Terror of Constantinople

by Richard Blake

  Perhaps there had been two killers with one mission? But that brought me back to the question of how murder could be committed in a sealed room.

  No – I needed facts. Without those, speculation was worthless and even a barrier to the truth.

  I’d slipped into the Permanent Legate’s office on getting back from the Imperial Palace. While Martin was trying to compose himself, I’d gone through all the drawers and cupboards in the room. I’d also got the main filing room opened and had given myself a brief tour of the Permanent Legate’s files. There were gaps all over the filing racks that I’d need Martin to help explain.

  I needed facts. I needed facts and more facts. My experience of investigations so far had given me some grasp of basic principles. You dig and dig without preconceptions, and see what turns up. Until then, you avoid hypotheses. When you are able to form one, you test it against whatever new facts emerge.

  That approach had always worked for me in the past. If this case looked insoluble, it was only because I hadn’t got far enough with gathering the relevant facts.

  A hangover adding to his other exertions, Authari had himself been wilting when, after the filing tour, I’d dropped in on the Permanent Legate’s room for another look at the body. But I’d told him to stay put. Now I was in charge of the investigation, it was necessary to keep my own watch on things. If this meant Authari had to fight sleep in the presence of a butchered corpse, that was tough on him. But I needed Martin for other things, and there was no one else I could implicitly trust.

  The body had looked horrid. Even half a day hadn’t been kind to the thing. The face was now as ghastly as an ancient theatrical mask I’d found on sale in a relic shop in Rome. The body had stiffened further, its right arm raised in a sort of greeting. Black patches were spreading over the legs.

  I’d ordered a medical inspection. I doubted if this would reveal more than I’d been able to gather from my own inspection, but it was worth doing just in case. Doctors are occasionally good for something.

  In any event, time was against us. Alypius had turned up when I was with Authari, carrying orders from Theophanes for the body to be removed for a service that night in the Great Church.

  This was, you’ll agree, an irregular proceeding. A funeral on the same day as a death – and coinciding with Sunday evening service? You’d not have got away with half of it in Rome.

  But Constantinople wasn’t Rome. The Church here did as it was told.

  I put my cup down, and settled back for a nap. In spite of the berries, I was out in perhaps five beats of the heart. It was like snuffing a lamp last thing at night.

  Without knocking, Martin rattled the door open. I jerked myself awake. It was early afternoon so far as I could tell from the now overcast sky outside the window. Those cuts on my back were now hurting so much, even Antony might have sympathised.

  ‘His Most Serene and Imperial Excellency, the Caesar Priscus, begs the honour of an audience,’ he called in a voice that might have been satirical had he possessed any sense of humour.

  As he finished, Priscus walked in past him. Dressed now in black, he made every show of beginning a prostration.

  ‘I don’t think, My Lord Priscus,’ I said, standing and patting my clothes into a semblance of order, ‘we need bother with such formalities in private.’

  ‘But, Your Most Sacred Excellency,’ he crooned, rising from his knees, ‘I’ve always wanted to meet the Pope. And you are now, in the legal sense, his very projection from Rome.’

  With a flash of his riddled teeth that I took as an attempt at charm, he sat in Martin’s place and reached for the wine.

  ‘So, my brave and golden – and now Most Holy – Alaric,’ he said with a flourish of cup and jug, ‘it seems my wish is to be granted. Did I hear a child crying as I came in?’ he asked with a change of subject.

  ‘I have no doubt’, said I, ‘you’ve heard many children cry on your entry.’

  Perhaps it didn’t do to treat the man with the contempt he deserved. But unless he happened to be standing over you in one of his dungeons, it was a hard reaction to avoid. And I was for the moment at least his equal in status.

  Priscus looked into the various compartments of his pouch. He took out a spoonful of green powder and dropped it into his cup.

  ‘This has a far more soothing effect than wine,’ he assured me as I waved him away from my cup.

  There was a long moment of silence.

