Terror of Constantinople (29 page)

    ‘I had no choice but to approach you that day in the University Library, and make it clear to everyone that your presence here had the effect of blocking any such deal. Plainly, they understood me then, but were too stupid to leave matters alone.’

    ‘Of course,’ I said, ‘this was a lie. I wasn’t sent – or brought – here to block anything. There are no differences between you and the Permanent Legate. You and he are in this together. If Silas has withdrawn to his quarters, it’s only to keep him from being murdered by Heraclius.

    ‘A dead Permanent Legate cannot agree to anything with the Emperor. Or if it has been agreed, it may be harder to put into effect. So, tell me now – what is this agreement you have reached?’

    ‘My dear Aelric,’ came the reply, ‘I knew at once it was you above me in the Legation that night. I certainly got full sight of you as you swayed horribly round that dome. Please be assured that I prayed for your safe return to your own quarters.’

    Theophanes gave me a close look. ‘What did you learn that evening?’ he asked.

    ‘That you finished off that poor sod Justinus,’ I said.

    He shrugged. ‘Anything else?’ he asked.

    I gathered my thoughts. ‘I could say you are plotting with the Lombards for an attack on Rome,’ I said. ‘If you can depose Boniface and replace him with – with, er – Silas, you could get your excommunication of Heraclius and forget all about the Universal Bishop stuff.’

    Theophanes smiled. There seemed a slight easing of tension in his shoulders.

    ‘There would be a certain economy in what you suggest,’ he said. ‘Heraclius set out from Carthage last year with a shipload of bishops, all singing his praises as the New Apostle of Christ, come to redeem Empire and world alike. When he does eventually arrive outside the City walls, it will be with part of the True Cross that he lifted from the Sepulchre on his recent capture of Jerusalem.

    ‘If only the Pope would say the right words, the theological wheels would drop straight off the chariot that Heraclius has made for himself. Bearing in mind how short he is of money, that could mean the end of him.

    ‘But’ – Theophanes held up a finger – ‘but His Holiness will not say those words until after he has had everything that he wants from Phocas.

    ‘I know that His Holiness is described in Canterbury as Universal Bishop. However, the title has never been mentioned by the Emperor in other than private correspondence. The phrases taught to a race of illiterate barbarians do not necessarily describe the laws of the Empire ... Therefore, the Roman Church is insistent on a formal decree that admits of no ambiguity.’

    ‘And you won’t give it’, I broke in, ‘because it would upset the Greek and other Eastern Churches.’

    Now grave, Theophanes nodded. ‘The Church ruled by His Holiness of Constantinople might give way to an express command,’ he said. ‘But the Syrian and Egyptian Churches would never accept Western primacy. Greeks and Latins may hate each other for petty trifles, but this is as nothing to the hatred they share jointly in the East.

    ‘Since the conquests of the Great Alexander a thousand years ago, you Westerners – Greek or Latin or barbarian is unimportant – have viewed the East as naturally subject. But this is not to be regarded as a natural or a permanent state of affairs. If the Great Constantine thought the Christian Faith would be the glue to hold this Empire together, he was wrong.’

    Theophanes stood. ‘You will forgive me if I must urinate in front of you. The latrines are inside, and I find my bladder grows weak with age.’

    He looked up from the silver chamber pot. ‘Do you really believe’, he asked, ‘that such a plot could be hatched between me and the Permanent Legate without knowledge of the Dispensator? Or can you believe His Excellency would ever join such a plot?’

    ‘Of course not.’ I smiled. It fitted more of the facts than anything else I’d been able to think of. It was a rotten hypothesis, even so.

    ‘Then you do not fall in my estimation,’ he said. ‘And luck was truly with you that night you went spying in the Legation.’

    I watched as Theophanes rearranged himself.

    ‘There is also the matter’, I said, beginning again, ‘of your defection from Phocas. Any chance you might tell me what happened outside the Great One’s tent? Who was that man behind the curtain? What did you agree with him?

    ‘What is it that made me surplus to requirements – even an embarrassment, to be removed as soon as decently possible? And how did you persuade him not to have Martin and me killed on the spot? It’s your business if you want to dump Phocas as you dumped Maurice. I don’t blame you an inch. I’ll even thank you for the limited favour. But I want to know how this affects me.’

    I poured myself yet another cup of that hot infusion. Having drained it in a gulp, I sat back glowering. I also found myself trembling very slightly.

    Cup in hand, Theophanes sat watching me. His face had no need of the white lead that covered it. There was no expression to conceal.

    ‘The man’, he said, ‘was another of the fools who serve Heraclius. Instead of realising that my death or extended captivity was in the best interests of his master, he let himself be persuaded that he had found a valuable ally.

    ‘You are wrong, however, if you believe I have changed sides. The plan, as you know, was for the raid to build sympathy for Heraclius. The implementation was a disgrace. Those savages slaughtered two hundred people before they could be called to order. They atrociously murdered a senior diplomat who counted three Emperors among his ancestors.

    ‘Thousands of the best people in Constantinople would turn on Heraclius if word got out that he was somehow behind all this. That alone was enough for his people to want you dead.’

    ‘And I suppose your friend Agathius will now be after me again,’ I said bitterly.

    ‘No,’ said Theophanes. ‘I now control Heraclius to some limited degree. And you remain under my protection. You are safe as things stand. Indeed, once this siege is lifted – however that may happen – you may go back to Rome. Your role in these proceedings is at an end. Any further instructions you receive from the Dispensator will be redundant.

