who had spoken through the dark rain, he who had called someone else ‘sir’. The other person had had a reedy voice. The implications terrified Loys. He couldn’t have said for sure it was the chamberlain but he was far from certain it was not.
Could the man who had employed him really be a sorcerer himself? He found the thought very difficult to accept. But Styliane had been plain in her accusations. And what of the wolfman he had mentioned? Who was he?
Loys prayed for forgiveness, promised God he would donate greatly to his churches and slept an uneasy sleep.
It wasn’t until he entered the gatehouse on his return to the city that his thoughts cleared and he remembered the guards had a record of his leaving. Clearly, he and Beatrice had to get out of Constantinople and fast.
26
Loys was woken in his room by the sound of banging on his door. Beatrice retired to the woman’s quarters and the servant opened the door. Six soldiers confronted him.
‘By order of the chamberlain,’ said the officer, a squat hairy man who gave the impression of having been basted in oil, ‘I appoint these your guards.’
‘I have no need of guards.’
‘They will attend you whenever you leave the palace and wait outside your room here when you are at home. Intelligence has revealed there may be a threat to your life. We need to be careful.’
‘I can look after myself and it’s necessary for me to do delicate and painstaking work. I can’t have soldiers tramping around. How do you think I’ll ever get anyone to speak to me?’
‘The guards will take up their posts now,’ said the officer. He turned smartly and the men followed him out of the room. At least they weren’t going to actually stand guard at his shoulder.
Beatrice came out from her chamber.
She spoke quietly. ‘We’re prisoners?’
‘Maybe. I don’t know.’
Loys had told Beatrice nothing about what had happened outside the city, just that he had made progress towards his goal and she should be ready to leave quickly.
‘I’m not a fool, Loys. You tell me we need to depart and suddenly we have an armed guard. Why?’
‘Like I said. I think the nearer I get to the truth, the more dangerous I become.’
She held his hand and whispered, ‘Then assume we are scrutinised at every moment. Our servant cannot be trusted, nor any messenger or soldier. Everything you say must be said as if the chamberlain stands in the room with us.’
She had made up his mind for him. He wouldn’t tell her anything.
‘How are you?’ he said. ‘I’ve hardly asked.’
‘I’m well.’
He drew her to him, hugged her and said, ‘I will work out a way to bring us through this. We will overcome our difficulties, I promise.’
Loys’ old life was behind him. No looking to God now. He had fornicated. He had killed. If his soul was to be saved he needed to act as God’s soldier — become a martyr even — in the pursuit of truth. For himself he could have done it, thrown his life away heroically. But when he thought of Beatrice carrying his unborn child and felt the solidity of his connection to them, he could not.
He had no choice: he needed to make a success of his time in Constantinople, under whatever conditions he found himself. Philosophy, though, was an indulgence he couldn’t allow himself. From now on Loys needed to be a man of practicalities, focused on survival. Ironically, that brought him back to seeking the truth. If he identified sorcerers at the heart of the court then he would have done his job. Styliane had come forward as an ally. She might be useful.
Loys was sure the secret of his role in the spymaster’s death was as secure as it could be. He had told the Varangians the soldier came from an elite unit, and they should sell his clothes quickly and deny knowledge of his murder. Politics, he had said, could mean their commanders would hand them over to be hanged.
The Vikings hadn’t understood what he meant by politics so he had simply asked them to vow not mention the death. They said if he would consider them for future work they were happy to swear. He said he would and they swore. That was enough for Loys, who knew the Norsemen didn’t take such oaths lightly.
The only evidence against him was he had been outside the walls when Isias died. That proved nothing but it did raise questions. Hence the guards? He may have been followed, but no one could have seen what had happened in that unnatural night.
If it had been the chamberlain out there in the murk, then what? Loys remembered the words he had heard on the hill. Isias had been sure the person to whom he was speaking was in some way responsible for the odd occurrences. The other man, though, had been less certain. And he was the senior.
He felt a powerful urge to simply give up but he knew that was impossible. Even if, as he was starting to suspect, the chamberlain didn’t want him to discover anything, then he would still punish him for coming back empty-handed in a pretence of displeasure. What to do? Blame the Varangians. But that would not stop the sky, would not cure the emperor. He had to find the truth and then decide how he would use it.
Beatrice was very near to giving birth now and that filled Loys with dread. Had he imperilled her and the child? For a moment all the normal anxieties of a father whose wife is about to have a baby engulfed him. Would she be all right? Women died in childbirth all the time. He couldn’t bear to lose her.
She was at his side, his hands in hers.
‘Attention to duty is your best way forward.’ She kissed him. ‘We will prevail, now get back to work. There is a man who has been trying to see you for the last five days. You might start by interviewing him.’
‘Who?’
‘Meletios — he’s been calling every day since you sent for him.’
Kavallarios Meletios was a chubby minor official of the court responsible for checking prisoners in and out of the Numera. Loys was used to intimidating people by now and the policy had reaped some dividends. He had received no open threats from anyone and even been invited to celebrate certain feast days with some lesser officials of the court. Meletios, however, needed no intimidating. The man all but sobbed as he came through the door.
Loys’ servant sat Meletios in front of the desk then left the room. Loys picked up his fan, turned the open end towards Meletios and opened his hands, the sign he was conducting an official interview. They exchanged the tedious formalities of the official greeting and then Loys began.
‘You know why-’ Loys didn’t have time to finish his sentence.
‘I have been mentioned, I am aware of that.’
Loys said nothing. One of the effects of his investigation had been to allow all manner of grudge bearers to come to him seeking to make life difficult for their enemies. So Meletios had been mentioned, but it would have been very surprising if he hadn’t been. Only great men were exempt from being named because they were exempt from being called.
‘I know what people are saying,’ he said, ‘but it was not me who lost the sorcerer. He was a sorcerer, that’s the thing. You can’t give a man like that to normal guards without warning. That’s how he got away.’
Loys tapped the table and snorted in a way that indicated he didn’t think that was much of an excuse. He had no idea what the man was talking about.
‘I allocated him four guards,’ said Meletios. ‘Four! That should be enough for any man. And I guarantee this — he has not escaped. He is down there, somewhere in the old tunnels, and sooner or later he will starve.’
This, thought Loys, was interesting. He decided to remain impassive, to give nothing away. He had to increase the pressure on Meletios, to make him feel blamed.
