‘I made the mistake of assuming that he and his associates would understand your apparent position here and act accordingly. It was most galling when they ignored what I hoped was the clearest evidence and believed you had been sent from Rome to arrange a deal between Pope and Emperor. That is why they tried to kill you with those roof tiles.
‘I had no choice but to approach you that day in the University Library, and make it clear to everyone that your presence here had the effect of blocking any such deal. Plainly, they understood me then, but were too stupid to leave matters alone.’
‘Of course,’ I said, ‘this was a lie. I wasn’t sent – or brought – here to block anything. There are no differences between you and the Permanent Legate. You and he are in this together. If Silas has withdrawn to his quarters, it’s only to keep him from being murdered by Heraclius.
‘A dead Permanent Legate cannot agree to anything with the Emperor. Or if it has been agreed, it may be harder to put into effect. So, tell me now – what is this agreement you have reached?’
‘My dear Aelric,’ came the reply, ‘I knew at once it was you above me in the Legation that night. I certainly got full sight of you as you swayed horribly round that dome. Please be assured that I prayed for your safe return to your own quarters.’
Theophanes gave me a close look. ‘What did you learn that evening?’ he asked.
‘That you finished off that poor sod Justinus,’ I said.
He shrugged. ‘Anything else?’ he asked.
I gathered my thoughts. ‘I could say you are plotting with the Lombards for an attack on Rome,’ I said. ‘If you can depose Boniface and replace him with – with, er – Silas, you could get your excommunication of Heraclius and forget all about the Universal Bishop stuff.’
Theophanes smiled. There seemed a slight easing of tension in his shoulders.
‘There would be a certain economy in what you suggest,’ he said. ‘Heraclius set out from Carthage last year with a shipload of bishops, all singing his praises as the New Apostle of Christ, come to redeem Empire and world alike. When he does eventually arrive outside the City walls, it will be with part of the True Cross that he lifted from the Sepulchre on his recent capture of Jerusalem.
‘If only the Pope would say the right words, the theological wheels would drop straight off the chariot that Heraclius has made for himself. Bearing in mind how short he is of money, that could mean the end of him.
‘But’ – Theophanes held up a finger – ‘but His Holiness will not say those words until after he has had everything that he wants from Phocas.
‘I know that His Holiness is described in Canterbury as Universal Bishop. However, the title has never been mentioned by the Emperor in other than private correspondence. The phrases taught to a race of illiterate barbarians do not necessarily describe the laws of the Empire… Therefore, the Roman Church is insistent on a formal decree that admits of no ambiguity.’
‘And you won’t give it’, I broke in, ‘because it would upset the Greek and other Eastern Churches.’
Now grave, Theophanes nodded. ‘The Church ruled by His Holiness of Constantinople might give way to an express command,’ he said. ‘But the Syrian and Egyptian Churches would never accept Western primacy. Greeks and Latins may hate each other for petty trifles, but this is as nothing to the hatred they share jointly in the East.
‘Since the conquests of the Great Alexander a thousand years ago, you Westerners – Greek or Latin or barbarian is unimportant – have viewed the East as naturally subject. But this is not to be regarded as a natural or a permanent state of affairs. If the Great Constantine thought the Christian Faith would be the glue to hold this Empire together, he was wrong.’
Theophanes stood. ‘You will forgive me if I must urinate in front of you. The latrines are inside, and I find my bladder grows weak with age.’
He looked up from the silver chamber pot. ‘Do you really believe’, he asked, ‘that such a plot could be hatched between me and the Permanent Legate without knowledge of the Dispensator? Or can you believe His Excellency would ever join such a plot?’
‘Of course not.’ I smiled. It fitted more of the facts than anything else I’d been able to think of. It was a rotten hypothesis, even so.
‘Then you do not fall in my estimation,’ he said. ‘And luck was truly with you that night you went spying in the Legation.’
I watched as Theophanes rearranged himself.
