The Ghosts of Athens

its left length bumped gently against the dock.

‘Welcome to Athens, my dearest Alaric,’ Priscus whispered into my ear. ‘If I’m not mistaken, the city of Aeschylus and Thucydides has turned out in force to greet the Emperor’s most beauteous and learned adviser. It won’t be a private arrest.’

Whatever drugs he’d consumed had given his breath the smell of baked dog shit. I bent forward and squinted through the mist to try to see the figures who were gathered on the docks. Look as I might, they drifted in and out of visibility, and I was left no wiser about who or how many they were. A slave helped Martin across the plank that joined us to the docks, and he vanished within one of the thicker fingers of the mist. Then he was back to stand very carefully on a stepladder that had been placed right on the edge of the docks. I caught a look of confusion on his face. I thought of the line of armed guards ready to take us into custody, and felt my stomach turn over and over. It was exactly like the moment you get, when, riding into battle, you lose control of your horse, and realise that there’s nothing you can do to avoid crashing straight into the waiting enemy.

But, though his body shook, and he had to grip hard on his stepladder to avoid falling back into the water, Martin was now going through all the correct motions. ‘You will greet His Magnificence Alaric, Senator, Count of the Most Sacred University, Legate Extraordinary of His Imperial Majesty,’ he cried in his grandest voice as I helped Priscus to his feet and led him on to the plank. If I had much else to think about, I was surprised at how light the man had become in the month or so since I’d last nerved myself for physical contact with him.

But Martin had drawn breath, and, with a very slight tremor in his voice, was continuing: ‘And you will greet His Magnificence Priscus, Senator, Commander of the East.’

On to the carpet that had been placed there long enough to be soaked, the Count of Athens and all the other persons of secular quality who’d travelled down to receive us fell as one for a full prostration. I looked nervously at Priscus. He looked back and pulled a face. He may have been trying to look carefree and amused. He only managed to look as baffled as I felt. I looked about for a glint of steel. I saw nothing. Instead, the little gong was sounded as etiquette required, and a dozen heads splashed three times on the ruined silk. They got up, as bedraggled after their wait in the rain as if they’d been pulled from a shipwreck, and waited on my instructions.

‘Gentlemen,’ I said, stepping on to the odd firmness of the land, ‘I do most humbly thank you for your goodness in coming down from Athens. I bring with me every assurance from the Great Augustus of his love and regard for your city and for all its people.’

No one laughed. There was even a general bowing of heads. It was now that the slaves who’d followed me across with another canopy to hold off the rain jumped back on board the galley. Their duties were at an end, and they didn’t look in the slightest unhappy to be rid of us. I felt a gust of chilly rain on my face. Then, other slaves came out from behind the still bowed officials and draped some wet canvas about my official clothes.

I took the Count’s hand. It was cold and slippery. There was a trickle of water from the lowest point of his black beard. ‘You are Nicephorus?’ I asked with an attempt at the authoritative.

He nodded and stared impassively back at me. There was no hint of welcome in his face — or of any coming arrest.

My heart was beating very fast. With every beat, though, the moment for the words of arrest was passing. ‘Then, my dear Nicephorus,’ I added, ‘I rejoice in having made your acquaintance, and look forward to our harmonious working together.’

I stood in the rain as he hurried through his formulaic greeting in the flat Greek of a Syrian. It was all so far as it should be — and not at all as I’d been so convinced it would be. There were no other officials about Nicephorus. Instead, he’d been waiting with what may, by their manner and the look of their clothing, have been well-to-do tradesmen. These, I supposed, were the town assembly. A few of them were armed with sharpened broom handles. One of them had a tarnished sword that may have been of bronze, and might have fetched a good price in the antiques market back in Constantinople. So far as armed men were concerned, this was it.

If this was a trap, it was a good one — and pointless too. Though armed, the two of us were hardly likely to try cutting our way to freedom. The mist wasn’t so thick on land as out in the bay. I could see fifty yards all about. Not one gleam of armour and drawn sword — just more of the usual formalities. I took a deep breath and made myself smile. I made as short a second speech as decency allowed. I then stood back to let Martin read out my commission, putting the Emperor’s Latin a phrase at a time into Greek.

