The Ghosts of Athens (Aelric)

by Richard Blake

  I put the letter down and turned to the other one. This had been sealed by Ludinus. From the unpractised formation of the characters, and one substantial crossing out and marginal correction, he may have written it in his own hand. ‘I can understand that some financial provision should have been made for a place like Athens to feed all the delegates. But I fail to understand why notice should be sent of a grain ship of the second class to unload at Piraeus. If it was even half-laden, there would be enough grain to keep the entire city through the winter months.’ I wiped more sweat from my forehead. A bright morning had turned to a stifling afternoon, and there wasn’t a breath of air in the whole residency. I shut my eyes and opened them again. I waited for the writing to come back into focus and regretted the opium. Like water on dust, it had settled my nerves. The dose I’d taken, though, was also making me sleepy. It was clouding thought processes that needed to be much clearer than I was able to manage.

  I put this letter on to the rickety desk and looked at Martin. ‘How are your hands?’ I asked. Martin had been carried back to Athens in a chair. If I hadn’t needed his immediate help, I’d have left him with Sveta. I felt a slight stab of guilt for having paid so little attention to his own shattered nerves.

  ‘You could easily have been killed,’ he said quietly. He got up and came over to the desk. He held up the letter that Ludinus had sealed. ‘Look, Aelric,’ he said in Celtic, ‘we aren’t safe in Athens. I’m not even sure about the residency. You’ve admitted you have no idea what’s been happening in Constantinople. Why don’t we just go back to the plan you made before we landed? This time, you could come with us. We can take the ferry to Corinth, and then go west. You could get to England before anyone knew where you’d gone. You could even come back with me to Ireland. My father’s brothers would take you in without questions. You’ve had three good years in the Empire. You must see that it’s time to move on.’

  I frowned him into silence. ‘I’ve decided that you will get everyone over to Corinth once the ferry comes in,’ I said very firmly. ‘I am thinking to send you to Rome to wait on further instructions. But, Martin, do you really suppose I could turn up in Corinth without being spotted at once? Let’s agree the Governor there is a prize idiot, but even he wouldn’t just sit on his arse while I obviously made plans to run for cover. I’ll stay here. If I get all these bishops and what-have-you properly on side, we’ll see how it plays with the Emperor. In the meantime, you just get Sveta packing for Monday.’ I leaned forward and picked up a small box that had been puzzling me. It had been lying in the congealed mess of the Count’s inkwell. ‘Pills for a stinking breath,’ it said in faded ink in the underside. I shook the box. It was empty.

  But Martin wasn’t finished. ‘Do you remember the story in ancient times of the fall of Seianus?’ he went on, still urgently, though now in Celtic. ‘He could have made a run for it the moment Tiberius got up to make that interminable speech in the Senate. He could have used his still intact power to commandeer post horses and get out of Rome. Instead, he sat there, waiting for his Emperor to wind up with a full denunciation. You’re in a better position. The Emperor’s seven hundred miles away. No one appears to have any instructions to arrest you here. Unlike Seianus, there really is somewhere you can go where you couldn’t be dragged back. Let’s just go. This city isn’t really Athens – it’s a rotten husk. The residency almost throbs with an evil even you must be able to sense. The Empire itself is falling.’ Though still in Celtic, he looked about and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Priscus is the best they’ve got. And you know he’s useless for anything but massacring civilians and stabbing everyone round him in the back. You’ve done everything you could for the Empire, and there’s no one in power who likes it or even understands it. Let’s just go!’

  There was a sudden rattle on the door handle, and I was saved the trouble of further argument.

  ‘I heard you was round abouts here, my love,’ said Irene. She kicked the door wide open, scattering a pile of old reports, and walked in. She was now wearing a much taken-in military tunic. She might even have had a sword under her cloak.

  I scowled at her. ‘I did specify slaves before noon,’ I said harshly. I looked out of the window. ‘That was some while ago.’