‘There is also the matter’, I said, beginning again, ‘of your defection from Phocas. Any chance you might tell me what happened outside the Great One’s tent? Who was that man behind the curtain? What did you agree with him?
‘What is it that made me surplus to requirements – even an embarrassment, to be removed as soon as decently possible? And how did you persuade him not to have Martin and me killed on the spot? It’s your business if you want to dump Phocas as you dumped Maurice. I don’t blame you an inch. I’ll even thank you for the limited favour. But I want to know how this affects me.’
I poured myself yet another cup of that hot infusion. Having drained it in a gulp, I sat back glowering. I also found myself trembling very slightly.
Cup in hand, Theophanes sat watching me. His face had no need of the white lead that covered it. There was no expression to conceal.
‘The man’, he said, ‘was another of the fools who serve Heraclius. Instead of realising that my death or extended captivity was in the best interests of his master, he let himself be persuaded that he had found a valuable ally.
‘You are wrong, however, if you believe I have changed sides. The plan, as you know, was for the raid to build sympathy for Heraclius. The implementation was a disgrace. Those savages slaughtered two hundred people before they could be called to order. They atrociously murdered a senior diplomat who counted three Emperors among his ancestors.
‘Thousands of the best people in Constantinople would turn on Heraclius if word got out that he was somehow behind all this. That alone was enough for his people to want you dead.’
‘And I suppose your friend Agathius will now be after me again,’ I said bitterly.
‘No,’ said Theophanes. ‘I now control Heraclius to some limited degree. And you remain under my protection. You are safe as things stand. Indeed, once this siege is lifted – however that may happen – you may go back to Rome. Your role in these proceedings is at an end. Any further instructions you receive from the Dispensator will be redundant.
‘It is no longer necessary for the Permanent Legate to have any excuse for keeping himself out of circulation.’
I turned again to the overall agreement involving the Church.
‘That I will not explain,’ Theophanes said flatly. ‘If there were the slightest suspicion that you knew anything, your safety would be at an end. All sides would want you dead or would take you in for questioning under torture. I have no faith in even your ability to know such a secret and consistently appear not to know it. And, if you will pardon my lapse into official mode, it might frustrate a settlement on which the welfare of millions depends.’
I pushed hard. Theophanes was like flint. I tried an indirect approach.
‘If you haven’t switched over to Heraclius, you must still be loyal to Phocas. But surely he’s finished? Surely, he’ll not be Emperor come Christmas?’
Theophanes sighed. ‘You assume, my dear boy, that I must be on the side of either. My informants tell me Heraclius is a dreamy, idle creature. Without firm advice, he is indecisive. And he cannot judge the value of the advice he is given. The further away he travels from his father in Carthage, the less effective his actions appear to be.’
‘Quite unlike the bloodthirsty drunkard you serve,’ I said with a sneer. Would this draw him out? I wondered.
Theophanes smiled indulgently, and took his time to suck on one of the softer berries in the dish. The wind had dropped, but clouds were now darkening the skies outside our bubble.
‘Let me be specific, Aelric. My u
ltimate loyalty is not to any specific Emperor. It is to the Empire itself.’
He paused at my look of incredulity. He ignored my faintly sarcastic wave at the glories that were visible, if distorted, beyond the sheet of water.
‘For all his merits,’ he said, ‘Maurice clung to an order of things that was dead. He wouldn’t let go of what we cannot much longer hold. His only solution was more taxes and a squeeze on military pay, and to hope against hope that his next military victory would sort everything out.
‘Phocas was different. He came in without grandiose expect ations. He cut non-military spending. He reformed abuses. He even quietly took the view that, so long as they paid on time, what the taxpayers said in church was their business. Before the African revolt, he was fighting the Persians at minimal cost.’
‘But now he’s a drunken killer?’ I pressed.
Theophanes shook his head. ‘With his responsibilities, who wouldn’t turn to drink?’ he asked. ‘As for the Terror, that was begun by his son-in-law, Priscus – a brute whose eagerness to meet you must be satisfied in the next few evenings.
