Byzantium

street below and it was to this table Theo brought us.

'You see, Justin, I have saved this for you. I know you prefer it.' Turning to me, he added, as if in secret: 'Soldiers always prefer tables. I do not know why.' He pulled out the table then, and positioned the two low, three- legged stools. 'Sit! Sit you down. I will bring the wine.'

'And bread, Theo. Lots of bread,' Justin said. 'We have had nothing to eat all day.'

Our arrival occasioned but little interest in our fellow diners. They carried on with their meal as if we did not exist. I thought this most unusual until Justin explained that it was customary and no one thought it rude. 'Have you no tabernas in Ierne?' he inquired.

'No. It is a new thing to me-but then, everything in this city is new to me.'

'When I first came to Constantinople four years ago, I had no friends so I came here often, even though I could not afford it so easily. I was only a legionary then.'

'Do you have family?'

'A mother and sister only,' he replied. 'They live in Cyprus still. I have not seen them for seven years. But I know they are well. We write to one another often. It is one of the blessings of life in the emperor's army-a soldier can send letters anywhere in the world and be certain they will arrive.'

Theo returned with a double-handled jar shaped like a small amphora, but with a flat bottom. 'For you, my friends, I have saved the best. From Chios!' he announced, producing two wooden cups which he placed on the table beside the jar. 'Drink this, and forget you ever tasted wine before.'

'If we drink all this,' laughed Justin, 'we will forget everything.'

'Would that be so terrible?' Laughing, Theo retreated-only to return a moment later with four loaves of bread in a woven basket. The bread was still warm.

'Tell me, Aidan,' Justin said, pouring wine into the two wooden cups, 'what did you think of the emperor?'

'He is a very great man,' I answered, taking up one of the loaves and handing it to Justin.

'Indeed, indeed,' he agreed good-naturedly, breaking the loaf in half. 'That goes without saying. He has done much to benefit the city and the empire.'

In the manner of Constantinopolitans, Justin said a prayer over the meal. It was not unlike one which might have been heard over a meal at the monastery. The prayer finished, I took up another loaf and broke it in half, releasing a yeasty gush that brought the water to my mouth. We ate and drank for a time, savouring the bread, warming to the wine.

After a while, Justin observed, 'This may be a Roman city, but it has a Byzantine heart, and a Byzantine heart is, above all, suspicious.'

'Why suspicious?'

'Need you ask?' Justin said, his smile becoming secretive and sly. 'Nothing is simple, my friend. Every bargain masks betrayal, and every kindness is cunning in disguise. Every virtue is calculated to the smallest grain, and bartered to its best advantage. Beware! Nothing is as it seems in Byzantium.'

This seemed to me unlikely, and I told him so. But Justin grew insistent.

'Look around you, priest. Where great wealth and power reside, there suspicion runs rampant. Even Rome in its greatest glory could not surpass the wealth and power Constantinople possesses now. Suspicion is a necessity in this city: it is the knife in your sleeve and the shield at your back.'

'But we are Christians,' I pointed out. 'We have dispensed with such worldly conceits.'

'You are right, of course,' Justin conceded, emptying his cup for the second or third time. 'No doubt I have lived too long in this city. Still, even Christians hear the rumours.' Leaning forward over the table he lowered his voice. 'It is said that our former emperor, Basileus Michael, died from a fall. But does a man lose both hands at the wrist by slipping in the bath? Even the emperor's friends say Basil the Macedonian's ascension owes less to divine appointment, than to the skillful application of the blade.' Justin silently drew a line across his throat with his forefinger.

The King of Kings, Elect of Christ, God's Vice-Regent on Earth entangled in murder? How could anyone say such a thing aloud, let alone think it? Was this how the citizens of Constantinople spent their days-in vicious speculations and wicked calumny? Ah, but he had already drunk a fair amount of strong wine, so I forgave him his slander and paid no heed to what he said.

