‘Your next act of goodness’, I said slowly, ‘will have rather more thought about the practicalities than this one.’
I paused for silence. Then: ‘I will adopt the child myself. I don’t know if I’m of age yet to do that sort of thing within the law. But the Law of Persons can be flexible if approached in the proper way.’
I bent down and scooped the child into my arms. ‘I accept this child as my own,’ I said, speaking loud. It really was like watching someone else. ‘I name him’ – I thought quickly – ‘I name him Maximin after the dear man who saved my own life as an act of charity.’
Yes – that was right. I thought back two years to that time in Kent, when Maximin had walked all day through the rain to snatch me back from King Ethelbert. But for him, I’d be dead by now. And that was if I were lucky.
It was right that I should rescue someone equally helpless, and that I should call him Maximin.
I brought the child’s head up to my lips. After so much cold scrubbing downstairs, I was more than usually sensitive to the sudden warmth. A strange lump came into my throat as I breathed in the babyish smell. I wanted to add some formal-sounding declaration of paternity. But I found I couldn’t speak.
I put the bundle down again and walked quickly from the room. As I went back down the corridor to my own bedroom, I could hear Martin and Authari fussing over my Maximin. He would need a room on the upper floor now, Authari said. Martin replied in a dreamy voice that was part relief and part something else.
Had I lost face? I asked myself as I undressed for what remained of the night. Had I shown weakness? Perhaps I had. But I didn’t feel that it mattered.
I was woken by the sound of banging outside my window. The sun was still low in the sky, and there were long shadows that kept the gardens overcast.
Standing on the balcony, I looked along the line of windows towards the dome. There was a long ladder going all the way up to where the ledge above the windows joined the dome. Slaves were hard at work, fixing an elaborate contraption of spiked railings.
How the thing had been put together in such a short time was beyond me. But there would be no more night wanderings around the outside of the Legation.
One of the slaves noticed me. Holding the ladder carefully with one hand, he touched the other to his head and bowed as best he could.
I nodded and looked away. In the enclosed garden just below the balcony, those five monks were at work again. They seemed to be under a vow of perpetual silence. When I’d spoken to the one I had seen looking up at me on the first day, he’d drawn his hood closer over his face and turned away from me. Was he watching me now, as I stood observing the slow and rather haphazard tending of the flower-beds?
I stepped back inside. I needed to think all this through. Why had Theophanes killed Justinus of Tyre? What had been in that letter? Above all, what was the nature of this agreement between him and the Church? If it involved suppressing the African revolt, why be so frightened of the Emperor? What was that stuff about bribing the Lombards?
And where did I fit into this scheme of things? Theophanes had confirmed I was useful, and so worth keeping alive. But for what purpose and for how long?
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Maximin crying in the room next but one to mine. With a jumble of recollection, I realised it hadn’t been a dream never mind what had happened in Kent nor what might in Rome: I really was a father.
‘God’s tits!’ I muttered. I looked round for something to drink, but found only lemon water. I threw on a dressing gown and stepped out of the room.
Authari was folding a fresh napkin for the child. There was a bright shitty smell all around. Martin was making a proper mess with the milk and sponge. Every so often, he was getting a drop into the child’s mouth and the cries turned to an odd gurgling.
As I entered the baby’s room, Martin stood. I motioned him to continue. One way or another, my son had to be fed.
I looked at Maximin in the light of day. Babies by nature are never beautiful, and he was gasping and choking as if in a fit. Even so, he seemed to be shining slightly.
I forced my eyes away. I might be his father, but I also had a position to maintain.
‘When you’re ready,’ I said, ‘we’ll go off to market together. I feel I ought to choose the nurse. I want one who doesn’t know any civilised language. I don’t think you need ask for my reasons.’
‘Indeed, sir,’ said Martin. ‘Would you allow me to buy your son a rattle?’
‘Of course,’ I said – ‘though he’ll not be in need of that for a while.’
As we were leaving, a messenger arrived from the Ministry.
‘Do tell His Magnificence,’ I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, ‘that I expire with joy to receive his invitation. I will join him tonight for dinner at the usual place.’
I settled on a fattish, rather plain woman who spoke Lombardic but came from somewhere more remote. Her own child, the dealer said, had ‘died’ on the journey to market. She’d be the ideal nurse.
Ideal she was. I wanted a nurse for my son, and only that. If I wanted sex, I’d continue to send out for it. I did have certain duties to Gretel, you’ll understand.
As I finished paying up and giving the delivery address to the dealer, I felt another nervous twinge about Gretel. She’d go off like a volcano when she heard the brief message I’d dropped earlier into the collection bin.
The problem with women is that, unless you beat them all the time – and I’ve tended to neglect that side of my duties – they always get ideas above their station.
But what was done couldn’t now be undone. Indeed, I’d just allowed Martin to arrange the baptism for the day after next.
It’s surprising how much you need for a child of the higher classes, and how much it all costs. It’s all silk and linen and things of horn and lead, and polished wooden boxes for storing it.
I made sure to pick up another nice present for Gretel – a rope of black pearls I was assured had come from England. They might calm her down. Or they might not. Still, I told myself, I’d not have to face her until the autumn. Perhaps, I could ask the Dispensator to get us married in front of the Pope…
After my bath, as he dressed my hair, Authari hummed a cradle song of his people. I’d laughed several times in the bath and splashed water over the side.
The other slaves smiled as they went about their business. Even one of the Legation officials gave me a less than usually sour look as I passed him on my way to the chair Theophanes had sent from the Ministry.
Martin had retired to his room to pray. It was nice to know that, after yesterday’s wobbly, he was back on praying terms with God. Doubtless, I thought, he’d be asking God to overlook my numerous sins in return for one act of charity.
Perhaps He would.
18
Theophanes got to his feet as one of his eunuch clerks burst into the private dining room. He’d just reached the really interesting part of his lecture on the correct application of gold leaf to the face. Now, he was all official coldness.
Puffing slightly, the clerk dropped a message on to the table and stood back.
Theophanes broke the seal and read in silence. There was a hard, impassive look on his face. My stomach turned to ice. Had I after all outlived my usefulness? I put my cup down and put my hands under the table to hide their tremor.
‘Alaric,’ he asked in a voice that hovered ambiguously between the friendly and the official, ‘are you aware of last night’s murder?’
I shook my head. I’d seen how everyone in the slave market was passing the official news bulletin around with greater than usual interest, but had been too involved in my own affairs to get a copy for myself.
‘I am surprised you have heard nothing. This was perhaps the most horrid crime the City has known all year. The Court Poet to His Late Imperial Majesty Maurice was found this morning in the St Antonia Park. His neck had been broken in a struggle with some person or persons unknown. We believe this happened around the midnight hour.’