my power, Balamir? I will tell you: it is observation. A successful hunter observes his quarry over many months. He learns when it is safe or dangerous to approach, when it is bold and careless as in the rut, when it is cautious and wary, and so forth. Likewise, by observing men I learn their strengths and weaknesses, and thus am able to exploit and control them. What proportion of your Greek’s eight thousand leagues would my dominions represent, do you suppose?’
‘From Pannonia to the Imaus Mons, Sire, is — what? Perhaps a thousand leagues? An eighth of the earth’s circumference — its widest measurement, remember.’
‘Now double it. Unless Constantius is lying, Aetius has offered to share with me the rule of the Western Empire. Think of it, Balamir, two thousand leagues. Assuming all is Ocean between China and the Pillars of Hercules, nearly half the known world would come under Attila’s sway.’
‘A heady prospect, Sire. Even Alexander didn’t achieve that.’
‘But can I trust Aetius? We were close once; you were there, remember, when we shot the rapids of the Iron Gate. No better friends than Attila and Aetius could anywhere be found. Although our friendship has since been broken, perhaps it is not past mending. I would like to believe him. Yet I do not fully trust his emissary, this Constantius. He and my brother Bleda have been seen much together of late. And where Bleda goes, trouble follows — as the lammergeier follows the flocks. I am going to ask you to undertake something for me. You are free to refuse, for if you accept, you may be putting your life in danger.’
‘Did I refuse you, Sire, when once you asked me to spy on Bleda?’ responded Balamir hotly. ‘There was danger then, as I recall.’
‘That’s my Balamir,’ laughed Attila. ‘Forgive me — I should never have doubted that you would agree. Now, listen well; here is what I want you to do. .’
1 The Urals.
THIRTY-THREE
The Emperor has promised Constantius a rich wife; he must not be disappointed
This was the life, thought Constantius as, with Attila’s other envoys, he approached the capital of the Eastern Empire. His fortunes were riding high: special ambassador to the Court of Constantinople, his stipulated reward a rich and noble wife. He relished the thought of returning in a year or so, wealthy and distinguished, to the home he’d left as a disgraced and penniless adventurer.
The walls of Constantinople came in sight, an immense bulwark extending for nearly five miles between the Golden Horn and the Sea of Marmara, forty feet high, with massive square towers every two hundred feet or so. The variegated courses of white stone alternating with red brick created a dramatic, unforgettable impression on Constantius. He reminded himself that these were not Constantine’s original walls, now demolished. Following the general panic that had swept the Roman world with Alaric’s capture and sack of Rome nearly forty years before, these ramparts had been erected early in the reign of the present emperor, more than a mile to the west of the old ones, to incorporate the great cisterns and the mass of suburbs that had sprung up in the interim.
Entering the city via the marble Porta Aurea with its four bronze elephants and huge statue of the first Theodosius, the envoys and their retinue proceeded along the main thoroughfare, the Mese, and through the five forums of Arcadius, Bovis, with the great bronze ox for which it was named, Theodosius, Amastrianum and Constantine, to the imposing complex of buildings comprising the Hippodrome, the royal palace, and the church of the Holy Wisdom.1 Constantius was intoxicated by the profusion of splendid public buildings — baths, porticoes, basilicas, churches, et cetera — and by the heady mix of old and new. Brashly uncompromising structures of the Constantinian and Theodosian dynasties (many embellished with statues ‘borrowed’ from both empires) clashed with venerable buildings from the time of Septimius Severus, when today’s mighty capital was merely the small Greek city of Byzantium.
Installed in quarters in the sprawl of buildings that made up the imperial palace, Constantius revelled in the luxury of Roman living after the privations of his stay among the Huns. What bliss to sleep on a feather bed instead of a pile of stinking pelts, to dine on honey-glazed sucking-pig washed down with wine, instead of greasy mutton accompanied by fermented mare’s milk. The days following his arrival were pleasant: relaxing in the baths, attending chariot races in the Hippodrome, flirting with the ladies of the court, and wooing the high-born widow selected as his bride — a congenial task, as she was as beautiful as she was wealthy. The other envoys depended on interpreters to converse with their hosts, but communication was no problem for Constantius, whose education had included the study of Greek. His facility in the language was already reaping rewards in terms of his spying obligations to Attila. From casual conversation and chance remarks overheard, he was gradually compiling a list of names of fugitives and deserters from Attila’s jurisdiction who were still being protected by the empire. More importantly, he was discovering that, through the efforts of Nomus, the brilliant Master of Offices, the northern frontier was being unobtrusively re-fortified, and its slaughtered garrisons replenished. Then, on the morning of the sixth day, a messenger from the senior notary’s office presented him with a scroll tied with a silk ribbon. Unfurling it, he found that it was from Chrysaphius, inviting him to attend for interview at the eighth hour the following day.
Balamir was making his own preparations to attend the interview between Constantius and Chrysaphius. Quartered, like most of the ambassadorial retinue, with the palace servants, he had made a point of striking up a friendship with a Hun named Eskam, one of the interpreters who translated the speeches of foreign envoys. These men came under the authority of Nomus, with whom Chrysaphius worked closely, so Eskam was in a good position to discover details concerning the eunuch’s timetable. With this in mind, Balamir decided to take Eskam into his confidence. He told Eskam that Attila had entrusted him with a difficult and dangerous mission — namely eavesdropping on the interview (which Attila had requested) between Constantius and Chrysaphius — and appealed to his fellow Hun for help. Swayed by pride at being able to help his people’s great leader (also by the generous sum that Balamir had been authorized by Attila to pay any accomplice he might need to enlist), Eskam agreed.
Between them, the two Huns devised a bold but simple plan. With funds supplied by Balamir, Eskam bribed one of the eunuch’s clerks to find out the place, date, and time for the interview. Such was the universal terror inspired by Attila’s name that Eskam was confident there was little risk of the man betraying them. Next, he had the clerk arrange to let Balamir inspect the eunuch’s office, at a time when it was unoccupied.
The dominant feature of the
Early on the appointed day, before the house-slaves had arrived to clean the office, the bottom section was cleared of its dusty tomes, which were re-housed in a nearby storeroom, then Balamir installed in their place. Making himself as comfortable as the cramped space would permit, he settled down to wait out the long hours before the interview.
When he was shown into Chrysaphius’ office, Constantius found himself in the presence of a grotesquely obese figure perched incongruously on a tiny folding stool. From the pear-shaped head with its multiple chins
