Chapter 21
‘For a man who says he’s too sick even to leave his bed,’ I said in Latin, ‘His Excellency in Corinth is a wondrously busy correspondent.’ I eased myself down a few inches into the lukewarm water, and looked again at my face in the mirror I was holding. The spot on my nose was now definitely ripe. The bitch was it had been joined by another. I turned my attention back to Martin. He was sitting in the glow of sunlight that was reflected down on us from the high, unglazed windows of the bathhouse. I’d been right about the Governor. His letters had come over unrolled, and formed a heap of papyrus several inches thick. It was a short dash across the water from Piraeus. But he must have worked like a demon to get all this over to us. Martin coughed politely and reached for what he considered the most important of the letters.
Beyond the first intake of breath, however, I heard nothing of whatever he read. With a force that reminded me of a heretical baptism I’d once attended, the slave pushed down hard on my shoulders and sent me so far under water that I felt the sudden chill as my legs rose into the air. I felt the mirror land on my belly and then slide off until I heard it scrape against the leaden bottom of the bathtub. As I came up again spluttering, he set about my hair as if it were potter’s clay. By the time I was able to go back to any kind of conversation, Martin had put the letter down and was back to chewing on his stale crust. He’d farted while I was under the water, and the smell was almost worth a brief comment.
But, ‘I’ll read his military update myself,’ is all I said. I really hadn’t the patience to sit through another attack of the vapours when he read about the barbarian flood gathering north of Thermopylae. ‘Then you can summarise anything else that isn’t a waste of time.’ I sat up and reached for the cup of ginger cordial that Martin had set for me on the little table that was attached to the bath. Heated and with a dash of some local stimulant, it was an improvement on all the wine I’d so far been served. ‘You know, I’m wondering about the value of a trip over to Corinth. If the Governor really is ill, it could be made to look as if I actually cared for the man. And, though you and I have business in Athens, Sveta and the children might be more comfy in the provincial capital.’
I was expecting some reaction from Martin to this very diplomatic admission that Athens might not be completely safe. But it was now that the slave spoke. Rather, he giggled and let out a sentence of what sounded like Egyptian while poking at my nose. I frowned and gripped the sides of the bath. He repeated himself and gave me another poke. Would it be unreasonable, I wondered, if I stood up and boxed his ears? Or might it show a certain want of dignity?
‘I think he’s asking if you’d like him to suck out the pus,’ Martin explained, seemingly unaware of my admission.
He was right. The slave had spoken in the local dialect. Now I bothered listening, it did have a Greek base, but was so corrupted, and so mixed in Slavic words and grammatical forms, that it might have been a different language. Sad, I thought, that Athens had come to this. I nodded and tried to ignore the blast of stinking breath and the scrape of teeth against my nose.
‘Have you seen our host yet?’ I asked as the slave pulled momentarily back and spat a mouthful of goo into the water. Even if he was rather an unlikely spy, I might as well avoid any mention of names or titles that had meaning in Greek as well as Latin.
Martin nodded. ‘He was up before me,’ he said. ‘He got the big slave to heat your bathwater. He said he’d not be able to join you for breakfast, but would arrange a tour for you of Athens. He had a black eye,’ he added.
I waited for the slave to suck again on my nose. ‘I choose to assume he’s off on some official business,’ I said. ‘For sure, with no one employed to copy letters, or even deliver them, he must be running about Athens like a blue-arsed fly.’ I closed my eyes as the slave attached himself still harder to my nose, and thought about possible departure times for Corinth. I had no great wish to see the Governor. But I did want Sveta and the children safe behind the walls of the provincial capital. Also, I was short of cash. What Martin had handed back to me might have got him and my other people to Rome. But, now I’d be in Athens for some while — and now I’d heard it plain the whole official budget was embezzled — I needed some Jewish or Syrian banker to cash a draft for me. If I wanted any degree of comfort, I’d need slaves of my own to clean up my part of the residency. I might even get some of the heating back into working order.
The slave finally pulled back from my face, and I watched his pink spittle dissolve in the bathwater. I resisted the urge to put a finger to my nose. I sat up again and reached forward for the mirror. I wiped it clear and looked at the bright swelling. Had this been, in any sense, a worthwhile treatment? I put the mirror on the table beside my cup and changed the subject.
‘There is,’ I said to Martin, ‘a summary of the issue that I prepared for the orthodox and heretical Patriarchs of Alexandria. I believe you packed it in the smaller document box. You’ll need to make certain obvious cuts. But I’ll be most grateful if you could translate it into Latin for me to read out to the Western delegates. If they’ve arrived yet, and if there are no contrary instructions from the Emperor, I think I’ll convene the council the day after tomorrow. We’ll have a nice Sunday service, where everyone can be sworn to secrecy. Then we’ll proceed to whatever place of meeting Nicephorus has been ordered to make ready for us. The clearer we can make the issues, the sooner we can get everyone to agree the manner of their future discussion.’
‘What are you going to do about what you learned last night?’ Martin asked suddenly in Celtic. ‘The tongue of Saint George will protect us from satanic spells, but-’
‘Oh, do shut up, Martin!’ I laughed, joining him in Celtic — you can never be too paranoid where even idiot slaves are concerned. ‘I’ve told you many times there is no such thing as magic. You control the forces of Nature by the uncovering of facts and careful reasoning from them. There’s no short cut to be had from incantations, or chance resemblances of tree roots to body parts, or whatever. Be aware that the Count is a murderer, aided and assisted by some local charlatan and his agents or servants. There really is nothing more to be said.’
I smiled and reached forward to pat Martin on the back. I noticed too late I was putting a wet stain on his tunic and apologised. ‘Look, Martin,’ I said earnestly, ‘there is no magic. All that chanting does no more harm than the twittering of some bug at night.’ I stopped and waited for the look of strain to go out of Martin’s face.
Of course, it stayed put. ‘And you’re not going to act on what we learned last night?’ he asked, his mouth dropping open. ‘Even if you’re planning to overlook the girl, Priscus did say he wanted you dead.’
I stretched and yawned. ‘Oh, Martin,’ I said, ‘what do you suppose I should do — arrest the Commander of the East?’ I laughed. ‘In the first place, there’s the question of where to hold him. Then, there would have to be a trial before the Emperor. Even if we managed to throw in a few accusations of sorcery, the Great Augustus would require some evidence — and we really have nothing to offer at present. I hope you’ll agree that our only option is to take reasonable care and to wait on further developments. Besides, you may remember that, if our friend did request a murder, his request doesn’t seem to have produced anything other than a few more of the magic spells that didn’t stop us from getting here in the first place.’
I smiled reassuringly and had another look at myself in the mirror. That gave me an excuse for saying nothing more. Martin did have a point, I had to allow. If sorcery itself is nothing, sorcerers can still be dangerous. The rotting corpse we’d found the day before was proof of that. I changed my train of thought. Murder is murder. Sooner or later, that has to be punished. But I thought again. There was, to my knowledge, neither civil nor military government in Athens. Nicephorus had seen to that. I’d need at least a few days of caution. Balthazar had dismissed me as of no account. Of no account I’d therefore be. I’d make a few ineffectual enquiries about the state of affairs — do less than that, and I’d raise suspicion. Today was Friday. On Monday, I’d be off to Corinth. There, all being well, I’d take charge of things and come back with fifty or sixty armed men. The only shame was that I’d not be able to include Priscus in the arrests. But I really would try every one of those bastards for murder, from Nicephorus down, and throw in a sorcery charge to justify the executions. Even without the brilliant success I had in mind for the council, Heraclius would wet himself with joy as he read my account of the proceedings in Athens.