The Curse of Babylon

by Richard Blake

  ‘You’d be a fool, Alaric,’ he said. ‘You owe fuck all to Heraclius. Everyone else in this Empire is praying for your death. Come back with me to Ctesiphon. The Jews will always put in a kind word for you. Our own Christians are at war with the Empire over theological trifles – and they appreciate your efforts at securing a toleration within the Empire of their heresies. All Chosroes wants is to put some ideas to you. I know he still likes you.’

  I walked to the far end of the room. I put my hand on a solid rack that had once contained a full set of Livy. The brass plate on one of the square openings still gave the name and title of the work. Some of the slots, I’d found on an earlier visit, were now filled with trashy novels in Greek. The others were used for a guessing game with dice. I turned and stared back at Shahin. The moon had shifted and he sat within a shaft of its dim light.

  ‘I’ll grant that Heraclius may not be pleased to know I’ve learned his secret,’ I said. ‘However, I’ve always been able to bring him round. I don’t feel so sure about the Great King. And why should I trust you?’

  ‘That’s a chance you’ll have to take, my beautiful darling,’ he chuckled. He got up and went over to the door. He pulled it open and possibly a dozen of his big Syrians filed in. ‘Now that we’re alone, I think I can risk a little noise. Take the boy alive,’ he ordered in Syriac. ‘I want him unhurt.’

  Shahin and his men were thirty feet away. I was beside one of the bigger windows. Though glazed, its lead framework was perished. Beyond this, I knew, was a ten-foot drop to a tiled roof. ‘Oh, Shahin,’ I said, ‘you can’t be serious about taking me. It’ll soon be dawn. If you expect to march me all the way home to get that cup, you’ll be making your way back through the City in broad daylight.’

  His men were coming forward in loose formation. Shahin kept behind them. ‘That isn’t my plan at all, my pretty,’ he called soothingly. ‘I’m assuming the attraction between you and that girl is mutual. You’re coming with me – though perhaps to better quarters than we managed last night. If the girl brings the cup tomorrow, I won’t kill her. If she doesn’t, you must appreciate that you’re almost as big a trophy to carry back as the cup itself.’ He bowed satirically and touched his forehead. He dropped his voice to a bureaucratic snarl. ‘I don’t want a mark on him,’ he reminded his men.

  The big window was a foot behind me. I could have chosen better rooms for a getaway when Shahin called for his parley. I didn’t fancy a second tiled roof in one day – not in a toga, not in the dark. But the library had been safely distant from the tunnel where I could hope Antonia had made her own escape.

  Of course, I’d wasted my time. Even as I weighed the benefits of pulling the window open, or jumping straight through it, you can guess who sidled into the room. I say sidled – with that overdone creeping across the floor, Antonia would have been booed off any stage where she was playing in a chorus of conspirators. Luckily, everyone else was now making too much noise to notice her. The first Shahin knew of her was when she got behind him.

  ‘Move an inch,’ she cried in a poor approximation of the manly, ‘and I’ll saw your head off.’ She pulled him backwards and tightened her grip. I saw the dull sheen of steel in the moonlight.

  Shahin opened his mouth and laughed. ‘What splendid taste you have in women, Alaric,’ he cried in Persian. ‘So many the chances I passed up at our last meeting.’ Letting out a squeak that was probably meant to be a growl, Antonia pressed the blade harder still against his throat. ‘Shall I order my men to put down their swords?’ he jeered. ‘Or shall I just shit myself with terror?’ As he finished, he produced what may have been his best ever artificial fart. A moment later, he went limp. Surprised, or trying for a better angle, Antonia relaxed her pressure. That was the end of her hostage-taking. I couldn’t see what Shahin did with his left arm. But I did hear the thud of her knife against one of the bookracks. He twisted round and knocked her to the floor. With a cry of triumph, he was waving his men forward again. ‘Change of plan, Alaric!’ he sniggered. ‘Go for that window, and you’ll never see her again.’

