I raised a hand to silence him. ‘Look again, dear Priscus,’ I said. This latest drug was one of his happier discoveries. It abolished tiredness and had left me with a clear and even moderately serene mind. Priscus could see nothing, so I took the slat away from him and carried it across to the window and squinted at what I’d been able to reveal of the underlying script. You can ask why I hadn’t thought of this earlier. The scraped underside of the box must have shown something, had I only turned my attention away from what it contained. Knowing what really mattered would have simplified everything. Too late for that, however. I thought of the bleak sentence in Thucydides: ‘When error is irreparable, repentance is useless.’
Unmoving in his chair, Priscus looked down at the floor. I stood over him. ‘The names of towns and places are given in a substitution cipher,’ I took up again. ‘I’m sure you can break it in your head. The coordinates are given in plain text, and refer to a map that may be indicated, though not drawn, on another part of the box. The numbers after that ought to be clear to someone of your experience.’ I stopped and pointed at random. ‘So what do you suppose this means: “Hilltop fort”; such and such coordinates; “two hundred and thirty”? Or look at this: “Cordyle” – a city, you may be aware, on the far south-eastern coast of the Black Sea – no coordinates needed or given; “three hundred”. Could the whole box possibly contain a listing of the location and numbers of every military unit engaged in defending the Home Provinces from invasion? Don’t ask me why Heraclius chose to have his cup surrounded by a listing that every officer in the Persian army would give his right hand to see. But he did. And ten sides of that listing are currently on a Persian ship sailing east. I don’t doubt the cup itself means something to our Lord and Master – I might guess it was meant to give protection to the named forces he wanted to enclose it. The cup may have some meaning to Chosroes. But do you really think a man like Shahin would risk himself in our home waters – and inside the City – for a lump of silver?
‘If it was you whispering in Theodore’s ear, how does it feel to be the man who may have done for Shahrbaraz what Ariadne’s ball of string did for Theseus? With that listing in their hands, they can pick off every defensive position in the Home Provinces. Or they can bypass them and, within three months, be looking across the straits at the City walls. You don’t need me to tell you how fast an offensive army can move – or how slowly defence plans can be changed and communicated in an orderly fashion. Would you say, Priscus, we were very fucked, or only fucked? Are you still proud of yourself, O former Commander of the East?’
There was a knock on the door. I stepped away from Priscus so he could hurry behind his usual screen. It was Samo – drunker than usual and more glowering – together with the Deputy Head of the Intelligence Bureau and one of his junior subordinates. The Deputy Head gave me a perfunctory bow, before sliming his way towards the chair that Priscus had just vacated. He was a large man and plainly looking forward to a rest after the long climb to my office. I continued standing.
I picked up a sheet of papyrus and spent long enough reading it for the man to begin fidgeting. The subordinate stared impassively at a painting of Demosthenes. I decided on the tone to adopt and put the sheet face down on my desk. ‘In the past few days,’ I began coldly to the Deputy Head, ‘three facts have come to my attention. The first is a conspiracy, led by the City Prefect and involving several dozen members of the Senate, against Our Lord the Emperor. The second is the unopposed presence within the City of the admiral appointed by the Great King to defend the coastal regions of his Syrian conquests. The third is your own total inaction in the face of these connected threats to the security of the Empire. A fourth, and possibly more serious, fact is your apparent failure to maintain our espionage links in Ctesiphon and the alienated provinces. Have you anything to say in your own defence?’
What he made was a piss-poor defence. Leave aside the misprision of treason charge he deserved – anyone in his office with an ounce of competence would already have known that Nicetas was in the clear. I’d stood over him all through lunch, dictating the terms of our continuing deal. Blaming him was as useless as blaming one of the victory columns. A better defence would have involved full disclosure of what information the Bureau had gathered. It could have at least supplemented my own sources.
I put up a hand for silence. ‘You are convicted out of your own mouth,’ I said with calm menace. ‘I could order your execution on the spot as an accessory to treason. Instead, I find you guilty only of gross negligence. I dismiss you from your position and cancel your pension. I exile you to Ragusa on the Adriatic coast. There, if the barbarians do not take the city and kill or enslave you, I appoint you to the lowest grade in the tax inspectorate. You may rejoice in your continued possession of life and in the employment of your talents in a position to which they may be better suited.’
