spot in the old market place where the speakers had once stood to address the Assembly. As I stared, everything made more sense than it had, either in Dexippus or in my own tour of the modern city. But the voice was repeating its question.
I laughed and waited to see if the old man would look up. Of course, he didn’t. He picked up a book sleeve and squinted to read the parchment tag on it. He put it down and made a fresh entry in his catalogue scroll. He picked one of the books on the desk and unrolled it a few inches. He put it down and took up another. This time, he pushed it gently into the sleeve. He got up from the desk and walked towards me. I stood my ground and strained to feel any trace of disturbance as he walked straight through me on his way to one of the bookracks at the far end of the room. It was, I could see, as if he’d walked though a column of smoke from a bonfire. I saw myself disintegrate and then come back together — but I felt nothing. I turned and watched him pass down the room. He stopped before the unbroken bust of Polybius and bowed in silent respect.
‘Do you know what happened in this room?’ the voice asked for a third time. As a few nights before, there was a trace of annoyance behind its calm urgency.
‘The answer you want,’ I answered in an English that sounded as utterly barbarous as I knew that I appeared, ‘requires me to make up a story based on all the facts and rumours and hints of rumours I’ve heard since I came into Athens. For what it’s worth, I’ll say that young woman over there is a witch. She’s fallen asleep over a book of incantations. In a while the low murmuring that I think I can hear will become a roar of anger, as the mob breaks into the palace and makes for this room. The woman will be seized and held while the library is torn apart for other allegedly magical texts. They will be heaped up, and perhaps she will be burned on top of them. Her ghost will then haunt the palace, appearing before those who have the sensitivity of soul to perceive it.’
No reply. I stepped towards the desk and looked at the catalogue. At first, the writing made no sense. It was just the dark squiggles you see in cheaper mosaics that show a book. As I looked harder, though, the squiggles resolved themselves into one of the antique scripts I’d occasionally had to puzzle out in the University Library in Constantinople. The one sheet that showed where the book hadn’t rolled back on itself was a listing of what could only have been works by Gregory of Nyassa.
I snorted and wheeled round. There may have been a slight shadow in the place where the voice had spoken. But it had dissolved before I could say it was there. I laughed again. ‘That was shit opium,’ I sneered, ‘if this is the best library catalogue I can imagine.’
‘And why do you say that?’ the voice asked, annoyance giving way to a reluctant interest.
‘Because, except in Egypt,’ I explained, ‘papyrus rolls had gone out of fashion in libraries of quality some while before Gregory was born. Even otherwise, I might add, his works wouldn’t have been an obvious choice for any educated Athenian.’
‘You really are a fool, Aelric,’ the voice said. ‘I can only speak to you in dreams, and then in riddles determined by your own imagination. But I am trying to warn you of a terrible danger. Can you not reach for once into your deeper self and try to see things as they really are?’
‘Not really,’ I answered. ‘There is much to be said for a keen and lively glance over the surface of things. You pick up a lot of truth on the surface. If you must look below, it should only be to uncover laws that regulate the visible world. Everyone who’s ever tried going deeper has only come up again barking mad, and with ideas of setting the world to rights with a spot of murder.’ I sniffed and thought of Plato. I turned back to the window and tried to step forward.
‘Even if it has to be in riddles,’ I sneered, ‘can you tell me why I’m not able to go close to that woman? Why can’t I look out of the window? Have I worn my imagination out with recreating this library?’
‘You might better ask why you are worth all this trouble,’ the voice answered, now in disgust. ‘Oh, go on, then,’ it spat. ‘Have your look into the garden. See if you like what you see.’
The soft and universal pressure that had kept me back was suddenly lifted, and I nearly tripped forward against the nearest window. I looked out through the glass pieces and tried to focus. It was as if I’d woken in a strange room before the dawn was fully up. I knew that all could make sense with a little effort, but wasn’t up to making that effort. I can say I didn’t like what I saw. I stepped quickly back into the main part of the library.
Covered in sweat, I sat up in my bed.
‘Aelric, it’s me,’ Martin whispered in my ear. ‘Everything’s all right.’ He relaxed his hold on my upper body and pushed a cup of water to my lips.
I drank and opened my eyes. I’d had a leather curtain hung over the window against night draughts and any further rain. But I could see from the red glow coming from behind it that the sun was going down.
In the gloom, I focused on Martin. ‘Was I crying out?’ I asked.
He nodded. ‘It was just the opium,’ he said. ‘Everything is really all right.’
I looked at him again. He’d got over our battle on the Piraeus road in better shape than I might have expected. Everything wasn’t all right. But it would have to do. I threw the damp cover back and swung round to sit on the bed. Soon, it would be aired and changed every morning. For the moment, I was aware of the faint smell of beeswax and sex. The drug was fading, and I could feel a slight thrill of lust. But I put this out of mind and sat upright.
‘The Bishop of Nicaea has been here a while already,’ Martin said with an urgent look at the window. ‘I saw him in conversation with Priscus. I’ve had some of the new slaves carry the bath into your dressing room. Can you bear cold water? Irene says the boiler can’t be repaired.’
I stood up and stretched. ‘I’d like to see Maximin before whatever bath you’ve managed.’
Martin looked thoughtfully at the lengthening shadows outside, then nodded.
‘Now do help get this sheet arranged round me. I’m young enough to be a sight worth looking at. But we can’t have naked encounters with Auntie Irene — not, at least, on our first day!’ I stretched again and laughed.
Coming out of the nursery, I bumped into Euphemia. ‘I’ve been with Priscus,’ she said urgently. She had another bowl of bloody water in her hands. That settled my stab of jealousy. ‘He told me everything,’ she whispered. ‘You were a fool to go looking for that body.’
I bent forward and kissed her. I waited for her to put the bowl down, and pressed my body against hers and moaned with a suddenly overwhelming lust. ‘I do — I do assure you,’ I said thickly, ‘that my own encounter was less unfortunate than the Lord Commander’s.’ I stood back from her and forced myself into a semblance of order. ‘But is there anything you can tell me about where Nicephorus might have gone, and what he was doing with the interpreter’s daughter?’
She stepped away from the bowl. ‘What I will tell you,’ she said, looking me straight in the eye, ‘is that the Count Nicephorus is a good man. People may think him strange. But he was the only person in the whole world willing to give a roof to me and his brother’s child. If he was stealing the Emperor’s money, do you think he would keep his own nephew short of medical help? As for murder, you don’t know him at all.’
I could have told her that, if he ever did get a hearing before Caesar, I’d be the main prosecution witness. But hadn’t Balthazar said very clearly that she knew nothing? She might know more than she realised. But there was an appropriate time for everything. Despite the lingering charms of my opium, I felt a sudden need for sex so desperate, I could have taken her there and then. But she twisted out of my embrace.
‘Not here, not now,’ she said with an attempted laugh.
‘Then come back with me,’ I pleaded. ‘I left Martin with his wife. She’ll keep him for ages yet.’ I stretched out imploring arms.
Euphemia stared back at me in the fading light. She pursed her lips and tried to look away.
‘Oh, come on,’ I urged. ‘There’s nothing like a bit of killing to get the amorous propensities going. Just a quickie before dinner — you surely can’t deny me that.’
Nor could she. Nor did she. The question I found myself asking afterwards, as she whimpered softly in my bed and I splashed cold water over my body, was not whether but
Chapter 37
