spoke to me. Gretel darted me a concerned look as she hurried by. I smiled weakly back.
Except they had been thoroughly searched, my rooms were more or less as I’d left them. It would have been painful, had I not still been so numbed, to look on those familiar things I’d left behind. There were my books and papers spread out on the table. There was the green stone Edwina had given me.
Once more, I wished and wished I could have blotted out all the previous days. Only, I couldn’t know how far back I wanted to go. Was it to the day before Maximin was murdered? Was it to the morning when I’d sat beside Lucius to question the household? Or was it to the day when Lucius had given me the chance to burn those letters? He’d known I wouldn’t burn them. If only I had, things might have turned out so very different. What had been going through Maximum’s mind to keep him from burning the things? I’d never know.
But time moves on like the pen of a rapid scribe. And not prayers nor act of human will can bring it back – nor any tears wash out a word of it. What had happened had happened. Only what might happen next was still in issue.
I sat and tore at the loaf that had been set for me, and drank the whole jug of wine that came with it. For the first time in days and days, I began to put my thoughts in order, and to plan for that mystery of what would happen next.
50
The lamps were being lit as I was ushered into the dispensator’s office. He sat at his desk with One-Eye, who was interpreting and comparing the Greek and Persian letters. Over in the corner, sitting so still I barely noticed him, was a new monkish secretary.
‘Sit down, Aelric,’ the dispensator said. His voice and face were carefully neutral.
As I sat in the chair he indicated, he returned to the forged papal letter. He read awhile. At length, he looked up. ‘I want you, Aelric, to tell me all that you know about these letters. Do not assume either knowledge or ignorance on my part. I want the whole truth as you know it.’
For the first time since I left the inn outside Ravenna, I opened my mouth and began to speak. I did as I was asked, telling the truth exactly as I’ve given it to you. I held nothing back, no matter how embarrassing to me or criminal it might have been.
I spoke for a long time. The dispensator interrupted me only twice, and that was to silence me when a slave came in a couple of times to adjust the lamps. The secretary in the corner took a full shorthand note of the narrative.
I finished. The dispensator looked at me. One-Eye brushed his sleeve gently, drawing his attention to some words in what I took to be his own written report. The dispensator read and nodded some agreement. He looked over at me and spoke.
‘We had known for some time that Basilius was up to something. Our problem was that we didn’t know what. We had a spy among his household slaves. That allowed us to know that he was in communication with the exarch. And we knew that he had been involved in the murders of Father Maximin and of Brother Ambrose. But our spy was not privy to the secrets that Basilius shared with an inner ring of slaves. We were not even aware until very late that he had recruited Martin to the conspiracy.
‘We knew that he had arranged something outside Populonium. We knew that you and Father Maximin had accidentally wrecked that part of his plan. But we had no idea of what had been arranged.
‘Simon -’ he indicated to One-Eye, whose name I mention but think it rather late to start using – ‘did speak briefly with two renegades from those English mercenaries stationed outside Populonium, but was unable to gather from them as much information as you seem to have managed. By the time he was able to piece together from other sources that there was to be some kind of exchange by the shrine of Saint Antony, you and Father Maximin had been there first.
‘Simon followed you to Rome. He arranged for both of you to be closely followed.’
So it was indeed One-Eye who’d been following us! I asked about the botched attack on me that Lucius had arranged. It was One-Eye again who’d intervened to save me just when I really needed help. I nodded an acknowledgement of his help without thanking him for it.
The dispensator continued: ‘It was, as you rightly gathered, towards the end of our first meeting in this office that I was given a further report from Simon. Because of some delay for which I may blame Martin, this was handed to me a day late. In it, Simon informed me that there might have been letters with the mercenaries, that these had apparently disappeared, and that you and Father Maximin were the most likely present possessors. Because of my own delay in opening that report – I blame my own excitement over the return of the relic of Saint Vexilla – I was not able to call for Father Maximin until the following morning.
‘A further lapse on our part, though I cannot blame Simon for this, is that we lost sight of Father Maximin the evening before he died. You may recall that the pair of you were invited to a gathering of some of the more decayed Roman nobility. We were aware of this invitation. When Simon saw you go out with another dressed in Father Maximin’s cloak, he did not realise until too late that you had gone out with Martin. This meant that we had no more notion than you had of what Father Maximin could have done with those letters. It never occurred to us he did not still have them on his last day.
‘You know the rest of the story. I can only add that you and Basilius were watched closely throughout your investigation. The disguise you adopted to visit the financial district was penetrated at once, though Simon was not able to keep track of your movements on your last night in Rome, when you were directed by Basilius.
‘It was my decision to leave you and Basilius to the investigation that he must so richly have enjoyed. I knew that, sooner or later, you would lead him to the letters, and that Simon and I would not be far behind.
‘It is testimony to his resourcefulness – and to yours – that we were not able to keep up with you at the critical moments, and that the interception we asked our Lombard friends to arrange on the Flaminian Way was less successful than we hoped.’
‘Your Lombard friends?’ I asked, looking closely at his face. I saw no change in its bland, official expression.
‘Yes, our Lombard friends.’ He picked up the forged papal letter and looked briefly at it again. ‘This is a most ingenious production,’ he said, dropping it lightly in my direction. ‘Martin has a fine grasp of the diplomatic style. We really should have used him for more important work than we did.
‘Of course, what would have given the letter away as a forgery is the touch about toleration of the Arian heresy. I doubt if anyone would have believed that. It would have exposed the whole letter as a forgery.
‘Even so, it would not have done for this letter to get into the wrong hands. It might have been used to our brief but considerable disadvantage. A search of our archives would reveal much that we do not yet wish to be revealed to the world. Be assured, the Church has thought much about the future of Italy and the corresponding safety of Rome and the Lateran. Not all that we have discussed has been carried into effect. Much of it cannot be carried into effect. We have never considered the toleration of heresy. But there is little else we have not considered.
‘And yes, we do hope for some eventual full accommodation with the Lombards. For the moment, we try to keep relations with their kings as open as we can. Our accommodation may involve a wider political settlement – perhaps with the Lombards, perhaps with some other force. But this is not presently an option. For the moment, we remain good and loyal subjects of His Imperial Majesty in Constantinople, whoever this may be.’
He looked again at all three letters. ‘Most ingenious. No, too ingenious. If I knew not better, I should assume that Martin had got himself access to our most secret archives.’
He picked up the letters and stood. He dropped them into a metal box on the floor of his office. He poured in hot lamp oil and dropped in a lighted taper. The room filled with smoke and the acrid smell of burning parchment. Soon, the letters were reduced to crackling ash. Before they went out, as if as an afterthought, the dispensator added the papyrus note of our meeting and One-Eye’s report.
‘These letters never existed,’ he said firmly. ‘This meeting discussed no matters pertinent to any alleged existence of these letters. The lord Basilius has unaccountably disappeared. Bearing in mind the desperate state of his finances, this will surprise no one.
‘You, Aelric, have been out of Rome on confidential business connected with the English mission. Tomorrow,