  She smiled and gave a dismissive wave. ‘Oh, don’t you worry yourself, dearie,’ she said. ‘There was problems with the lady’s maids – I had to flog a couple into a proper view of their station in this life. But they’re all ready and waiting for you. If you’d like to follow me into that big room with the statue of Sappho – lovely girl she was, too, if you’ll pardon the digression . . .’

  I sat on a raised chair in one of the less tatty halls of audience, and looked at the huddle of slaves who stood before me, their heads turned down in misery and respect. I took another long draught of beer and handed the mug to Martin. I burped into my sleeve and got slowly to my feet. Perhaps I had overdone the opium, I thought yet again. But I took a deep breath and put myself into a semblance of order.

  ‘If you were born to be warriors,’ I opened in what I hoped was the right dialect of Slavic, ‘it is by the fortune of war that you stand before me. I will not have you chained up at night, nor made to wear iron collars by day. I will not beat you, or subject you to other humiliations. In return, I expect total obedience to my commands and total devotion to my interests.’

  I paused and steadied myself. All who could understand me were now looking up at me. Their pale, slab-like faces showed no emotion. I suppressed another burp and went on: ‘You may be aware that I have bought you outright from the Lady Irene, your former mistress. Unless detained here by the onset of winter, or by some other untoward circumstances, I do not expect to be long in Athens. But I promise that those of you who serve me well I will free before I leave. You can then return to your homes or go where else you may please. Those of you with whom I am not satisfied I will sell back to the Lady Irene, who will dispose of you at market as may suit her convenience.

  ‘Can I expect the devotion I seek?’

  You can put that choice to any rational being and get exactly the same answer. I’d paid ready cash for these creatures, and they knew they were mine as absolutely as the clothes I was wearing. But I stood with right arm held out as each took his turn to come forward and take my hand between both his own. It did no harm to add the semblance of fealty to a freely chosen lord to the duties prescribed by law. And it wasn’t just heavy cleaning and other household work I had in mind for them. If Priscus might have the good sense not to try poisoning me as we sat together at meat, Nicephorus and Balthazar were still on the loose. I might well have need of those big men for much else beside.

  ‘Do make the same offer to the female slaves,’ I whispered to Martin as I stepped past him. I turned to Irene, who’d thrown her cloak off and was indeed wearing a sword. ‘If you can get everything ready for dinner, I’ll be in your debt,’ I said.

  She gave another flash of brown teeth and turned to clap her hands at the slaves for attention.

  I was now aware of a newcomer to the room. I took him by the shoulder over to the main door. ‘Any luck?’ I asked in whispered Latin. The Dispensator’s secretary shook his head. As ordered, a few dozen monks were unobtrusively combing the city for Nicephorus or anyone dressed all over in black. A dozen more were lounging by the two gates that were opened by day. Nothing so far to report.

  ‘Then I want you to keep looking,’ I said. ‘If it means pulling me out of bed before dawn, I want to be told the moment anyone is found or even seen. Do you understand?’

  He bowed and confirmed that the Dispensator had given no reason for his orders.

  ‘Excellent,’ I said. The opium was pressing hard on me, but I smiled. ‘I look forward to seeing His Lordship your master at dinner.’

  ‘I’m going for a lie down,’ I said to Martin. ‘Since you’ll need a good voice for the readings, I advise the same of you.’ I looked at his torn hands. ‘No, Martin,’ I said with soft insiste
nce. ‘After what you’ve had to go through already today, I command you to go and lie down.’ I might have patted him on the shoulder. A Greek would have kissed him in recognition of his attempted defence. But there is much to be said – in public at least – for a stiff upper lip.

