Faith of our Lord Jesus Christ. He rejoices in the friendship of the Church mission to his realm, and is untinged by the faintest trace of heresy.’
And untinged, I thought to myself, by the faintest tinge of anything else beyond a taste for other men’s wives and generally for getting his own way. My strongest memory was of a drunken savage, leering up at me with a gelding knife in hand. It was only because dear old Maximin had turned up at the last moment that I had been packed off to Rome.
Doubtless, he found Bishop Lawrence and the other missionaries useful when it came to lording it over the other kings. Without that – and without Queen Berthe to nag him into church come Sunday – he’d have had the whole mission stuffed into the first ships out of Richborough.
But I continued with the sanitised version of the man’s doings in Kent. Theophanes prodded me along with short supplementals that showed a far greater knowledge than he was willing to admit.
‘Of course,’ he said at length, ‘we have never officially accepted the loss of the Western Provinces. With the extinction of the Imperial line in the West, sovereignty devolved in full upon our own Emperor in Constantinople. Whenever possible – as, most importantly, in the time of the Great Justinian – we have been eager to restore Imperial rule in the West. Our recent embarrassments in Italy do not affect the solidity of the restored Empire in Africa. You will find this rebellion by the African Exarch a trifling matter set against what has been achieved there.
‘We have plans to extend our rule from southern Spain. That the barbarian King who rules much of that Province has converted out of heresy will not prolong his sway over the many multitudes of the orthodox who sigh for their rightful allegiance.’
‘So you’re thinking of a reconquest of Britain?’ I asked, trying to keep the derision from my voice. I’d have thought the Slavs running wild below the Danube, and the Persians marching in from the east, would have been more important items on the Imperial agenda.
‘I am not sure if the present correlation of forces would permit a reconquest,’ Theophanes said smoothly.
Too right there! I thought. My people took by the sword, and will hold by the sword. Given a choice between Ethelbert and a swarm of Greekling tax gatherers, even I’d go back and fight.
But Theophanes continued. It was as if he’d read my thoughts.
‘A military intervention so far into the West would not be convenient at present,’ he said. ‘But it is most edifying to learn about the progress of civilisation in regions we had almost given up for lost. Do tell me, though,’ he asked lightly, ‘would it be fair to say that your King Ethelbert was a friend more of His Holiness in Rome than of the Lord Exarch in Ravenna?’
‘If Ethelbert has even heard of Smaragdus, I’ll be surprised,’ I said emphatically. ‘Given the present chaos among the Franks, and the state of the roads passing through their territories, a journey from Rome to Canterbury is at least three months. Missionaries can do it easily enough. To put the sort of pressure on Ethelbert you can put on the Goths in Spain would take another Julius Caesar, let alone another Justinian.’
Theophanes smiled. He now turned to Martin, with questions about the political and theological position of the Celts. Was there any chance their own Church would accept communion with Rome via Canterbury? Or was the national hatred between them and the English too great to allow of reconciliation?
Martin gave closed and cautious answers to the questions. He said he’d left Ireland when he was ten and hadn’t been back since.
I couldn’t see why he should so want to avoid discussions of Ireland. The place was of no importance to anyone. I just assumed it was that tooth troubling him again. He’d been sucking it and wincing ever since Corinth. I’d have a dentist to him once I could get my own bearings in the City.
Theophanes gave up on the questioning – but not without exacting his own price.
‘I have no doubt’, he said to Martin with a sympathetic smile, ‘you will find Constantinople a more friendly place than you did when last here with your father.’
He stopped a moment to relish the sudden strain on Martin’s face. ‘You may not be aware’, he added, ‘that the Professor of Rhetoric Anthemius is no more.’
He smiled gently as Martin’s face changed colour. ‘It was found last month’, he continued, ‘that the Illustrious Professor way paying too little attention to his ancient books, and was circulating material that appeared to touch on criticisms of the Great and Ever Victorious Augustus. His Sample Oration of Plato to Dionysius was the seal of his doom. He was closed into a bread oven beside the University with a fire stoked very slow. His cries, I am told,’ Theophanes added, ‘were as musical as his declamations.
‘The teaching assistant who denounced him has just received his share of the estate. This may include some of your own former property. Perhaps you would care for an introduction? We shall, I have no doubt, meet to discuss such things.’
‘He accused my father of heresy,’ said Martin in a dreamy voice, his eyes looking inward. ‘When that failed, he bought up the debts of our academy, and forced us into bankruptcy. He put in a bid for me at the slave auction.
‘But roasted alive – and for that oration?’ Martin took a long draught of wine. ‘He must have written that before I was born. It’s the one where he doesn’t use the letter gamma for the whole middle section. He used to deliver it every Easter.’
‘It was the Will of Caesar,’ said Theophanes smoothly. ‘As such, the punishment was just.’
‘Let His Will be done,’ said Martin, pulling himself together. ‘We are all one beneath His Benevolent Sway.’
He lapsed into silence. Called forward once more, the assistant produced a sheaf of letters of introduction from Theophanes to all the main libraries in the City that I’d be using. Coming from the Master of the Offices, these would prompt more ready co-operation than whatever I might have brought or might procure via the Roman Church.
There was also an introduction to the Professor of Theology at the University. His department, I was told, had been unaffected by the spending cuts recently applied to the main University. Theophanes understood that my mission might involve enquiries that could only be answered viva voce by the highest theological authorities. This letter of introduction would ensure immediate and full consideration of all points raised.
‘I must inform you’, Theophanes said, ‘that His Excellency the Dispensator and my superiors have been in close contact ever since your mission was raised as a possibility. Both agree that nothing should stand in the way of its speedy completion.’
I sprayed back a stream of flattering gratitude. I was now horribly alarmed. What was Theophanes up to? Why such interest in our mission? What was the function of that nasty little assistant of his? He’d stood silent throughout the conversation, for all the world as if memorising every word for later transcription.
And what was the Dispensator up to?
‘You will enjoy Constantinople, young Alaric,’ Theophanes said at length with a smile of astonishing charm. ‘The only pity is that you will have so little time here on your first visit. Your mission is of the highest importance, and must come before all else.’
He waved aside another helping of his fruit concoction. His assistant leaned forward to whisper something in his ear.
Lunch was over. I now had other business.
9
The banking house of ben Baruch lay at the extremity of a dead end that backed on to one of the larger churches. It was a building of windowless stone walls with a three-inch wooden door plated both sides in bronze. There were the usual armed guards inside and out.
No sun reached the paving stones of that narrow street. Aside from the thin slit of blue sky overhead, the only splash of colour came from a caged bird just outside the door. It sang and sang, and no one looked on.
Nothing unusual about this, I should say. Wise bankers don’t go for the sort of frontage that allows easy access. Baruch in Rome always did his business from the basement cells of a converted prison.
