Spira Mirabilis Read online

  Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication Page

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  PART I: EXILES

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  PART II: AQUA ALTO

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61

  CHAPTER 62

  CHAPTER 63

  CHAPTER 64

  CHAPTER 65

  CHAPTER 66

  CHAPTER 67

  CHAPTER 68

  CHAPTER 69

  CHAPTER 70

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  THE WAVE TRILOGY TIMELINE

  First published in Great Britain in 2014 by

  Jo Fletcher Books

  An imprint of Quercus Editions Ltd

  55 Baker Street

  7th Floor, South Block

  London

  W1U 8EW

  Copyright © 2014 Aidan Harte

  The moral right of Aidan Harte to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978 1 78087 153 0 (HB)

  ISBN 978 1 78087 152 3 (TPB)

  ISBN 978 1 78087 154 7 (EBOOK)

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  You can find this and many other great books at:

  www.quercusbooks.co.uk and

  www.jofletcherbooks.com

  Also by Aidan Harte

  Irenicon

  The Warring States

  To my hero, Bronagh

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  CONCORDIANS

  Torbidda The Last Apprentice

  Girolamo Bernoulli Long dead tyrant of Concord

  Leto Spinther Concordian General

  Lord Geta Disgruntled swordsman

  Fra Norcino Blind preacher; leader of the fanciulli

  Madame Filangeiri Brothel keeper

  Scaevola Leto’s quartermaster

  Collegio dei Consoli Council of previous candidates for apprenticeship

  Consul Numitor Fuscus Influential consul

  Consul Malapert Omodeo Noble-born but self-made plutocrat

  Horatius Malapert Omodeo’s nephew

  RASENNEISI

  Sofia Scaligeri Former Contessa of Rasenna

  Iscanno Scaligeri Her son

  Pedro Vanzetti Chief Engineer

  Salvatore Bombelli Eldest son of Fabbro the murdered ruler of Rasenna

  Guido and Gasparo Bombelli Middle twins

  Costanzo Bombelli Youngest of Fabbro’s sons

  Maddalena Bombelli Fabbro’s only daughter; Lord Geta’s wife

  Sister Isabella Vaccarelli Young Reverend Mother of the Sisterhood

  Sister Carmella Novice

  Uggeri Galati Bandieratoro; young capo of Bardini Workshop

  Polo Sorrento, the farmer Wool Merchant and father of Rosa & Pablo

  Pablo Sorrento Rosa’s brother; a bandieratoro

  Rosa Sorrento Young mother; daughter of Polo; Pablo’s brother

  Bocea, a.k.a the Brewer Owner of Lion’s Fountain; Prior of Vintners’ Guild

  Jacques Bonhomme Frankish Blacksmith

  Donna Soderini Wife of a poor wool carder

  OTHER ETRURIANS

  Levi Azzarà Podesta of Rasenna; General of Hawk’s Company

  Duke Grimani Dictator of Veii

  Poggio Marsuppini Town elder of Veii; succeeds Duke Grimani

  Doctor Ferruccio Ambassador from Salerno; old Scaligeri ally

  Sergio A Salernitan buttero

  Matron Trotula A Salernitan doctor

  No Man Sybaritic youth

  Hellebore Top Man of Sybaris

  Femus Hellebore’s son

  Whisperer Councillor of Sybaris

  Befana Prophetess

  OLTREMARINES

  Queen Catrina Guiscard Queen of Oltremare

  Fulk Guiscard Queen’s son; Grandmaster of the Lazar Knights

  Basilius Seneschal of Lazars

  Gustav Elderly Lazar

  Patriarch Chryrsoberges Queen’s councillor

  Baron Masoir Rich Akkan noble

  Melisende Ibelin Baroness; wife of Baron Masoir

  Prince Jorge New ruler of Byzant

  Captain Khoril Captain of Oltremarine flagship, the Tancred

  Abdel Moorish slave

  EBIONITES

  Ezra Old Ebionite sailor

  Azizi, a.k.a The Moor Usurping ruler of Ariminum; former pirate

  Mik la Nan Infamous chief of Napthtali tribe

  Arik ben Uriah Ebionite of Issachar tribe; Scout for Oltremarines

  Yūsuf ben Uriah Leader of Sicarii; brother of Arik

  Bakhbukh Yūsuf’s unhappy advisor

  Zayid Heavy; Ally of Yūsuf

  Jabari Sicarii boy

  Roe de Nail Chief of Benjaminite tribe

  PART I:

  EXILES

  Verily thou art a God that hidest thyself

  Isaiah 45:15

  CHAPTER 1

  Some doubted their eyes. The mutilated corpse, they argued, could have belonged to anyone. These doubters were swiftly silenced because believing that Fra Norcino – their shepherd, their teacher – had abandoned them was even more terrible than believing he was dead. The engineers had scourged Consul Corvis, the devil who ordered his execution; now, leaderless and denied even the solace of revenge, the fanciulli retreated to the Depths. Unity had been their great strength but they broke willingly into gloomy covens, to argue amongst themselves about what had broken them, and why. A deficiency of faith was the explanation that held sway for a few dismal days, before a sweeter notion suggested itself.