  Chapter 36

  Naked, I stood in the library. This wasn’t the shattered wreck that I knew. It was instead the luxurious, well-stocked house of books that it must have been in ancient times. Elegant in blue silk, her toenails shining with gold leaf, a young woman reclined on one of the window seats. She’d fallen asleep in the sun, a scroll open on her lap. I stared down at my hairy nakedness, and was ashamed. I wanted to step forward and see what the young woman had been reading. I wanted to stand closer to her and see her face, which was turned away from me. There were no loose tiles or other debris on the floor. It would be simply a matter of walking forward a dozen feet and looking down. But that disembodied voice was speaking again from behind me.

  ‘Do you want to know what happened in this room?’ it asked in English.

  I smiled and turned round. There was an old man fussing over what may have been the library catalogue. I stood just a few feet from the desk where he muttered over an open scroll of listings. I looked at the wall painting of Athens. Its colours fresh and vivid, it showed the city in much greater detail. Though I could see no captions above any of the buildings, I now recognised what everything was. There was the Garden of Epicurus, and there the spot in the old market place where the speakers had once stood to address the Assembly. As I stared, everything made more sense than it had, either in Dexippus or in my own tour of the modern city. But the voice was repeating its question.

  I laughed and waited to see if the old man would look up. Of course, he didn’t. He picked up a book sleeve and squinted to read the parchment tag on it. He put it down and made a fresh entry in his catalogue scroll. He picked one of the books on the desk and unrolled it a few inches. He put it down and took up another. This time, he pushed it gently into the sleeve. He got up from the desk and walked towards me. I stood my ground and strained to feel any trace of disturbance as he walked straight through me on his way to one of the bookracks at the far end of the room. It was, I could see, as if he’d walked though a column of smoke from a bonfire. I saw myself disintegrate and then come back together – but I felt nothing. I turned and watched him pass down the room. He stopped before the unbroken bust of Polybius and bowed in silent respect.

  ‘Do you know what happened in this room?’ the voice asked for a third time. As a few nights before, there was a trace of annoyance behind its calm urgency.

  ‘The answer you want,’ I answered in an English that sounded as utterly barbarous as I knew that I appeared, ‘requires me to make up a story based on all the facts and rumours and hints of rumours I’ve heard since I came into Athens. For what it’s worth, I’ll say that young woman over there is a witch. She’s fallen asleep over a book of incantations. In a while the low murmuring that I think I can hear will become a roar of anger, as the mob breaks into the palace and makes for this room. The woman will be seized and held while the library is torn apart for other allegedly magical texts. They will be heaped up, and perhaps she will be burned on top of them. Her ghost will then haunt the palace, appearing before those who have the sensitivity of soul to perceive it.’

  No reply. I stepped towards the desk and looked at the catalogue. At first, the writing made no sense. It was just the dark squiggles you see in cheaper mosaics that show a book. As I looked harder, though, the squiggles resolved themselves into one of the antique scripts I’d occasionally had to puzzle out in the University Library in Constantinople. The one sheet that showed where the book hadn’t rolled back on itself was a listing of what could only have been works by Gregory of Nyassa.

  I snorted and wheeled round. There may have been a slight shadow in the place where the voice had spoken. But it had dissolved before I could say it was there. I laughed again. ‘That was shit opium,’ I sneered, ‘if this is the best library catalogue I can imagine.’

  ‘And why do you say that?’ the voice asked, annoyance giving way to a reluctant interest.

  ‘Because, except in Egypt,’ I explained, ‘papyrus rolls had gone out of fashion in libraries of quality some while before Gregory was born. Even otherwise, I might add, his works wouldn’t have been an obvious choice for any educated Athenian.’

  ‘You really are a fool, Aelric,’ the voice said. ‘I can only speak to you in dreams, and then in riddles determined by your own imagination. But I am trying to warn you of a terrible danger. Can you not reach for once into your deeper self and try to see things as they really are?’

  ‘Not really,’ I answered. ‘There is much to be said for a keen and lively glance over the surface of things. You pick up a lot of truth on the surface. If you must look below, it should only be to uncover laws that regulate the visible world. Everyone who’s ever tried going deeper has only come up again barking mad, and with ideas of setting the world to rights with a spot of murder.’ I sniffed and thought of Plato. I turned back to the window and tried to step forward.