  But I’d already given up on the window. Sword in hand, I punched his closest heavy aside, and dodged past another, and was level with Shahin before he could draw breath again. I gave up the chance of killing him. Instead, I snatched Antonia into my free hand and threw her towards the door. ‘Get out!’ I said urgently. I turned back to deal with Shahin. But he’d got himself behind one of the tables and was calling out a stream of orders in Syriac. I reached for the lamp and threw it at the men. It went out at once and crashed uselessly against a wall, but gave me time to dart past them after Antonia.

  Out on the big landing, I paused to get my bearings. The best way out was down the stairs. The soft patter of feet on marble, though, ruled that out. If we turned sharp left, there was another room with an open balcony. We could barricade ourselves in there till Shahin ran out of time. I reached out for Antonia. She wasn’t where I’d expected her to be, but cried out from behind me. I turned in time to get one of the dim shadows with the flat of my sword. I heard his head strike loud on one of the marble balustrades. Before I could reach out again, someone else grabbed hold of my cloak. It was now all a blur about me of darting shadows. I stepped backwards and raised my sword. Antonia cried out again and I think she wriggled free. Because I lunged in her direction, most of the blow from behind landed on my shoulder. Even so, I staggered and lost my footing on the topmost step. I grabbed at nothingness, but thought I’d catch my balance. I didn’t quite. The best I could manage as I fell backwards was to twist so that I rolled down the first flight of steps. Dazed and winded, I pushed myself to a kneeling position against one of the balustrades and patted round for my sword.

  ‘Someone, get a light!’ Shahin roared. ‘Find him. I want him alive.’

  Antonia was suddenly beside me. ‘Get up,’ she moaned, pulling at my clothes. ‘I don’t think they can see us.’ I rubbed my head and looked about. Far above in the library, someone had struck a light. Someone else was feeling his way down the stairs. The moment we ran for it, we’d be seen. But it was that or be found anyway. Still feeling for my sword, my hand touched on the face of the man who’d broken my fall. I didn’t recall the impact, but hoped he was alive – that, or that I hadn’t made him bleed. Just as much as Shahin, I needed no signs of violence left behind in the baths.

  Antonia pulled harder. ‘We must go,’ she moaned, her voice hovering between desperation and tears. I gave up on my sword. Holding hands with Antonia, I stumbled down into the main hall and let her take me towards the door that led down to the furnace rooms. I pulled it open and looked back into the hall. Leaning over the balcony, pointing and calling out, Shahin was surrounded by men carrying makeshift torches of papyrus. A few yards behind me, two dark figures had stopped chasing and, swords in hand, were now creeping forward.

  I slammed the door in their faces and didn’t wait to feel if there was a bolt I could draw. We fell down more steps into the complete darkness of the drainage tunnel. Expecting at any moment to hear the creak of wood on rusty hinges and a shouting of many voices, I kept hold of Antonia and rushed along the tunnel. We crashed once into a wall where it curved. I think I stumbled twice on the uneven floor. But there was no sound of a chase behind us. In a silence broken only by the crunch and echo of our own footsteps, we ran the length of the tunnel and came out into the comparative brightness of the moonshine that lit up the rubbish-filled depression hiding the tunnel’s entrance.

  In silence, we walked together in the shadow of the immense warehouses that lined every street in this part of the City. It would need supreme bad luck to bump into Shahin or any of his people out here. I had no sword and Antonia’s knife was somewhere on the library floor. Even so close to the dawn, there was some risk of thieves or of drunken youths of quality out for one last thrill.

  In safety, though, we came once more to the Central Milestone. The sky behind the Great Church was already bright. Before long, the public slave
s would be out to clean the streets. With them would come the working lower orders about their business. I turned in the direction of the Triumphal Way.

  ‘We did it!’ Antonia said flatly. ‘We got away.’

  ‘We got away again,’ I corrected her. I thought of a brief lecture on the folly of getting involved in men’s work. But, in the growing light of day, I stared down at the sorry thing my toga had become. You could now soak it in urine for a month and the stains wouldn’t come out. As for the long rip from the waist down . . .

  Antonia caught the look on my face and went into quiet though helpless laughter. It was impossible not to join in. Hand in hand, shaking with a mirth no observer could have explained, we made our way round the big fountain Constantine had set in a square laid out to commemorate the religious concord he thought had followed the outcome of the Council of Nicaea.

