‘He was praying in the chapel,’ a boy called out from the back of the crowd. I frowned again. I’d seen candles burning away in the chapel before we took our hit from the catapult. Could the fathead have been in there all night? It wouldn’t be the first time in the past week. I sighed. Why couldn’t he pray in the daylight like everyone else? Wasn’t that supposed to be God’s first gift to the world? It was certainly free — unlike wax candles. But I composed myself. So long as Timothy continued to see his own best interest and was able to re-impose order on the streets, this was all set up to be a glorious day. I looked at Antonia. She set off another of those warm feelings inside me. Or perhaps it was the stimulant. I could feel I’d picked right among those unmarked bottles.
I cleared my throat and looked in the direction of the boy who’d spoken. ‘Go and tell Theodore that I want him up here at once,’ I said. ‘Tell him it’s an order.’ While the boy took a short cut across the roof tiles, I cleared my throat again and began with the main business. ‘In a few moments, Samo will go down to the room above the main gate. There, he will await the shouted signal from young Eboric.’ I glowered at the little blond stunner. ‘Eboric will watch for the agreed signal outside. At its first appearance, he must run from my office, downstairs to the entrance hall. Samo will then pull the lever that raises the portcullis.’ I put on a look of grim mastery. ‘Do you both understand?’ Samo sniffed nonchalantly. Eboric smiled sweetly. I focused on Samo. Though barely able to get up to the roof without a wheezing attack, he had great static strength. Apart from me, he was the only man in the building able to set in movement the geared monster that would pull up a ton and a half of iron as if it were another gross of candles for Theodore. He looked almost sober. I’d have to trust him. I nodded to him and he began slouching off towards the exit from the roof. He stopped short of the open hatch to hear out the rest of what I had to say.
‘Once the portcullis is up,’ I went on, ‘we’ll hear the first reading of my proclamation. Among much else, this will order the crowd to disperse. After that, and while much of the crowd is still present, the City Prefect will walk alone to the foot of the steps and wait for the gate to swing open.’ I paused to settle a nervous tremor I could feel making its way into my voice. ‘The gate is already secured by a single bolt. I will open it myself and walk out alone to embrace the Prefect. It will be all the evidence the assembled witnesses need to show the restoration of concord among the higher classes of the City.’ I paused again. I looked at faces that had turned surly. I waited for someone to finish interpreting my words for those slaves whose working language wasn’t Latin. ‘Some risk is unavoidable,’ I said firmly. ‘Of course, you will remain in arms behind the gate, ready to give such help as may be required. And I will remind you that, until further notice, the public areas of the palace will be closed to everyone you don’t know by name or face.’
Panting slightly, the boy messenger was back. ‘Begging pardon, My Lord,’ he trilled, ‘but Master Theodore won’t leave the chapel. He says the Devil is abroad in the palace, and that he must finish praying for all our souls.’
Bloody idiot! I thought. But I had only myself to blame. I should never have indulged his taste for theology. Those ghastly books had turned his mind. ‘Then let him stay with his icons,’ I said heavily. ‘He has neither civil nor military function in this morning’s proceedings.’ Yes, let him stay down there babbling to his ever-more disordered imagination. His sour face would only damp our own spirits.
‘I’ll go and get him,’ Antonia broke in. ‘I’ll tell him it’s his duty to behold the triumph of good over evil. That should bring him up here.’ I nodded, hoping she wouldn’t be too long. This was, after all, as much her triumph as mine. I stood down from the chair and watched her pass through the little crowd. No one could have called Antonia sweet by nature. Neither was she stupid. She’d seen her father’s household management and she’d seen mine. I knew the slaves had all been wondering what sort of wife I’d finally bring home. Now, as she went out of sight, every face turned back in my direction showed something between liking and adoration.
And now the sun was up. Spreading jagged shadows over the roof tiles, it heralded the beginning of our triumph. It was Monday again — another petitioning day. Today’s petitioners, plus those stood over from the previous week, would make a backlog to add to all the others. Before making my way back from Nicetas to the Great Sewer, I’d pulled one of my chief clerks out of bed. Sooner or later this day, my people would turn up with a wagonload of official business. Dealing with all my routine work and going through everything Nicetas had allowed to pile up — and sorting out and covering up matters as agreed with Timothy — would need more than a few drops of stimulant.
But we’d won. I stared right at the tall victory column. There were no archers positioned on its viewing platform. Perhaps I should have been less cautious and put myself and the rest of the audience on one of the balconies. I watched and waited. Moment by moment rising higher, the sun broke suddenly into the Triumphal Way. Its first shaft of light struck the gilded pinnacle of the monument. It was the agreed signal to start proceedings. Timothy bounced lightly over to the catapult and raised his arms for attention. Everyone round him looked across the road to my main gate.
The gilded pinnacle was gleaming like a beacon. Still waiting, I willed the sound of our own response. It came just as I was thinking to hurry downstairs to see what was causing the delay. With a dull roar and much clanking of gears and iron, the portcullis went up. Timothy gave his orders. Men raced off in both directions and disappeared under cover of the colonnade. The seditionaries in their masks came from somewhere that had been out of my sight and climbed slowly up their ladders.
‘My dearest friend, Alexius,’ Constans opened with much buzzing, following by a complete loss of sound. He reached up with his free hand and nudged his mask into place. ‘O Alexius, such news have I been given to relay to the brave and formidable Roman People who are gathered here about us.’ Carefully balancing himself, he reached down to his belt and produced a standard sheet of papyrus. He turned his head to stare at the front wall of my palace — I supposed the recess of its gateway and the bronze gate were to act as an additional reflector — and raised his voice.
‘In the name of Heraclius, Caesar, Augustus, Faithful in Christ, to the Senate and People of Rome,’ he boomed. ‘Let all who are present hear and obey the wishes of the Ruler of the Universe, ordained by God.’ So, to increasingly depressed incredulity, he read out my instructions to the City. It was a long text, bulked out with formulaic utterances designed more to impress than enlighten, and with repetitions of the main points that you must have in anything intended for reading out to the common people. The sun was already on the marble of the victory column when Constans finished. He’d been heard in silence. The silence continued after he’d finished.