The first thing I noticed as I walked into the windowless room was an icon, high on the wall, of Christ in His most forbidding Majesty. Otherwise, the walls were of bare plaster. The only furniture in the room was a small table with three chairs. The light came from a tight array of lamps hanging from the ceiling.
Theophanes had motioned me in before him while he spoke to one of the hushed attendants outside. Alypius settled me into one of the chairs and then sat himself across the table from me.
So when, and of whom, was this interrogation to be? I tried not to ask myself. Because I could think of no reason for subterfuge from Theophanes, I willed myself not to speculate on what I was doing in this room.
Alypius looking fixedly at nothing in particular behind my left shoulder, we sat for what seemed an age without speaking. At last, the door widened and Theophanes came into the room.
‘My dear young friend,’ he began with easy charm, ‘I do so regret having brought you here for nothing. But I am now in no doubt that the interrogation would be distressing to one of your youth and sensitivity. It is sad how much moral, and even physical, harshness these matters often require.’
So it wasn’t just the basement they used for torturing people.
In a fair imitation of his own manner, I thanked Theophanes for his great consideration and assured him of how comfortably I was seated.
‘I would release you now from my invitation,’ he said with a smile, ‘and allow you to go home to your bed. But the streets are less safe at night than I might wish. And it will take me a few moments to deal with outstanding business before I can arrange for an armed guard to escort you back to the Legation.’
‘I wouldn’t hear of it!’ he said, in reply to my suggestion that I could make my own way back. ‘While you remain my personal guest, you must accept my personal concern for your safety. I really do not think I shall be more than a few beats of the heart about my business. I am sure you will find Alypius excellent company.’
How long we sat there in stony silence was beyond my reckoning. It may have been half the night. It may not have been so long at all. But with no diversion, nor any means of marking time, I sat there in a kind of numb apprehension.
Once, and only once, there was a sound. It was a gentle scraping that came from behind me, as if a mouse were running along the top of the icon.
And was that a muffled gasp?
I wanted to look round but Alypius had shifted his glance and now stared me straight in the face. Whatever it had been, the noise was over in a moment. All was silent again until, eventually, the door opened again and Theophanes was back in the room.
‘You cannot conceive how embarrassed I am to have wasted your evening,’ he said, trying to suppress a look of the most immense self-satisfaction. ‘You must come to dinner with me again tomorrow. Then, I promise, things will go more as you have the right to expect.’
I got up. I could have asked what the Devil had been going on – why had I been brought here for nothing at all? But you don’t ask a spider’s business in the middle of its web. And whatever had happened, it was over. The tension falling sweetly away, I turned on the charm myself.
‘For me, and for the good of the Empire, yes,’ he said, answering my question, ‘it was a most productive interview, and I guarantee that you can go about your business in renewed safety. Such are the fruits of civilisation.’
‘Can I go home now?’ I asked. I just wanted to get away.
‘But of course, young Alaric.’ Theophanes beamed at me. ‘Only we who are of full years can bear the strains of governing this great Empire. At your age, lateness to bed must ever be attended by dangers that may shorten life itself.’
I lurched forward into his outstretched arms.
19
‘This isn’t the way to the Legation,’ I said to Alypius.
We were alone in the dark, silent streets. Now the nights would be so much safer, Theophanes had said, I’d have no need of the armed escort he’d had in mind. It would be enough to have Alypius with me. He was armed, and that would be sufficient protection.
‘It is the way I am instructed to take you,’ he said coldly as we turned into the street that was one of the approaches to the square containing the University.
Light or dark, I’d never seen the streets of Constantinople so empty. The sound of our feet on the pavements echoed from the blank walls or shuttered faµades of the buildings. I knew them well enough by day but they were very different at this late hour.
Alypius led me into a side street, and then into a clearing that was neither a square nor a park. We stopped by a low brick building. He stepped forward and stroked the polished wood of the little door.
‘Do you know what this is?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said. It was about the size and shape of a rich man’s tomb from the days of the Old Faith.
‘Behind this door’, he explained, ‘lies a flight of steps. They lead up from the basements that run beneath the Ministry.’
Dear God! Theophanes had kissed me goodbye in the main hall a quarter of a mile back. And every step I’d been taking since had still been just feet above that vaulted labyrinth of horror. How big was the place?
I looked at Alypius. If he was armed, it was at best a small sword he was keeping out of sight. Even unarmed, I might be able…
I dropped the thought. Behind Alypius stood the whole power of the Empire. I was as much in its power now as if tied to one of the racks under the Ministry.
He smiled, no doubt appreciating the look of dull fear I couldn’t be bothered to keep off my face. ‘I did say’, he added, ‘that the stairs lead up from the basements. You have already seen the place that invariable custom has made the entrance. At the first light of dawn, the heavy bolts that secure this door on the inside will be drawn and the door will swing outward. Twenty-three bodies will then be carried out. It will be neither more nor fewer than twenty-three. I checked the release forms that His Magnificence signed before dinner.
