Lord of Slaughter

12

The chamberlain had not answered Loys’ request to see him, and the scholar sat at his desk with his head in his hands. He’d heard nothing about any slaughter, and the guards on the palace doors had said no one had moved against the soothsayers. The streets were dangerous enough, purge or no purge. Venturing outdoors had become an unsettling proposition. Some were convinced the last days were at hand and had abandoned all pretence of civility, robbing and even killing. The city guard was struggling to keep anarchy at bay. In the palace, at least, he and Beatrice were safe. For the moment.

Loys tapped at the parchment. He needed to order his thoughts. In other circumstances he might have been excited by the project. He had been sponsored to undertake a great work, to bend his mind to one of the big questions of philosophy. There was nothing wrong with investigating occult and magical practices, as long as you kept to theory, but the chamberlain wanted a working spell. Did that blur the division between the theoretical and the practical? Loys felt in his heart that it did. Christ allowed no fudge or compromise. For or against, right or wrong? Which side of that divide was he on?

On top of this a more immediate anxiety gripped him. The penalty for failure would be severe. He could end up damning himself to hell and being dispatched there by the chamberlain in short order. He needed to go, to get away from this horrible city. Beatrice was a sensible woman and would bury her disappointment at having to leave the luxurious palace if he explained their peril. But could he leave? Everything was done for him here — everything: his food laid out, his bed freshened, books he requested delivered and scented herbs changed daily. He knew enough of men like the chamberlain to understand they would not invest time and money in him and then allow him to walk away. The man had known everything about him when he was living in a shack by the lighthouse; how much more would he know now he had him under his nose?

Loys had a chariot race of anxieties going on in his head. He had enemies, that much was obvious, and within the ranks of the palace bureaucrats too but he had merely been threatened as yet. And he had a protector. He thought of the chamberlain with his thin sleepy face, those eyes which seemed only half awake but missed nothing. He would not believe in chance if Loys was found dead in an alley.

Loys was inclined to begin his investigation by studying the demons, through the works of the learned men who had categorised and named them. He had always been taught to move from first principles, so he turned to astrology to begin with. Proclus said there were sympathies and antipathies in nature. Men’s destinies were connected to those of the constellations, to those of plants and animals, even tides. Astrology was Loys’ particular expertise, though he found it more useful for describing tempers and dispositions than he did for actually predicting the future. Still, he would need to consider all influences on the emperor before he could advise on how those influences might be dealt with. Books of ancient wisdom — the works of the Greeks, the Arabs and the Persians — were scattered about him.

He consulted his charts. The moon, Mars and Mercury were in conjunction. He took up a Latin translation of Haephestio of Thebes. ‘A conjunction between the moon, Mars and Mercury will produce men who are steeped in magic, knowers of secret things.’ He gave a dry laugh. He wished he knew where to find one of those now. He considered the planets: mother moon, Mars the warrior and Mercury the messenger and carrier of dreams. The Vikings! There were enough of those in Normandy — savage cousins of the local Norman nobility getting off their boats wet behind the ears, comically dressed but no less violent for it. They worshipped a form of Mercury — Odin — a mad god according to them. Mercury was coming to the ascendant. As were the northerners outside the walls. Mercury was the planet that ruled magic.

So what correspondence had afflicted the emperor? Loys used Basileios’ birth information to cast his horoscope, consulting the books for the position of the stars. It took him nearly all evening and revealed nothing. The emperor was blessed, according to the planets. Then Loys examined the last five years, to judge the particular influences and pulls of the stars there. Nothing. Fluctuations, difficulties but no grave disasters were apparent.

He began to read another book — Ancient Blasphemies — a record of the beliefs that had been discovered during local purges. He browsed through, turning up nothing in particular until he reached a certain page. Hecate, the goddess of the Constantinople. Was it possible she was a demon and God had struck at the city for worshipping her? He read on — goddess of crossroads, of the dead, of walls and borders, of the borders between the living and the dead — she was associated with dogs and with poison and poetry. As if by command two of the palace dogs set off barking, making Loys jump. She was worshipped at the end of each month, when the people sacrificed black lambs at crossroads and at holy sites.

So much information, so little use.

By the time Beatrice came back from visiting the women of the lower court, parchment lay all over the room and she asked him if she could tidy it up. He let her, then he held her hand as she stood behind him to look at his work.

‘Is the sky still dark?’

‘Still dark,’ she said.