  ‘Now,’ he said finally with a drugged brightness, ‘I’ve had the main facts from my Divine and Ever-Sagacious Father-in-Law. It all sounds utterly intriguing.

  ‘I know it’s Sunday, but would you mind awfully if I had the whole household taken in for questioning? I promise not to have any of them on the rack until tomorrow morning.’

  ‘My Lord Priscus,’ I said, looking coldly at him, ‘I am in charge of this investigation. It will proceed by my rules, not those of the Black Agents. There will be no use of torture until we have a definite suspect.’

  Priscus smiled and poured himself more wine. ‘Oh, come now, Alaric – none of this softie philosophising,’ he said with a dismissive wave at my bookshelves. ‘If you’d been in charge of things, Justinus would still be running about to spread his poison. The surest road to truth runs through the rack.’

  I thought of a jeering question about how many other people he’d arrested in place of Justinus, before tracking the man down to a public table in one of the city’s most expensive restaurants.

  But it didn’t do to push things too far. I went back to the business in hand.

  ‘We proceed by my rules,’ I said, ‘or you can explain yourself to His Majesty when I back out of the investigation. What you do with the criminal when I’ve produced him is for you to decide. Investigation is my business.’

  As I rose to my feet, a sound of distant cheering drifted through the window.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked with involuntary interest.

  ‘That’, said Priscus, ‘will be my Divine and Ever-Victorious Father-in-Law declaring an amnesty for all offences but treason. He really needs the crowd on his side, now that Heraclius is moving over in person to handle the siege.’

  Fat lot of difference that would make, I grunted to myself. During my entire stay in the City, I’d not seen a single offence – from murder all the way down to cutting purses – that hadn’t been twisted into some variety of treason.

  Still, Phocas seemed to have pleased the crowd again.

  I frowned and returned to the original subject. ‘I think, My Lord, you can be spared for the important work of defending the City. I am myself under some pressure of time – I must ready myself for the funeral service in the Great Church. The investigation will move faster if I am able by myself to interview the key witnesses between now and this evening.’

  ‘Then, my darling Alaric, we shall begin tomorrow morning.’

  No, I thought to myself. Not only did I want to interview every actual and potential witness without Priscus beside me to put them off. I also needed to do it now. The longer matters were left unresolved, the more people would start forgetting important facts. Continual repetition to others would blur and distort recollections that even now were still reliable.

  Before I could think of some emollient lie to send Priscus on his way, the door opened again. It was Martin.

  ‘Aelric,’ he said, ignoring Priscus and the need to use my public name, ‘you’d better come quickly.’

  His voice shook. I saw tears glistening on his deathly pale face.

  ‘It’s Authari,’ he said.

  42

  In his last convulsion, Authari had pitched forward out of his seat. When I arrived in the Permanent Legate’s bedroom, he lay face down in the pool of now congealed blood.

  Martin had found him after he’d finished gathering all the papers he could lay hands on into one of our document crates, ready for inspection in my own office. He’d gone into the room to see if Authari wanted something to eat.
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br />   At first he’d supposed that Authari had got himself some wine and drunk himself into a heap. Now, weeping softly, he stood back while Priscus and I inspected the body.

  ‘My darling boy,’ Priscus drawled, ‘would it alter me in your estimation if I observed that this doesn’t look at all like the Permanent Legate?’

  Yes – where was the other body? Nothing else in the room had been disturbed. The window shutters still lay open as I’d left them. There, now in sunlight, was the blood patch still on the floor. But where the Permanent Legate’s body had lain was now only an expanse of less bloody floorboards.

  Two sets of footprints led away to a rug on which bloody footwear had evidently been cleaned before the body was taken off to God knew where.

  Now, in place of that corpse, lay Authari.

  I swallowed and made no reply.

  Priscus took up the wooden cup that had lain in a corner of the room. He ran a finger round the moist inside of the cup and licked his finger. He spat vigorously and rinsed his mouth from a wine flask he carried in his robe.