  This was a test.

  Wh
at was Consul Corvis? An engineer.

  Who had shown them the body? The engineers.

  And what was the First Apprentice but an engineer – the king of that benighted race.

  *

  Monte Nero might tower over the New City, but its foothills were in the Depths and those twice-orphaned wretches threw themselves, pushing and shouting, like a wave at the crags. When the folly of that became clear, they retreated to the Umbilicus Urbi, the cartographic navel of the Concordian Empire, whence the mapmaker’s needle began its tireless revolutions, to meditate on the injustices done to them. The ancient stone pillar was not merely the point from where all imperial measurements began, it was the pulpit from which Norcino had preached. Here the truth had originated, and against it was measured the falsehood of all other positions.

  They alternated chanting, Abasso Torbidda! – down with Torbidda! – with Abasso Spinther!

  The objects of their hatred were the two boys who controlled respectively Concord’s civic and military wings: First Apprentice Torbidda and General Leto Spinther. Though the mob did not know it, this singular pair were looking down upon them from one of the New City aqueducts. Both had devoted their lives to Reason, and both knew this sea of passion was capable of drowning them.

  Beyond that, their reactions were very different.

  ‘Look at it, Leto,’ the First Apprentice marvelled. ‘The great beast that is man in aggregate. What an army they would make!’

  The young general was unimpressed. ‘A man can be worth something, but men are generally worthless. I shall gather the praetorians. A charge will soon break up this rabble.’

  ‘No, they’d just come back. I must speak to them.’

  ‘You can’t reason with a mob.’

  Torbidda smiled so rarely that his gleeful laugh took Leto entirely by surprise. ‘Who said anything about Reason?’

  *

  No one assaulted the boy in red as he pressed through the crowd – the praetorians saw to that – but once the masses would have parted like cattle before the First Apprentice. Concord’s year of anarchy had made them bold.

  ‘Down with the Guild!’ they shouted as he stood with bowed head before the pillar from where the blind preacher had hurled his sermons. Bloody handprints marked it still. He turned and looked contritely at the hostile faces surrounding him, and they saw a boy not much different than them: paler, perhaps, but with his ox-like brow and large callused hands he looked like one who knew what it was to work.

  It was hard to hear at first, so choked with grief was his voice. ‘We mourn together, Children. Hear me not for my rank but for that woe we share,’ he started solemnly. ‘My rank is but an ephemeral vanity. Our grief is eternal. The saint’s pillar is empty, and so it must stay. No one can take the place of Fra Norcino – not you, not I’ – he stepped away from the protection of the praetorians and gestured contemptuously – ‘and certainly not them.’

  The crown lowed aggressively, but no longer at Torbidda.

  ‘Nor can the Collegio dei Consoli replace him,’ he continued, ‘for all their claimed wisdom. A surfeit of Reason has enfeebled their minds. That scoundrel Bernoulli said that only philosophers could uncover truth, but I say that only you have that power! Your roar is the voice of God – give thanks that Bernoulli and his dogma are dead. Give thanks that Fra Norcino and his promise will live for ever! We, his children – we shall be tyrants to the world: we shall be a new breed, the tyranny of ten thousand! Cast off your petty bonds, your family, your names, and in this union forget your mothers, your brothers, your neighbours, your lovers. Forget all bonds and become something greater. Our unchained strength and collective stature is unbounded. O joy! O terror! How our senses will be magnified: a hundred eyes and ears, a thousand mouths to bite our foes! A million fists to smash the world!’

  He walked amongst them so that that they could see he was just a boy like them. ‘We are young, that is why the Fra believed in us. He showed us the path and gave us courage to follow it. He threw away his life to free us from the snares of Reason. The Molè was a temple to that discredited idol, and we shall have nothing to do with it. Tear up the stones of the streets with your fingers; carry all you can on your backs. Load them till your knees buckle – and there on the grave of idolatry we shall build a new church dedicated to youth! Come, climb the mountain with me! Lay out the site with me! Cut the foundation stone with me!’

  ‘Lead us!’ they cried.

  ‘If you will follow me, then I will follow you. I tell you there is no greater rapture than to forget yourself. Become the Temple! Make stone of your flesh – make mortar of your bones and blood. Give your lives for Concord – for those who build and those who kill for Concord are equally brave, equally blessed: we are soldiers of God together.’

  Leto, looking on, could hardly believe his ears. Instead of pacifying them, Torbidda was driving them mad.

  ‘I have no need of this gaudy robe, for I am no Apprentice.’ And as he spoke, Torbidda began to remove his clothes.

  ‘Then you are the master!’ cried an ecstatic girl, and the cry was taken up.

  The surrounded praetorians, out of self-preservation, bowed low, and Leto bowed too, lower than everyone, to cover his indignation.