And that was the end of a man who’d been getting on my tits for two years. I glared him into silence and turned to his subordinate. ‘You, John of Salerno,’ I said in his native Latin, ‘are now Deputy Head of the Intelligence Bureau.’ To add to the drama and the show of absolute power, I picked up his sealed notice of appointment and handed it to him. ‘I have been made aware of your abilities and your zeal, and have no doubt you will justify your unprecedented advancement through five grades.’ His answer was to fall to his knees and kiss my ring. An Italian among Greeks, a closet devotee of the Old Faith, promoted wildly out of turn, and by another outsider whose fall would put an end to his own career – yes, I could reasonably trust John of Salerno to remember who’d put the olive paste on his bread. I’d missed those daily reports from the Bureau. I’d now made sure not to be without them again.
I turned back to the disgraced Deputy Head. ‘Don’t blubber about the Emperor,’ I said with chilly contempt. ‘For all practical purposes, I currently am the Emperor. There is no appeal from what I have decided. Be grateful I’ve booked you a place on the dispatch galley to Syracuse that leaves tomorrow morning. If you aren’t on it, your replacement will take such action as he may think appropriate.’
There was nothing else to be said. I waved both men out of my presence and walked over to the window. I looked down to the Triumphal Way. Now the last daylight had faded, it was again a sea of torches – this time, though, the torches of those whose job it was to scrub and sweep for as long as it took to remove all trace of the recent disorders. As promised, the bodies were all laid out for identification and collection in the Prefecture. With named exceptions, my amnesty was in place and no further enquiries would be made of what the dead had been doing outside my palace. I was no Creon by nature. My policy was to avoid any chance of a modern Antigone. Heraclius would come home to a City cleaned up and at peace.
I closed the office door and went back to my desk. ‘If you don’t mind an old man’s judgement,’ Priscus called uncertainly from behind his screen, ‘that was a masterful stroke. You’ve put yourself straight back on top of the pecking order.’ I said nothing. He shuffled over to his chair and poured himself a cup of wine. ‘It wasn’t just the fucking, was it?’ he asked with a sudden firming of tone. ‘Nor was it the chance of getting into the Imperial Family. Does the girl really mean something to you?’
I looked at Demosthenes and waited for the pain that had broken through the drugs and the wall of self-control to crawl away again. It was for dark little Greeks, swarming in streets built by their ancestors, to wail and rend their garments when faced with disorders of the spirit. For Alaric of Britain – no, for Aelric of England – it should always be a stiff upper lip. ‘She is to be my wife,’ I said once I was sure my voice wouldn’t tremble.
Priscus drank his wine. ‘You have set a trail on Shahin?’ he asked quietly.
I shook my head. ‘Everything that could keep up with his ship is with the rest of the fleet in Cyzicus.’ I reached for another heap of documents and pulled out a listing of the forces available. ‘Heraclius has left the City undefended by sea. We
haven’t even enough city guards to spare for sending a dozen fast riders to alert the coastal cities.’
‘She is a member of the Imperial Family,’ Priscus reminded me. ‘It’s an ancient rule between us and the Persians that members of each ruling family are treated well. Who was that Emperor who was captured by the Persians three hundred and odd years ago? I’m told he was treated very well.’
‘It was Valerian,’ I answered automatically. ‘According to one account I read, King Shapur had molten gold poured down his throat. Another account I read in Ctesiphon says he was flayed alive, and his skin was stuffed with straw and set up as an ornament in the Great King’s bedroom.’
There was a long silence. One of the lamps was running low on oil and I watched the shadow of my own wine cup flicker against the wall. Priscus gave a long sigh. ‘The box is important,’ he said. ‘But we’re talking about contingency on contingency here. The Persians have always been crap when it comes to gathering intelligence. You may be assuming too much about Shahin’s knowledge. Otherwise, you have to assume the Persian General Staff will believe the box isn’t a clever trap. Beyond that, Chosroes will need to be persuaded to call off his planned invasion of Egypt – and that his armies can march through the Home Provinces, and that they can get across the straits, and that an absolutely impregnable city, just purged of treason, will then tamely open its gates. Before any of that, you’ve just got yourself into a position where you control everything that Heraclius hears. The box and its cup disappeared ten days ago from those who, for whatever reason, had it in their possession. That’s all he needs to be told.