    ‘It is no longer necessary for the Permanent Legate to have any excuse for keeping himself out of circulation.’

    I turned again to the overall agreement involving the Church.

    ‘That I will not explain,’ Theophanes said flatly. ‘If there were the slightest suspicion that you knew anything, your safety would be at an end. All sides would want you dead or would take you in for questioning under torture. I have no faith in even your ability to know such a secret and consistently appear not to know it. And, if you will pardon my lapse into official mode, it might frustrate a settlement on which the welfare of millions depends.’

    I pushed hard. Theophanes was like flint. I tried an indirect approach.

    ‘If you haven’t switched over to Heraclius, you must still be loyal to Phocas. But surely he’s finished? Surely, he’ll not be Emperor come Christmas?’

    Theophanes sighed. ‘You assume, my dear boy, that I must be on the side of either. My informants tell me Heraclius is a dreamy, idle creature. Without firm advice, he is indecisive. And he cannot judge the value of the advice he is given. The further away he travels from his father in Carthage, the less effective his actions appear to be.’

    ‘Quite unlike the bloodthirsty drunkard you serve,’ I said with a sneer. Would this draw him out? I wondered.

    Theophanes smiled indulgently, and took his time to suck on one of the softer berries in the dish. The wind had dropped, but clouds were now darkening the skies outside our bubble.

    ‘Let me be specific, Aelric. My ultimate loyalty is not to any specific Emperor. It is to the Empire itself.’

    He paused at my look of incredulity. He ignored my faintly sarcastic wave at the glories that were visible, if distorted, beyond the sheet of water.

    ‘For all his merits,’ he said, ‘Maurice clung to an order of things that was dead. He wouldn’t let go of what we cannot much longer hold. His only solution was more taxes and a squeeze on military pay, and to hope against hope that his next military victory would sort everything out.

    ‘Phocas was different. He came in without grandiose expect ations. He cut non-military spending. He reformed abuses. He even quietly took the view that, so long as they paid on time, what the taxpayers said in church was their business. Before the African revolt, he was fighting the Persians at minimal cost.’

    ‘But now he’s a drunken killer?’ I pressed.

    Theophanes shook his head. ‘With his responsibilities, who wouldn’t turn to drink?’ he asked. ‘As for the Terror, that was begun by his son-in-law, Priscus – a brute whose eagerness to meet you must be satisfied in the next few evenings.

    ‘Phocas may have grown to like the taste of blood. But it was not he who first raised the cup. If I administer the incidental details of the Terror, it is only because some order of killing must be maintained.

    ‘All that matters ultimately is that Heraclius, if he becomes Emperor, will have all the faults of Maurice and none of his virtues. Phocas is useful to the Empire in ways that will outlast his reign.

    ‘But I begin to feel very tired, my dearest boy,’ Theophanes said after another long pause. ‘Before I begin to wander in my thoughts, let me inform you of what officially happened last night. It is enough for everyone to know that you were the hero. You conceived and executed a daring plan of escape that got the three of us back to the City walls with a barbarian army on our heels. You may elaborate as you please on that theme. But our meeting with the Great One never took place. We were never close to his tent. We neither did nor observed any things there.

    ‘As for the other captives, we are putting the word about that their release was secured by the timely intervention of Saint Victorinus. He worked a miracle with the Great One, who has returned to his own benighted land with a handful of missionaries provided by Phocas.

    ‘People will more readily believe this story than that Heraclius secured the release. It saves us the fruitless task of trying to prove that Phocas really did all he could to achieve the same. Neither side really gains from the story we are circulating. Neither side loses.

    ‘From what I know of the man, Heraclius will soon himself believe the official story.’

    And that was the end of what Theophanes had to say. I could have asked more. I might have explored the advantages he had secured for himself. Because he’d escaped with me, Phocas had accepted him back inside the walls, his position unshaken. Because our escape had taken us to the Yellow Camp, he’d opened a line of communication with Heraclius that might be useful when or if there was a change of Emperor.

    I knew I’d got as much as I would get out of the old greaser. Some of what Theophanes had said was undoubtedly true. Some was probably lies. Much else lay in the grey zone that separates truth from falsehood. I’d have to sort out what was what for myself.

    Theophanes rose unsteadily to his feet. He looked down at me. The weariness on his face seeped through the lead gloss.

    ‘I know, my dearest boy, you still think me an unscrupulous Oriental eunuch, practised in every form of deceit – including perhaps self-deceit. But let me assure you, I cannot forget what has happened during the past few days. You will have no better friend in the City than I. Should it ever be necessary, I will die for you.’

    With that, and his parasol up, he stepped through the curtain of water.

    I wanted to run after him. But as I emerged from the fountain, I saw the messengers waiting under the peristyle, more of those purple bags in hand.

    The heat was gone from the afternoon. It was coming on to rain.

30

I was set down outside the Legation to a ragged cheer from the crowd that had gathered there. Word had already got round of Alaric the Hero. I had no illusions about what had happened. Some diversion was needed from the apparent shambles Phocas had made of handling the barbarians. I was the best on offer. I’d made a bloody and triumphant escape. If I’d also brought Theophanes back to the City, that didn’t seem – even maybe in private – to diminish my glory.

    I made a short speech of thanks, dwelling on how Saint Victorinus had guided my steps. That avoided my having to make reference to any human agency and saved giving offence to either party.

    It went down well. As I finished, a woman held up a child before me. I pinched its cheek and told her he would grow into a fine young man.