‘According to their station, some will be put into gibbets for display from the City walls. Some will be scattered in the main streets, there to be stepped over and shunned by shopkeepers and by those who toil in the manufactories. They will be reclaimed or cleared away before people like you are accustomed to fall out of bed.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ I asked. Alypius was evidently trying to keep me scared. But for all he strained to imitate his master, he was no equal of Theophanes. Whatever else happened tonight, I was realising, the Empire would not be disposing of twenty-four corpses.
‘Why did you bring me here?’ I asked again. ‘No – since your sort never act but on orders, why did Theophanes have me brought here?’
‘Why do you suppose we do this, day after day?’ he asked in return.
‘The official answer’, I said, my nerve returning, ‘is that they are traitors. Really, of course, none may be guilty of anything at all. It’s really a matter of keeping control, isn’t it?’
If I’d annoyed Alypius by draining the surprise out of his answer, his face said nothing.
‘Back in the days when Maurice was Emperor,’ he continued, ‘we were victorious on all fronts, or holding our own. It was nothing to the scum who inhabit this City. Once when he returned from a victory over the Slavs, he was screamed at in the street because he’d put up taxes. The Ministers and even His Magnificence were mobbed in their chairs.
‘The function of Terror is to break up all the guilds and clubs and professional groupings of the City into an agglomeration of individuals, each looking over his shoulder to see what the others might be saying about him. If no one speaks his mind, no one joins forces. This means Heraclius can come here whenever he likes, and he’ll beat his head against the city gates until pestilence and famine have thinned the ranks of his followers.
‘How anyone gets on our death-lists is left to chance. The use of those lists, though, is wholly deliberate. Kill enough people and you can announce that the sun rises
at dusk and wait for the applause. It also helps compensate for the falling off of tax revenue.’
‘I’ll ask again,’ I said. ‘Why are you telling me this? Why has Theophanes sent you here with me?’
Alypius moved away from the door and reached within his cloak. He pulled out his leather satchel.
‘While you were at dinner,’ he said, ‘there should have been a small riot in the Jewish quarter. A priest who was active in policing the conversion of the Jews will have been seriously injured. In view of this, His Magnificence will suggest to the Most Noble Caesar Priscus the need for making an example. A number of prominent persons will be arrested. Among these will be your banker, Solomon ben Baruch.’
This was the last thing I’d expected to hear. All thought of the Ministry dungeons was swept aside by the realisation that I was holding at least a dozen notes from Baruch. If he were taken in for treason or whatever, they’d be worthless.
But Alypius was continuing: ‘As you know, the Great Augustus has seen fit to command all the Jews of the Empire to embrace the True Faith of Jesus Christ.’
‘Yes,’ I said jeeringly, ‘and it’s set off wild rioting in every Eastern city still controlled by him. Haven’t the Jews of Antioch lynched the Patriarch there? Certainly, you’ll find no business with the Syrian traders.’
‘They have indeed murdered His Holiness of Antioch,’ came the stiff reply, ‘and the Jews will be punished just as soon as we have any spare forces in Syria. The word of Phocas is law, and he has been assured by a monk of the highest orthodoxy that the Empire will only fall to a circumcised race. He has therefore seen fit to accomplish what Saint Paul on his various missions failed to do.’
Well, that was an interesting prophecy – and it was made before the event. A shame, I suppose, the drunken fool hit on the wrong circumcised race.
Still Alypius hadn’t finished. ‘The Jew Baruch will be allowed’, he said, ‘to pay off some of the Caesar’s more embarrassing debts. In return for this, he will be released unharmed at nightfall. He will be free to give thanks the day after tomorrow in whatever Sunday service takes his fancy.’
‘I see,’ I sneered. ‘I suppose you’ll want paying for this information.’
Without bothering to reply, Alypius pushed his satchel into my hands.
‘This contains a number of drafts on a bank run by two Saracen brothers,’ he said. ‘You will pass these on the Exchange at whatever time and in whatever manner you see fit. The drafts are made out in your name. When you eventually see the Jew Baruch, the proceeds will be made payable to bearer. You will hand the new drafts to His Magnificence when you see him in a sealed packet. You will not discuss them with him.’
The moon came out from behind a cloud and lit up the space in which we were standing.
‘I don’t think’, I said to Alypius, ‘I need detain you any longer. I can probably make my own way safely back to the Legation. And, let’s face it, whoever tried to murder me yesterday will be snoring like a dog this time of night.’
‘There is one more matter,’ he said. ‘Though he has not yet had an opportunity to offer his congratulations, His Magnificence is aware that you became a father last night.
‘Of course, now you have been blessed with fatherhood, you will need to be still more prudent in your conduct. You have seen that Constantinople can be a dangerous place for those who do not look at all times to their safety. It can be dangerous for them – and, I feel it worth saying, for those around them.’
‘Martin?’ I asked next day over breakfast.
He looked up from his beer, bleary and unshaven. He should have been glad he was awake at all. I’d got back to my suite, only to find him and Authari huddled together on my office floor, knocked out on wine and opium. I’d thought at first that Martin had killed himself with the so far untasted fruits of the poppy. But he’d still been breathing, a look of rapture on his face I’ll bet he’d never got from praying.
Now he was paying for it.