‘Must you let a silly thing like love mess everything up?’
I didn’t answer. Instead, I stood up and walked to the linen map of the Empire still spread out on the office floor. I pointed at the Black Sea coast. ‘Shahin is cautious,’ I said. ‘He won’t put in anywhere west of Trebizond. But his ship has a draught shallow enough to put in almost anywhere. He doesn’t need an actual port. The other question is which route will he take towards the zone of Persian conquest?’
Priscus was staring up at the gilded plaster on the ceiling. ‘You’ll never catch up with him,’ he said flatly. ‘Even starting tomorrow – and even knowing his route – you’ll be days behind him. You’ll be days behind him by ship, that is, if he’s going no further than Trebizond. As for that whole region, once you’re out of the coastal plain – why, you’ll be lost in no time. You’ll find no reliable guides even in Trebizond, I can tell you. Unless you can come up with your own version of Ariadne’s ball of string, you might as well give up on any thought of going after Shahin.’ He looked steadily at me. ‘My advice is to stay here. Make yourself absolutely irreplaceable to Heraclius, and wait on events. I do assure you, the Persians won’t kill the girl. She’s far too valuable.’
There was another knock on the door. Priscus had no time to get himself out of sight again. But it was Samo alone this time. He dropped a folded and sealed sheet of parchment in my hand, before reeling back through the door.
I broke the seal and read. ‘Sergius arrived in the City just before dark,’ I said. ‘He begs me to attend on him and tell him what to do.’ My regency was officially over. I’d have to skip another night’s rest if I wanted to lay down the right course of action to His Holiness the Patriarch. But every important decision I’d taken already. Sergius would change nothing.
I went over to the door and opened it. ‘You may never have thought you’d hear this from me, Priscus, ‘but I have urgent need of skills in which no man living may be your equal.’
Chapter 51
His nerve mostly recovered, Eunapius tried to smile at me across the table. ‘I’m not talking to you, Alaric,’ he said. ‘Whatever I have to say is for the Emperor alone. Are you going to kill me? Are you going to put me on a rack? I hardly think so. You’re simply not the sort for that.’
I’d taken yet another dose of stimulant. I ignored the shadows that always darted about the cellar just out of my sight, and stared at Leander. Looking scared and miserable, his face was turned down at a sheet of papyrus on which he’d so far written a date and time and our three names. I shut my eyes and rubbed the marks of strain from my face. I sat up and reached into a satchel for another sheet of papyrus, this one covered in untidy handwriting that continued beneath the seal.
‘Eunapius,’ I began again, ‘I have in my hand a sworn denunciation from Nicetas. This and much else prove your treason beyond reasonable doubt. Heraclius will not question the written testimony of his own cousin. The longer you refuse me information that is urgently needed for the safety of the Empire, the greater will be your eventual punishment. Now, let me repeat myself – where is Shahin going with the Horn of Babylon? Where will his ship put in? And where has he agreed to meet his army of escort?’
Eunapius hawked and spat. His gob missed me and landed on one of Leander’s sleeves. ‘Piss off, you puffed up ball of barbarian shit!’ he laughed. ‘Everyone knows you’re holding me and I claim the rights of my class. The moment Sergius sets foot in the City, your regency lapses. I demand safe delivery to the Patriarch and then my right of audience with the Emperor. Once he’s heard what I have to tell him, your day will be over for good.’
I leaned forward across the table. ‘I’ve given you every chance to answer my questions,’ I said. ‘I’ve even offered you a conditional immunity from prosecution. What I will give you now is your last chance. Will you answer my questions?’
