‘The Lord Priscus expects an attack before noon,’ the Dispensator had said when he could spare time from fussing over the placing of an aged catapult that might have done us better service by being set alight and thrown on to the heads of any attackers. ‘We can agree that there will be no attempt at a parley by Kutbayan. His instructions are to break in and destroy us all. But, so long as we can keep the barbarians from setting hands on this stretch of the wall, Priscus believes we may be able to repel an attack in not more than two other places.’ The Dispensator had then allowed himself a long inspection of the gathering masses, before changing the subject to a reminder of the Pope’s right to his title.
That had been right after the dawn. I now stood with Martin in the shadow of an equestrian statue, and waited for the monks to pull away the bodies that choked the entrance to the narrow street we had to enter. Every one of them clubbed to death in a manner that avoided any shedding of blood, there were enough bodies for the smell of corruption that already came from each to justify a napkin soaked in my strongest perfume.
‘I’ve counted a hundred and fifty,’ I said with a wave at the handcart that had now been produced. ‘Assuming an even distribution of bodies across the city, it looks as if Athens will be in need of a new lower class.’ It was a feeble and a wasted joke.
Martin swallowed and looked without answer at the two armed slaves I’d brought with us. ‘The Bishop of Athens told me many things yesterday morning,’ he said in a nervous whisper. ‘He said the common people are persuaded that any breach of the city walls will bring all the statues in Athens to life. These will then repel the attack without any effort on their part.’
There was no answer needed to that. I waited for the handcart to be pushed aside, and led the way in silence.
Except for the shouted acclamations in two languages, my two-day horror among the barbarians might have been a dream. There was the minute clerk with his stack of waxed tablets, there the assembled churchmen, each in his accustomed place. In my absence, the Dispensator had taken charge of the council, only to adjourn it till further notice. Now it was back to business. I held up my hands for silence and looked again at the list of questions that had been written in many hands on the sheet of papyrus Martin had given me.
‘Reverend Fathers,’ I cried in Greek — and Martin was now interpreting — ‘let me begin with the question of Nature and Persons and Will and Substance.’ I looked about the room. There was the buzz of just one fly in the still air. Sooner or later, this too would go out for the richer pickings to be had in the streets. I smiled easily and fixed a look on the pale and very troubled face of old Gundovald. He was still fussing over his lost boy, and looked set to start another burst of weeping. I looked instead at Simeon. After his first day of terror, he’d settled down rather well. So far as I could tell, he’d made no further trouble of any kind. There’s much to be said for a barbarian siege when you have a Church council to manage. I took a deep breath and prepared to outdo all my previous addresses to the council.
What I said is of little importance. Indeed, I said nothing I hadn’t said once or twice already. What was important was that I was back, and that I was now making every effort to keep my well-trained flock from straying.
I’d got to the second refill of the water clock when the sounds of battle that came through the high windows from all about suddenly rose in volume. I stopped in mid-sentence and glared at the Bishop of Ephesus as he got up from his place and hurried from the room. I’d barely resumed the thread of my argument than he was back.
‘The barbarians are within the walls!’ he cried. He fell down beside the minute clerk and pulled his robe over his head. Though it had been in Greek, the Dispensator had followed that meaning well enough. He sighed and put his stylus down.
I stepped forward into the space before the semicircle of seats and held up both hands for attention. ‘Reverend Fathers,’ I cried. The screams and clash of arms were undeniably coming closer, and I had to shout again for attention. ‘Reverend Fathers!’ I roared. This time, every face in the room turned back to me. I smiled weakly and cleared my throat. ‘Keep interpreting a phrase at a time,’ I whispered to Martin, who had covered both his eyes and was beginning to rock back and forth. ‘The residency slaves have their orders. The most we can do here is our duty.’ I stepped closer to the four dozen scared churchmen and continued in Greek.
‘You will all have read in your schooldays of how, in ancient times, when Rome was still a republic, its days of empire still in the future, the Gauls burst into the Senate House. Remember, then, how the Conscript Fathers faced the barbarians — sitting calmly, like statues, despising the violation of their proceedings.’ You can be sure I added nothing about the massacre that followed this. The Latins mostly scowled back at me. They might have blamed me as representative of an Emperor who’d called them into danger. But this sort of thing was, for most of them, an occupational hazard. To do them justice, the Greeks at least stayed in their seats.
Trying not to look at the closed door, I listened as the sounds of desperate battle came closer and closer. Then, as I took up my speech again — this time in a shout that would, before long, give me a sore throat — the noise began to recede.
This might have been the end of the scare. Even Martin was getting his voice in order as I elaborated on one of the supplemental decrees of the Council of Chalcedon. But, as I paused to unpick the tangled syntax of an unexpectedly long sentence, the door flew open, and an enormous barbarian swaggered into the room. He was followed by another who was nowhere near his size. He lowered his sword and looked about the now absolutely still and silent room.
‘Well, well, fucking well!’ he roared in Slavic. ‘What have we here?’ He tipped his great bearded face back and roared with laughter.
Over on my left, I saw the Dispensator tighten his grip on his stylus. Whatever his clerical vows, he’d not go down without a fight. But I was completely unarmed. I’d left my sword hanging in the room outside with my cloak and outer shoes. I looked quickly at the open door. For the moment, it was just these two.
I stood up and pointed calmly at the big man. ‘Get out of here!’ I said quietly in Slavic. ‘You are interrupting a council of Holy Mother Church.’ For a moment, I thought I’d got the man by surprise, and that he might even go away.
But Simeon broke the long silence that followed my words with a cry that fell somewhere between a squawk and a babble and pointed at the two armed men. And now the spell was broken. The big man laughed again, and waved his sword at Simeon, who threw himself forward on his hands and knees and tried to crawl under his chair.
I looked desperately about for anything I could use as a weapon. The jewelled crucifix set up behind me would never do. All else I could see was my big silver inkstand. I looked about once more — anything but this object of great beauty and great value. But it really was — unless I fancied going at two armed men with my own stylus — the only object readily to hand. While the big man was still teasing Simeon with his sword, I jumped forward from my chair and grabbed the inkstand with my right hand. I staggered from its weight, but managed to swing its yard length over my head. The big man saw me too late. He tried to move out of my path, but only fell against one of the more solid chairs. I nearly toppled sideways as the big end of the inkstand made contact with his right shoulder. With a shout of pain and surprise, he went down like a stricken beast. Not bothering to see if he could get up again, I bent and took his sword from where it had fallen. Before he could get out of the way, I lunged at the smaller man and got him straight in the belly. It was hardly an elegant blow. But I silenced his long scream with a kick to the head that broke his neck.