  What a fathead he’d been! Still, he’d given his name to the City. That could make anyone’s name immortal.

  Chapter 39

  I stretched out lazily for my wine cup. Making sure not to spill any on the silken sheets, I sipped with exaggerated delicacy. ‘You will marry me?’ I asked, trying not to sound as eager as I felt.

  Antonia wriggled free of me and sat up. Since dawn, we’d coupled and slept, and coupled again and again, and slept. It was hours since I’d told Samo to go away and tell anyone who asked that I was still indisposed. Long before then, I’d barely noticed how the sun had reached its blazing zenith and the rumble of traffic far below my sleeping quarters had died away. But the long ecstasy was over. Bruised and bitten, sore from the unobserved drying up of every fluid supplied by nature for the normal satisfaction of lust, I kicked the bedclothes away and wiggled my toes.

  Antonia frowned. ‘And this is something you’ll still want tomorrow and the day after tomorrow?’ she asked. ‘You’ll still want it after I’ve helped you bring down Daddy? Love isn’t the same as fucking.’ She stopped a sharp intake of breath. ‘I learned that the hard way when I was thirteen,’ she ended with a slight tremor.

  I put my arm about her. I swallowed and looked at her. ‘If it means taking the first ship out of here to Italy, and then to the realms of barbarism where the name of Heraclius is barely a name, we shall be married,’ I said.

  She played with one of her nipples. ‘I don’t think I’d like to leave Constantinople,’ she said, now with a smile. ‘But I appreciate the sentiment.’ She sat up and stretched. ‘Do you think Uncle will be here by next week?’

  I pulled her to me, and kissed her. ‘He’ll have my letter by Friday,’ I said. ‘Give him a day for getting over the shock, and then another two for asking advice of everyone down to the latrine slaves – we can expect him a week after that.’

  ‘He’ll have to kill Daddy, of course,’ she said firmly. Hers had been the Imperial Family just under five years. Some of its members hadn’t needed long at all to forget the normal bonds of affection. I looked into her eyes and did my best not to see their ruthless flash.

  ‘Heraclius doesn’t kill his own,’ I said with a slight emphasis. ‘So long as we can make out the charges in private, he’ll have your father shut away. He can be the Fortified Monastery’s first guest of quality since the rebuilding.’

  She sat up again. If my own energies were fast recovering, she now had other things on her mind. ‘Too close,’ she said. ‘You must get him sent to Trebizond. The place is so dreary, you can beg for him to be spared blinding.’ Apparently as the mood took us, we’d been moving back and forth between Greek and Latin. But I could now see the key to her own usage. Except with Heraclius, it was a while since I’d used Latin other than as a means of concealment from nearby Greeks, or to communicate with my own Western domestics. As a language of power, it had a strange and even creepy sound on Antonia’s lips.

  ‘Don’t you think we’re running ahead of ourselves?’ I asked. I couldn’t say what sort of wife I’d thought I might find. It would be someone, I hadn’t doubted, more willing than this to stay out of sight and not ask too many questions. I looked at her again. Never mind, I told myself. Marriage always came down to the luck of the draw. Assuming Heraclius didn’t stuff me away beside Nicetas in the Fortified Monastery, I might easily have done worse. I lay back with my hands cupped under my head. I stared happily down the length of my body. I wiggled my toes again. Yes, things might have gone worse than they had. Though they hadn’t yet reached their conclusion, I could see my way to a conclusion. It was a matter of keeping me and mine safe till Heraclius put in an appearance.

  Antonia put a hand on my chest. ‘I think I’ve worked out most things for myself,’ she said, now less tigerish. ‘However, I’d like to see the Horn of Babylon. Assuming that gross animal Eunapius was telling the truth, isn’t this what brought us together?’

  I looked across the room at the late afternoon sunlight that streamed through all the windows. Soon, we’d have to get up. I’d call for baths to be brought in and filled for us. I’d call for women’s clothing for Antonia to put on and take her down to the library, where Theodore would be seeking comfort in the sermons of John Chrysostom, or possibly in the Revelation of Saint John – he preferred its vengeful tone to any of the Gospels. One of the many secrets this building contained could and should be fully disclosed. After that, there would be lawyers to summon and announcements to be drafted, though left unpublished until the day when we could get Heraclius to say the right word. And there was an Empire to save as well – not to mention the continuing business of its financial and other governance to be transacted. I stared up at the ceiling. Could I really get away with the alternative suggestion of more sex? I decided not.

