide of shouted war cries that poured over us. He darted round and looked briefly at me. He raised his eyebrows as if for my own applause. He even smiled. Then he nodded me towards the waiting chair.
I looked up at the sun. I looked at the quarter-mile distance to be covered – it looked closer to half a mile. Meekal had gone on far longer than I’d thought to take into account. Plan A was off the agenda. There was nothing else for it but to go for Plan B. I sighed and got to my feet. Instead of dragging myself over to the chair, I turned to face the Caliph and raised my own arms for silence.
‘Abd al-Malik,’ I cried in my best approximation of a younger man’s voice, ‘Caliph of the Saracens, hear the words of Alaric, Senator of the Greeks and occasional correspondent with your Prophet.’ There was complete silence from the crowd, though much looking and whispering between the men around the Caliph.
‘Shut up, you old fool!’ Meekal whispered loudly in Greek. He made to grab at my arm. I avoided him and, though making sure not to pass outside the collecting zone of the sound board, stepped towards where the Caliph sat.
‘Abd al-Malik,’ I cried again, ‘have I your permission to speak?’ I looked closely at his face. He stared blankly back. Then he nodded. Safe now from Meekal, I took up what I guessed to be the most effective point for the reflection of sound. ‘You will be aware that, whatever Meekal boasts, I am the one who has produced the Greek fire. I was brought here under duress from my place of refuge, and set to work to achieve what none of you had been able to manage for yourselves. I will not ask you to condemn this abuse of an old man. Besides, it has been done. But I do inform you that, if its final purpose is use against the Empire, the first use of what I have given Meekal is to destroy you and all your ministers – rather, to destroy you and all those ministers he has not yet falsely accused of treason.’
There was a confused murmuring from all around. Meekal made another attempt to catch me. I gave him a hard poke with my stick and raised my free arm towards the Caliph. With a sudden lapse of all into silence, the Commander of the Faithful stood and pointed straight at me. I smiled at Meekal and watched as he shrank back from me. I looked into his angry, scared face and coughed politely in place of laughter.
‘I accuse Meekal – formerly known among the Greeks as Michael, Commander of the Emperor’s Personal Guard – of treason against you. I declare that his intention is to take you within that walled compound and to spray you with a jet of fire that can turn flesh and bone to ash in the blinking of one eye. I will show you the mechanism he caused to be placed there for this purpose.’ There was another rising murmur. The Caliph remained on his feet. Eusebius was now asking urgent questions of his interpreter. All the time, Meekal stared at me, on his face a mixture of shock and plain confusion.
‘Before then, however,’ I continued once I had the general attention again, ‘I accuse Meekal of sorcery. I accuse him of sacrificial murder and necromancy, all in the interests of making himself Caliph in your place.’ I paused for the rising babble of shouts that I expected. Instead, there was complete silence. I heard the high splashing of blown sand against the wood behind me, and the call of a bird overhead. I glanced left to where Meekal was standing still. He had a hand to where his sword might be underneath his outer clothing. But he didn’t seem likely to go at me while I had the Caliph’s attention. I took a deep breath and continued with a slightly tarted-up description of what Edward had told me. I spoke quickly, wondering at every moment if Meekal would chance his luck with the Caliph by killing me before I’d come out with everything. But he seemed rooted to the spot.
‘And as the traitor to both God and man violated the corpse,’ I called out in a tone of horrified disgust, ‘his satanic accomplices danced about him chanting, “O, my brother, you shall be Caliph”! Yes, O Caliph, this I heard from the traitor with my own ears: “O, my brother, you shall be Caliph”! With spells and ceremonies forbidden on pain of death among all the Peoples of the Book, he called on the Dark One to assist in his work of treason. “O, my brother, you shall be Caliph”! “O, my brother, you shall be Caliph”! he was told – and told on the authority of the Dark One, to whom the traitor’s prayers are all truly directed.’
