Theophanes rose unsteadily to his feet. He looked down at me. The weariness on his face seeped through the lead gloss.
‘I know, my dearest boy, you still think me an unscrupulous Oriental eunuch, practised in every form of deceit – including perhaps self-deceit. But let me assure you, I cannot forget what has happened during the past few days. You will have no better friend in the City than I. Should it ever be necessary, I will die for you.’
With that, and his parasol up, he stepped through the curtain of water.
I wanted to run after him. But as I emerged from the fountain, I saw the messengers waiting under the peristyle, more of those purple bags in hand.
The heat was gone from the afternoon. It was coming on to rain.
30
I was set down outside the Legation to a ragged cheer from the crowd that had gathered there. Word had already got round of Alaric the Hero. I had no illusions about what had happened. Some diversion was needed from the apparent shambles Phocas had made of handling the barbarians. I was the best on offer. I’d made a bloody and triumphant escape. If I’d also brought Theophanes back to the City, that didn’t seem – even maybe in private – to diminish my glory.
I made a short speech of thanks, dwelling on how Saint Victorinus had guided my steps. That avoided my having to make reference to any human agency and saved giving offence to either party.
It went down well. As I finished, a woman held up a child before me. I pinched its cheek and told her he would grow into a fine young man.
Inside the entrance hall, Martin and Authari had gathered our slaves. These all stood with the skeleton staff of the Legation. No Demetrius, of course. But even the silent monks had left off their tending of the garden.
More congratulations, and another speech.
At last, back in my suite, I made sure Maximin was sleeping peacefully. Martin said in his delicate way that Authari had worn himself and Gutrune out in celebration of his freedom. Both were still groggy in bed.
Crashed out in my office, I sat alone with Martin. I finished the wine he’d offered and glanced at the letters that had piled up in my absence. There was the usual thick packet from the Dispensator. I threw this unopened to the far side of the desk. I’d see what Gretel had to say when I was truly alone. The time was approaching for some comment from her on the adoption of Maximin.
There was a gleeful letter in code from my partner in the Cornish business. So far as I could tell without the key at hand, all had gone to plan. The tin shipment had been unloaded and sold in Cadiz, then replaced with an equal weight of rubble packed in the same crates, together with a consignment of what was described as Spanish lead. Now overloaded, the ships had gone down with nearly all hands off Malta. The other shareholders not in the know were stuffed.
I was already richer by a straight three hundred pounds of gold. More would follow. I could now endow that monastery outside Canterbury to produce multiple copies in parchment of the papyrus books I was sending over.
‘God be praised!’ said Martin dreamily when I told him about the use of the money. ‘He is surely with you.’
I looked at him. From his contracted pupils, I could see he’d been at my opium again. Well, if it kept him calm and busy after all the thrills of the past few days, I wasn’t one to comment.
‘Aelric,’ said Martin as I threw the last of the correspondence aside, ‘the slaves have approached me to ask if you would honour them with a visit to their quarters for dinner this evening. They are immensely proud of what you did outside the walls. We could combine this with a final dinner for Authari with the slaves. He will take his meals with me in future.’
Martin steadied himself and gave another of his little coughs. ‘I wish also to say, speaking personally, how grateful I am for what you did. Once again, I owe you my life. This is a debt of which I shall ever be conscious.’
‘Think nothing of it, Martin,’ I said. I ignored his delicate reminder of the time when I’d freed him instead of racking him to death. ‘Think nothing at all,’ I repeated, now in Celtic. ‘It turns out that we had only to stay put another night and we’d now be swanning about in the Asiatic suburbs with the other freed captives, awaiting the outcome of the struggle between Phocas and Heraclius – safely out of reach of both.
‘Theophanes is back in the city under circumstances tending much to his own credit – at least with the Emperor. Authari earned his freedom. All you get is another set of horrid memories and more time in the city. I should apologise to you.’
I stopped Martin’s protest.
‘However,’ I said, ‘the news isn’t all bad.’ I explained that we could now go home.
It Saint Victorinus had cured him of his bald patch, Martin wouldn’t have rejoiced more. Not even opium could dull that response. When he was calm again, I asked how he and Theophanes had co-ordinated their singing and dancing without prior arrangement.
‘I whispered a suggestion to Theophanes,’ he explained, ‘when the Great One looked disinclined to believe your subterfuge. He took it up and elaborated while I merely followed.’
I made a weak attempt at a joke. ‘Watching the pair of you together,’ I said, ‘anyone would have thought you were old friends rather than distant acquaintances.’
But the happy outburst was over, and all I got was a cough.
What I wanted now was to fall into a clean bed, and writhe around with my smooth body in the silk sheets before sleep claimed me. Still, I had my duties to attend to. And a dinner with the slaves might be a jolly affair – all solid food and unwatered wine.
Before we went down, I gave Martin the official line on our escape. Fortunately, he’d guessed the truth might not be convenient, and had told the slaves to wait for my own account.
I woke next morning with a sore head from all the wine and beer and those earlier drugs. But I was cheered by the sound of works in the bathhouse. Theophanes had sent over a detachment of his own slaves to get the furnace in working order.
Better still, an Imperial messenger was shown in as I finished my late breakfast. I was invited as a guest of honour to the races in the Circus the day after next – a Saturday, this – when the intervention of Saint Victorinus would be celebrated in full style.
‘Can you look out the red and white?’ I asked Martin once we were alone again. ‘It looks vaguely senatorial, and it sets off my hair. Besides, I want the crowd not to lose sight of me. How about the yellow and red for you?
‘Oh, yes – and please do take Authari to the tailor. He can’t follow us about in slave clothes. Take advice, but I fancy him in plain white.’
Martin looked as displeased as I gradually realised I should have felt at the invitation. The world was coming apart at its seams, and we were being dragged in sudden and irresistible jerks towards its most unstable point. He’d much rather have been packing for Rome.
I cut the conversation short by dodging into the nursery, where Gutrune was offering Maximin one of her titties. She rocked back and forth with him singing some cradle song that reminded me of Kent. Tears ran down her face and she barely noticed my presence.
As I walked to the University Library to continue with Epicurus, it was still pleasingly obvious how my status had changed. For the first time, people stopped to greet me in the street. The bubble was suddenly burst. The crowds still separated as they streamed around me, but now it was with an acknowledgement of my presence. I was accepted as a part of the City life.
One man from the higher classes even got out of his chair and had his slave give me a strip of ivory bearing his name and status. I was invited to call on him at my leisure. I’d given up on carrying my own ivory cards. But there was no need of them now. Everyone seemed to know me. Everyone wanted to be seen taking my hand.