I smiled brightly, pretending not to notice what a wreck he looked. If I said I was cheerful, I’d be exaggerating. Nevertheless, if I was stuck in Constantinople, still without a guess of why and for how long, I’d got myself out of what might have been a thoroughly nasty scrape. All I had to do was rip off the Jews and I was back in favour with Theophanes – or so it appeared.
‘Yes, Martin,’ I said, ‘you realise we shall have to invite Theophanes to the baptism.’
He looked down again and grunted. He began another of his unflattering comments about eunuchs.
‘I don’t think there’s any question of not inviting him,’ I said, cutting him off. I looked again at the note of elaborate congratulation I’d found on bouncing out of bed. Theophanes was promising – I read – ‘a cot of polished ebony, trimmed, of course, with ivory and with gold’.
Not bad, that, and at short notice. With Martin, I’d combed every shop in Middle Street the day before looking for almost the same thing. We’d been told in five establishments that ebony was out of the question for at least a month. Theophanes, it seemed, had far greater powers of persuasion than I with a mere purse full of gold. He was assuring me he could have it made ready in a day.
‘I’ll leave it to you’, I went on, ‘to draft the invite. I have urgent business coming up that will keep me busy all day. But I’d like something in the most pompous and flowery Greek style.’
Martin scowled and went back to his beer. Then he switched into a Celtic that he appeared suddenly to know less well than I did myself.
‘I’ve heard the rumour from Antony’, he said, ‘that the Emperor has offered the Persians all of Syria east of Jerusalem and the Avars all they’ve already taken south of the Danube, if only they’ll leave him a free hand with the revolt.’
‘None of our business now, Martin,’ I said briskly in Latin. ‘We obey whatever instructions come from Rome. We accept whatever protection Theophanes sees fit to give. In short, we wait on events.’
I called him back as he reached for the door handle.
‘Can you remind me what happened with Pope Silverius?’ I asked.
‘Why,’ said Martin, ‘wasn’t he the one who was deposed by Justinian for being in the pay of the Goths?’
‘That’s the one,’ I said. ‘I think we can agree that politics can be dangerous.
‘By the way, if you bump into Gutrune, do remind her to clean her nipples before she feeds Maximin. I once read that the seeds of pestilence can gather in those little folds of skin.’
Though I’d told him nothing, Authari now doubled his precautions. He found another, heavier bar for the door of my suite. He also took to locking every room not immediately in use. He put all the keys on an iron ring and carried it about on his waist. No other slave was now allowed to leave without his permission.
He even took to searching the copying secretaries when they came to work in my suite. He confined them to one room, and had them followed as they went off to the slave latrines. Crabbed little creatures who knew only how to wield a pen, they were no danger. But Authari was taking no chances now we had Maximin.
He took the wet nurse, Gutrune, into his own charge. To be honest, he took her into his own bed. Both facts were a relief to me. I had excellent reason, beside her looks, to keep my hands off her. And I didn’t have to worry about giving directions for the care of Maximin.
I still found myself strangely drawn to the child. After those first couple of days, the fascination grew even stronger. I’d spend as much time as I could working in the nursery. Sometimes, when alone with him, I’d put my things aside and pull my chair over to the cot. There I’d sit talking endlessly to the child in English.
I didn’t fail to notice that time was passing. I knew that Marcella would, in her usual way, be haggling with the midwives and doctors in preparation for Gretel’s confinement and that I had, sooner rather than later, to be away. But now we were settled in and its rules were accepted, the Legation had become our home. Once Authari had barred t
he door to my suite, we were inside our own world. It was as if we were again on the ship that had brought us here. I passed through the world outside the Legation as often as I travelled to the libraries but I was never part of it.
So day followed day. The endless chatter in those baking-hot streets of high summer often reminded me of the sound of bees as they swarm together and begin to turn angry, but the people never did turn constructively angry; they were held in check by the Terror. The flow of events was smooth and predictable on the surface and I made no further efforts to look beneath it.
20
‘Such is the Word of God and of the Universal Church,’ the Professor of Theology intoned for the third time that afternoon. Martin scratched madly on his waxed tablet, his shorthand barely keeping pace with the complexity of the answer.
‘In the name of His Holiness the Universal Bishop in Rome, I thank you,’ I said, recalled from a reverie on nothing at all. It beat the exposition on some polemicist who’d found a way of reading one word in different ways, depending on the orthodoxy of the writer.
But I’d slipped up there. I’d used the hated title. With a barely suppressed intake of breath, the Professor and half his panel of experts glared pure hatred at me. Leaving aside that I hadn’t been paying attention, the slip was pardonable. I’d been baptised six months in Canterbury before I discovered the title everyone around me used was of dubious propriety.
Still, even if I’d got up and begun a defence of the Arian heresy, I’d not have given so much offence to the conclave of hunched, bearded clerics gathered there to answer my questions. I thought for a moment that the Professor would get up and set about me with his stick.
It was the last Saturday in September. We were well past any time for leaving that would get us back to Rome in time for the baby’s arrival, and there was still no end in sight. Every time the posts came in, there would be another letter from the Dispensator. It always began with curt thanks for work already done, before getting down to an immense list of briefs for new research.
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