‘I tell you, he’s gone out again looking for trouble!’ Gundovald quavered from his bench in the street. He was still outside the meeting hall. So was everyone else. Leading them into battle outside the walls would have been easier than ushering them through that open door into the relative cool and darkness.
‘My Lord Bishop,’ I said impatiently, ‘your secretary has been borrowed for the day by His Magnificence the Commander of the East. I understand he is needed for his – for his ability to take notes in Latin.’ Why Priscus should want to make notes in Latin wasn’t a matter I cared to discuss.
‘Oh, but he’s been back since then,’ came the reply. ‘If he’s gone off again, it’s in search of loose women.’ He put his hands together and muttered something pious and disapproving. ‘He’s the son of the King’s Mayor. I can’t take him home covered in open sores.’
I called over one of my slaves. ‘You’ve seen the boy,’ I said. ‘There can’t be many like him in Athens. Take two of the younger men and make a search of the inns and brothels. If they’re still closed, just walk in. When you lay hands on him, bring him straight back. Don’t even bother getting him dressed.’ I laughed at the thought of that small and unclothed figure – and it would be a diversion from the council to see it – and turned back to Gundovald. ‘I’m having him brought here,’ I said. ‘Now, please – I do most earnestly beg of you – get inside that building. All else aside, you’ll get sunstroke out here.’
I looked over the closed faces of the Greeks. ‘The last one of you through that door,’ I hissed, ‘is no friend to me or the Lord Priscus.’
A few of them tried to stare back at me. But the last one to bolt for the door tripped over his robe and had to crawl the last few feet in the dust.
With a gentle splash, and then a gurgle before it settled down into a steady, regular dribble of water into the glass collecting bowl, the clock was put in motion. As Gundovald was finally prodded from behind into silence, I stood up from my chair and bowed. There was a rustling of cloth and some scraping of the chairs and benches, as everyone stood up and bowed at me. I’d sent Martin back with Irene on some made-up errand. I was, I could say with reasonable assurance, the only man present, aside from two heroically useless interpreters, fluent in both Greek and Latin. I smiled and stepped down off my platform. Ignoring the protocol, I walked into the semicircle of seats and opened in Latin.
‘Reverend Fathers,’ I called with a dramatic sweep of my arm, ‘you will be aware of a possible difference between the Latin and the Greek branches of the Universal Church. While no Greek theologian of general note has definitely pronounced yet on the issue, the most learned Hilary of Milan is said to have declared that the faculty of willing is, by necessity, an aspect of Our Lord’s Nature, and not of His Person. If this be the case, Jesus Christ may be said to possess a Human as well as a Divine Will – one for each part of His Nature.’ I stopped beside a deacon who represented the Bishop of Constance, and tried not to scowl at him. If he’d been a Greek, I’d already have marked him down for a transfer to somewhere perfectly horrid for the trouble he’d managed to cause me. I stared up at the eye of the dome far overhead and at the dark blue of the sky far above that, and looked down again, a friendly smile now on my face.
‘But I am familiar with the sermon preached by Hilary,’ I started again very smoothly. I stopped again for the interpreter to come out of his stammering attack. As I’d expected, he was again putting me so badly into Greek that his grasp of Latin could easily be doubted. ‘The sermon was not corrected by Hilary before he was called unto God by a visitation of the plague. It may, therefore, be doubted if so definite an opinion was ever truly in his mind.’
I was about to move to my last point, when there was a sudden noise outside. It began as a blare of distant horns that went on and on. As that came to a close, the thunderous cheering continued. It all underlined how close we were to every part of the walls, and of how utterly and deeply surrounded we were. The oldest and most doddery in my audience could have eased himself out of the hall and climbed on to one of the wooden platforms before the noise of the Great Chief’s arrival had begun to die away.
But this was, in the immediate sense, a matter for Priscus. I stared about the room and waited for everyone to come back to order. Simeon had covered his eyes and was bobbing up and down in his place. One of the Latin bishops yawned and pulled a face at the Bishop of Ephesus, who was dabbing sweat from his forehead.
