The Dispensator froze. He came back to his desk and stood over me.
‘Young man,’ he said with cold menace, ‘if this document is of no value, why have you brought it to me?’
‘Because’, I said, leaning back in my chair, ‘I have full authority to make it valuable.’
I pulled the Imperial Warrant from my bag. It gave the Senator Alaric authority to validate any grant of the late reign involving the transfer of property or other valuable assets that could be shown to have reached its recipient before news of the Revolution. In these circumstances, anything bearing my own seal of attestation would be regarded as of equal validity to a grant from Heraclius himself.
The nice thing about this arrangement was that the Pope would get his title, and the Eastern Churches could be told that its validation was an act of unavoidable secular justice. Heraclius would get hardly any blame for that. The Roman Church would never dare accuse his man of perjury, as that would only invalidate the grant.
And what of Heraclius? Why should he be willing to let me perjure myself? On what basis might I be permitted to declare that a document I’d carried there myself had somehow preceded me?
The Dispensator nearly fainted as I recited my list of demands. The money was easy for him. Heraclius was in urgent need of all the gold we could lay hands on. But for the Church, it would only mean working the slaves on its Sicilian estates double hard for a year, and keeping the Roman mob short of bread.
It was the theological demand that had the Dispensator’s eyes bulging with horror. I wanted the Church to drop all objection to that heresy in Ravenna. The position agreed at Chalcedon of One Person and Two Natures for Christ would, of course, be untouched. But it was to be an open question whether this implied One Will and One Operation. The deacons were to be let off memorising the whole library of nonsense I’d prepared for them.
Sergius and I had come up with this one together the night before he was invested as Patriarch in Constantinople. The Monophysite dispute had been grinding away for a hundred and fifty years. Some obscure Western clerics had managed to fall over a compromise that might reconcile all opinions on the Trinity. We’d need to develop the position, drawing on the whole technical apparatus of Greek theology. Whether it would lead where we wanted remained to be seen.
In the meantime, we didn’t need any crude formulations of the Orthodox Faith from Rome.
‘Get these signed and sealed’, I said, pushing the prepared documents across the desk, ‘and I’ll apply my own seal to your document.’
For the first time since my return, it was the Dispensator and not I who was lost for words. He glared horribly at me, then muttered something about taking advice from his legal counsel.
As our meeting ended and I stood silently by the closed door, the Dispensator looked quizzically over at me. Then, as if remembering an unfamiliar fact, he got up and crossed the office to open the door for me himself.
‘My Lord Dispensator,’ I said, embracing the old bag of sticks, ‘it has been an honour to be with you on this joyous day.’
‘The honour has been mine entirely,’ he rasped back at me – ‘My Lord Senator.’
Just as Martin and I bumped into each other, it came on to rain hard again. We took shelter under the portico of the Temple of Jupiter. The place had been closed for worship for two hundred years and, while it hadn’t yet managed to fall down, it was increasingly torn apart by tree roots and human depredation. But the roof was still intact in those days, and we found reasonably dry places on the steps for sitting down.
‘I would have come straight to see you,’ Martin said. ‘You got my message?’
I nodded.
‘But as soon as I got home, we had to go off to celebrate Christmas outside the walls. You know how Sveta can be…’ He trailed off.
‘I was grateful for the message,’ I said. ‘There were many others, but yours meant the most to me.’
I looked down the Capitoline Hill to the derelict Forum, and over the jumble of blackened buildings to the larger structures beyond.
‘She was brought to bed at the end of September,’ I said, trying to keep my voice level. ‘Marcella had her lawyer there at the confinement, and made sure to free Gretel as the child began to emerge. Mother and child were freed together. It was a boy.
‘The trouble started the following day. Gretel took some kind of fever. She rallied. Then the child stopped breathing. Then she too died. She died early in the morning on the last Sunday of September.’
Martin thought back. ‘That was the night the assassin broke into your room.’
‘Yes,’ I said. I’d just come away from my daily visit to the grave. Marcella had paid for the funeral and had commissioned a stone of surprising elegance. Three times a day, she was assuring me that the child had been baptised before it was cold.
I’d been crying again, and I didn’t want anyone to see that. I might let myself go with Martin, but I’d rather not.
‘I’m told you will go back East,’ Martin said. ‘I don’t suppose you have any choice in the matter, bearing in mind your appointment.’
‘Not so, Martin,’ I said, glad of the changed subject. I’d been on the point of telling him about my dream on the night of the attempted assassination. Best I didn’t, though – it would only have provoked his superstition.
‘I can go where and when I please. If I want to go back to Constantinople, I will. If I want to stay here, I will. No one can command me at this distance. My will is free.’
I looked again down to the Forum. The great houses and other buildings that had once lined the Sacred Way were all without roofs and had fallen into further decay since my first arrival in Rome. Through the misty rain, I could see down to the silent waters of the Tiber. Or I could look the other away across the whole desolation of what had once been the Capital of the World.
The Forum remained, impressive even in decay. Now the golden statue of Phocas had been toppled from its column, the one last splash of colour down there had gone. But the Forum remained. It was – and will remain – the noblest sight that ever moved the imagination of men.
‘I will go back,’ I said. There could be no doubt of that. For all that can be said of Rome, it has nothing to compare with Constantinople. When I’d first come here with Father Maximin, I’d been overpowered by the amenities of Rome. Now I’d seen Constantinople, and Rome seemed a dull, ruinous place – bereft of wealth and of learning. It was no place for me or for the baby Maximin.
I’d been granted the nice palace Theophanes had owned, together with all his other non-monetary goods. Set beside that, the house I’d been offered in Rome was a decidedly low-class place.
A chill wind was blowing up. Martin and I huddled closer together on the steps of the temple for warmth.
‘Yes,’ I repeated, ‘I’m going back. I expect my business here will be over by the New Year. Then it’s south again. There’s that business Heraclius wants me to oversee in Catania. That should keep me busy until the weather allows a sea crossing from Syracuse. I might even see Athens this time.’
‘Can I come with you?’ Martin asked with sudden intensity.
I looked at him.
‘If you think Maximin can manage the sea voyage,’ he added. ‘I see no reason why my own family should fear for anything. Surely the Lord Senator Alaric will be in need of a confidential secretary?’
He did have a point there. I’d not find anyone in the city more trustworthy. And, of course, I wanted him with me. But I had wanted the offer to come from him, rather than having to suggest it myself.
‘And’, he concluded, ‘you may be assured that Sveta will keep me from walking the streets at night.’
For the first time since the awful day of my homecoming, I laughed…
EPILOGUE
I did go back to Constantinople after leaving Rome. I went back with Maximin and Martin and his family. I went back to Heraclius and Sergius. And, yes – I went back to Priscus. I went back, and all that happened between then and my eventual return to Jarrow you can read about in the histories.
Alexius and his colleagues are long since departed from Jarrow but I have stayed behind. If the Empire is under threat again, it must be without my advice and direction that it fights off the Saracens or the Slavs or whatever other race has lit fires outside the city walls.
