I looked at Martin. He looked back. Priscus laughed and paused to swallow another frog. There are occasions when you knock a glass flask over, and it rolls out of reach across the table. You know that, if you could get there in time, you could stop it from rolling straight off to shatter on the floor tiles. But you know that even trying is a waste of time. So it was with Priscus.
‘Now,’ he said, a triumphant look coming over his face, ‘what would the most learned Alaric do about the Monophysite dispute? I know: he’d suggest an Edict of Toleration! Stop persecuting them, he’d say, and you eventually turn heretics into loyal taxpayers and defenders of their country. But we know Heraclius would never consent to the toleration of heresy. Worse, even if a more pliable Emperor could be found, you’d never silence those armies of ranting clerics. They’ve been anathematising each other for six generations, and have loved every day of it. Because everyone agrees that it matters, the dispute does matter, and it can’t be ignored.
‘So, what else would young Alaric suggest?’ Priscus leaned forward. Unblinking, he stared into my face. ‘Might it be a compromise? Might it be a flattening of two opposed formulations beneath a third on which both sides could agree? Shall we hope that, if the orthodox can be brought to agree that Christ has a Single Directing Will, the heretics will stop objecting to a Double Nature?’
Priscus got up and tried for a dance about the room. Even with his stimulants, it was too much, and he sat down heavily on the window seat.
I thought quickly. Martin knew everything, but he was above suspicion. There was Sergius. But the Patriarch never discussed religious policy with me other than on a boat that the two of us had to row into the middle of the Golden Horn. That left the Emperor. The four of us aside, all this was supposed to be a state secret. But there was no doubt it was Heraclius who’d been blabbing to Priscus — most likely when they’d been together outside Caesarea. I tried not to grind my teeth.
‘And it is supposed to be a secret, isn’t it?’ Priscus jeered as if he’d read my thoughts. ‘But it is one of my jobs to uncover secrets, you know. A still deeper secret, of course, is that it’s
Priscus took his eyes off my face and looked out of the window into darkness. ‘Well, you’ll never get Simeon to go along with any of that,’ he said. ‘He’s stupid and he’s obstinate. You know he fancied himself as Patriarch instead of Sergius — and still does? And do you suppose you’ll get anything at all out of the Latin bishops?’
I got up and stretched. I could have told Priscus that he’d got things wrong. But he’d got them too right to bother with denials for their own sake. ‘Like every other orthodox churchman within the Empire,’ I said, ‘His Grace of Nicaea will do his duty. I grant the Latin bishops may be a problem. But we shall see how the council goes.’ I sat down again and poured more wine. Though disgusting, it might settle my nerves.
Priscus got up again. He walked over to the iron pot and looked in. He picked up his spoon and stirred the contents. ‘See, dear boy,’ he took up again, ‘you think that, if you can get a mob of blackbirds to sing as you direct, you’ll go home in glory. I’ll then be the one to pick up the blame for those unfortunate events in Alexandria.’ He grinned and gave full view of his riddled teeth. ‘But I wonder how easily you’ll get that?’ He suddenly bent over the pot and pressed hard on his belly. He gave a long burp. ‘I’ve no doubt you’ll need still more of my support before we get out of this dead or dying city.’ He pressed harder on his belly and gave another burp. Then, after a moment of retching, he opened his mouth wide and, with a dull splash, something had flopped out into the slime. Priscus coughed and stood up. He leaned back and pushed the index finger of his right hand into his throat. Now, he bent quickly forward again and vomited everything he’d eaten into the pot. There was a stink of wine and corrupted stomach juices as whole lumps of clotted frog splashed back from where they’d come.
It was always hard to predict what Priscus would do next. This time, he’d really got me by surprise. Wine cup frozen an inch from my lips, I watched as he twisted his body, and burped or retched, and vomited again. But he did finally empty his stomach, and stood upright to look into the pot. To be fair, it was hard to see what difference he’d made to its contents.