I held up both arms for attention. ‘An opinion of far more decisive weight than some reported utterance,’ I said with loud cheer, ‘is that of the Universal Bishop, His Holiness of Rome.’ Worse luck, the interpreter had got the hated – if possibly defective – title spot on in Greek. But I stared down the sour looks it produced, and went on with my introduction of the Dispensator. All the Western delegates nodded their approval. I’ll swear the man himself purred, and I stepped over to him and, as promised, led him to the speaking place.
I went back to my chair. I bowed to the Dispensator. He bowed to me. He dumped a thick pile of very pale and uncurled papyrus on to the lectern and cleared his throat. Holding their own texts, the interpreters stood with their backs to him. I smiled and leaned forward in my place.
‘If My Lord pleases,’ I said . . .
Chapter 47
I got back to the residency as the sun was lengthening all its shadows. As I’d commanded, the swimming pool placed in one of the secondary courtyards had been cleaned out and refilled. The bathhouse, I’d again been assured, would never do service in its present state of repair. But this would do in its place. I sent my guards off for beer with the other slaves and made my way to the pool. All alone, I threw my clothes off and jumped into the cool water. I swam fifty lengths and tried not to think of anything connected with Church or state. I climbed out and jumped back in. I swam down to the deepest point and tried to pick up what I’d thought was a coin. It was only a chip in the green tiles. I came up and did a back somersault. I let the air out of my lungs and sank back into the depths. The pool was about twelve feet deep in the centre, and I sank slowly. I felt the growing pressure of the water on my ears. I was aware of the cold silence about me. I felt my knees make contact with the bottom, and could feel my whole body settle slowly on the smooth tiles.
I opened my eyes and looked up at the shimmering surface. It wasn’t quite the wildness and infinity of the sea off Richborough. But it was enough, so long as I kept my thoughts out of reach, to let me pretend for just a moment that I was still a boy in Kent – a boy with no other problem than how to fill his belly for dinner, and how to parse the Latin old Auxilius had earlier recited, clause by clause, into my head.
One look, as I resurfaced, at the still dazzling blue of the afternoon sky brought me out of that fantasy. But I did another back somersault and thought of something obscene from Aristophanes. That made me laugh so much, I breathed in a half lungful of water. I coughed it all out and took another deep breath. I went under again and swam over to the shaded end of the pool without coming up. I turned and kicked against the smooth wall and swam back. I’d have made it to the other end. But I was alone and had nothing to prove, and my head was beginning to feel light from the shortage of air.
As I came up, I realised I wasn’t alone.
‘Aelric,’ a voice quavered from the far end of the pool.
I turned over on my back and watched Martin pick his way carefully along the age-pitted marble. He stopped at the nearest point to me and waited for me to swim the last few yards that separated us. As I looked up at him, the sun dipped behind his head.
‘Do you suppose,’ he asked, dropping his voice, ‘the Dispensator noticed what you did with the Greek translation of his speech?’
I pulled a face at him and, with a great splash, kicked myself away from the side. Martin jumped back just a little too late to avoid getting soaked up to his knees. I laughed and did three back somersaults without stopping or bothering to draw breath. I came to rest floa
ting on my back. I thought of asking what he’d found among those fragments of recovered papyrus.
But I took a deep breath and thought of the Dispensator’s speech. It had gone exactly as planned. None of the Latins had followed a word of the Greek version I’d dictated to Martin. As for the Greeks, they’d scratched their heads a few times, but had followed my lead in the shouted approbations. The Dispensator – probably in sure and certain knowledge of what I’d done – had gone back to the chair in a blaze of self-congratulation and the cheers of everyone in the room. If they’d understood anything of what was really said, of course, every Greek in the room would have had a fit from the stark assertion of Papal supremacy over every priest and every communicant of the Eastern churches. Instead, they’d been treated to a discourse, cribbed from Gregory of Nyassa, on how the separate but incorporeal Persons of the Trinity did not need to occupy distinct positions in space, but could be both separate and distinct according to the requirements of the observer. What light this could shed on the wretched Hilary – who hadn’t dissolved into stinking slime a day too soon in my view – was beside the point. And why should anyone ask for relevance? Apart from my own speeches, the nearest approach in two days to actual relevancy had come from that sodding deacon. The less of that we had, the better for everyone.