The taberna owner returned and placed before us two clay bowls of milky broth and two wooden spoons. He left again without a word, drifting to another party of three reclining on couches. In a moment all four were laughing out loud. I raised my bowl to my lips to drink, but Justin stirred his soup with a spoon and I was reminded how I had slipped into the ways of the barbarians.

'Any sorrow at Michael's passing was buried along with his blood-sodden corpse, I should think,' Justin said lightly, raising his spoon to his lips and blowing on the hot broth. 'He was a profligate and a drunkard, bringing the city to ruin with his extravagance and dissipation. It was well known he seduced and bedded Basil's wife-and not once only, but many times, and that Basil knew. Indeed, some claim that one of our emperor's sons is not his own, and that only because the cuckold's wife had produced a royal bastard was the hapless Basil allowed to take the purple and become co-ruler.'

Glancing around quickly to see if anyone had heard him, I saw to my relief that the other diners appeared oblivious to our talk. 'How can you say such things?' I demanded, my voice a hoarse, offended whisper.

Justin shrugged and swallowed down the broth. 'I do not say Basileus Michael was an evil man, only that he was a weak one.'

'Weak!' I gasped.

My companion raised the corner of his mouth in a grim smile. 'We have had Popes and Patriarchs that would make poor dim-witted Michael seem a saint by comparison. It is said that Phocus kept two Abyssinian boys as lovers, and tortured heretics for the amusement of his dinner guests. Theophilus, they say, killed two brothers and a son to get the throne. Basil has his son Leo locked in prison this very moment.'

Lifting the bowl to his mouth, Justin spooned down the broth. I gaped in disbelief. 'You are not eating, Aidan,' he observed over the top of the bowl. 'Do you not like the soup?'

'It is not for lack of an appetite that I refrain,' I retorted sharply. 'I am aghast at the callous way in which you defame the Holy Emperor. I am appalled at the facile way in which you repeat vilest slander. Even if the smallest crumb of what you say is true, it should move us to pray pardon and forgiveness for our fallen sovereign, rather than to repeat malicious gossip.'

Justin lowered the bowl. 'I have upset you. My words were ill-chosen. Forgive me, brother, it is the way we speak here. On my life, I meant no offence. I am sorry.'

His contrition softened my anger, and I relented. 'Perhaps I have over-stated my objection. I am a stranger here, after all. If I speak when I should listen it is for you to forgive me.'

'No, you are right to remind me of my misplaced charity,' replied Justin, setting aside the bowl. Retrieving the cups, he handed one to me. 'Now, for the sake of this fine meal, let us put all such unpleasantness behind us and drink a health.' Handing my cup to me, he said, 'Let us drink to our new friendship.' He raised his cup, and I raised mine. 'To the friendship of Christian men!' he said.

'To Christian friendship,' I said, tipping the cup to my lips.

We ate in silence for a time, sipping our wine, and dipping bread in the golden broth. I began to feel genuinely revived. Justin was just refilling our cups yet again when the owner's wife came to the table with a wooden platter bearing a roast chicken-for each of us! The platter covered the whole of the table, forcing Justin to put the cups and jar on the floor. She lay the platter before us and stood, admiring her handiwork before urging us to eat and enjoy.

'Now,' said Justin lightly, 'let us pay our respects to these neglected birds. It would be a sin to let this food go cold.' Pulling his knife from his belt, Justin began cutting into the chicken before him, indicating that I should do the same. When I hesitated, he said, 'Have you no knife?' Before I could reply, he said, 'Of course not. Here, take mine.' He offered his to me. 'Forgive me, Aidan, I keep forgetting you are a slave.'

The birds were stuffed with almonds and sweetmeat spiced with cumin and honey, and surrounded with small, leaf-wrapped parcels containing minted lambsmeat, lentils, and barley. Every mouthful, every morsel, was a revelation of wonder. Each bite was a delicacy which I, shameful to say, gobbled greedily, immersing myself in the exotic flavours. Remember, I had never tasted lemons before, and I discerned their splendid tang and aroma in most of the dishes, even the soup. I had never eaten vine leaves, nor aniseed, nor olives, nor half of the spices used