‘I forgot to tell you,’ he gasped at Martin, ‘that the blue ones can be a little poisonous this time of year. They won’t kill you,’ he went on reassuringly. ‘But you may find yourself pissing rusty water from your arse for a couple of days.’ He stood over Martin and gloried in the terrified look he was getting. ‘Still, I did promise that it wouldn’t make you fatter!’
He walked unsteadily round the smashed dining couch on his way to the door. As he reached the door, he stopped and turned. ‘I don’t know anything about Herodes Atticus,’ he said. ‘But I can tell you this palace is said to be haunted.’ He grinned at Martin, who’d given up on clutching at his stomach and was now looking around nervously. ‘Yes, there was a witch who lived here many ages ago. I’m told there are nights when you can still hear her, singing spells along every corridor.’ He laughed and went out.
I listened to the slow scrape of his own sandals as he went off in the direction of his rooms.
I got up. ‘I’m going to bed,’ I said firmly. ‘Today’s been busy. Tomorrow will be busy.’ I reached out to help Martin to his feet. His own hand was damp and trembling. ‘Do see about a bath before waking me,’ I added. ‘And if you bump into him, tell that bastard Count I want a word with him at his earliest opportunity.’
Chapter 15
‘Open it,’ the voice urged in the darkness behind me. ‘You will find that it needs the key with seven hooks.’
Sure enough, the voice had urged right. Nothing I’d tried earlier with Martin had opened the big door inside the cupboard. A few centuries of damp can do wicked things to iron locks. By much oiling and rocking back and forth, we’d eventually got the cupboard door itself open. This further door, however, might have been a stone relief for all we’d been able to open it. Now, a single push and pull of the key, and I heard the grate of disengaging teeth. The door swung silently inward, and I could smell the damp, chilly air of what was assuredly one of the cellars we’d been seeking but not yet found.
‘Without a lamp,’ I said, ‘there’s no point in going further.’
The voice gave a low chuckle. ‘All the light even your mind could desire lies within,’ it said. ‘There is no need of a lamp.’
Keeping my hands on each side of the narrow shaft cut through the rock, I counted myself down ninety-eight steps. Either they had been cut into very hard rock, or they’d hardly been used. They had none of the worn, uneven feel that I’d expected. At the bottom, I stopped and waited. It was absolutely dark and absolutely silent. ‘What now?’ I said. It was an obvious question to ask. I also wanted to see what echo came back at me.
There was a sudden flash of whiteness from all round me. It was like sheet lightning, but had the sort of long fade away you get from the larger dinner gongs. When I opened my eyes, I could see that I was in a chamber about a hundred feet long and fifty wide. The ceiling was a high vault of bricks or well-shaped stones. Wooden boxes had been placed perhaps six feet apart all along the left wall. As I tried to focus on these, the light faded out. But I did have time to see that some of the boxes had been broken open, and unimaginable heaps of gold — mostly ingots the size and shape of distribution bread — were spilling out of these.
‘Have you never wondered,’ the voice asked with another low chuckle, ‘how Herodes Atticus recovered his fortune in ancient times?’
‘The story is that he found an immense treasure buried under this property,’ I said. ‘He told the Emperor it had been put there during the siege of Athens by Sulla.’ There was another flash, and I could look again at the heaps of gold. Scattered here and there among the ingots were crudely shaped ornaments and what looked like ceremonial armour. All was still of gold.
‘So he told the Emperor,’ the voice answered. ‘But what else could he say that wouldn’t provoke an immediate sequestration? Two of these boxes were as much as he dared carry away. They made him the richest subject in the Empire. The secret of the rest died with him, and the last of his posterity left this palace to the Emperor Decius in recognition of his persecution of the Church. Will you go forward and touch the gold? It is all that men desire. Have you any questions to ask? Whatever you ask will be answered.’
It was my turn to laugh. The voice left no echo, however loud it sounded. My own laugh came back at me from three walls. ‘I hardly see the point in stepping forward,’ I said. ‘Dreams of gold are still only dreams.’ I laughed
