Conspiracies of Rome (49 page)

    And what did Lucius want? He wanted, I had no doubt, enough money to get his palace back into its ancient glory, and to give him the undoubted first place in noble society in Rome. That was the only reason I could see why he had made that long journey to wonderful Constantinople. I knew he’d been in the Imperial Palace. I knew he’d watched some execution in the Circus that had sickened even his firmness of mind. Had he once stepped into those vast libraries? I knew he had barely a word of Greek, and had no desire to learn more.

    Women are one thing. They look after the household and have children. They can even have a sort of equality in your life once you accept their lower nature. But where would be the glue in a long relationship with Lucius?

    And what about the Church? In Rome, it had all appeared obvious once Lucius explained it. Maximin hadn’t destroyed those letters because he wanted to use them to bring the pope and dispensator to justice before the exarch.

    But had he? Did Maximin really want the Western Church to be despoiled and then made into a department of the imperial state, as it was in the East? Where would that leave the English mission? Was Ethelbert to become a vassal of the emperor? Was the race of educated Englishmen I was to help raise up to become pieces in a game played from Constantinople?

    It had seemed obvious enough in Rome. I hadn’t given any thought at all to the wider implications of what I was doing in the first and most exciting part of our journey to Ravenna. But I had, in my conscious moments while jolting along the road in that carriage, been able to give long thought to these matters.

    I fell into a guilty silence.

    ‘Are you feeling well, my love?’ Lucius asked, giving me a look of tender concern. ‘Does the air trouble you? We’ll be in Ravenna before evening. But we can stop at an inn built over the marshes. We can rest there awhile.’

    ‘I do feel rather tired,’ I lied. ‘If we can stop before very long, I’d appreciate the chance of a rest and a cup of wine.’

We stopped at the inn. This was a lighter structure than the other inns I’d seen. It rested on wooden supports sunk deep into the mud. Lucius and I bathed again and took a late, slow lunch.

    ‘We can slow down as much as we like,’ said Lucius. ‘I suggest we don’t put any further strain on your health in this climate. Whether we arrive in Ravenna this evening or tomorrow morning doesn’t now matter. Smaragdus will thank us for those letters, but would never appreciate being got out of bed to look at them. He’s getting old, you know. And he is just a little mad, I think I’ve already told you.

    ‘Let’s spend the night here,’ said Lucius, now decided.

    We ordered a room. We got into bed. I slept. Stronger than for several days past, I now had no dreams.

    I didn’t mean to sleep so long. I’d expected Lucius to wake me. But I eventually woke by myself as the first light of morning was stealing across the marshes outside. I could hear the big, wooden gate creaking open for the day, and the cheerful sound of men on horseback. From down in the slave quarters, I could smell the heated wine and hear the clatter of pots as breakfast was made ready.

    Lucius was already up. For the first time, I saw him reading a book. He read aloud, but was keeping his voice down so as not to disturb me. I heard the slow, halting mutter of something in one of the more complex lyric metres.

    ‘I never guessed you liked poetry,’ I said, looking over to the window where Lucius had his book.

    ‘Nor did I,’ came the reply. ‘I had a wretched education, and I’m beginning to feel I should do some catching up if I’m to be a fit companion for you. I borrowed the book from some deacon I was drinking with last night. It’s all rather difficult stuff, though, don’t you think? I’ve been up half the night, and I’m only on the fifth page of this thick, heavy book.’

    I got stiffly out of bed and stretched. Lucius gave me an appreciative look.

    ‘I think I could do with a brief walk to get some movement back into me,’ I said. My arm was still aching. But I’d removed the bandage, as the wound was nicely scabbed over. I reached for some clothes.

    ‘If you’re going down, could you sort out another change of horses?’ Lucius asked. ‘Get something fine. I’ve had our good clothes aired and pressed. We shan’t be exactly splendid. But there’s much to be said for making the best entry possible into Ravenna.’

    I reached for my purse. So far as I could tell, Lucius had paid the whole cost of our journey so far. With all my riches – and if the dispensator had frozen these, they’d soon enough be unfrozen – I had a plain duty to pay some share of all this travelling.

    ‘No, no, my golden Alaric,’ Lucius protested. ‘Take my purse with you. I absolutely insist.’

    He got up and forced his purse into my hands.

    Down in the stable, I chose a couple of black horses. They were a matched pair, and of good quality. But I thought they were rather expensive.

    ‘This is Ravenna, mate,’ the groom explained when I tried to haggle on the price. ‘You aren’t in some shithole pile of ruins now. This is an imperial city. You pay standard prices here.’

    I wished I had brought my own purse. I was being forced to hand over almost as much as the previous six days had cost us. I sighed and opened the smaller compartment of the purse Lucius had grabbed up as we left his house.