  ‘It’s one of the metallic poisons,’ he said, rinsing his finger. ‘This isn’t the low-grade muck women buy in the shops to use on their husbands. You need a licence to buy it, and use is confined to the Imperial Service.

  ‘I’ve used it myself many times,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘When I was operating against the Persians in Mesopotamia, I once had a pair of gloves steeped in the stuff, and presented them to a barbarian ally I thought was dealing both ways. Everyone believed he died of a heart attack while wiping his arse.’

  Priscus gave me a complacent smirk, then looked down at the twisted, blackened face as I rolled the body over.

  ‘Taken as a liquid, and in that concentration,’ he added, ‘I’d say your man was dead before the first mouthful reached his stomach. The tongue would have swollen like that just after death.’

  He turned to the blood patch on the floor.

  ‘I imagine he was killed so the body could be removed,’ he said. ‘My normal preference is for something a little slower. But I can see this was an emergency.’

  ‘That seems to follow,’ Martin broke in, still agitated. Ignoring Priscus, he looked at me. ‘My suspicion is that the Permanent Legate’s killer was hiding somewhere in this room. Just because we didn’t find the hiding place on first inspection doesn’t mean there isn’t one.’

  Priscus gave Martin an unpleasant look, then turned back to an inspection of the body.

  ‘Whoever poisoned Authari must have had his trust,’ I said. ‘That wouldn’t be someone who’d just crawled out of a wall space. More likely, someone he knew came in, put him out of the way, then rescued the hidden killer and helped him lift the body.’

  It made sense that a hidden killer would need Authari out of the way. But why bother taking the Permanent Legate’s body? It wouldn’t have been an easy thing to carry. And where had it gone? The Legation was sealed.

  Perhaps there was something about the body I hadn’t noticed, but that the medical inspection I’d ordered might reveal. But this was more speculation.

  ‘My Lord Priscus,’ I said, turning back to the matter in hand, ‘if, back in my office, I gave any impression of not welcoming your involvement in this case, I apologise.’

  I steeled myself, and followed with the inevitable: ‘Can I call on you for immediate assistance?’

  Priscus smiled. He knew that everything had changed. Finding the Permanent Legate’s killer was a duty that I had to discharge sooner or later. Now I also had Authari to avenge. Unlike Martin, I wouldn’t give way to emotion in front of Priscus. I forced myself to remain calm. But I could feel the grief and the outrage clawing away deep inside me. It was dulled only by the immense weariness that was beginning to sweep over me in waves.

  Authari was dead. He’d taken hold of that cup with perfect trust. He’d drained it in front of some smiling face, blessing the man who’d thought to bring him refreshments.

  I’d catch whoever had done this. I’d have him in those dungeons under the Ministry, and I’d gladly turn the rack while Priscus played with his branding irons and hooked gloves.

  ‘Of course you have my fullest co-operation,’ Priscus said in his most slimy drawl. ‘Whatever you want is yours. Just say the word. Only one thing I’d ask in return.’ He paused and took a swig from his flask. ‘I’d be most terribly grateful if you could drop the “My Lord”. All my friends call me Priscus.’

  ‘Thank you, Priscus,’ I said. They were difficult words to force out. But I had no choice. I’d have said more, but he was over by the door. He clapped his hands smartly. One of the Black Agents appeared immediately. He must have followed us over, though I hadn’t noticed.

  ‘Alaric,’ said Priscus, ‘do say what you want.’

  The Black Agent produced a book of waxed tablets and a stylus.

  ‘I want this room taken apart,’ I said. ‘I want the boards taken up. I want the plaster off the walls. I want the ceiling pulled down. I want this room broken up atom by atom. If there is any hiding place here, I want it found.’

  I bent and carefully lifted the wine cup from where Priscus had left it.

  ‘I want this matched with any other set in the Legation. The building is still sealed. No one can get in or out. Whoever poisoned Authari was known to him. If we can find where the cup came from, we may be closer to discovering who filled it with poisoned wine.

