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
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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.
*
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.’