I turned my back and looked to the bronze doors. A line of Varangians — not Sigurd, thank God — barred it, their axes raised before them. Suddenly I wondered if I had not made a terrible miscalculation.
‘Demetrios.’
Krysaphios’ call stilled me, but I kept my gaze away from him.
‘Demetrios.’
The timbre of his voice was moderated now; he seemed to have mastered his anger. Reluctantly, I turned to face him.
‘You cannot expect to shoot your bow at the
I smiled a grim smile. ‘Believe me, eunuch — if I had shot my bow
Krysaphios looked to the shards of statue on the floor by his feet. ‘That was the Emperor’s mother,’ he chided me. ‘Carved from a relic of antiquity. He will be displeased.’
‘He would be more displeased if it had been
I walked forward to Krysaphios and held the bow out for his inspection. It was an extraordinary weapon, much as the Genoese merchant had described it in the tavern, yet somehow more elegant and more lethal in form. Curved horns arced out like wings from the end of a shaft, which was carved at its butt to fit snug in a man’s shoulder. There was a channel routed down the middle to grip the short arrow, and a levered hook behind it to hold the string taut. As I had discovered with my gourds that afternoon, it was wondrously easy to learn to aim it, but a wrench on the shoulders to nock the bowstring. No wonder the assassin had only been able to loose one shot.
‘And you found this with the boy?’ Krysaphios plucked at the string, but could scarcely move it. ‘Sigurd did not tell me that.’
‘The boy had hidden it near the harbour. He told me where it was and I retrieved it.’ What he had really told me, at least at first, was that he had thrown it into the sea, but I refused to accept that he would discard so priceless a weapon. ‘He calls it an arbalest.’
‘And how did he come by it?’ Krysaphios’ tone was urgent now; he paced the tiled floor restlessly, kicking at bits of the broken statue with his toe.
‘The boy spoke only Frankish; I had his story through an interpreter. There were many things she did not understand, or could not make understood, but I think I have the bones of his story. He came here as a pilgrim some time ago; with his parents, I think, though they are dead now. After their death he survived in the slums by thieving and begging as he could. Then, a month back, a man found him and offered gold to accompany him. He was led to a meeting with a monk, who took him with four Bulgar mercenaries to a villa deep in the forest. For two weeks there the monk trained him in the use of the arbalest — as you have seen, it takes to men’s hands with miraculous ease. When they returned, he was told to climb atop a building on the Mesi and murder the Emperor as he passed. Yesterday he received a message that he should collect his payment by a certain fountain, but as he arrived he was attacked by a Bulgar and almost killed. There we found him.’
‘Why the boy? Why use him for this task when four stout mercenaries were at hand? Surely they would have been more suited to wielding this weapon?’
I had pondered the same question through the afternoon. ‘There are places a boy can go unnoticed where full-grown men would be challenged. Many children played on the roof of the carver’s house — one other making his way there would have aroused no suspicion. And after the event, he would have been easier to be rid of.’
Krysaphios seemed satisfied with my theory, though he said nothing. Instead, he raised a finger on his right hand and a slave appeared from behind a column.
‘Send word to the gaoler. Tell him to extract from the Bulgar prisoner everything he knows of the boy; also the location of this villa in the forest where he was trained. It may be that this foreign monk still has business there.’ The slave bowed low and ran off, and Krysaphios turned back to me. ‘Did the boy describe the monk?’
‘He said he had dark hair, like mine, but tonsured. His nose was crooked, as if he had once brawled, but the rest of his features were square and harsh. He said they spoke the same tongue. I did not press him more, for he was still weak from his wounds. I thought there would be time for that later.’
‘Less time than you think.’ Krysaphios folded his arms. ‘A great danger is approaching our city, Demetrios, and when it breaks over us we will need all our strength to defy it. If we do not find this monk within the fortnight, he may work a mischief that will ruin us all. The Emperor is the head atop the body of our nation, and if he is gone we are merely a carcass before carrion.’
‘What danger?’ Krysaphios had spoken almost as though the seven angels had sounded their trumpets, and the ten-horned beast was risen to engulf us. ‘Are the Normans coming again? I have not heard the armies assembled on the Hebdomon, nor seen the Emperor ride out to war. Surely if such a terrible danger was near, he would go to meet it, not invite it upon us?’
‘The nature of the threat, and how the Emperor forestalls it, are not your concern,’ said Krysaphios darkly. ‘You should address yourself to finding those who would kill him.’
‘I have.’ No eunuch was going to unsettle me with dire mutterings, and I have ever bridled at being told I am unworthy of knowing tantalising secrets. That, perhaps, is why I took up my profession. ‘I have found the boy who would have played the assassin, and the weapon he used in the attempt. By doing it so promptly, I have even saved your purse a little.’
‘My purse is deep enough. And do you really think you have succeeded, by finding a frightened boy and his barbarian plaything? What of the monk? Do you think this was a mere whim of his, and that having failed he will now trudge back to Frankia? He had money enough to buy four bodyguards, a villa and this marvellous weapon — did he collect that from alms-givers? And what would he profit from the death of the Emperor? Someone must have supplied him the money — someone who would gain much if the throne was empty. Someone who is unlikely to change his mind because his first attempt failed.’ He snorted. ‘You have not discovered anything, Demetrios: you have but picked up the first link in a long and tangled chain. Will your pride allow you to drop it so soon?’
He may have had a woman’s voice and a cripple’s body, but his mind and tongue were those of a serpent. And he knew men’s hearts: I would not give up his commission, for I saw as well as he that it was barely started. To claim success now would be to mimic the physician who removed the leper’s arm and declared him cured. But I would not concede that too easily.
‘If I am to continue, I will need certain accommodations. The Varangians must obey me when they accompany me. The boy must be left in the care of the doctor at the monastery where he currently lies: our chain may be twisted, but he is the only link we hold and it is a fragile link. And you must confide in me. .’
I broke off as a slave came running out of the shadows, the same slave whom Krysaphios had sent to the dungeon. He did not defer or hesitate, but fell to his knees immediately before the eunuch.
‘Mercy, Lord,’ he stammered, before even given leave to speak. ‘The gaoler has opened the Bulgar’s cell. He is dead.’
The Bulgar still hung by his wrists, as I had seen him the day before, but now his chin was slumped on his chest and his legs sagged under him. The front of his tunic was washed through with blood, almost as far down as his waist, and when I tipped back his head I saw why. Someone had taken a blade to his throat and opened his neck across almost its entire width. No air bubbled from the hanging flaps of skin, and my hand came away dry.
‘The blood is hard,’ I said. ‘This was done some hours ago, maybe even last night. Has no-one been in here since then?’
‘He was to go without food all day. To spur his appetite for answering questions.’ Not even this horror could take the sting completely from Krysaphios’ voice.
‘No-one entered after your lordship left him,’ said the gaoler. And the Varangians guarded him all night.
I turned to Krysaphios. ‘It seems you were the last one to see him alive, then. After Sigurd and I had left for the monastery.’
‘Not the last, Demetrios.’ The eunuch’s eyes were cold. ‘Surely a man of your powers can see that unless he was a most accomplished acrobat, the Bulgar did not do this to himself. And the weapon which did this is gone. Whatever you say to the contrary, gaoler, someone has been in here.’
‘Someone who wanted to ensure that the Bulgar could betray no more secrets,’ I agreed. ‘And someone who
