I took off my hat and smiled my thanks at the slave who was setting about me again with his fan. ‘Withdraw five baskets of the new coin from the consignment for the Lord Exarch of Ravenna,’ I said. ‘Exchange it for gold at the bank of ben Baruch and give it to the envoys of the Chagan. Give them also three pieces of purple cloth and an appropriately altered copy of the letter written earlier this year to the Grand Chieftain of the Malakioi. The oral message to give them is that the Emperor would look benevolently on their crossing the Danube, so long as it was for an attack on the Avar encampment outside Sirmium. A further payment will be made in copper on the standard scale for every Avar scalp presented by the next embassy sent to Constantinople.’
I waited for the clerk to finish making notes on wax that was probably melting in the heat of my official garden. ‘Send notice of my decision to the Lord Caesar Nicetas,’ I went on with a sigh. ‘Draw attention to my compliance with the Emperor’s Standing Order made on the Feast of Stephen in the second year of his reign. Make sure to get a receipt from the Lord Caesar’s secretary.’ A useful requirement, that, as the notice wouldn’t be read by His Magnificence the Lazy Turd. I thought about the depleted shipment of silver to Ravenna. I hadn’t made any definite promise to the Exarch of how much subsidy he’d get. But the shipment I was now making was barely more than a token of our continued interest in Italy. ‘Tell the Lord Exarch,’ I added, ‘that he is at liberty to approach His Holiness of Rome for another contribution to Imperial defence. He is permitted, in return, to overlook the Pope’s dealings with the Lombards in respect of their withdrawal from the Septenna district of Etruria.’ I put my hat beside me on the stone bench and closed my eyes. The sun was turning hot enough for August. ‘Bring me the draft of the letter to the Exarch. I will expand on it in my own hand.’
Another clerk stepped forward with his own load of correspondence. An earthquake had damaged the running track in Aphrodisias. Would the Emperor pay for its repair? ‘No,’ I said. ‘The general remission of taxes to the Home Provinces is the only help we can presently give. Diverting money from the war effort is out of the question. Find the letter I wrote last month to the town council at Nicomedia on a similar request. Adapt it and bring it to me for checking.’ There was a new paragraph I had in mind about the joys of voluntary effort in an age of lower taxes.
‘Your son, Theodore, craves a moment of your time,’ one of the clerks suddenly intoned.
I opened my eyes and focused on the boy. ‘At your age,’ I said, going into Syriac for privacy, ‘you should be wearing no clothes at all on a day like this. But you might at least take off that bloody cloak. Do you want to be ill again?’ He bowed and said nothing. I gave up on the next sentence I was forming. If overdressed, Theodore had put on cleanish clothes. He’d even washed and combed his hair. I wondered if I could manage a paternal smile. Best not, I thought. I had a dozen clerks watching me with close attention. ‘What is it?’ I asked, trying instead to sound friendly.
‘I have a favour to ask of you,’ he mumbled in Greek.
I got up and put my hands on his shoulders. Even through four layers of wool, I could feel how bony they were. Why would the boy not give himself to Glaucus? There were limits to what could be done with a body so naturally unpromising but daily training would put something on those bones. It might also open out his lungs. I smiled into his sallow face, and felt the usual wave sweep over me of pity mingled with guilt. I should have sent him home to Tarsus. I could easily have paid for one of his dead father’s neighbours to take him on. But I’d felt so sorry for him in Athens, once his stepmother was gone.
‘Ask your favour,’ I said loudly. ‘The answer must surely be yes.’ There was an approving murmur from the clerks. Theodore opened and closed his mouth. He turned a shade of pink. He looked round at the clerks.
‘My Lord,’ a new voice called behind me, ‘the map is ready for your inspection.’
I looked away from Theodore. ‘Ready so soon?’ I asked. The drafting office must have been working night shifts to get that ready. I looked again at Theodore. He was no closer to making his request. ‘I’ll be up in my office,’ I said generally. ‘Join me after a half-hour break by the sun dial.’ I took Theodore by the arm. ‘Come on, I said. ‘We’ll talk indoors.’
