Spira Mirabilis (28 page)

Leto understood that he was dismissed. As soon as he turned his back, the insidious smile vanished from the First Apprentice’s face, to be replaced by a look of desperation. His hand began to shake, blotting his drawing with ink. He grabbed it savagely with his other hand and pounded it savagely against the desk until the pen fell from his grip. A strangled ‘
Leto!
’ escaped the contested tongue.

Leto had just reached the door. He turned back urgently. ‘I’m here, Torbidda!’

The First Apprentice was leaning over the desk like one who’d
been mauled. He had survived the mutiny and was back in command ‘Yes, why is that? The consuls are waiting.’

Leto clicked his heels and slammed the door behind him.

*

The vestibule of the Collegio was thronged with consuls filing into the chamber. In the middle of this river was an island formed by a neat young man surrounded by consuls eager as hatchlings. As they gabbed into each ear, his lively blue eyes roved about and stopped only when they fell on Leto.

Leto sized him up as he approached. Malapert Omodeo was about ten years older than him, and while Geta’s generation had lost themselves in an endless circle of debauchery and conspiracy, the next generation of nobles had accepted their lot and found ways to survive and even prosper. Leto had expected Omodeo to have taken up Byzantine fashions during his exile, but he was a clean-shaven man with close-cropped hair who dressed like a high-ranking servant: dark, simple, neat as a parcel. His winning smile never failed, even when insulted – which, since his return from Byzant, was often. They called him Speculator, Usurer, Traitor, and he smiled with the knowledge that the future belonged to those alchemists who could invariably make from one piece of silver two hundred of gold.

‘An honour to finally meet you, General.’

‘Forgive me, Signor, but I cannot say the same.’

‘You too, Spinther?’ Omodeo pouted, mockingly. ‘I expected principled scorn from the rest of these unworldly worthies, but not from you. I did what I had to do to survive, just like your forefathers.’

‘My forefathers joined the Guild because they believed in Bernoulli.’

‘That, and to protect their estates, to have influence, to
count
. I sought the same thing, but I took another route.’

‘And it led you here, right back to where you started.’

‘Which means we are on the same side now. A general who shows up to battle alone looks rather foolish, so I beg you to remember, when next you see your Grand Legion assembled, who’s paying for it.’

‘I will – and you should remember that you’re a temporary expedient. When the war is done, we’ll once again have steady revenues from our vassals.’

‘Perhaps … but the ambitions of States have a way of expanding. I’m confident that I can make myself useful whatever the circumstances.’

Before Leto could respond, the bell summoned them inside.

*

Leto was used to addressing mechanically cheering soldiers and he found himself struggling to complete his report over the sardonic jeering of the chamber. He did note that Omodeo and his supporters were not part of the noisy opposition, which was centred on the consul known as the Circle, Numitor Fuscus.

Consul Fuscus was nosily listening eating his way through a bag of apples, making an exhibition of his inattention to the general’s address. The apples were not just props but ammunition, for whenever a speaker made a point that he disagreed with, he would shift on his fleshy buttocks and release a great rumbling fart that echoed round the chamber like a cannon’s report.

His bowels might be eloquent, but the consul himself was an indifferent speaker. His weapons of choice were bribery and threats, a combination that in his skilled hands had proved as persuasive as the most inspiring oratory. He was a backbench whisperer, one who represented the Old Guard, the conservatives who wanted a return to traditional Guild values – by which they meant the straightforward Empiricism of Bernoulli’s immediate successors. His opposition to Torbidda was muted in comparison to that of Consul Corvis, which was not unsurprising, as he had achieved prominence only after Corvis’
execution. Of course he would tread carefully, to avoid suffering the same fate.

Leto broke away from his prepared remarks to challenge him. ‘I answer to the First Apprentice, not you, Consul Fuscus, and he has complete confidence in my command.’

The consul replied through a mouthful of apple, ‘So you say, but it would be nice to hear it
from him
. It would be nice to hear
anything
from him – but alas, we are not
worthy
of his time. He spends his days in consultation with the Opera del Duomo.’

