The Ghosts of Athens (31 page)

But there was to be no more thinking about architectural details. Martin drew breath to carry on in his whispered Celtic. I almost wished he could have gone back to insisting on a dishonourable flight from Corinth. I sighed and got in first. ‘He was fucking the girl,’ I conceded. ‘I have no reasonable doubt of that. He was fucking her, and leading her along with all the usual promises. What happened next, though, may be doubted. We might assume this was a sex killing. A man in the Count’s position is able to develop and indulge some questionable tastes . . .’

‘You know perfectly well it was sorcery!’ Martin hissed. ‘We both heard that he sacrificed her to whatever demon was being asked to drown us at sea. Why else his behaviour when you found the body?’

I could have thrown doubt on all of this. What we’d heard in the library was at least ambiguous. All that Nicephorus had said and done beside the tomb of Hierocles could make sense on the assumption of a mere sex killing.

The Dispensator, though, had now finished his own long prayer for the soul of the dead, and was standing behind us. ‘God understands all,’ he said in a voice that, however softly he spoke, echoed from the curved ceiling. ‘But I choose to think it both unfriendly and a sign of guilt if your conversation is in a language that neither I nor any other worshipper here can understand. You know, Alaric, that the poor girl was murdered. Will you resist me if I claim the right to
all
the information you have about her death?’

I certainly would resist him, and I did. Not so buggery Martin. After a few promising evasions and shifty looks, he gave straight in and told the lot, probable sorcery and all.

The Dispensator got down again on his knees, this time beside us, and prayed for what seemed a very long time. ‘We have been called to Athens,’ he finally said, now very grim, ‘to agree some process by which heretics may be reconciled to the Faith as laid down at Chalcedon. I now learn that the Count of Athens himself is in communion with the demons of the Old Faith, and that this communion has not stopped short of human sacrifice. Might I ask His Magnificence the Lord Senator Alaric why this fact has not been reported?’

The plain answer I could have given was that Nicephorus was the normal authority to which these things should be reported. Since that was out, I was the next authority, and I already knew all about his crime. What I did about it was a matter for me alone to decide. I turned and looked nervously about. We weren’t alone in the church. But the five monks behind us had the dark beards and eyes of Easterners. The old women who’d probably come in out of the sun, and were muttering to each other as they carried on with their knitting, also could be trusted not to follow any of the Latin in which we were speaking. The previous day, I’d fixed myself like a cart in some ancient rut. There was justice in its widest sense to be served here. If murder was murder, there was also an empire that had to be saved. We’d save this most effectually by sorting out the Monophysite heresy – not by setting everyone in a twitter with allegations of sorcery.

‘Look, Fortunatus,’ I said, trying to sound reasonable, ‘the moment I’m ready, I’ll have that bastard Count clapped in chains before he can squeal the name of his goddess. He can then be shipped off to Constantinople for trial before the Emperor. But there are, for the moment, other things to consider . . .’ I fell silent and began to feel dirtier than ever. I looked back at the icon. You don’t expect a few daubs of paint on wood to give advice on how to govern Church and state. I got no guidance whatever. Like a fool, I turned and stared into the pitiless face of the Dispensator. At once, I felt myself back in his office in the Lateran. I might be His Magnificence the Lord Senator to everyone else. But here was someone who knew just as well as Martin who I actually was. Unlike Martin, the Dispensator would never back down from that knowledge. I looked straight down at the limestone tiles that must have been laid over the ancient floor, and tried to focus on a meaningless graffito someone had scratched there.

‘Alaric,’ the Dispensator said, ‘when Constantine established the True Faith, the demons who had previously deceived mankind were not destroyed. Instead, they were simply displaced from their temples and from the general regard. Ever since then, they have lurked in every dark place, ready to be called back into power by the appropriate words, and given new power by offerings of blood. Sometimes, they will take over the minds of the weak with gifts of carnal knowledge; demons, you will be aware, can assume living forms of great beauty and allure. Sometimes, they will remain invisible, but offer power over things. Christ Himself will not combat their wiles, but has resigned that task to those who freely use their own will and the secular power of the Empire. You are the highest secular power in Athens. I charge you with the duty to act in defence of right, truth and justice.’

I might have tried for a bitter laugh. But you really didn’t try interrupting the Dispensator.

‘At the very least,’ he went on, ‘our duty is to go out and recover the body of that poor child. She deserves a Christian burial.’

I made no answer, but left him to prose on to his conclusion about our duties to the dead and to the living, and to God in His Heaven. I’d never shut him up. All I could do was start persuading myself, with a desperate lack of conviction, that he was jogging me into a combination of justice with convenience.

He turned to Martin and glared his burst of twitching and muttering into stillness. ‘She was sixteen,’ he spat. ‘How would you feel in that old man’s position? How about losing
your
only child?’

I looked again at the icon and wondered. Even if I left Nicephorus at large, and had to send all my people off to Corinth without me – even if I had to lie alone at night, with a sword under the bed – I
couldn’t
afford the risk of going public with sorcery charges. Then again, if I acted not alone, but at the behest of the Church . . . ? A thought was stirring at the back of my mind.

‘Very well,’ I said when the Dispensator finally stopped to collect his own thoughts. ‘We’ll go out and recover the body. Before you can have it for burial, I’ll shove it under the nose of Count bloody Nicephorus. He doesn’t look the sort who’s up to denying apparent proof of his actions. I’ll charge him with sorcery and treason and misappropriation of funds. We’ll see if we can also lay hands on that fraud Balthazar. After all, he probably killed the girl.’ I thought again. ‘We might even consider arresting our dear friend and companion in our travels the Commander of the East. If we can shock a full confession out of Nicephorus, we’ll have the evidence we need for that. After all, any failure to report sorcery and treason
is
sorcery and treason so far as the law is concerned. We’ll hang the lesser trash, and drag the other three off to denounce each other black in the face before the Emperor. They can then be taken off to be eaten alive by pigs or boiled in lead. The Circus mob won’t have seen the like of their execution since wicked old Phocas was Emperor.

