I turned and gave Simeon a bright smile. ‘You know, My Lord Bishop,’ I continued, looking carefully into his still snarling face, ‘you did call the Pope’s right-hand man a ‘‘gross and vulgar barbarian’’. Of course, you did this only to me, and I’m sure you have no fear of what I might say against you. But you did also insult your Latin Brother in Christ — and to his face, and with the Bishop of Ephesus as a witness. A complaint from His Holiness about your behaviour is unlikely to be ignored by the Emperor. Where do you think he’ll send you — a mountain or a desert monastery? If you like, I could put in a word for you. The former British provinces have a most bracing combination of cold and rain.’
I could have stood there all night, watching the subtle changes of colour and expression in Simeon’s face. But some threats are best unelaborated — not least when the facts on which they are based are neither wholly nor partially true. I left him in his chair and went over to the window, and looked out into the utter darkness of the midnight hour.
‘Have you made notes of your closing speech?’ Martin asked me.
I hadn’t, but I assured him that it would be very simple. Whether I made it in Greek or Latin, it would take no effort to put it into the other language. Even here, the tension was perceptibly relaxing.
‘I have no idea what orders the captain of our own galley was given,’ I said in Latin, turning back to face everyone. ‘But, if he does put in on Monday — or is still in Corinth — I’ll somehow get him to take us to Constantinople. If we can work the rowers at full strength, we should see the Senatorial Dock days and days before a certain other person can be carried back along the main road. I’m assuming, of course, he will be carried. Then again, I don’t assume there will be any horse able to carry his bulk. So long as we can get back in time, I do suspect we can talk Our Lord and Master into a better view of his interests.’
I fell silent. Through all I’d just said, Simeon had been trying to follow its meaning — as if you can understand an unknown language by looking intently at how a speaker moves his lips. Awareness of his desperate concentration had kept me from realising how depressed I’d suddenly begun to feel. Perhaps the stimulant was starting to fade. More likely, this was one of those times when putting thoughts into words shows them as the wishful thinking they probably are. With Sergius under house arrest, and all the palace eunuchs running wild against me, who could tell if I could even get into the Imperial Presence? Unless I could bribe someone to open one of the gates, and then force my way into the Presence, the white, thirty-foot-high walls of the palace were as impregnable as Constantinople itself. If Heraclius was resolved not to see me, it would be as much as I could do to avoid being torn apart by the city mob. I thought again of Martin’s private urging to make a dash to the West before word could drift back that we’d lifted the siege.
I changed the subject. ‘What happened with the body of Irene?’ I asked.
‘I had her buried in the Church of Saint Eutropius the Lesser,’ the Dispensator said. ‘My secretary has taken over the running of this household. And I must apologise on his behalf for the extreme lateness of dinner.’ He walked over to one of the long windows and looked out into the darkness. ‘I did suggest boiled mutton. But we shall have to see what the slaves could manage.’
Euphemia didn’t come to me that night. After a day of hard killing, I might have fancied her attentions. But I didn’t miss her. Instead, for the first time in days and days, I fell straight into a long and exhausted sleep. I dreamed I was back in the barbarian camp, with Priscus and Ludinus both gloating down at me. But it was one of those indistinct dreams, in which you feel no terror. Though I could taste the full sourness of my replaced gag, I stared serenely back at the twisted faces, and heard nothing of what was said to me.
The dreams shifted, and I was now beside the tomb of Hierocles. The dead girl stood there, smiling wantonly and offering herself. Even before I could step backward on to the road, however, she was gone, and I had retraced both space and time to be once again in Richborough. I stood up to my waist in the chilly, grey sea water and looked out to where mist blotted out the horizon. Behind me, on the beach, there was something I didn’t care to turn and look at. I took a step further into the water, and then another, until the waters came up to my neck. With another step, they closed over my head, and I opened my mouth and breathed them into my lungs.
Even before I could realise what I’d done, the dream shifted yet again, and I was grovelling before Heraclius. I couldn’t say where I was. When I looked up, I didn’t see anything beyond his very still purple boots. I stretched forward again, and adored the Great Majesty for ages and ages. As I lay there, I could feel my body shrinking and withering with age. When I managed to look up again, there were the same purple boots, though I now had the sense that they covered other feet. Still, they didn’t move.
So the dreams tumbled through my head in a riot of muted colours and faint sounds. Perhaps they continued all night. Perhaps they were all crowded into the few moments before I opened my eyes and blinked in the morning sun that streamed through the uncovered window. But it was some while after I’d woken and looked about in vain for water in which to wash before I could shake off the feeling of vast and inconsolable sadness that had tinged every dream I could recall.
Chapter 60
As if nothing at all had happened, or was happening, Theodore was pushing Maximin in his swing. The sun had gone in behind one of the slightly grey clouds that were scudding across the sky, and Sveta stood beside me with her arms folded.
‘He will be coming back with us,’ she said in Slavic. She nodded at Theodore. When I said nothing back, she asked if I’d be adopting him as well.
‘You did well to go for the Dispensator,’ I said. I made an effort to look her in the eye. ‘Thank you,’ I eventually said in place of the more elaborate speech I’d had in mind.
Unblinking, she stared back at me. ‘One of these days, you’ll get us all killed,’ she said. ‘You know my great booby of a husband worships you and prays nightly for your safety?’
Having no answer in mind, I shrugged.
Without another word, she walked past me to where Theodore had now lost his hat. The sun would soon be out again. Whatever she thought of the boy’s adoptive mother, she was entirely at one with Euphemia on the danger this might pose even to the slightly sallow skin of a Syrian.
I heard a voice behind me in Latin. ‘Alaric,’ the Dispensator said, ‘I have prayed all night before the relic of Saint George. I am perfectly assured that God will bless our efforts.’
I leaned closer to Sveta. ‘Get enough water into that cellar to last five days,’ I whispered. ‘Take a couple of picks too. If you can make anyone go down there again, have the slaves dig out the blocked exit through the tomb.’
She nodded, then looked steadily back at me.
Before hurrying away, I glanced quickly about. A couple of the slaves had continued clearing rubbish off one of the old lawns. It had no grass, of course, but looked as it if might by the next spring.
The midday hour had come and gone, and still I stood beside Martin, looking in silence from the walls of Athens. One at a time, we’d been joined by what must have been the whole surviving militia, and then by a multitude of grim and hooded monks. At first, the wooden platform had shaken as every new arrival had stepped from the rickety ladder that led up from the cleared ground behind us. By now, there were so many of us that the platform had the deceptive solidity of something that might give way at any moment.