After so long in bright sunshine, it was a matter of feeling my way to the foot of the backstairs or waiting for my eyes to adjust. I chose the latter. Even this far, a brisk walk had left Theodore wheezing slightly. ‘How is that eunuch who was taken poorly yesterday?’ I asked.
‘Father Macarius was with him at the end,’ came the answer in Theodore’s mournful voice. ‘His skin turned the colour of lead and he cried out that the Devil had taken his soul.’
‘Oh, surely not!’ I said in a voice of what I hoped was firm piety. Obviously, I thought about my cup. Unlike ceramic or wood, you can’t impregnate metal with poison. Both eunuchs had pawed all over the cup. One of them had polished it on his robe. That would have removed anything nasty smeared over the surface. There had been nothing left for me. I made a note to have a proper look at the thing once I was completely alone.
Chapter 25
I looked up from the squares of starched linen that covered half the floor in my office. ‘My compliments to the entire drafting office,’ I said. The young clerk nodded and tried not to look as pleased with himself as he deserved to feel. I took another step back to admire the neatness with which numbers had been turned into blocks of colour. If the basic idea was mine, the Treasury officials had eventually taken it up with an enthusiasm that made its final shape their own achievement. I took a step left and wondered if there had been some defect of scale in showing the Italian provinces. Also, was Syracuse really so far south of Corinth? It didn’t matter. It might even be useful to give Heraclius something he could then correct in some unimportant detail from his own knowledge. What did matter was the correspondence of numbers with colour. That, I could see, was wholly correct.
I smiled at the clerk. ‘Do please arrange for five copies on one-third scale,’ I said. He nodded again and scratched my instruction on his waxed tablet. ‘Oh, and please ask the chief drafting clerk to abstract the main figures from each report and tabulate them on a standard sheet of papyrus. I’ll need eight copies of that.’
We’d given special attention to the Home Provinces. I bent low over a band of pink that began in the foothills of the Taurus Mountains and terminated just short of Halicarnassus. More than ever, the patches and banding of different shades of the same colour struck me as the beginning of a new way of looking at everything in the human and the natural world.
Behind me, Theodore was recovering from the wheezing attack that running up six flights of stairs with me had brought on. I heard him shift weakly on the chair I’d given him. Was he about to start coughing again? It was a bad sign when he coughed. I felt another stab of guilt. But he didn’t cough.
I straightened up and continued looking at the solid edging about all the provinces so far lost to the Persians. ‘Go down to the garden and join the others,’ I said to the clerks. I moved backwards to look at the long purple streak surrounded by uncoloured linen that was Egypt. ‘Tell everyone to start the half-hour break again,’ I added. I suppressed a yawn and glanced at a covered jug of wine. No breakfast, Glaucus had said. That also meant no drinking. I turned my attention to a lead box of stimulants I’d left on my desk. I walked over and opened it. I pulled a face at the acrid taste of the pills. There was a jug of water beside the wine. I’d have to make do with that.
‘You are looking well, My Lord – I mean, father,’ Theodore opened nervously. ‘I expected you would want to rest after the terrible events of yesterday.’ I smiled, and waited for the slight agitation caused by the pills to blot out the hunger pangs. The formalities over, Theodore stood before me and opened and shut his mouth a few times. I could see his nerve had failed him again. Much longer and we’d run out of time. But I kept up the smile till my face began to ache. He look
ed for a while at the one main document on my desk. This was a folded sheet of papyrus covered in map coordinates. It must have meant as much to him as the characters on my silver cup had to me.
‘What is that?’ he suddenly asked, turning to stare at my big map of the Empire.
‘It’s a population map,’ I said. Our best relationship had always been of master and student. Our closest moments had been over Latin grammar and Greek prose composition. I now took the easy option and got up from my desk to lead him over to the patchwork of linen squares. ‘Our last complete census returns are from the third year of Phocas,’ I began. ‘That was only a decade ago but there have been continued losses to plague and the disruptions of war. What we’ve done is to correct the last full census in light of the partial returns we got last year. We’ve then compared the result with the returns from the last year of Anastasius, which was nearly a century ago.’