Consul Fuscus looked away from Leto and addressed the chamber. ‘I fear that in the First Apprentice’s absence we are reduced to interpreting his actions like soothsayers deciphering sheep-guts. Surely the fact that the First Apprentice allows
this
incompetent to keep the baton reveals his total indifference to the war effort—?’

Leto had never had much time for the Collegio, and he listened with increasing irritation to this annoying man playing to the crowd. This wasn’t about Veii. The animosity between the Fuscus and Spinther families spanned generations, but Leto had fired the feud with new blood when he’d killed the consul’s niece and nephew in the Guild Hall.

Then Malapert Omodeo jumped up to defend Leto, and that was the final insult. Leto was about to leave in disgust when a passing notary dropped his papers. As he bent to pick them up, he surreptitiously passed Leto a note.

After the assembly broke up, Leto went out to the Collegio balcony – and was met there with the broad expanse of Numitor Fuscus’ back. He was leaning over the balustrade, admiring the gargantuan green banner that hung below it over the impressive view of the empty Piazza dei Collegio and the broad canal that led to it, one of many that stretched from Monte Nero in every direction like the strands of a spider’s web.

He turned around and grinned at Leto. ‘You’re not used to the
Collegio, General Spinther. We seem to take bites out of each other, but it’s all theatre, I promise you. You mustn’t take our rhetoric seriously. Apple?’

Leto caught it and took a bite. ‘I don’t take you seriously at all. You were of Consul Corvis’ party once. You would do well to remember his fate.’

‘Funny thing, you mentioning that. I have been meditating upon that very thing.’ He turned back and pointed. ‘There – you see that? That is the podium on which Corvis was flayed, at the orders of your one-time friend.’

‘Torbidda remains my friend, Consul.’

‘Such fidelity! You must be the most singular Cadet in the history of the Guild Halls. I do appreciate the risk I take in approaching you, but I believe your patriotism will outweigh your emotional attachments. Our families have long vied against each other, but I am willing to leave that in the past, for the sake of Concord. Don’t pretend you have no qualms about letting that rat Malapert Omodeo into the Collegio, and don’t pretend’– he gestured towards Monte Nero – ‘that you enjoyed the First Apprentice’s conversion either. This daily spectacle of children dying is as vulgar as a Miracle Play. Is this what our great Reformation has become? There’s only so much suffering people will bear.’

‘That is what you don’t understand, Consul: they’re
glad
to suffer. If you’re expecting rebellion, you’ll be disappointed.’

‘The
last
thing I want is a rebellion,’ said Fuscus hastily. ‘What we need is a
revolution
.’

Leto had little patience for the word-parsing of parliamentarians. ‘There’s a distinction?’

‘My dear boy, there is a
world
of a difference. Rebellion is a spasm, like vomiting. Revolution is born of Reason and calculation by men who have something to lose. The suffering people I refer to are our peers: it’s the powerful who challenge tyrants. The
poor, having never tasted the fine wine of liberty, are content to quaff the weak beer of stability. Free a serf and he will take up his chains again within a generation. We who have known power, on the other hand, are inured to its glamour. We can act in unison, assured that all of us are inspired by a disinterested patriotism.’

Leto did not bother to conceal his scepticism, but he let the consul continue.

‘Your friend, to put it simply, is on the wrong side of history. After the Curia, the Apprentices were necessary transition figures – now they have outlived their use. That’s clear to all now that a lunatic has risen to the red.’

That was going too far. ‘You call it lunacy,’ said Leto, ‘but Torbidda was chosen as First Apprentice for reasons that are beyond you and me. His understanding is not given to the rest of us. Consider this, Consul: Bernoulli expanded the empire to limits we can barely protect today, and he did it with more than technology. He did it because Concord
believed
in him. Faith wins wars, and Torbidda knows that. His seduction of the fanciulli wasn’t just some gambit: look at the miracles they are working on a daily basis.’

‘Aye – and to what end?’ the consul said bitterly. ‘Your
friend
cares about this Sangrail to the exclusion of all else, even the war. When it is done, mark my words, he will set Concord on fire the better to light it up.’

‘You ask me to believe that it’s patriotism that animates you, but you forget I was made in the Guild Hall – I recognise the stink of ambition. Be careful, lest yours leads you to that podium.’ He tore up the note and threw it over the balcony. ‘I will not speak of this, but do not ask me again to betray my friend. Good day, Consul.’

