Terror of Constantinople

by Richard Blake

  Theophanes must now have been standing opposite the Permanent Legate. Whatever the case, his voice was low and fast, and I couldn’t hear the burst of conversation that followed. The next thing I clearly heard was about the younger Heraclius.

  ‘He’s stuck in Cyprus,’ Theophanes said with a laugh. ‘Remember the deal brokered by old Heraclius in Carthage between son and nephew – whichever gets here first to depose Phocas and become Emperor? That is a weakness in the whole scheme. Heraclius and Nicetas have been racing each other from the West like drunken charioteers.

  ‘Nicetas has Egypt, and virtually the whole Army of the East is now in his hands. But he can’t get here soon without ships, and Heraclius can’t easily move from Cyprus without military support. If either of them does arrive between now and Christmas, everything will be in place.’

  Theophanes began another sentence that might have gone some way towards explaining things. But he broke off suddenly.

  ‘Did you hear that noise?’ he hissed, his voice a mixture of malevolence and alarm.

  It was me. I’d lain so long in one place, you see, that sweat had dissolved the bird shit under my body. At first, it had been as hard and rough as concrete. Then, without warning, it had turned into a rather gritty lubricant. I’d slid forward and to the left. My left leg was trailing over with no support.

  Again, I’d looked into the darkness. Then my hands had closed over the edges of the gutter. This time, though, it wasn’t a matter of restoring equilibrium. I had to hold myself continually in position. If I relaxed, I’d slide again. With a loud creak, the lead of the guttering bent outward. I’d moved my hands sharply left, to grab at it. The gutter held, but I couldn’t say how much noise I’d made.

  Theophanes was back at the window. He pushed his head out, looking furiously to right and left. He ignored the dog that had started barking again in the distance. It was obvious he was looking for something much closer.

  Thank God he didn’t look up. He’d have seen straight into my terrified face!

  By the time he did think to look upwards – and I could hear his panicky breathing barely inches away – I’d managed to pull my head back. My fingers were still clamped hard on the outer edge of the gutter. But although Theophanes must have been too dazzled by the lamps inside the room to see those two tight lumps, he knew there was someone above.

  ‘I want you over here, Silas,’ he said softly. ‘I’m going for Alypius. If you see or hear anything, call out at once.’

  I heard the quiet turning of a key in its lock. In a moment, Theophanes would be making his way along the right arm of the Legation, to see what he could from one of the far windows. And I could then expect Alypius underneath me, poking up with a sword as his master directed him.

  I’d learned little enough from listening in to the conversation. But the fact that I knew of it must have made it worth putting me out of the way. A soft heart doesn’t get you far if you want to run an Empire.

  It was lucky for me there was no balcony on this side of the dome. The only windows I could see from my position on the ledge were at the end of the right arm. By standing, of course, I’d see more, but I would be equally visible to anyone able to look in my direction. But if keys were needed – and there was always the need for secrecy – discovery was still some way off.

  I slithered back along the ledge until I was on dry lead again. Too frightened of discovery even to think about falling, I got up as carelessly as if the drop had been only a few inches. In the same way, I turned and walked quickly back to the dome. There was a momentary rush of fear as I felt my heels projecting over the narrower ledge. But, body arched forward, I was shuffling quickly to the right.

  The moon was now fully up. Unlike on my way out, I didn’t continually stop to feel my way, but kept moving further and further to the right – that is, increasingly out of view. As I moved, the patterns of light and shadow on the brickwork of the dome seemed to race past an inch from my nose.

  As the furthermost windows of the Legation’s right arm disappeared behind the bulk of the dome, I heard the outward swing of shutters and a hissed command in the language Theophanes had spoken in the library.

  If I jumped straight down to the balcony at the first safe point and dodged inside, I might not be seen.

  17

  ‘And where the fuck have you been?’

  His face making up for any lack of volume, Authari stood on the balcony. He must have been watching me all the way back from the dome.

