The Briton's face fell. "Why?" he asked, his eyes searching me for an answer. "It was our last chance."
"It was no chance at all," I said. "Shake the dust of this place from your feet, leave and never look back. I tell you the truth: make your peace with Rome, there is no protection here."
We left the palace then, crossing the reception hall to the outer doors. Dugal, who had remained silent before, fell into step behind me. "Did Leo own the deed?" he asked.
"He told me that Nikos did not kill his father."
"Sure, that was a lie, Aidan."
"No, Dugal," I replied from my wooden heart, "that, at least, was the truth."
The doors opened and we stepped out into the light of a day grown unimaginably bright.
74
Harald Bull-Roar, in a mood of jubilant anticipation, declared a feast to celebrate his great good fortune. Dauntless battlechief that he was, he arrayed himself for war and led his brave Sea Wolves into the fearsome markets to face the cunning tradesmen of Constantinople and secure the necessary provisions. They returned some while later, much wounded in pride and pocket, but victorious, bringing with them six casks of Cypriot wine, a dozen bags of bread, bundles of charcoal, and the carcasses of several pigs and three bullocks, ready-spitted and dressed for the roasting pit.
Wasting not a moment, they set the charcoal to life and put the meat to the flame. Then they opened the first of the casks and slaked their thirst with dark red wine, easing their hunger with loaves of good flatbread while waiting for the pigs to roast. It was not in Harald to forget his bread allowance, and he had collected it, still warm from the oven, despite the fact that not a man among them spoke Greek. I could only imagine how they had made their wishes known to the unfortunate baker.
The Arabs, beguiled by the Danes' irresistible good will, joined easily into the festivities. Some of the rafiq helped prepare the food and showed their hosts how to mix wine with water for best flavour and less devastating effect. Although Sadiq did not drink wine, he allowed the others to do as they would, and by way of blessing the occasion, sent Faysal to procure additional delicacies of a variety and array to make the long tables groan: dates, sweetmeats, olives both black and green, cakes in honey syrup, pots of thickened milk sweetened and flavoured with almonds, and several kinds of fruit unknown to me.
As eventide shadows stole across the courtyard and the heat of the day dissipated into the brilliant pinks and purples of a warm Mediterranean night, the merrymaking burst into song and dance to the delight of all-save myself and my brother monks. They were lamenting the failure of the pilgrimage, but I was grieving for a greater loss.
Owing to the sound of raucous singing and the rhythmic thump of improvised drumming emanating from the banqueting rooms, I did not hear the others as they approached. "Brother Aidan," announced Brynach firmly, "we would speak with you."
I turned to see the three of them standing uncertainly nearby. "Come then, and sit down," I said. "My solitude is large enough to share."
They stepped closer, but stood over me and would not sit-as if what they had to say should not be compromised by informality. Brynach gave out their concern at once. "We have been thinking and praying about the events of the day," he said, "and we believe you have acted rashly. We think we should go to the emperor and present our petition. If we tell him why we have come and what it means, he will take pity on us and give us the aid we so desperately need."
I raised my eyes to look at his face, earnest and determined in the twilight. Stars were beginning to shine in the sky, and the delicious scent of roasting meat curled along the gently wafting breeze of the courtyard. I drew the aroma deep into my lungs as I took a breath to answer. "You have seen, yet you still do not understand," I told him. "What more do you require to convince you? Would you have me explain it again?"
The three looked at each other. Dugal replied, "Yes, brother. Unless you tell us we cannot understand."
"Then hear me," I said, standing to address them. "This is the way of it: when greed and power conspire together, let all men beware. You have heard this said, and now, through bitter experience, you know it to be true. Moreover, when those who uphold justice are far more guilty than those whom they must judge, there is neither hope nor redemption. Why believe the unrighteous judge will honour the truth, or look beyond his own interests to protect yours?"
"If that were so," Brynach observed, "nothing in this world would be safe, or certain."
"Nothing is safe," I said flatly. "But one thing, and one thing only is certain: the innocent will suffer."
"I do wonder at your words," Brynach confessed, not without compassion. "It is unlike you-unlike the man I once knew."
"I am not the man I was! That man is long since dead. But what of that? He deserved no better fate than all the rest who died along the way."
"How can you speak so, brother?" the elder monk chided gently. "God has guided and protected you through all things to now. He has showered his favour upon you. Even now he holds you in the palm of his loving hand."
I turned my face away. "Speak to Cadoc and the others of God's protection," I muttered. "Do not speak to me. Sure, I know full well how God cares for those who trust him."
My bitterness stung them, and they stared at one another in dismay. After a moment, Ddewi plucked up his courage. "Are you saying these things because you killed Nikos and now you fear to stand before the emperor once more?"
So, that was on their minds. Why not? They did not know what I knew. "Listen to me," I said sharply, "and heed me well. Put away any notion that you will receive favour from the emperor's hand. Do not be deceived: he is no God-fearing man. Nikos was acting on behalf of Leo from the beginning. What Nikos did, he did for Leo, as much as for his own insatiable ambition."
"But, Aidan," objected Dugal, "you said Leo told the truth when he said Nikos did not kill the emperor."
A great weariness drew over me. They still did not comprehend the enormity of the evil allowed to flourish in Byzantium's holy palaces. I shook my head in despair. "Think, Dugal. All of you, think! Think what it means. Leo said that Nikos did not kill his father-and that was the truth." Dugal and the others gaped at me, baffled and hurt.
"Do you still not see it?" I said, my voice lashing at their ignorance. "Emperor Basil was not Leo's father." I let this sink in for a moment, before proceeding, "This is the way of it: Michael seduced and bedded many noblewomen of his court; one of them was Basil's wife. Basil knew this; indeed, he even encouraged it because it gave him a hold over the emperor. When a son was born of the adulterous union, he used the occasion to advance himself."
"Leo is Michael's son?" wondered Brynach in amazement.
"Yes, and in exchange for keeping the boy as his own, Basil was raised to the purple and made co-sovereign. When Michael's profligacy no longer served him, Basil arranged the old emperor's murder-some say he even did the deed himself-and then claimed the throne outright. Years pass, and the unloved boy grows up determined to avenge his true father's death. To this end, Nikos was employed by Leo; to this end the wicked scheme was laid-long before we ever thought to come to Byzantium."
I could see them struggling against this hard truth.
"We should tell someone," suggested Dugal weakly. "The emperor should be made to answer for his crimes."
I did not allow them the luxury of false hope. "The emperor is sovereign of the church, and judge over all, answerable only to God himself. Who do you propose to tell? God? I tell you He already knows, and does nothing."