  Torbidda, standing naked before them, picked up his Apprentice’s robe and threw it into the throng. ‘Tear it!’ he shouted. ‘Everyone take a share!’

  ‘Master!’ they insisted, ‘Master!’

  ‘We are all masters! Dip your wool in the blood of the lamb and be reborn. Children, we are Crusaders.’

  Leto had to struggle to get to the head of the procession as Torbidda led a trail of naked children up the mountain. Like his followers, Torbidda’s feet were bleeding. In all the years Leto had known him, he’d never seen such an ecstatic smile. He threw his cloak over his naked shoulders and whispered, ‘Have you gone mad?’

  Torbidda turned, and Leto fancied that he saw in his friend’s face – for the briefest moment – a look of terrible entreaty. Then it was gone, glazed over by joyless glee. He threw off the cloak impatiently. ‘On the contrary: I know now the true price of things. Concord is certainly worth a mass.’

  CHAPTER 2

  Serves you bloody well right for doing the right thing! Captain Khoril raged at himself. The diminutive, hirsute Levantine was waiting to be summoned, and sweating like the last hog of winter. This was the first time he’d returned to Akka since helping Contessa Scaligeri escape Ariminum and the Moor. It didn’t help matters that the Moor’s ensign was standing calmly beside him. The tall, handsome youth with skin the colour of liquid walnut had a noble mien and a haughty diffidence; Khoril had ferried the perfectly composed youth from Ariminum to speak on his master’s behalf.

  A black-robed cleric pushed open the door to the throne room and stared at them for an awkward moment, then, apparently satisfied, he ordered them to approach.

  ‘I summoned the Moor,’ said the queen. ‘He sends his cupbearer?’

  The ensign’s eyes, deep sleepy pools, opened wide. This was mild reproach for Queen Catrina, but the beautiful youth responded defiantly, ‘Admiral Azizi sends his dearest friend. Loyalty keeps him in Ariminum. You would commend his prudence if you knew the Serenissima’s reputation for treachery.’

  She said with resignation, ‘All the world knows that. He did as instructed and offered allegiance to Concord?’

  ‘Yes and as you predicted, they stood by and let us take over Ariminum.’

  ‘What then has your master so worried?’

  ‘I would not say worried. As canaries are to miners are rats to mariners. He smells one.’

  ‘I’m told it’s quite a distinctive musk. Is that so, Khoril?’ Before the captain could stammer an answer, the queen continued, ‘You mean this boy king – the one who styles himself the— What is it your Beatitude? The journeyman?’

  ‘I believe he calls himself the Apprentice,’ said the patriarch, striking the appropriate note of scepticism.

  ‘The Fir
st Apprentice,’ the ensign corrected him. ‘Mock all you like, but Admiral Azizi believes he will feed us to the beast as soon as he gets what he wants.’

  ‘Which is the Contessa?’

  ‘Just so, your Majesty, which is why my master recommends you don’t hand her over.’

  ‘And what am I to do with her instead?

  The ensign, oblivious to the queen’s sarcasm, looked surprised. After a moment, he answered, ‘Kill her, of course.’

  While Captain Khoril glared at his companion, torn between fear and hate, the queen glanced at the patriarch.

  ‘Tell the Moor,’ she said at last, ‘that I have already decided what to do with that one. Tell him too that next time his queen summons him, he had better come himself, not send some overbold Ganymede. Dismissed.’

  Fury flickered across the ensign’s handsome face and he looked about to retort, but then he thought better. He gave a shallow bow and turned on his heels.

  Khoril did likewise, happy to escape the royal reprimand he’d been dreading, but her silky voice stopped him dead.

  ‘I expect you are eager to see your family, Captain?’

  Her voice paralysed him. ‘ … very much, your Majesty—’

  ‘Then I will not detain you for long.’

  The ensign shot Khoril a look of suspicion and warning before the cleric showed him out.

  Khoril’s mouth went dry and he resolved to head off whatever accusations she might make with his own. ‘I must remonstrate, your Majesty – why did you not tell me the Moor was your servant?’

  ‘You of all people know that a captain must not share everything with his crew. You are too hot-blooded to lie convincingly. Your enmity with the Moor is famous; the Ariminumese had to believe I wanted him dead too.’

  ‘I played my part so well that I helped the contessa escape.’

  ‘Yes, an embarrassing episode – But irrelevant now that I have custody of her.’

  ‘A captain needn’t share all but neither should he leave his servants wholly blind. The better I know your will, the better I can serve. What are you going to do with her?’ Khoril hoped he was doing a good job of keeping his sympathies concealed.

  ‘The Moor’s prescription is extreme. I buy time by keeping her alive. Contrary to appearances, my power is circumscribed. I cannot summarily dispose of her – sending her away or otherwise – and preserve Akka’s reputation as a safe haven, so I have engineered a situation, one where my subjects will clamour for me to cast her out.’