  Normally, you expect a certain dignity where exchanges with slaves are concerned. But these weren’t normal circumstances, and Authari wasn’t a normal slave.

  ‘Let’s get inside,’ I whispered. ‘I think we can be seen out here.’

  As we stepped into the dim light of my office, I looked back once. Far over, in one of the last rooms of the Legation right arm, there was still a light burning.

  Was that a face looking back at me? It might have been a trick of the moonlight.

  ‘You’re back early, Martin,’ I said, trying to sound nonchalant. I glanced at the wine jug to see if it had been refilled. No such luck!

  ‘I’m back late, Aelric – very late,’ Martin said. His face was ghastly in the moonlight that streamed into the room. Was that his blue robe he was wearing? I wondered vaguely to myself. I thought he’d gone out in the yellow one.

  But he continued: ‘We’ve been hunting the place down for you. If I hadn’t seen you staggering round like a drunk on that ledge, we’d have raised the alarm. We were terrified for you up there. Please don’t do this again.’

  I ignored the slight on my balancing abilities. Before I could think of a reply, Martin spoke again: ‘Did you see the Permanent Legate?’

  ‘No,’ I said. I thought briefly whether to say more and I decided not to. There had been a thawing of relations lately between Martin and Authari. On the one hand, it had saved me the endless trouble of mediating their spats. On the other, I was beginning to appreciate the value of ‘divide and rule’.

  Besides, I needed time to sit down and think all this through. I was like a fisherman who’d set out to catch a meal and had pulled up a feast.

  ‘Do you know how dirty you are, Master?’ Authari asked, his temper back under control.

  I looked down at my naked body. I was black with filth. Aside from the general rubbing off of lead on me, the bird shit clung like an oily gel. A trickle of sweat that started from my chest was carrying bits of it on to the floorboards.

  ‘We can’t get a silent bath arranged,’ Martin said. ‘Authari, I’ll help you with cold water and sponges.’

  They looked at each other. It was as if they were taking up a conversation I’d interrupted.

  ‘No,’ I said, suddenly cold with the ebbing of the excitement. ‘There’s plenty of water running through the latrine. I’ll scrub up in there.’

  I heard a subdued wailing from some other room in the suite.

  ‘What in God’s name is that?’ I asked weakly. I was suddenly too exhausted to feel the alarm I felt I ought.

  ‘Let’s get you clean first,’ Martin replied edgily.

  I looked down at the baby boy. He couldn’t have been more than a day old.

  With infinite tenderness, Martin wrapped him in the sheet and laid him back on his bed. Authari took up the sponge again and was squeezing milk into the little open mouth.

  ‘He was lying all alone in the porch of the Mary Magdalene Church,’ Martin explained again. ‘There were some dogs sniffing at him. I couldn’t leave him.’

  It was impossible to know who’d dumped him there. The mother would never come forward to say.

  ‘Well, you can’t keep him here,’ I said firmly. ‘You’ll have to take him back to St Mary’s. Let someone else take him. There’s always someone out there trawling for boys.’

  ‘Oh please,’ Martin gabbled, ‘please don’t say that.’

  ‘He was dumped too late already, Master,’ Authari broke in. ‘He’ll have to survi
ve the dogs before he’s any chance of a foundling hospital.’

  A foundling hospital? With beggars dying in the streets, the most likely outcome was that some priest would baptise the boy to save him from the fires of Hell, and then clap a hand over his nose and mouth.

  ‘What is to become of him?’ Martin asked.

  What answer was there to that? I looked down at the boy again. I thought of my pregnant Gretel. I thought of Edwina and my living child. I swallowed and looked away.

  ‘We’ll look after him, Master,’ Authari added. ‘He’ll be no trouble to you. He can stay in the slave quarters below. You won’t know he’s down there.’

  ‘Then we’ll need a wet nurse,’ I said. ‘He’ll need to be fed.’

  Those weren’t the words I’d intended. What I had intended was to order the child to be put back early the next evening and was astonished even as I uttered them. It was like watching a close friend say something unexpected.