His reason for breaking into my day set aside, the boy stared at the Syrian provinces. He looked at Africa, then at Italy. ‘I don’t understand the meaning of the colours,’ he said. He looked again at Africa. ‘I thought Carthage had many more people than Rome. Yet the areas about both are the same colour.’
I nodded and guided him to a spot on the floor from where he could easily see the whole map. ‘I’m not trying to show numbers of taxable units,’ I explained. ‘What the map shows is the differential loss of population since before the Empire fell on hard times. Black shows no loss at all, or an increase. Pale blue shows a loss of more than half. Green shows losses of more than three-quarters. You’d see the meaning of all the colours if you could refer to a guidance sheet that isn’t yet finished.’
Theodore looked again at Syria. ‘How long did it take to prepare?’ he asked.
‘Oh, it took months and months,’ I said with an airy wave. And that was no time at all, considering the magnitude of what had been done. I’d had to create almost a new class of officials to deduce population from the indirect evidence of the returns and then to compare three sets of figures, each of which had been collected in different ways. Would I find anyone, outside the circle of those I’d trained or inspired, able to appreciate how I’d carried light into regions of knowledge no one before had known to exist? Probably not, and I doubted Theodore would be among them. But my stimulant pills were doing their job. Here was the best audience I had.
Theodore was looking at the black and pale-blue banding that covered Africa. ‘And these numbers?’ he asked, beginning to sound oddly interested.
I stroked my nose. ‘Those refer to more detailed maps that show the differing qualities of land in each province,’ I said cautiously. I looked at the boy. His courage must return soon. I thought of putting a comforting hand on his arm. But it sounded so unnatural that I dropped the idea. ‘Come and sit with me on the balcony,’ I said. ‘Join me in a cup of lemon juice, and take in the beauties of Constantinople.’
The windows of my office faced west. Since the sun was still somewhat below its zenith, we could sit in shade. The view from here wasn’t so spectacular as from the other side. It was still plain, however, that you were looking over a city of barely conceivable wealth and magnificence. Looking only at the vastness of the land walls, two and a half miles away, no observer could mistake this place for one of those mere agglomerations of humanity that you read about in the farthest East. I settled myself into a chair lined with padded silk and poured two cups of the thin yellow liquid that would have to do in place of wine.
‘I won’t trouble you with false laments about the burden of work,’ I began. ‘But I do regret that I have been so busy since Christmas that we’ve hardly spoken.’ I raised a hand to cut off his formulaic reply. ‘You were a boy for so long after you came under my protection that I now have trouble accepting how close you have approached to manhood. It is my duty, as your father, to take a close interest in your plans for the future.’ I stopped. The sense of failed paternal duty was beginning to crush me. Perhaps, though, I should leave this till Martin got back. He was so much closer to Theodore than I had ever been.
I was still thinking what to say next – it should have contained something about Antonia – when Theodore broke in. ‘What is the purpose of your big map?’ he asked.
I tried not to brighten at the change of subject. I failed. I put my cup down and stared at the roof of the Law Faculty’s library. I’d passed many useful afternoons in that cavernous repository of oppression and chicanery. My duty was to speak to him as father to son. I took the easy way out.
‘The clerks who worked so hard to produce it still don’t understand the purpose of the map,’ I said, again cautious. We were alone, but I still looked about from habit. ‘What it does is pull together a series of conversations I’ve had with the Emperor during the past four years. You will be aware of the Empire’s difficult situation. The cause everyone talks about is the Persians. However, the military defeats we’ve suffered should really be seen as symptoms of a weakness more fundamental than a lack of competent generals.’
