‘Well, dear boy,’ he drawled, ‘do you fancy shimmying up properly to ask what it is they want this time? I absolutely promise not to push you from behind.’
How many promises the man had broken in his sixty-odd years wasn’t a subject I fancied considering. But I’d have to rely on his perception of his own interests and take the risk. I took hold of the smooth marble and pulled myself on to the apex of the portico. Just below me on a ledge that projected out was a mass of statuary that copied the old front pediment of the Temple of Athena. If I did pitch forward, I could trust in that to hold me until I could be recovered.
Testing my balance, I stood carefully up. I looked over the gathering crowd. As yet, no one had looked up to see me, though the moon must be shining on my white tunic as it did on the uncoloured marble of the statues. I clapped my hands loudly together and waited for every head to turn upward.
‘Who dares disturb the counsels of their betters?’ I shouted.
There was a long pause, broken only by a continued low muttering and a shaking of torches. Then someone shouted from the middle of the crowd: ‘Give us back Nicephorus!’ There was a ragged chorus of the name, and a rising babble of many other things that mixed together so I couldn’t follow them.
Keeping my balance, I raised my arms again for silence. ‘You produce Nicephorus if you can,’ I shouted as loudly as I could. ‘He has deserted all of us. As of this evening, Athens is under direct rule by the Emperor’s Legate. And I tell you all again: there is an enemy at the gates of Athens that will make no distinction of rank or opinion if it manages to break in among us. I do not ask you to join in the defence of your lives and your homes. But I do suggest that you refrain from disturbing the counsels of those who are to defend you.’
I was drawing breath to bid them good night, when there was a sudden scream of horror, and the forest of torches moved sharply back to the middle of the big square. It was impossible to see past those flaring lights into the crowd beneath. But I could see that those nearest the residency were no longer looking up at me. Their heads were now turned to somewhere below me on the right. I wiped sweaty hands on my tunic and stretched carefully forward. Just before I thought I’d overbalance, I caught sight of Euphemia. She’d got herself on to a balcony that looked over the square, and was leaning forward to see all that was happening.
‘For God’s sake, woman,’ I snarled softly, ‘get inside.’ If she’d heard me she didn’t turn. I saw her put up a hand to her cheek and continue looking over the ever-growing mass of torches. ‘Euphemia!’ I shouted. She did look round. The left side of her face was hid in shadow. The right side shone utterly blank in the moonlight. I wanted to shout again, but felt my balance going out of control. I put my arms out and struggled not to fall backwards to where Priscus had for some reason given way to loud giggles.
As I finally steadied myself, I heard the dull noise of undrawn bolts from below me. I saw the glint of moonlight on swords as half a dozen armed slaves stood forward from the opened gate of the residency. ‘Piss off, the lot of you,’ I heard Irene shout in the shrill falsetto she used for repeating unobeyed orders. ‘Piss off home, or it’ll be the worse for you.’
‘Get those gates shut, you stupid old bitch!’ I shouted downwards. Even fully armed, twenty Slavs were no match for a determined rush. Little as I knew back then of siege warfare, I did know how the most apparently solid stone buildings could go up in fire, given the right determination.
But, even as I drew breath to shout again, there was another shouted order from Irene. This was followed by the whizz and fluttering of a dozen flaming arrows. They flew across the twenty-yard gap separating the mob from the front of the residency. As they struck home, there was a great wail of terror and of pain. I saw torches fall and go out. The whole mob fell back still further, and I could see that every arrow had struck home. Some gone out, some still burning, their bright shafts gleamed beside the huddled shapes of the fallen. There was another order, and another volley of arrows, and then another. None of the armed slaves I’d seen below moved forward, but stood with glittering swords on either side of the gate. There would be no attempt now to force the gate. But volley after volley of flickering lights darted across the square.
At last, I stood looking down over complete silence. The mob had dispersed. The breeze came softly from behind, and I could smell none of the smoke from the burning pitch of torches and of arrows. I was about to jump down beside Priscus and make my way to the gate, when there was yet another shrill order from Irene. It was now that the armed slaves hurried forward. They went from body to body. Sometimes, they kicked and moved on. More often, they stopped and bent low to cut the throats of those who’d survived the arrows. The bodies, I supposed, she’d leave to be collected come morning, and to stand as a warning against any further attempt on the residency.
I leaned carefully forward again. The balcony was now empty.
‘Have you gone round the twist?’ I snarled at the large shape under the bedclothes where Euphemia cowered. ‘You could have got yourself killed. Without Irene, you might easily have sent the mob out of all control.’ I sat down and drank more wine. I reached forward on the bed and poked what might have been her back.
She gave a little cry of fright and struggled to get her head free of the blankets.
‘What could have possessed you to show yourself like that?’ I asked, now gently. I looked into her tear-swollen face. As ever, one look at her set my loins twitching. But I put this aside and frowned. ‘I don’t want you ever to show yourself to the urban trash again,’ I said firmly. ‘Do you understand?’
She swallowed and tried for a nervous smile. ‘They’ve always thought I was the witch who lurks in the residency and awaits her freedom at the hands of one who is without fear,’ she said quickly.
I cut off her next remark with a loud snort. ‘Euphemia,’ I said with heavy emphasis, ‘you have lived in this building for three years. I won’t make myself look ridiculous by taking you through the undeniable evidence for this claim. But you are Euphemia of Tarsus, widow of some brother of Nicephorus whose name and business I’ve never troubled to ask you. In addition, you are the adoptive mother of Theodore. You came here in the last year of Phocas. Whatever may have happened in this building was a hundred years ago — maybe two or three hundred years ago. Now, I want you to repeat all this to yourself and come back to your senses.’
I waited. This time, she did manage a smile of sorts. ‘You don’t understand what it’s like to be all alone in this place,’ she said. ‘There are whole days when I can barely remember what it was like to live in Tarsus. Have you never walked through this building as the dusk was falling, and heard voices in the shadows?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘and neither have you!’ I finished my wine and put the cup down on a table beside the bed. ‘There are three courtyards in the residency. One of them is rather large, if not particularly scenic. You should try walking about it in the full light of day. Now that you have some, you might set those maidservants to work on digging out a few of the flower beds. We’ll all be out of here long before they bloom. But even watching the work of others is all the medicine you need.’
I got up on my knees and pulled my tunic off. I threw it at a chair on the other side of the room. It fell short and landed beside my sandals. I laughed and lay back naked on the bed. I stretched my arms full out and then over my head. I arched my back and stared up at where the brightest of the lamps shone in its bracket. ‘Talking of medicine,’ I sighed, ‘you’ll not believe the day I’ve had!’