  Having said these words, though, there was no going back.

  ‘Martin,’ I added after a pause, ‘go to the slave market tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll pick up someone. You know where the key is to my strongbox. Take what you need from there. Do make sure to buy someone in good health.’

  I cut off their excited babble and continued: ‘I take it you will adopt the child as your own. That, or you’ll rear him as a slave.’

  Silence.

  Martin’s wife would never allow him to adopt – not with their own child. He was plainly thinking of Sveta’s scolding voice. As for enslavement:

  ‘Such is against the laws of the Empire,’ Martin said with sudden pedantry. ‘If you pick up a foundling, its status is automatically freeborn.’

  I gave a cynical laugh. ‘That’s what the lawyers say. Didn’t they also tell you and your father that enslavement for debt had been abolished? You really should ask the brothel keepers where they get their stock.’

  If Martin wanted a boy slave, he had one here for the taking. But he still wasn’t interested.

  I looked hard at the child. No longer crying, it lay calm before me, eyes still squeezed shut. It was very, very small.

  ‘Your next act of goodness’, I said slowly, ‘will have rather more thought about the practicalities than this one.’

  I paused for silence. Then: ‘I will adopt the child myself. I don’t know if I’m of age yet to do that sort of thing within the law. But the Law of Persons can be flexible if approached in the proper way.’

  I bent down and scooped the child into my arms. ‘I accept this child as my own,’ I said, speaking loud. It really was like watching someone else. ‘I name him’ – I thought quickly – ‘I name him Maximin after the dear man who saved my own life as an act of charity.’

  Yes – that was right. I thought back two years to that time in Kent, when Maximin had walked all day through the rain to snatch me back from King Ethelbert. But for him, I’d be dead by now. And that was if I were lucky.

  It was right that I should rescue someone equally helpless, and that I should call him Maximin.

  I brought the child’s head up to my lips. After so much cold scrubbing downstairs, I was more than usually sensitive to the sudden warmth. A strange lump came into my throat as I breathed in the babyish smell. I wanted to add some formal-sounding declaration of paternity. But I found I couldn’t speak.

  I put the bundle down again and walked quickly from the room. As I went back down the corridor to my own bedroom, I could hear Martin and Authari fussing over my Maximin. He would need a room on the upper floor now, Authari said. Martin replied in a dreamy voice that was part relief and part something else.

  Had I lost face? I asked myself as I undressed for what remained of the night. Had I shown weakness? Perhaps I had. But I didn’t feel that it mattered.

  I was woken by the sound of banging outside my window. The sun was still low in the sky, and there were long shadows that kept the gardens overcast.

  Standing on the balcony, I looked along the line of windows towards the dome. There was a long ladder going all the way up to where the ledge above the windows joined the dome. Slaves were hard at work, fixing an elaborate contraption of spiked railings.

  How the thing had been put together in such a short time was beyond me. But there would be no more night wanderings around the outside of the Legation.

  One of the slaves noticed me. Holding the ladder carefully with one hand, he touched the other to his head and bowed as best he could.

  I nodded and looked away. In the enclosed garden just below the balcony, those five monks were at work again. They seemed to be under a vow of perpetual silence. When I’d spoken to the one I had seen looking up at me on the first day, he’d drawn his hood closer over his face and turned away from me. Was he watching me now, as I stood observing the slow and rather haphazard tending of the flower-beds?

  I stepped back inside. I needed to think all this through. Why had Theophanes killed Justinus of Tyre? What had been in that letter? Above all, what was the nature of this agreement between him and the Church? If it involved suppressing the African revolt, why be so frightened of the Emperor? What was that stuff about bribing the Lombards?

  And where did I fit into this scheme of things? Theophanes had confirmed I was useful, and so worth keeping alive. But for what purpose and for how long?

  My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Maximin crying in the room next but one to mine. With a jumble of recollection, I realised it hadn’t been a dream never mind what had happened in Kent nor what might in Rome: I really was a father.