*

Leto climbed Monte Nero, taking the same dusted path as the fanciulli. The stone stairway he had climbed on the day of his
induction had been worn smooth by the daily passage of that army of zealots. Despite his promise of discretion, he considered as he climbed whether he should tell Torbidda of the consul’s plotting, but decided in the end to leave it – another round of purges would only weaken Concord, and this was a time when it needed all its strength.

The Grand Legion was vying against Veii, a nation sustained by bondsmen. He had little sympathy for the slaves, but the effeminacy it implied in their masters disgusted him – and it bothered him that Torbidda was intent on making Concord into such place – the fanciulli might be enslaved by fear of God rather than the whip, but a slave was a slave nonetheless.

The stink that assailed him when he reached the summit reminded him that architecture is no pure art but one where the gross and sublime lie together: the foundations had been plastered with dung and urine to keep the masonry moist and workable. Overhead, the tripod’s form was already clear: it was as if a great diseased insect of unknown origin had alighted on the mount and was waiting there to die. Scaffolding erupted out of the bricks like wildflowers on a mountaintop; workers in that great crown of thorns did not have to be admonished not to look down.

The First Apprentice, standing at the very centre of the mount, spotted him and waved Leto on. After his moment of weakness, he was eager to flaunt his control to the captured soul within him. ‘Think, Leto, how terrible it will be when this tower goes unpunished. No censuring thunderbolt, no purging flood, just … silence. The ego of the race will not bear it. Is it not marvellous?’

The Angel of Reason had been dismembered and rendered down. The stone base had been split into great fragments, and the motto was now illegible.

‘Marvellous …’

‘I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s irking you.’

‘It
is
marvellous, Torbidda – but can’t it wait? We have finite resources. Would we not be better delaying construction to concentrate on the war? Once we win, there will be time—’

‘Time is
short
! Winter is almost upon us and yet still Veii remains uncracked.’

‘I’m pushing as hard as I can,’ said Leto unhappily, tired of repeating himself.

‘Perhaps you’ve been pushing in the wrong direction. I want you to go to Ariminum and tell the Moor that it’s time for him to pick a side.’

It was a moment before Leto realised what he meant. ‘What if he decides to stick with Catrina? He’s in a good spot.’

‘You saw the relish with which he strangled the procurator.’

‘What of it?’ said Leto coolly. He was beginning to to dislike both Torbidda’s new didacticism and his un-Torbidda-like loquacity.

‘For some men, pride is a stronger spur than greed. As long as the Moor holds Ariminum in Catrina’s name he knows he’s a slave, even if the leash is very long. Tell him we’ll recognise him as doge if he’ll allow us the use of the Ariminumese fleet.’

‘You’re right.’ Leto was already savouring the moment. ‘It’s just what’s needed to break the deadlock at Veii—’

‘No – you’re going to Akka. Queen Catrina has decided to keep the Scaligeri girl. The fleet’s presence in her harbour will change her mind. And if it doesn’t, you’ll just have to use other means.’

‘I do understand the propaganda value of bringing the Scaligeri line to an end, but just to be clear, Torbidda: you’re talking about starting another war.’

‘War must come to Oltremare,’ he said serenely.

‘Of course I agree, but must it come immediately? Akka’s not the power it was, but I know from personal experience that
Byzant is as terrible as it ever was. Opening a second front right now would be imprudent, to put it mildly—’

‘You can take Akka before the Byzantines can reinforce it. Fortune is won by the bold, is it not?’

This was uncomfortably close to Geta’s prescription, and Leto said angrily, ‘What’s lost by first using the fleet against Veii?’

‘Time, Leto,
time
! You measure in seasons, but my scale is wider. This moment has been coming for centuries, so should I miss it just so I can knock down walls that must surely fall a few days later?’

Leto looked at him, bemused. ‘Torbidda, I don’t understand what the greatest power in Etruria can possibly have to fear from one girl?’

Torbidda stared at him then, a quart of pity, a pint of contempt in his look. ‘Next to her, our power is wind-borne dust. Next to her, all this is
nothing
. She is the edge of history and behind her is a wave that can overcome us, if we let her set foot on Etruria again.’