I swam back to the side. ‘I’ll take the Dispensator’s actual speech as the playful warning he surely intended it to be,’ I said. ‘I think the Emperor’s commission gives me power to clarify the Universal Bishop title. If it doesn’t, we’ll simply have to put our faith in general success. It’s far too late for worrying about little details. If you can draw up a new patent in absolutely clear form, I’ll seal it at the start of tomorrow’s first session.’
He nodded uncertainly. He knew as well as I did that this would be wildly beyond the hardest stretching of my real authority. But letting the Dispensator wreck everything was a bigger risk than the possibility of a few strangled cries of outrage from Heraclius. Besides, if I won the argument here, there would be no outraged cry. If I lost, it hardly mattered what more that eunuch Ludinus could throw in my face.
I put both arms on the side of the pool and rested my chin on them. ‘But Martin,’ I said earnestly, ‘I do apologise for splashing you. I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m very sorry if I caused you any humiliation.’
He sat down before me and nodded. Just because you are able, when of my exalted status, to do anything you like with someone like Martin, is every reason in the world for not doing it.
‘And, Martin,’ I said, still very earnest, ‘I now command you to take off those fine clothes and join me in the water. It is my command as your former master, and my urgent wish as a friend who has your health and fitness ever in his thoughts.’ I put up a hand to silence his protest. ‘There’s no one else here to look at you. Come on in – I’ll swim five lengths with you. Just five lengths – they will take away all the cares that surround you, and set you up for dinner.’
Martin looked dubiously about. I was right that we were alone. No one else would have to see the shameful thing he’d made of his body. With a stern look on my face, I watched as he took off his outer cloak, and then his over tunic. He tried for another protest, but failed to shake my look of command. He squeezed himself out of his short under tunic. He fiddled a while with the knotted cord of his leggings, and soon stood in all his woeful glory in just a pair of absurd linen knickers. A few more words of playful nagging, and those came off as well. As the sun dipped finally below one of the corner towers of the palace, Martin stood, with low, saggy buttocks and wobbling belly, naked by the side of the pool. He leaned slowly down and put a toe into the water. He pulled it straight out and gave me the sort of look a dog gives when you take off your belt and promise a beating.
‘Take a deep breath and pinch your nose,’ I ordered. ‘You know that it’s better if you jump straight in.’
He shook his head and clutched desperately at his flabby breasts.
‘Oh, Martin!’ I laughed. ‘Look up at the sky and think of all the martyrs whose blood has been the seed of the Church. Do you suppose they would have been scared of a little water?’ As he looked involuntarily up, I lunged forward and got one of his arms. He hadn’t time even to scream before I’d claimed him for the pool. I pulled him to the surface and waited for him to stop coughing and spluttering. More words of apology and a friendly hug. Then we were off on our first slow length.
It doesn’t matter how eunuchs swell up – they always seem to make it to extreme old age. I’d been worried some while, however, about Martin. He’d started piling on the weight after murdering an old enemy in Constantinople. I’ve always enjoyed a drink after shedding blood, but he’d just eaten and eaten, until he looked like a pear on legs. Alexandria hadn’t slimmed him. He’d left an ear in Egypt proper, but come out with a belly yet more enlarged. I’d now seen how blue his fingernails could go when I made him walk fast up the Areopagus. If he wouldn’t take exercise, I’d have to make him. There are times, after all – and even I’ll admit the fact – when friendship has to overbalance respect for autonomy.
‘No, Martin,’ I said firmly. I looked at him from behind. The lock of ginger hair he always arranged so carefully over his crown was now stuck to his left shoulder blade. It showed the sorry truth about the transience of an Irishman’s hair. ‘Now you’re in, it would be a shame to get out again. I know what – you start for the far end. I’ll give you a half length advantage. Then we’ll race. If you win, I won’t nag you out of a whole leg of goose in honey sauce for dinner. If I win . . .’