‘What do the ladies say about it?’

‘It’s an ill omen, what else could they say? First the comet, now this.’

‘What do you think?’

‘Our fortunes have improved since its appearance. But God is angry with the earth, it must be so. Lady Styliane says so. The comet is a sign of that, according to the wisdom of the Arabs.’

‘Who is Lady Styliane?’

‘A lady of the court. The chamberlain’s sister, no less.’

Loys concealed his fear. ‘And she is wise in astrology?’

‘Her late husband took an interest,’ she said.

Loys smiled. ‘I hope you haven’t been consorting with witches, Beatrice.’

‘She is no witch. Astrology is the study of nature, don’t you always tell me?’

‘Yes. In the hands of learned men. Not bored and credulous ladies. There it can slide into sorcery.’

‘Lady Styliane is neither bored nor credulous. She is an amusing woman. You should meet her. Or perhaps not. She’s very beautiful and I would not wish her to meet you when dark stars are governing our fate.’

She kissed him.

He thought of the comet and shivered. That had heralded nothing good for sure — the disappearance of the sun and the birth of a lasting darkness. But that was not the cause of the emperor’s malaise. The darkness had happened only recently, and the emperor suffered from a long-standing condition.

Beatrice went to bed and he continued his studies through three candles. His head ached with the mental effort. Perhaps if he addressed the influence of the comet, then he would see something?

He consulted his books and worked his chart, tracing the comet’s path across the sky as best he recalled it. Abu Mash’r — an Arab mathematician — was very helpful here, and Loys calculated his angles and drew his charts according to the wise man’s prescription. He cast the seven hermetic lots, his pen marking the lines against the ruler in quick and fevered swipes. In the lot of fortune he saw minor problems, in the lot of spirit some difficulties. Nothing pointed to an illness striking at Basileios.

Beatrice stirred in her sleep. For a second he longed to join her but he had gone beyond tiredness in his desperation for an answer. So work backwards. When he did, he found nothing again.

Beatrice woke him at his desk the next morning, a pool of wax from the candles at his elbow.

‘How are you getting on?’

‘Well,’ he said, not wishing to alarm her.

There was a knock at the door and the eunuch servant entered.

‘Hello,’ Loys said.

Beatrice put her hand to his head. ‘You’re very nice, Loys, but this is a court. If you behave like that no one will respect you.’ He had forgotten it was bad form to greet slaves.

‘I have a message, sir,’ said the eunuch.

Loys glanced at Beatrice.

‘You can reply to that.’ She laughed and stroked his hair.

‘What is it?’ said Loys with exaggerated formality.

‘The Lady Styliane would see the Lady Beatrice in her rooms at noon tomorrow.’

‘Sounds like you’ve made a friend,’ said Loys.

‘It is a formal occasion for the lady’s particular friends,’ said the servant.

Beatrice glanced at Loys. ‘Do you think I should go?’

‘If you want.’

‘It could be a worthwhile association for us.’

Loys smiled. Beatrice had been brought up at a court and it was as natural for her to think that way as it was for Loys to overlook it. His wife would prove a big asset to his career — were he not mired in this magic business. She understood instinctively how things worked. He was wary of great people; she was drawn to them.

‘The invitation extends to you too, sir,’ said the eunuch.

Loys and Beatrice exchanged a glance.

‘Me?’

The eunuch lowered his eyes in assent.

‘What could she want with me? Is it normal for the ladies of the court to take their men with them?’ he said.

Beatrice coloured slightly. ‘I don’t know if I did the right thing, but I mentioned your task to her.’

Loys swallowed, trying to think before speaking. Panic rose in him and anger too — for the danger in which Beatrice had placed them both.

‘I said nothing about the emperor,’ said Beatrice, ‘just that you were researching magic on the chamberlain’s behalf.’

Loys brought his hands together as if readying himself to pray. He saw what had happened. Beatrice had come to trust this woman and had made a casual remark that had rebounded to haunt her. He couldn’t blame his wife. He had put her in danger by telling her anything at all. Were they in danger from Styliane? Who knew? But he had seen already the court had its sectional interests and was certain he was about to encounter another.

‘Well,’ he said, glancing back at the useless results of his night’s scribbling, ‘let’s see what she has to say. She may be able to help.’

And at least he could mention the soothsayers to her to see if any sort of protection could be offered to them.

He squeezed Beatrice’s hand and gave her his best smile.