I’d got the story out. As I finished, I had to raise my voice – even if I stood in or near the best sound collecting zone – to speak above the gathering volume of terror and disgust. Eusebius was stretching forward in his seat, a look of near ecstasy on his face. The ministers and religious scholars were all pulling faces of exaggerated horror. At last, I was getting my reaction. Still impassive, though, the Caliph looked on in silence.
Trying not to behave like an old man, I moved with forced briskness back to where I’d been sitting. I ignored the grinding in my back and I leaned down and lifted the lead box. I turned back to the Caliph and held it triumphantly aloft.
‘Let the renegade Greek Michael tell you I am senile and deluded,’ I cried dramatically. ‘But let him then explain how this could be part of my delusion.’ I tugged at the lid that made for a perfect seal on the box. It came off with a gentle pop. I scooped off the top layer of the white powder with which it was tightly packed, and pulled out its main contents. I shook off the remaining powder, and – to what was now a collective and uncontrollable wail of fear – held aloft the severed head of the serving boy Meekal had chosen and throttled and then fucked.
Chapter 65
Even when desiccated, heads can be rather heavy. My right arm shook as I continued holding this one up for all to see. It may have been my preserving powder. Or it may have been the bright sunshine. But the head had a greyish tinge. Still, it was very well preserved. I’ll swear you could see the boy’s final gasp of terror on those rigid lips.
‘Behold the head of Meekal’s victim,’ I cried, still trying for a younger man’s voice. ‘I found it where it was thrown and have kept it safe all these months. Who, of those who were there, at the great feast of welcome for me, will deny that this is the head of the boy that Meekal took for himself.’ There was a slow nodding among some of the men about the Caliph, and more shouts of horror from the crowd.
‘And this is your “evidence”, O Magnificent Alaric of ninety-eight summers?’ Meekal now called. His voice, rediscovered, dripped scorn. ‘You tell me that, without assistance, you followed me through the palace to the unfrequented hunting grounds, and that you closely observed me in this alleged act of sorcery?’ He looked towards the Caliph. He turned suddenly and stared me in the face.
I smiled and stared back. I might have been lying through my teeth about what I’d seen him do. But I really had gone off there – and on foot, mind you – with Edward the following morning. While the boy had moped about, trying to look other than frightened of touching the accursed object, I’d spent ages poking round with my stick. It had then been straight into a leather bag, and back for quite a successful experiment in preserving. Meekal could sneer all he pleased at my faculties. The head really did speak for itself.
Or did it? Meekal was speaking again, and now with recovered confidence.
‘The man asks me to call him senile and deluded,’ he cried in his earlier manner. ‘I readily grant his wish, Your Majestic Holiness. He is indeed senile and deluded. He tells you that he saw all this nearly three months ago. Surely an act so grave as this should have been reported at once to the relevant authorities. Instead, he expects you to believe that he witnessed it, and said nothing, and then worked obediently for me in what he claims to have known would culminate in a further grave act.’ He paused and waited for his words to sink in. There was silence all around us. As ever, the Caliph looked on, still standing, his face drained of expression.
‘Your Majestic Holiness,’ he went on with a sneer, ‘I put it to you that what the Old One describes, even had it happened – which I deny – could not have been witnessed by anyone in his condition. He needs special equipment to see in broad daylight. And he tells you what he saw in the moonlight?’ Meekal laughed. Without looking again at the head, he walked straight past me. He went over to my chair and rummaged about in the luggage pouch. He pulled out a small glass bottle and a larger silver box. He held them up. ‘The man is old. But I hardly need call him senile. I hardly need even remind you of his apostasy from the True Faith – and, therefore, of his unfitness to be heard in accusation against one of the True Faith. I need only say that he has spent too long shopping at the apothecary.’ He held up the glass bottle and waved it above his head. ‘The Old One is a notorious drunkard and opium eater. For seventy years, he’s been fuddling himself every day – and boring everyone about him with