  ‘It’s nothing much to see,’ I began. ‘But it is connected with Heraclius and your father . . .’

  Behind me, on my right, someone rattled the handle of my innermost door. ‘Are you in here, Father?’ Theodore cried uncertainly. ‘Antony hasn’t been seen all day. I’m really worried about him.’ I put a hand up for silence. How had he got through the other doors? The answer to that was a rattling of keys and the soft click of a lock pushed open.

  It was too late to pull the blankets over us. All I could do was smile stupidly back as the boy came into the room and looked at us. He fell to his knees. His mouth opened and closed. I hoped he’d cover his eyes to blot out the vision of total sin he’d stumbled upon. ‘Antony!’ he croaked despairingly. I jumped out of bed and hurried over to the door. How the buggery had he laid hands on the master keys? I’d take my fists to Samo if he’d drunk himself blotto again and let the boy steal them from his belt. I closed the bedroom door and walked slowly back to Theodore. Antonia had got a sheet about her body. I looked round for something to put on. There was nothing within reach.

  I sat on the floor beside him. I put a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t shrink back, but continued staring at Antonia. She pulled the sheet closer and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘Listen, Theodore,’ I said softly. ‘I was hoping to break this to you in a less – ah – shocking manner.’ I didn’t think he was listening, but went on even so. ‘There were reasons for this deception. These reasons are now passed. But I do most humbly apologise for not having taken you into my confidence.’

  He wasn’t listening and I could be glad of that. ‘It is my own fault,’ the boy said calmly. He looked into my face. ‘I have committed the ultimate sin in my heart, and this is the beginning of my punishment. Blessed be the Name of the Lord.’

  I’d seen him in this mood only once before. That was when he’d eaten too many honeyed figs. I’d only stopped things from ending badly by sending Martin into his room to take back the scourge I’d neglected to throw away on taking possession of the palace. Martin had prayed with the boy for the better part of Christmas Day and slowly brought him to his senses. But Martin was on Lesbos and the visions of lust Theodore had welcomed into his mind, and their brutal disabusing, weren’t in the same class as an attack of indigestion. If I’d had anyone to send out of the room, I’d have c
alled for Father Macarius. He was a disgusting, smelly creature, whose only worthwhile feature was his ability to keep out of my sight. If there was anyone, though, who could stop the gathering descent into lunacy I was watching, it had to be the chaplain.

  But Antonia was on her feet. ‘Alaric,’ she said in a voice that wasn’t to be resisted, ‘please leave the room.’ I shook my head and nodded towards Theodore. She came closer. ‘Go and see if the baths are ready,’ she added, not turning in my direction. ‘There are things we need to discuss alone.’

  For the first time, I was looking at the cup in daylight. Rather, I was pretending to look at it. Whatever the light, whatever my interest, there was nothing more to be learned from an inscription in an unknown and probably dead language and a picture as crude in its own way as anything I’d seen in Egypt.

  ‘What did you tell him?’ I asked without looking up.

  Antonia closed the office door and came over to my desk. She sat down opposite me. ‘I told him the truth,’ she said. ‘Because I am the only one who can possibly be blamed for what has happened, it was my duty to tell him the complete truth. You’ll agree that was the least he deserved.’

  I nodded. I put the cup down and turned to Antonia. The maids had done her proud in yellow silk. There could be no doubt of her sex. ‘Did he cry much?’ I asked. She nodded. That may have been a good sign, I thought. Tears had always so far meant that Theodore was getting over his cause of grief.

  ‘He told me he was going to pray in the chapel,’ she said. ‘He believes it was a temptation from the Devil but that God intervened to save him.’ I stared again at the cup. It was grossly ugly. If I chose not to give to Heraclius, the world of art wouldn’t suffer a jot if I sent it off for minting into more of my new coins. So Theodore was blaming the powers of darkness. A night in the dark with one of my dancing boys would have done him more good. But I was now at least sharing the blame.