And at the heart of this sea of red tile and swarming people, here he was in an immense island of marble: marble used not just for columns and statues, but for the veneers of the walls, even for paving.
But, though the great spaces of the Forum were thronged with market stalls, Athalaric thought he sensed a great sadness here. Today the city was no longer even under Roman rule. Italy was now governed by a Scirian German called Odoacer, placed there by rebellious German troops, and Odoacer used Ravenna, a northern city lost in marshland, as his capital. Rome itself had been sacked twice.
Athalaric, motivated by a mild cruelty that puzzled him, began to point out evidence of damage. “See where the plinths are empty; the statues have been stolen. Those columns have tumbled, never to be repaired. Even some of the marble from the temples’ walls has been taken! Rome is decaying, Honorius.”
“Of course it is decaying,” Honorius snapped. He shifted to stay in the shade of the plinth. “Of course the city decays. I decay.” He held up his liver-spotted hand. “As do you, young Athalaric, despite your arrogance. And yet I am still strong. I am here, am I not?”
“Yes, you are here,” Athalaric said more kindly. “And so is Rome.”
“Do you believe that nature is running down, Athalaric? That all life-forms are diminishing with successive generations?” Honorius shook his head. “Surely this mighty place could only have been constructed by men with the most tremendous hearts and minds, men one will not find in the present world of squabbling and fracture, men who have evidently, tragically, become extinct. And if so it behooves us to conduct ourselves as did those who came before — those who built this place, rather than those who would tear it down.”
Athalaric was moved by these words. But they subtly excluded him. Athalaric knew he was a good student, that Honorius respected him for his mind. Athalaric had reason to feel protective of the old man, even fond, of course; else he would not have accompanied him on this hazardous jaunt across Europe in search of ancient bones. And yet Athalaric was aware, too, that there were barriers in Honorius’s heart every bit as solid and enduring as these great walls of white marble around him.
It was Honorius’s ancestors who had built this mighty place, not Athalaric’s. To Honorius, whatever he did, Athalaric would always be the son of a slave — and a barbarian at that.
A man approached them. He was dressed in a toga every bit as grand as Honorius’s was threadbare, but his skin was as dark as an olive’s.
Honorius pushed himself away from the plinth and stood up. Athalaric shifted his robe so that the weapon at his waist was visible.
His hands hidden in a fold of his toga, the man appraised them coolly. In clear but highly accented Latin, he said, “I have been waiting for you.”
“But you do not know us,” Honorius said.
The newcomer raised his eyebrows and glanced at Honorius’s travel-stained toga, Athalaric’s gaudy jewelry. “This is still Rome, sir. Travelers from the provinces are usually easily recognized. Honorius, I am the one you seek. You may call me Papak.”
“A Sassanian name — a famous name.”
Papak smiled. “You are learned.”
As Papak smoothly questioned Honorius about the difficulty of their journey, Athalaric appraised him. The name alone told him much: Papak was evidently a Persian, from that great and powerful state beyond the borders of the remnant empire in the east. And yet he was in fully Roman attire, with not a trace of his origin save for the color of his skin and the name he bore.
Almost certainly he was a criminal, Athalaric thought. In these times of disintegrating order, those who worked in the shadows thrived, trading on greed and misery and fear.
He interrupted Papak’s easy conversation. “Forgive my poor education,” he said silkily. “If I remember my Persian history, Papak was a bandit who stole the crown from his sworn ruler.”
Papak turned to him smoothly. “Not a bandit, sir. A rebel priest, yes. A man of principle, yes. Papak’s life was not easy; his choices were difficult; his career was honorable. His is an honored name I am proud to bear. Would you like to compare the integrity of our lineages? Your German forebears chased pigs through the northern forests—”
Honorius said, “Gentlemen, perhaps we should cut to the heart of the matter.”
“Yes,” Athalaric snapped. “The bones, sir. We are here to meet your Scythian, and see his bones of heroes.”
Honorius laid a placating hand on his arm. But Athalaric could sense his intensity as he waited for Papak’s answer.
As Athalaric had half expected, the Persian sighed and spread his hands. “I did promise that my Scythian would meet you here, in Rome itself. But the Scythian is a man of the eastern desert. Which is why he is so difficult to work with. But his rootlessness is why the Scythian is so useful, of course.” Papak rubbed his fleshy nose regretfully. “In these unfortunate times travel from the east is not so secure as it once was. And the Scythian is reluctant—”
To Athalaric’s irritation, the ploy worked.
“It has always been thus,” Honorius said sympathetically. “It was always easier to deal with farmers. Coherent wars can be fought with those who own land; if deals are struck all understand the meaning of the transactions. But nomads make for a much stiffer challenge. How can you conquer a man if he does not understand the meaning of the word?”
“We had an arrangement,” Athalaric snapped. “We engaged in extensive correspondence with you, on receipt of your catalog of curiosities. We have traveled across Europe to meet this man, at great expense and not insignificant danger. We have already paid you half of the fee we agreed, let me remind you. And now you let us down.”
Athalaric, despite himself, was impressed by Papak’s display of hurt pride — the flaring nostrils, the trace of deeper color in his cheeks. “I have a reputation that spans the continent. Even in these difficult days there are many connoisseurs, like yourself, sir Honorius, of the bones of the heroes and beasts of the past. It has been a tradition across the old empire for a thousand years. If I were to be found out a cheat—”
Honorius made placatory noises. “Athalaric, please. I am sure our new friend did not mean to deceive us.”
“It simply strikes me as remarkable,” Athalaric said heavily, “that as soon as we meet, your promises evaporate like morning dew.”
“I do not intend to renege,” Papak said grandly. “The Scythian is — a difficult man. I cannot deliver him like an amphora of wine, much though I regret the fact.”
Athalaric growled, “But?”
“I can propose a compromise.”
Honorius sounded hopeful. “There, you see, Athalaric; I knew this would come good if we have patience and faith.”
Papak sighed. “I am afraid it will demand of you further travel—”
“And expense?” Athalaric asked suspiciously.