I could smell that awful breath again as Priscus leaned close. ‘Isn’t that my cousin Simeon over there?’ he muttered.

I nodded. I’d been aware of that blaze of clerical finery from the moment I’d stepped on shore. But the dozen or so bishops had been taking shelter against the wall of a ruined warehouse, and there had been thoughts of arrest, and then the shock of our actual greeting to take all my attention. Martin, though, was now finished with his reading, and Nicephorus had turned to prod some life into the slaves, who were still grovelling on the wet stones.

‘My Lord Simeon,’ I cried as we hurried over the slippery, uneven paving blocks, ‘I am delighted — though also a little puzzled — to see you so far from home.’

His Grace the Bishop of Nicaea gave me the sort of look that might have soured milk. ‘I was told you were dead,’ he grated. ‘The devil himself couldn’t have survived those storms.’

‘But, Simeon, my dearest love,’ Priscus broke in beside me, ‘we did survive — and here we are, to keep you safe in Athens.’ He reached up and wiped a rivulet of black dye the rain had carried from his hair to the beak of his nose.

Simeon arranged his face into a gloating frown and stared a while at Priscus. ‘He forgave you the loss of Cappadocia last spring,’ he sneered. ‘But, when the Emperor heard you had abandoned your post, and gone off to join this barbarian child in Egypt, he shut himself in with his confessor for three whole days. He’ll need more than your usual pack of lies if you aren’t to be degraded to baggage carrier.’

‘And a very full report he will have,’ came the reply in the voice of a man reprieved at the last moment. ‘It isn’t just on the field of battle that the enemy is defeated. Isn’t that so, Alaric?’

Simeon shrugged contemptuously. ‘You can save your lies, the pair of you, for those more gullible than me,’ he said. He turned his bearded face up at what should have been the sky, but was simply a brightness of grey mist. ‘I’m getting myself back into my chair before I catch my death of cold.’ Without looking at either of us, he stepped past. He was followed by the other bishops. I recognised the Bishop of Ephesus. He cut off my greeting with a haughty sniff. The others did make some effort to look charming — then again, being Asiatic Greeks, they all had the dark looks and oily manner of Syrians: if the pair of us had just been sentenced to row in a ferry boat across the Bosporus, they’d have still managed those smiles and fluttering hands.

But this wasn’t the end of the matter. After a few paces, Simeon stopped and looked back at us. ‘I hear, My Lord Alaric,’ he chuckled, ‘that you never did get your land law published in Alexandria. Such a pity, everyone in Constantinople agrees, you let Priscus burn the city down instead.’

His Grace of Ephesus gave a spluttering laugh.

Simeon raised a hand to silence him. ‘You may think His Holiness the Patriarch will protect you again,’ he sneered. ‘The question back home, I can tell you, is who will protect the Patriarch? If Ludinus gets his way, Constantinople will soon have a new and very different Patriarch.’

‘Yes, a new and very different Patriarch!’ His Grace of Ephesus repeated in a high- pitched snigger. They looked at each other and laughed. Then they were hurrying over to their covered chairs.

Not caring who might be watching, Priscus leaned with both hands against the wall. ‘So Ludinus is back in favour,’ he whispered, going back to one of our more panicky on-board conversations. ‘I could smell the old eunuch’s breath all over that commission of yours.’

I looked round again. Mention of that awful name had set my insides churning again. This was just the sort of joke Ludinus would play: give us time to frighten ourselves silly — and then pounce once we’d had a moment’s relief. And if he really was back in the ascendant, neither of us could expect anything better than his best ever joke. It would seal his victory and his revenge. But I could still see no glint of armour under any of the cloaks on the wet docks. Nor could I believe the whole assembled company — not in a place like Athens — was up to playing along so well. I glanced over at Martin, who was getting things ready for the journey to Athens. Since I hadn’t yet been arrested, he was assuming that my orders to get everyone safely away had lapsed.

‘Not quite in the clear, I’ll grant,’ I said to Priscus. ‘But I hope you’ll agree it could be worse.’ I bit my lip and wondered how to get word to tell Martin at least to stay in Piraeus. Perhaps his judgement was sound, however. Perhaps I was right in what I’d just said. There could be no fatted calf awaiting us in Constantinople. Even getting