Read Online Fire in the East by Harry Sidebottom - Free Book Online Page B

Concordia pulled up her boarding ladders and left her mooring. The rowers took her out of harbour until a northerly air filled her sail and she stood away south-east from the island. Demetrius leant on the port rail by the stern. They were sailing away from one of the most sacred places in all the Greek world. Here, at the very dawn of time, Cronus had castrated Uranus and thrown his severed genitals into the sea. From the foam Aphrodite had been born. Somewhere just to Demetrius’s left was the rock which marked where she had stepped from the scallop shell and, naked, first set foot on land.
    A mile or so inland, Demetrius thought that he could see the walls of her sanctuary. This had been Aphrodite’s first dwelling. It was so ancient that the cult object was not a statue made by man but a conical black stone. When taken in adultery it was here that Aphrodite had fled. Here, the Graces had bathed, anointed and dressed her, away from the anger of her husband and the laughter of the other gods.
    Ballista said something that drew Demetrius’s attention back onboard: ‘So the great Greek historian Herodotus got it wrong.’ How could the kyrios sit and listen to this drivel? Zoroaster, who had founded this Persian religion, was often counted as a sage, but the teachings that were peddled now were nothing but superstition and charlatanism.
    Ballista continued, ‘While he was right to say that a Persian boy’s education consists only of being taught to ride, shoot a bow and not lie, he misunderstood the last part. Being taught not to lie does not mean that no Persian is ever economical with the truth, never alters reality just a little. Instead, it is a religious teaching that one should turn away from “the lie”, meaning evil and darkness.’
    Bagoas’s head bobbed up and down fit to bust; Demetrius’s heart sank further.
    ‘And “the lie” is the daemon Ahriman, who is locked in perpetual combat with the god Mazda, who is light, and who is represented by your sacred bahram fires. And in the final battle Mazda will win and, from then, the lot of mankind will be a happy one... But how does all this play out in this life?’
    ‘We must all struggle with all our might against Ahriman.’
    ‘That includes the king Shapur?’
    ‘Shapur above all. The King of Kings knows that it is the will of Mazda that, just as the righteous Mazda fights the daemon Ahriman, so in this world the righteous Shapur must fight all unrighteous, unbelieving rulers.’ There was a gleam of certainty and defiance in Bagoas’s eyes.
    ‘So warriors are well thought of by Mazda?’ Maximus, who had been sitting quietly with his eyes shut, giving every impression of being unconscious with his hangover, took up the questioning.
    ‘Know that the Aryans are one body. The priests are the head, the warriors are the hands, the farmers are the belly, and the artisans the feet. When the unbelievers threaten the bahram fires, the warrior who does not do battle and who flees is margazan. He who does battle and is killed is blessed.’
    ‘Margazan ? ’
    ‘One who commits a sin for which he deserves death.’
    ‘Blessed?’
    ‘One who goes straight to the first of the heavens.’

    It was five nights later, the very last night of the cruise, the middle of the night, maybe about the third watch. Ballista lay on his back. He did not move. His heart was beating fast, and he was sweating heavily. There again was the noise by the door. Already knowing what he would see, he forced himself to look. The small clay lamp was slowly going out, but it still shed enough light to illuminate the tiny cabin.
    The man was huge, both tall and broad. He was wearing a shabby dark-red caracallus. The hood of the cloak was pulled up, and its tip touched the ceiling. He stood at the end of the bed without a word. His face was pale even in the shadow of the hood. His grey eyes shone malevolent and contemptuous.
    ‘Speak,’ commanded Ballista, although he knew what would