  ‘And I want the entire Legation household lined up outside my office for questioning. That includes secretaries, officials, slaves – and those monks who look after the gardens.’

  The Black Agent scratched laboriously away with his stylus. I could see he was operating at the limits of his ability. I only hoped that he and his people were up to following my instructions.

  Priscus looked at him and then back to me. ‘It will all be as you wish,’ he said quietly.

  ‘There is more,’ I added. ‘The Permanent Legate’s body can’t have gone far. With your people blocking the entrance, I can’t see how it’s left the Legation. I want a room-by-room search of the entire building – excepting only my suite, where I will arrange a search of my own. I want that body or any remains of it.’

  ‘Martin,’ I said softly, patting his shoulder, ‘please have Authari taken back to our quarters. Have him washed and dressed for burial the day after tomorrow. Can you book the church where I freed him the other day?’

  Martin got up and silently left the room. For all that it had once seemed unlikely, his friendship with Authari had become an established fact. Now, just a few days into his new and better life as a freedman, Authari lay dead. Martin was disconsolate.

  Another of the Black Agents entered the room. He handed a message to Priscus.

  ‘Just as I expected!’ he snarled. ‘Those fuckers in the Blue Faction have taken offence at the defensive role I gave the Greens. They say it’s less exposed than theirs and more glorious. I’m needed urgently to stop a battle from starting in the streets.’

  With a dramatic swirl of his cloak, he was off.

  ‘You will find the killer,’ Martin said later when we were alone. ‘You always get to the truth. You never fail.’

  He spoke like a child looking up at his father, expecting all to be put right with a few words.

  ‘Whatever can be done’, I said gently, ‘will be done. The world may be coming apart around us. But I’ll have the killer if it means arresting Phocas himself.’

  It sounded a brave promise. In truth, though, I did have an idea. It had been forming for a while without my active participation. It would continue forming until I could see its proper shape. It might not be a complete answer. In the nature of things, it would probably lead to further mystery. But I was no longer so utterly baffled as when I’d first drawn those window bolts to let in the morning light.

  I sank into a chair and looked over at Martin. The afternoon light streamed in from the garden outside my office. I sipped indifferently at the fruit squash he’d arranged
in place of the wine I’d ordered.

  Martin needed a shave, I could see. There were ginger bristles all over his face. They, plus the haggard eyes, made him look like a much older man. Bad posture didn’t help. I never had persuaded him to join me in regular exercise. Now, all the compulsive gorging on honeyed things was beginning to tell. If he ever got out of here alive, Sveta would have something else to nag him about.

  I reached up to feel my own face. No need of a razor for those boyish cheeks, I decided. I rather thought my eyebrows might need plucking though, until I could replace Authari, I’d probably have to live with them as they were.

  I checked myself. Authari was dead. If my eyebrows were growing out, that was of no present consequence.

  ‘Before we have everyone in for interview,’ I said, ‘do please send a message to Theophanes. Ask him to get me written instructions on what I’m supposed to do at this evening’s service. Am I expected to officiate in some way? Or do I just watch the proceedings?

  ‘And do arrange a search party for Demetrius. He was the last person to see the Permanent Legate alive. He’ll be skulking somewhere in the building. If not, I’ll have to get Priscus to make enquiries.’

  More like his old self at the resumption of work, Martin pointed at one of our document crates.

  ‘These are all the papers I could find in the Permanent Legate’s office,’ he said. ‘I haven’t been able to go through them in detail. But you are right that they’ve been carefully sifted.’

  Martin swallowed. ‘There are, even so, many writings of a licentious nature. You may wish to commit them to the flames once we’ve checked for secret writing.’

  I tried to think of a cynical comment. Instead, I found myself wondering if I should have taken advantage of the drug Priscus had offered me. I was aching for my bed, and those berries Theophanes had given me were losing their effect.