I drank slowly and gathered my thoughts. Theodore had asked his question and would get an answer. It would be an excuse for seeing how well I could summarise a long and difficult – and, at all points, controversial – argument. ‘The Empire, as it stands, cannot be defended,’ I began. ‘Its frontiers are too long, its enemies too numerous, its resources too limited. The loss of population that began with the arrival of plague seventy years ago has set a gulf between ancient and modern times. Italy and Africa can’t be made to pay for their own defence. Any tax gathering at all only makes things worse. It’s the same with everywhere between the Danube and Corinth. Egypt and Syria remain in better shape. But the decay of the Greek population in those provinces has allowed the emergence of dominant classes alien in language and heretical in religion. It’s no surprise that Syria fell so easily to the Persians, or that Egypt will soon fall.
‘This leaves us with the Home Provinces – that is, Thrace and Asia Minor. These are both Greek and Orthodox. They form a natural and defensible unit as the hinterland of Constantinople. They have not suffered a catastrophic decline of population and are potentially as rich as they were before the Empire fell on evil times. So long as they are not called on to pay for the maintenance of a world empire, there is no need to subject them to massive and destructive fiscal oppression. We have the makings about us of a wealthy and powerful nation – mistress of the seas and in control of every trade route by land. Everything else should be quietly abandoned. Our new neighbours can be loosely controlled by diplomacy and an occasional show of force. All that we hope to get as tribute we can get by trade.’
I waited for the enormity of what I was suggesting to sink in. ‘So you do want to break the Empire up,’ he said softly. ‘Father Macarius says that’s what everyone believes. Are you also planning another land confiscation?’
‘I wouldn’t call it confiscation,’ I said, making a note to get rid of that bastard priest at the earliest opportunity. ‘The redistribution law Heraclius made four years ago has done much to stabilise the Home Provinces. Giving untaxed and inalienable plots of land to those who work on the land is rapidly turning bondsmen into citizens and – bearing in mind the consequent militia duties – even into soldiers.
‘But it has so far been a limited scheme. It has barely touched the larger estates. Except in the maritime provinces, the new landowners have retained significant legal obligations to their former landlords.’ I paused and darted a glance into Theodore’s face. Was that hostility I saw? I blinked. I looked at my polished fingernails.
‘Injustice aside,’ I said firmly, ‘we can’t afford to let two thirds of the useful land in the Home Provinces be owned by families that render no tangible service to the Empire. A nobility is useful as a repository of culture and as a higher administrative and military class. But we need to reduce the size and wealth of the nobility we have. Smaller amounts of landed wealth should be held on the understanding that they have public duties attached
. Everything else should be handed over to a much-enlarged class of independent and armed farmers.’
There – I’d said it all in surprisingly few words. Perhaps Theodore was worried about it as a native of Syria, and because of what it meant for the gigantic landholdings of the Church. But he dropped the matter. ‘I’ve had a letter from Lesbos,’ he said. ‘Martin says he misses us, but feels increasingly purified by his vigils at the shrine of Saint Deborah.’ I looked solemn. The reason I’d given in so easily to his request for leave was that Saint Deborah had been martyred three thousand feet up a mountain. So long as it didn’t kill him, the daily climb would certainly shake some of the weight off him.
Theodore’s courage now returned. ‘My Lord – I mean, Father – I believe you are to attend a poetry recital this evening.’ I nodded. I’d sat down on my garden bench determined to cry off that ordeal. The first new letter my clerks had opened, though, was an undeniably genuine note from Nicetas. Dripping concern for my safety, he’d renewed his invitation in terms it would have been insulting to refuse. Theodore got up and walked jerkily inside. When I caught up with him, he was staring at the map coordinates on my desk. ‘I was wondering if it might be possible to come with you to the recital,’ he whispered. ‘You have often said I should acquaint myself with the secular arts.’ He ended with a pleading look into my eyes.
‘I’d be delighted if you were to come,’ I said. That wasn’t quite true. But getting him home to bed would be an excuse for leaving before Nicetas and his poet became too unbearable. ‘Of course, you’ll need a bath and your finest clothes. It’s to be a late event, and will go on till midnight. My own chair will be waiting downstairs at the second hour of darkness. Speak to Samo, and he’ll arrange a place beside me.’
The Curse of Babylon Page 18