‘Phocas may have grown to like the taste of blood. But it was not he who first raised the cup. If I administer the incidental details of the Terror, it is only because some order of killing must be maintained.
‘All that matters ultimately is that Heraclius, if he becomes Emperor, will have all the faults of Maurice and none of his virtues. Phocas is useful to the Empire in ways that will outlast his reign.
‘But I begin to feel very tired, my dearest boy,’ Theophanes said after another long pause. ‘Before I begin to wander in my thoughts, let me inform you of what officially happened last night. It is enough for everyone to know that you were the hero. You conceived and executed a daring plan of escape that got the three of us back to the City walls with a barbarian army on our heels. You may elaborate as you please on that theme. But our meeting with the Great One never took place. We were never close to his tent. We neither did nor observed any things there.
‘As for the other captives, we are putting the word about that their release was secured by the timely intervention of Saint Victorinus. He worked a miracle with the Great One, who has returned to his own benighted land with a handful of missionaries provided by Phocas.
‘People will more readily believe this story than that Heraclius secured the release. It saves us the fruitless task of trying to prove that Phocas really did all he could to achieve the same. Neither side really gains from the story we are circulating. Neither side loses.
‘From what I know of the man, Heraclius will soon himself believe the official story.’
And that was the end of what Theophanes had to say. I could have asked more. I might have explored the advantages he had secured for himself. Because he’d escaped with me, Phocas had accepted him back inside the walls, his position unshaken. Because our escape had taken us to the Yellow Camp, he’d opened a line of communication with Heraclius that might be useful when or if there was a change of Emperor.
I knew I’d got as much as I would get out of the old greaser. Some of what Theophanes had said was undoubtedly true. Some was probably lies. Much else lay in the grey zone that separates truth from falsehood. I’d have to sort out what was what for myself.
Theophanes rose unsteadily to his feet. He looked down at me. The weariness on his face seeped through the lead gloss.
‘I know, my dearest boy, you still think me an unscrupulous Oriental eunuch, practised in every form of deceit – including perhaps self-deceit. But let me assure you, I cannot forget what has happened during the past few days. You will have no better friend in the City than I. Should it ever be necessary, I will die for you.’
With that, and his parasol up, he stepped through the curtain of water.
I wanted to run after him. But as I emerged from the fountain, I saw the messengers waiting under the peristyle, more of those purple bags in hand.
The heat was gone from the afternoon. It was coming on to rain.
30
I was set down outside the Legation to a ragged cheer from the crowd that had gathered there. Word had already got round of Alaric the Hero. I had no illusions about what had happened. Some diversion was needed from the apparent shambles Phocas had made of handling the barbarians. I was the best on offer. I’d made a bloody and triumphant escape. If I’d also brought Theophanes back to the City, that didn’t seem – even maybe in private – to diminish my glory.
I made a short speech of thanks, dwelling on how Saint Victorinus had guided my steps. That avoided my having to make reference to any human agency and saved giving offence to either party.
It went down well. As I finished, a woman held up a child before me. I pinched its cheek and told her he would grow into a fine young man.
Inside the entrance hall, Martin and Authari had gathered our slaves. These all stood with the skeleton staff of the Legation. No Demetrius, of course. But even the silent monks had left off their tending of the garden.
More congratulations, and another speech.
At last, back in my suite, I made sure Maximin was sleeping peacefully. Martin said in his delicate way that Authari had worn himself and Gutrune out in celebration of his freedom. Both were still groggy in bed.
Crashed out in my office, I sat alone with Martin. I finished the wine he’d offered and glanced at the letters that had piled up in my absence. There was the usual thick packet from the Dispensator. I threw this unopened to the far side of the desk. I’d see what Gretel had to say when I was truly alone. The time was approaching for some comment from her on the adoption of Maximin.