  ‘Even if it has to be in riddles,’ I sneered, ‘can you tell me why I’m not able to go close to that woman? Why can’t I look out of the window? Have I worn my imagination out with recreating this library?’

  ‘You might better ask why you are worth all this trouble,’ the voice answered, now in disgust. ‘Oh, go on, then,’ it spat. ‘Have your look into the garden. See if you like what you see.’

  The soft and universal pressure that had kept me back was suddenly lifted, and I nearly tripped forward against the nearest window. I looked out through the glass pieces and tried to focus. It was as if I’d woken in a strange room before the dawn was fully up. I knew that all could make sense with a little effort, but wasn’t up to making that effort. I can say I didn’t like what I saw. I stepped quickly back into the main part of the library.

  Covered in sweat, I sat up in my bed.

  ‘Aelric, it’s me,’ Martin whispered in my ear. ‘Everything’s all right.’ He relaxed his hold on my upper body and pushed a cup of water to my lips.

  I drank and opened my eyes. I’d had a leather curtain hung over the window against night draughts and any further rain. But I could see from the red glow coming from behind it that the sun was going down.

  In the gloom, I focused on Martin. ‘Was I crying out?’ I asked.

  He nodded. ‘It was just the opium,’ he said. ‘Everything is really all right.’

  I looked at him again. He’d got over our battle on the Piraeus road in better shape than I might have expected. Everything wasn’t all right. But it would have to do. I threw the damp cover back and swung round to sit on the bed. Soon, it would be aired and changed every morning. For the moment, I was aware of the faint smell of beeswax and sex. The drug was fading, and I could feel a slight thrill of lust. But I put this out of mind and sat upright.

  ‘The Bishop of Nicaea has been here a while already,’ Martin said with an urgent look at the window. ‘I saw him in conversation with Priscus. I’ve had some of the new slaves carry the bath into your dressing room. Can you bear cold water? Irene says the boiler can’t be repaired.’

  I stood up and stretched. ‘I’d like to see Maximin before whatever bath you’ve managed.’

  Martin looked thoughtfully at the lengthening shadows outside, then nodded.

  ‘Now do help get this sheet arranged round me. I’m young enough to be a sight worth looking at. But we can’t have naked encounters with Auntie Irene – not, at least, on our first day!’ I stretched again and laughed.

  Coming out of the nursery, I bumped into Euphemia. ‘I’ve been with Priscus,’ she said urgently. She had another bowl of bloody water in her hands. That settled my stab of jealousy. ‘He told me everything,’ she whispered. ‘You were a fool to go looking for that body.’

  I bent forward and kissed her. I waited for her to put the bowl down, and pressed m
y body against hers and moaned with a suddenly overwhelming lust. ‘I do – I do assure you,’ I said thickly, ‘that my own encounter was less unfortunate than the Lord Commander’s.’ I stood back from her and forced myself into a semblance of order. ‘But is there anything you can tell me about where Nicephorus might have gone, and what he was doing with the interpreter’s daughter?’

  She stepped away from the bowl. ‘What I will tell you,’ she said, looking me straight in the eye, ‘is that the Count Nicephorus is a good man. People may think him strange. But he was the only person in the whole world willing to give a roof to me and his brother’s child. If he was stealing the Emperor’s money, do you think he would keep his own nephew short of medical help? As for murder, you don’t know him at all.’

  I could have told her that, if he ever did get a hearing before Caesar, I’d be the main prosecution witness. But hadn’t Balthazar said very clearly that she knew nothing? She might know more than she realised. But there was an appropriate time for everything. Despite the lingering charms of my opium, I felt a sudden need for sex so desperate, I could have taken her there and then. But she twisted out of my embrace.

  ‘Not here, not now,’ she said with an attempted laugh.