Chapter 34
Priscus lifted the sheet again off one of the bodies and smacked his lips. ‘If you can stomach a little more praise, dear boy,’ he said without turning, ‘consider me impressed.’ He bent for a closer inspection. ‘You killed three of these, and disabled another, with just Martin and an old priest for help? Well, I suppose you’ll make a soldier yet.’ He pulled the sheet right off the body and nearly overbalanced. He gave up trying to laugh and sat down with a groan, and went back to nursing his left arm. He’d got back here slightly before me. About the time I was fighting for my life outside the walls, he’d been jumped on his way back from an apothecary. There could be no doubt of the main facts: they’d been seen, if at a distance, by the Bishop of Athens.
‘Of course, my little darling,’ he went on with forced brightness, ‘yours was more a glorified street brawl than a battle. If you look at the harvest from the attack made on me, you’ll see that each was felled with a single stroke from the front. So much delicacy of language — and you still fight like a barbarian drunk on cider.’
I ignored the obvious reply, that I’d come through my own ambush without so much as a scratch, and took another sip of beer fortified with a half opium pill. We were sitting in one of the larger abandoned offices in the residency. The tables had been cleared of writing materials and other old clutter, and now supported six variously carved-up bodies. Though the windows were all closed, the still air was filled with the smell of ingrained human dirt and with the buzz of those ever-present flies.
Priscus got up again and chased the flies away from one of the cleaner kills. He sniggered and pointed at the crotch. ‘No wonder that one of yours was so pleased to do himself in. Just imagine how you’d feel if you’d cut off the organ of pleasure, but left the organs of desire untouched.’
I forced myself to look once more at the tangle of black hairs. Where the shaft had once emerged, a gold ring was half-buried in the hair. The hairy ballbag hung between parted legs. The mutilation — rather, the self-mutilation — was repeated on all the other bodies. I swallowed and sat back in my chair.
Priscus laughed. ‘It’s all a bit like that wog Brotherhood we smashed up in Egypt — don’t you think?’ He cupped the ballbag in the hand of his good arm and went into a coughing fit.
There was no denying that these weren’t your ordinary bandits. If I hadn’t known better, I might have put them down as Christian; there’s no limit, after all, to what some of the wilder heretics can read into Scripture. I thought of the text about those ‘which have made themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven’s sake’. But I’d seen them, or colleagues of theirs, with Balthazar in that invocation of ‘the Goddess’. These were all debased remnants of the Old Faith. I’ve said Athens had come late to the Established Faith. It had also come rather imperfectly.
‘Now, it might be relevant to ask,’ Priscus added in the tone of one who’s desperately at war with the need to go and lie down, ‘not just who these buggers were, but who sent them, and for what purpose.’ He tried for a sweet smile, but failed. ‘Any thoughts of your own, My Lord Senator?’
‘How about your good friends Nicephorus and Balthazar?’ I asked. As his face turned blank, it was my turn to laugh. ‘I should hope by now you’ve finished writing my funeral oration. Any chance of reciting its exordium? You can dispense with the onion.’
He played with his wine cup and gave me a long and thoughtful look. Then he smiled. He put his cup down and stretched. He leaned forward for another look at the nearest body, and clucked happily as he pulled at the gold ring. He pulled harder and fought to suppress another cough as a peak of dead flesh poked through the hair. He let go of the ring and turned back to me. ‘I really must be getting old,’ he said with a sorry shake of his head. ‘I knew that old fraud Balthazar was spying on me the other night. But I didn’t even consider you might have been there too. Oh dear!’
He paused and thought. He brightened and lifted his cup. ‘But you surely know all about my often odd sense of humour. Come, dearest Alaric, we’re two very old and very dear friends!’ he cried with a wave of his cup so expansive that wine splashed over the floor tiles. He leaned forward and smiled. ‘You surely know that I’d never lift a finger against you — not after all we’ve been through. Haven’t I often said that we stand or fall together?’
Not blinking, I stared back at him. Should I give him a list of the times he had tried to kill me? Best not — it might show there were times I hadn’t noticed, and encourage him to try harder. At last, I could feel the warmth of the opium spreading out from my stomach. Another few moments, and my remaining jitters would be smothered beneath great waves of serenity.
Priscus sat back and gave me a sly look. ‘Besides, dear boy,’ he went on with smooth charm, ‘there’s fuck all you can do about whatever you may have seen the other night. Let’s admit that Nicephorus hasn’t just made himself scarce — he’s scarpered. Without him to bully into a confession, it’s your word against mine in any trial before Caesar. Even with Martin to back you up, Heraclius will have to pretend not to believe you. Bear in mind, he does need someone to face down the Persians when they start their march into Syria. Believing any charges you care to make just wouldn’t be convenient.’
‘Oh, Priscus, my dearest friend,’ I cried satirically, ‘how could I doubt your word?’ And the pity was it didn’t suit me to doubt his word. I’d not tell him about Ludinus and my now desperate need to get the right answer out of that council. Without having to make any actual promises, I’d managed to swear the Dispensator to inaction. There’d be no wave of arrests — no superstition-crazed monks combing Athens for Nicephorus and Balthazar. I’d take whatever risk that entailed and keep an unwavering gaze on the main action of this particular story.
There was a soft scraping on the door. Priscus looked up, a bright smile on his face. He pulled down the one blind that had been left to let in the sunlight and wiped off a rivulet of hair dye that had run down his face. ‘Come in, my dearest,’ he called.
The door opened and Euphemia walked in. Wearing a hooded cloak that must have been sweltering, she bowed modestly in my direction and began fussing with a bowl of hot water. She didn’t acknowledge that I’d stood up for her, and I sat down again.
‘A most splendid woman is the Count’s sister-in-law, don’t you agree?’ he said, holding up his bandaged arm for her attention. ‘We can rely on her not to miss Nicephorus.’
She looked sharply over at me.
Priscus laughed happily. ‘Yes, my dear, he’s buggered off at last,’ he said to her. ‘That means you can go now where you will — so long as Alaric makes it possible.’ He gasped as she undid the bandage and began sponging at the long wound on his arm. There was a long pause as she finished her work and tied on a clean bandage. Priscus twisted his face into another smile and opened his mouth to speak. Instead, he went into another coughing fit. By the time this was over, Euphemia was halfway to the door. ‘But, my dear young woman,’ he finally managed to cry in his jolliest tone, ‘have you got him yet between your legs?’ He suddenly turned and looked into my face. He laughed again. ‘So, it’s all as good as agreed,’ he said to Euphemia, now softly. ‘If it ever comes to pass, I’m sure you’ll find much to amuse you in the Capital. You might even be useful to young Alaric.’
As the door closed, and we were alone, Priscus got up and went back to the bodies. He tugged again on one of the gold rings. This time, he took out a knife and cut it free. He went over to a window and pulled up the blind to inspect the ring in a shaft of sunlight. He bit the gold to test its fineness and held it up again to look at the tooth marks. ‘You can believe what you please about my instructions to Nicephorus,’ he said. ‘You can be sure, however, I didn’t commission my own death. And, now our bird has flown, don’t expect me to call him and Balthazar off.’