off from us.’
‘My dear Brothers in Christ,’ I intervened, eager to see if my status had more than token meaning, ‘my poor colleague the Patriarch Thomas is lying on his bed of sickness even as you speak. In this moment of sadness, we have more than a duty of love to each other.’
The man pursed his lips and carefully chose his words.
‘My Lord,’ he said with a little bow, ‘I regret to inform you the Patriarch is not long for this world. He took a turn for the worse last night. Not even wine steeped with a single hair from the head of Saint Andrew could revive him. The doctors have abandoned hope.’
‘I am fully aware of these tidings,’ I lied. I looked down my nose at the man, and continued:
‘In these last days of the world, the Dark One himself dares to walk the streets of the city. Yes!’ I cried as I pointed at a conveniently black slab of granite cemented into the battlement – ‘The Dark One himself is abroad!’
There was an impressed murmur at this, and several members of the crowd stepped back from the slab.
I would have said more. With my dramatic gesture, though, I’d caught sight of flabby old Nicias in one of the gibbets. Still dressed in the robe he’d worn in the Imperial Box, false teeth rammed upside down in his mouth, his horribly twisted body swayed in the breeze.
‘And so,’ I ended lamely, ‘it is the duty of all good citizens to utter no words that may contribute to demoralisation of the people. Come, Martin,’ I said, eager to get away. ‘We have work of the highest importance.’
The wine shops were still open for business. All other trading was at an end. The University was closed. Even the bookshops were shuttered and barred.
‘No exit from the City, after all,’ said Martin. He was quietly pleased with himself. I ignored him.
Going back past the Great Church, for the first time I was required to prove my identity.
The funeral was over. We’d managed a good showing in the church. There had been all my people – and these now included the Legation staff. Theophanes had turned up in time for the interment. Even Priscus had sent flowers.
Overawed by the crowd, Gutrune had confined herself to silent weeping beside Martin. A dab of opium juice on his lead comforter, Maximin had sat quietly in her arms.
Now – the gate securely fastened – we were back in the Legation. I sat at the Permanent Legate’s desk, going through his papers again. On the third day of the investigation, I was no longer put off by the volume of papyrus and parchment. It was no longer a question of examining each document, but of what nuggets of information could be extracted from the whole.
‘It’s the accounts from February onwards that are missing,’ Martin said, looking up from his own pile of boxes.
I pushed the documents into a pile and reached for my cup. ‘There’s no point in going through all this again at the moment,’ I said. ‘I need to sit down alone for a while and think it into a pattern.’
No such luck!
‘Pardon me for intruding, My Lord.’
It was Antony. Now that I’d given him the routine business of the Legation to direct, he was looking almost cheerful.
There was an Imperial messenger downstairs. Should he show the man in?
51
Phocas sat down heavily and waved me into another chair placed opposite his own. I was back in his private office. As if he found its mockery too great in his current situation, he sat with the map of the Empire behind him.
‘I came as soon as I received the message, Your Majesty,’ I explained. ‘It was the strip searches that held me up.’
The Emperor threw me a bleary scowl. ‘That’ll be my eunuchs,’ he muttered. ‘They must have something to do to justify their salaries.’
He straightened up and pointed at the secretary who was hovering over by the desk.
‘Get out of here!’ he snarled. ‘I’ll sign the death warrants later. The victims won’t complain at the delay. And shut both doors.’
We were alone. I took up the wine cup set before me and drank. Phocas took up another of his parchment sheets.
‘You were shopped late yesterday evening to Priscus,’ he began. ‘Some bookseller says you were buying blasphemous writings.’
I nearly choked on my wine. I thought of Nicias in that gibbet.
Phocas squinted at the writing on the sheet. It was a very big sheet, and the writing was very small. Someone had been busy, it seemed.
‘I have better things to do than fuss about the contents of your library,’ said Phocas, looking up. ‘But Priscus can be very persuasive in the matter of my duties.’
He dropped the sheet on the floor and looked at me.
‘Sir,’ I began, trying to look and sound untroubled, ‘I am, as you know, here on Church business that requires me to consult a wide range of writings. Many of these are heretical, as they will allow us more effectively to counter heresy in the West. Some are atheistical writings from ancient times. Some are defences of the Old Faith. They are deeply shocking to anyone of delicate sensibilities. But it is my sorrowful duty to read them, in the hope that I may help steer others from the path of deception.’
I would have said more along those lines. It usually went down well. But I could see that Phocas wasn’t really interested. Even so, I’d see that fucking bookseller hung from the city walls at the first opportunity. And I’d bribe the pick of his books out of the Black Agents.
‘I’m told all these books mean more to you than just the service of Holy Mother Church,’ said Phocas, pulling out another sheet from the box beside his chair. ‘Let me see-’ He raised the sheet close to his face but the tiny writing was too much for him in his present condition. That too landed up on the floor.
His voice now took on an edge that was alarming.
‘Priscus has got hold of a list of all the books you’ve been consulting in the University Library,’ he said. ‘My son-in-law tells me you’ve been having many of them copied. These can’t all be for Church business. I’m told some of them shouldn’t exist, let alone be available for any barbarian to march into the city and inspect.
‘I suppose I should ask what your game is. Have you been sent here as a spy?’ He leaned forward and looked me close in the face.
‘As you know, Caesar, I am from a province currently under barbarian rule,’ I said. I was trying desperately hard not to shit myself on the spot.
Espionage accusations – and from Phocas!
‘My people are fast accepting the light of Holy Mother Church,’ I said. ‘Nevertheless, they are an unlearned race, and our ancestors took no care of the libraries that once flourished in the cities of Britain. Those cities are all passed away, and we live in mud huts roofed with straw.
‘It is my ambition to help my people to a perfect understanding of the Imperial languages of Latin and Greek, so that they can more perfectly understand the doctrines of our Most Holy Faith. Perhaps it will also bring them to an acceptance that True Religion means obedience to God’s Political Representative here in the City.’
Phocas tipped his head back and roared with laughter. ‘If I’m still Emperor when all this is over,’ he jeered, ‘I’ll certainly make you an ambassador. You’d do better with the Persians than some of the morons I’ve sent out.’
That was a promise I didn’t fancy having remembered. I thought of what had happened to the envoy he’d sent to the Great One. But I made sure to look flattered.
Phocas leaned forward again. As the laughing fit passed, his face sagged back into semi-drunken blankness.