There was a gleeful letter in code from my partner in the Cornish business. So far as I could tell without the key at hand, all had gone to plan. The tin shipment had been unloaded and sold in Cadiz, then replaced with an equal weight of rubble packed in the same crates, together with a consignment of what was described as Spanish lead. Now overloaded, the ships had gone down with nearly all hands off Malta. The other shareholders not in the know were stuffed.
I was already richer by a straight three hundred pounds of gold. More would follow. I could now endow that monastery outside Canterbury to produce multiple copies in parchment of the papyrus books I was sending over.
‘God be praised!’ said Martin dreamily when I told him about the use of the money. ‘He is surely with you.’
I looked at him. From his contracted pupils, I could see he’d been at my opium again. Well, if it kept him calm and busy after all the thrills of the past few days, I wasn’t one to comment.
‘Aelric,’ said Martin as I threw the last of the correspondence aside, ‘the slaves have approached me to ask if you would honour them with a visit to their quarters for dinner this evening. They are immensely proud of what you did outside the walls. We could combine this with a final dinner for Authari with the slaves. He will take his meals with me in future.’
Martin steadied himself and gave another of his little coughs. ‘I wish also to say, speaking personally, how grateful I am for what you did. Once again, I owe you my life. This is a debt of which I shall ever be conscious.’
‘Think nothing of it, Martin,’ I said. I ignored his delicate reminder of the time when I’d freed him instead of racking him to death. ‘Think nothing at all,’ I repeated, now in Celtic. ‘It turns out that we had only to stay put another night and we’d now be swanning about in the Asiatic suburbs with the other freed captives, awaiting the outcome of the struggle between Phocas and Heraclius – safely out of reach of both.
‘Theophanes is back in the city under circumstances tending much to his own credit – at least with the Emperor. Authari earned his freedom. All you get is another set of horrid memories and more time in the city. I should apologise to you.’
I stopped Martin’s protest.
‘However,’ I said, ‘the news isn’t all bad.’ I explained that we could now go home.
It Saint Victorinus had cured him of his bald patch, Martin
wouldn’t have rejoiced more. Not even opium could dull that response. When he was calm again, I asked how he and Theophanes had co-ordinated their singing and dancing without prior arrangement.
‘I whispered a suggestion to Theophanes,’ he explained, ‘when the Great One looked disinclined to believe your subterfuge. He took it up and elaborated while I merely followed.’
I made a weak attempt at a joke. ‘Watching the pair of you together,’ I said, ‘anyone would have thought you were old friends rather than distant acquaintances.’
But the happy outburst was over, and all I got was a cough.
What I wanted now was to fall into a clean bed, and writhe around with my smooth body in the silk sheets before sleep claimed me. Still, I had my duties to attend to. And a dinner with the slaves might be a jolly affair – all solid food and unwatered wine.
Before we went down, I gave Martin the official line on our escape. Fortunately, he’d guessed the truth might not be convenient, and had told the slaves to wait for my own account.
I woke next morning with a sore head from all the wine and beer and those earlier drugs. But I was cheered by the sound of works in the bathhouse. Theophanes had sent over a detachment of his own slaves to get the furnace in working order.
Better still, an Imperial messenger was shown in as I finished my late breakfast. I was invited as a guest of honour to the races in the Circus the day after next – a Saturday, this – when the intervention of Saint Victorinus would be celebrated in full style.
‘Can you look out the red and white?’ I asked Martin once we were alone again. ‘It looks vaguely senatorial, and it sets off my hair. Besides, I want the crowd not to lose sight of me. How about the yellow and red for you?
‘Oh, yes – and please do take Authari to the tailor. He can’t follow us about in slave clothes. Take advice, but I fancy him in plain white.’
Martin looked as displeased as I gradually realised I should have felt at the invitation. The world was coming apart at its seams, and we were being dragged in sudden and irresistible jerks towards its most unstable point. He’d much rather have been packing for Rome.
The Terror of Constantinople a-2 Page 20