‘Piss off?!’ he said again. He looked in my face and his nerve began to drain away. ‘I don’t know where they’ve gone,’ he whined. ‘Shahin never told me anything. You need to question Nicetas.’ He pointed at Leander. ‘Why don’t you ask him? He knows more than I do.’
I sighed and stood up. This was going in circles. Given time, I could have broken through both outright defiance and claims of ignorance. But there was no time. ‘Then you give me no choice, Eunapius,’ I said in sorrowful tone. I went over to an iron door. ‘Will you relent?’ No answer. I rapped gently against the door. I watched it grate slowly inwards and turned to see its effect on Eunapius.
He looked, blinked, and opened his mouth to scream. He tried to get up but was pushed back into his chair by Samo. ‘You’re dead!’ he sobbed. He put his hands up to cover his eyes. ‘Everyone knows you’re dead!’
Lamp in hand, dressed in his favourite black, Priscus stepped out and flashed me a happy smile. ‘In a manner of speaking, I am dead,’ he answered. ‘Be assured, though, I’ve never felt better.’ He looked at Samo and spoke Latin. ‘Bring him through,’ he said. ‘Keep tight hold of his shoulders. People often try to bash their heads in at times like this and we can’t have that – can we, now?’ He chuckled and held the lamp against a face that he’d painted all over with white lead.
The stairs led to a room below what I’d always taken to be the lowest level of cellars in my palace. For this reason, it was still as filthy as everything else had been when I took over from Priscus. For this reason also, it was still fitted out with the instruments of his favourite recreation.
‘Don’t worry that pretty young head of yours, Alaric,’ he said in Latin. ‘Torture is hardly ever for its own sake. I don’t think we’ll need any physical nastiness here.’ He went back into Greek and waved at Leander. ‘Hold the lamp closer to the traitor’s face,’ he cried grimly. ‘Let everyone see the infamy stamped upon it.’
Priscus sat in a chair padded with cushions the damp had long since rotted. He took a long sip of wine. ‘Eunapius,’ he asked in his friendly voice, ‘do you remember that time when Phocas the Tyrant was Emperor and I marched into your father’s house with a dozen of my Black Officers?’ Eunapius sagged forward, but was held tight in Samo’s massive arms. Priscus smiled and took another long sip. He tapped his forehead and smiled. ‘But how could you forget that day?’ he asked. ‘It was you who denounced your father for not cleaning a graffito promptly enough from the outer wall of his palace. It was all very embarrassing. I
was drugged out of my head and arrived under the impression that your brother was the man I wanted. Anyway, do you remember what I did to young Stephen once I had him tied down naked on his bed? Do you remember how he squealed like a dying pig and how your mother fell dead from the horror of what I did? You should do. After all, you got back five-sevenths of the estate when Phocas confiscated it, and didn’t have to share it with an inconveniently elder brother.
‘Now, would you like me to do to you what I did to poor Stephen? Or shall we be civilised men of the world? Look at that nice clean sheet of papyrus our poet has brought down with him. One way or another, we all know, it will soon be covered with every answer that young Alaric wants. Shall I pour you a cup of this lovely red wine? It might help the distressing hoarseness that I shan’t blame your voice for having acquired?’
Eunapius let out a loud fart before shitting himself. The cold air took on a smell of inward bodily decay. ‘Don’t let him touch me, Alaric!’ he shouted. He twisted to get free of Samo and managed half a step in my direction. ‘I’ll tell you everything.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ Priscus cried. At his little desk, Leander controlled his hands sufficiently to lift a pen.
Eunapius ran his tongue over dry lips. ‘Before I say anything, though,’ be babbled, ‘I want Alaric to swear that I’ll walk out of here alive and that I shan’t be harmed in any way. I’ll tell you where Shahin’s taken the girl. I’ll tell you what he’s planning with the magic cup. But I want Alaric’s spoken promise in front of you all.’
Priscus frowned and got slowly up from his chair. He went across to a filthy curtain and pulled it down to show an old cartwheel fixed to the wall. He nodded to Samo, who dragged Eunapius round to see it. ‘Silly young Alaric is no longer in charge of this interrogation,’ he said in a voice I well recalled from his days of glory. ‘You had your chance. We’re now following my rules.’
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