I got no further. Martin had suddenly turned. With a cry of terror, he clutched at my outstretched hand and pulled me under the water. As I came up spluttering, he seized hold of me by the hair and dragged me another few feet further into the pool. I’d already been aware of the sound of metal on stone. Even before I was able to turn and look back at the pool edge, I’d guessed right. With a shouted obscenity, the black-swathed figure was trying desperately not to overbalance into the water. He was grabbed from behind by one of his two accomplices and pulled back. They raised their dull swords in unison and looked at me though their leather masks.
Holding Martin by the hand, I waded as far toward the centre of the pool as we could both keep our footing. The men had swords only. One bow and a couple of arrows, and we’d have been dead men. So long as we stayed away from the edge, though, they’d surely not dare give up their advantage and jump in after us.
I drew a long breath and shouted for help. Martin joined in. One of the men looked nervously about and raised his sword. But we shouted and shouted, and still there was no help. If we were in no actual danger, there was also no escape. Even if I could get to one of the sides before any of the men could catch up with me, my sword was tangled up with my clothes another ten yards or so beyond the pool edge.
Martin took both arms from about me and whispered in Celtic: ‘Look, Aelric, I’ll go over to that side. When they all come for me, you get out and go for help.’
‘Shut up!’ I snapped. ‘You’ll do no such thing. We’ll stay here together. Besides, they’re not interested in you.’ I had no faith in Martin’s ability to keep out of sword’s reach. I did wonder briefly if I might swim for the edge myself, and let Martin run for help. You can be sure I’d keep far enough back not to rush into martyrdom. But I dismissed the idea. The steps were at the far end of the pool. Martin would never be able to pull himself out of the water. Even if he could, he’d never waddle away fast enough to get help – and that was supposing there weren’t more of these creatures. ‘Let’s count to three and then cry for help again,’ I said.
Chapter 48
I was about to start the count, when the low and bitter debate at the end of the pool reached its end. Without bothering even to remove his sandals, the smallest of the masked and hooded men jumped in. The water came up only to his waist, though his black clothing billowed about him as if the ingrained filth on his body had all di
ssolved at once to form a cloud.
Martin stepped back, and then again, till he was treading water to keep from going under. ‘Aelric, please come back out of his way,’ he whispered in Celtic. ‘Can’t you see it’s a trap?’ he added in quiet despair.
I wondered very briefly if this wasn’t a trap. But I couldn’t see one. I ignored Martin and smiled, and I waded forward until the water came up to my chest.
‘Come on, you dickless coward,’ I sneered, ‘come and try yourself with a real man.’ With a great splash, I threw myself backwards in the water. I stood for a moment on my hands. In the time before I went fully under, I put up one hand and took hold of my privates. I shook them provocatively. I even managed to pull back the foreskin before my back brushed the bottom of the pool and I flipped back into a standing position.
In that short time, the man had hurried forward, sword raised above the pool surface, and was now only about six feet away. Letting out a stream of cheerful obscenity, I bounced up and down and splashed water at the man. The other two had followed him down the pool, and now were standing on either side. Each was fifteen feet away. Unless they wanted to give up all advantage – and, if they were thick enough to jump in as well, even Martin could make for safety – that was where, calling out encouragement, they’d have to stay.
The man came forward a couple of feet and slashed at me. I dropped under the water and jumped back out of reach. When I came up, he’d come forward again, the water now reaching to his upper chest.
‘How does it feel, having to squat down for a piss?’ I sneered again. ‘Can you still come if you stick a bloody great dildo up your arse?’
I don’t know if he understood my rapid Greek. But he raised his sword for another go at me. As the sword splashed into the water just a few inches from the obscene gesture I’d made with my outstretched left hand, I bent my knees and went right under. As my belly touched the rough tiles, I made a great sweeping movement with both arms and swam diagonally in his direction. I avoided the clumsy attempt at skewering me and got both his legs. How he’d got this deep in all that clothing was a credit to his stupidity. But I now had him fast.
The Ghosts of Athens (Aelric) Page 35