‘No,’ I went on, giving way, I could tell myself, to the inevitable, ‘I’ll produce that body in the residency, and start the wheels and pulleys of justice. I’m sure the Bishop of Athens can lend us a holding dungeon until we can all take ship for Constantinople. Until then, we can see how well our dear friend can support the prospect of having his own eyelids peeled, and starved rats shoved into his own wide-stretched arse, before the big day in public. You know that, where accusations of sorcery are concerned, the Big Boss makes up laws on the spot.’

I got up and scowled. That icon of Christ, I vaguely noted, looked at its best from a kneeling position. Modern artists might lack the realism of the ancients, but were no less skilful at producing whatever effects they wanted. I looked about at the colours that glowed on every wall. I’d give in to necessity. But for Martin, I’d surely have found some pleasing lie to keep the Dispensator quiet. But what was done was done. I suddenly wilted inside myself. Was it really policy that I’d given in so easily? Or was it just anger? Was this Aelric the barbarian, acting from outrage? Or was it Alaric, the subtle politician? I felt confused. I felt dirty. I felt confused again. But I steadied my thoughts. Whatever I finally decided about my own motives, this was now a Church matter. In theory, the Dispensator was as much in charge of these matters here as in Rome. The Bishop of Athens took his orders from the Pope – which meant the Dispensator. Regular armed men would have been better. But a few dozen of those vicious monks would be a fair alternative to the civil power. Give them a whiff of sorcery, and they’d tear Athens apart to get at Nicephorus. I could no more stop what had to happen than Felix had been able to stand up to the Dispensator’s flow of comfort. Perhaps I no more wanted to. I could still hope I’d get up to address my council to a burst of applause. If I merely unsettled every mind still further, that was something I’d have to take into account as and when.

I looked at the Dispensator. ‘Very well, My Lord Fortunatus,’ I said again. ‘You can have your way. But we need to move fast. For evidential reasons, it would be useful to have a witness with me in the residency whose sworn declaration must be taken seriously by any court. If you can oblige me in this regard, I can promise that justice will be served as fully on earth as it will be in Heaven.’

The Dispensator pursed his lips, but nodded.

‘As soon as you can manage, I’d like four strong men from your monastery, and a stretcher with heavy blankets. Please do this quickly and without explaining any purpose. I’ll be waiting a few hundred yards along the Piraeus road.’

We’d been walking slowly back to the main door of the church. Now, we stepped out into the impossible glare of the late morning sun. ‘You can’t be thinking of a trip outside the walls
now
?’ Martin groaned. ‘Shouldn’t we go back to see if Irene has delivered those slaves?’

I opened my eyes and stared down at the steps. If I were to lie down on them, I’d be able to see for myself how they curved along their length to produce the effect they gave to the whole of great lightness. But I sniffed and gave Martin a frown of annoyance. That was all his fault, I could have reminded him. But for his loose tongue, we’d already have been back to have our slaves strip naked and show their teeth for a last-minute inspection and possible haggle over whether they came up to the stipulated health and fineness. I waited for him to turn his eyes away from mine. ‘I’m not risking a trip back to the residency,’ I snapped. ‘Since we can’t agree to wait, speed and secrecy are of the essence. If you saw that we were followed when we came out, you didn’t tell me at the time.’ I touched the sword I was carrying about my waist. I could, of course, go back and arrest Nicephorus, and then go outside Athens for the evidence. But, if I wanted Priscus too, I’d have to observe all the forms, and make sure they were witnessed.

I stared back inside the dark interior of the church. You kill for defence. You kill someone who’s guilty of something that merits death. You kill those for whom death is an occupational hazard. No one but a beast kills like this. Where the lesser accomplices were concerned, I’d probably not go beyond hanging. But that would be the only mercy they could expect.

I rubbed at my nose. A final look in the mirror before coming out had let me think the spots were going. But was there now a third coming up? ‘Do remind me, Martin,’ I said, ‘to arrange a pension of the eighth grade. I will seal the order myself, though search me how it will be paid. You can also see if any of the remaining interpreters is worth promoting.’

‘I must assure you, Alaric,’ the Dispensator said as we paused for a moment within the Propylaea, ‘that you are doing the right thing.’

I didn’t bother answering.

But, now there was no one to overhear us in Latin, he raised his voice. ‘You must consider,’ he said, ‘that every stroke of what you are vulgar enough to call luck has come your way precisely because, when called upon to do the right thing, that is what – however protestingly – you have always done.’

I could have laughed in his face. Instead, I wished I’d stayed in my bed the night before last. Better still, I wished I’d never got out of my chair on the Piraeus road. There’s much to be said for ignorance, especially of facts that only get in the way of what absolutely has to be done.

I stood looking at the cenotaph of Euripides. Except that the continuous rains of the summer had left every plant an unautumnal green, the Piraeus road was now as I’d first imagined it. Giving up on the residency slaves, Martin and his wife had finally got all my fine clothes into order, and I’d come out to see the interpreter in one of my thinner tunics. Athens was far north of Alexandria, and the heat even of a good noonday in October didn’t compare. Despite the moderate freshness, though, I was happy to stand here hatless and without any cloak. Though not many, there were now passers-by. None recognised me, and the few looks I got were simple interest in the incongruous match of my colouring and the finest white silk.

‘Do you remember the game we used to play in Alexandria?’ I asked in Latin. ‘I mean the one where we’d stand ourselves in such and such a place, and try to imagine what it must have looked like at such and such a time in the past?’