  ‘God’s tits!’ I muttered. I looked round for something to drink, but found only lemon water. I threw on a dressing gown and stepped out of the room.

  Authari was folding a fresh napkin for the child. There was a bright shitty smell all around. Martin was making a proper mess with the milk and sponge. Every so often, he was getting a drop into the child’s mouth and the cries turned to an odd gurgling.

  As I entered the baby’s room, Martin stood. I motioned him to continue. One way or another, my son had to be fed.

  I looked at Maximin in the light of day. Babies by nature are never beautiful, and he was gasping and choking as if in a fit. Even so, he seemed to be shining slightly.

  I forced my eyes away. I might be his father, but I also had a position to maintain.

  ‘When you’re ready,’ I said, ‘we’ll go off to market together. I feel I ought to choose the nurse. I want one who doesn’t know any civilised language. I don’t think you need ask for my reasons.’

  ‘Indeed, sir,’ said Martin. ‘Would you allow me to buy your son a rattle?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said – ‘though he’ll not be in need of that for a while.’

  As we were leaving, a messenger arrived from the Ministry.

  ‘Do tell His Magnificence,’ I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, ‘that I expire with joy to receive his invitation. I will join him tonight for dinner at the usual place.’

  I settled on a fattish, rather plain woman who spoke Lombardic but came from somewhere more remote. Her own child, the dealer said, had ‘died’ on the journey to market. She’d be the ideal nurse.

  Ideal she was. I wanted a nurse for my son, and only that. If I wanted sex, I’d continue to send out for it. I did have certain duties to Gretel, you’ll understand.

  As I finished paying up and giving the delivery address to the dealer, I felt another nervous twinge about Gretel. She’d go off like a volcano when she heard the brief message I’d dropped earlier into the collection bin.

  The problem with women is that, unless you beat them all the time – and I’ve tended to neglect that side of my duties – they always get ideas above their station.

  But what was done couldn’t now be undone. Indeed, I’d just allowed Martin to arrange the baptism for the day after next.

  It’s surprising how much you need for a child of the higher classes, and how much it all costs. It’s all silk and linen and things of
horn and lead, and polished wooden boxes for storing it.

  I made sure to pick up another nice present for Gretel – a rope of black pearls I was assured had come from England. They might calm her down. Or they might not. Still, I told myself, I’d not have to face her until the autumn. Perhaps, I could ask the Dispensator to get us married in front of the Pope ...

  After my bath, as he dressed my hair, Authari hummed a cradle song of his people. I’d laughed several times in the bath and splashed water over the side.

  The other slaves smiled as they went about their business. Even one of the Legation officials gave me a less than usually sour look as I passed him on my way to the chair Theophanes had sent from the Ministry.

  Martin had retired to his room to pray. It was nice to know that, after yesterday’s wobbly, he was back on praying terms with God. Doubtless, I thought, he’d be asking God to overlook my numerous sins in return for one act of charity.

  Perhaps He would.

  18

  Theophanes got to his feet as one of his eunuch clerks burst into the private dining room. He’d just reached the really interesting part of his lecture on the correct application of gold leaf to the face. Now, he was all official coldness.

  Puffing slightly, the clerk dropped a message on to the table and stood back.

  Theophanes broke the seal and read in silence. There was a hard, impassive look on his face. My stomach turned to ice. Had I after all outlived my usefulness? I put my cup down and put my hands under the table to hide their tremor.

  ‘Alaric,’ he asked in a voice that hovered ambiguously between the friendly and the official, ‘are you aware of last night’s murder?’

  I shook my head. I’d seen how everyone in the slave market was passing the official news bulletin around with greater than usual interest, but had been too involved in my own affairs to get a copy for myself.

  ‘I am surprised you have heard nothing. This was perhaps the most horrid crime the City has known all year. The Court Poet to His Late Imperial Majesty Maurice was found this morning in the St Antonia Park. His neck had been broken in a struggle with some person or persons unknown. We believe this happened around the midnight hour.’