    I pulled out a couple of solidi. I looked at them. My heart froze. The coins all bore the head of the Emperor Maurice. On the reverse, the letters ‘CONOB’ were clearly stamped. The letter B was raised just a little above the other four letters.

    I emptied the whole compartment into my hand, and spread out the smooth, regular coins.

    ‘It’s not that much, mate,’ the groom laughed. ‘Here, I can see you aren’t up with real coin. Let me sort out the price—’

    ‘That won’t be necessary,’ I snapped. ‘Keep those horses to one side. I’ll be back for them.’

48

Back in our room, I undressed and lay on the bed. I stretched out my arms to Lucius. He came to me. We fornicated for a long time.

    Afterwards, I began in a slow, dreamy voice I’d been practising in my head.

    ‘Lucius,’ I asked, ‘We’ll be meeting the exarch later today, shan’t we?’

    ‘Yes. Probably in the late afternoon.’

    ‘You say he’s a bit mad. Does that make him dangerous?’

    Lucius thought. ‘Not really dangerous,’ he said. ‘The man is getting old, and the tendency to shortness of temper that he’s always had is growing worse with age. I promise you’ll get on with him – no problem.’

    ‘But I’ll need to be careful what I say to him – after all, he’s the most powerful man in Italy.’

    ‘Of course,’ said Lucius. ‘But you don’t have to worry about that. Your speech and general manners are not in question.’

    ‘Yes,’ I continued, ‘but I’ll need to know the appropriate responses to what he says. In particular, I’ll need to know the truth about those letters. The truth for the whole world is one thing. The real truth is another. And I must have the real truth.’

    Lucius sat up. I continued lying, my eyes half closed, my good arm across my brow.

    ‘Lucius,’ I said, ‘I know that you had those letters written. You got Martin and someone else to write them. You got them to those English mercenaries outside Populonium, and you set them up with the prefect’s men.

    ‘The idea was that they’d sit in their camp beside the shrine of Saint Antony, waiting for orders that would never come. Instead, they’d be taken by the prefect’s men, and the letters would be given to him. The pope would then be arrested before he could set out back from Naples.

    ‘That’s the truth, isn’t it, Lucius? You are the Column of Phocas.’

    Lucius was silent awhile. Through my half-closed eyes, I saw a range of expressions flit across his face.

    ‘In a manner, yes,’ he said at length, speaking cautiously. ‘How long have you known this?’

    ‘For a long time,’ I lied. Or did I lie? As with Martin, the elements of the puzzle were assembling themselves into a chain of reasoning so firm that I could barely conceive of not having seen it from the beginning.

    Lucius lay back and relaxed. He let one hand fall on my chest.

    ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘I’ll tell you.’ He closed his eyes and began.

    ‘There are details you haven’t caught. In the first place, the letters weren’t to be carried before the prefect. He’d only have sat on them or gone to the dispensator. The orders were that the mercenaries were to be killed and all that they had with them taken straight off to Ravenna, where the exarch would deal with the matter.

    ‘I told you I was with Phocas earlier in the year. I gave you the truth about our public meeting. He sent me away with nothing worth having. But he called me back to the Imperial Palace late in the evening. That’s where we first hatched the plan.

    ‘As you know, the man is short of money. Armies and officials need to be paid. Indemnities and bribes to the Persians require hard cash. The Eastern Church is rich, but is too close at hand to be despoiled. Take money from the Churches there, and you’ll have the priests leading insurrections in every city.

    ‘But the Western Church is fabulously rich – and no one in the East gives a shit about the sufferings of Latin priests who’ve been getting on every set of Eastern nerves for centuries with their presumptions of supremacy.

    ‘All we needed was a credible excuse to smash up the Roman Church. Any excuse would work in Constantinople – probably a simple decree would satisfy people there. But we needed something that would absolutely paralyse opinion in the West.

    ‘An offer to hand out the Purple to some illiterate savage, his hair stinking of rancid butter, would detach most civilians. An offer to tolerate the Arian heresy would detach the Churches in at least France, Spain and Africa. It might also cause uproar in Italy.

    ‘I timed the release of the letters for when Boniface was in Naples, up to his neck in mud. The dispensator may be the real power in Rome. But he still needs the pope to mouth the words he prompts. He can’t speak by himself for the Church.

    ‘But for you and your friend, those letters would by now be old news in Ravenna. The fresh news would be the arrival for trial of the pope and dispensator. Even if they could talk their way out of those charges, a trawl of the papal archives would surely turn up something else for which we could nail the Church. One way or another, we were to get an excuse to lay hands on whatever property of the Church was saleable and within reach—’

    I broke in. ‘And in return, you were to get back your family estates in Sicily and Cyprus,’ I said. ‘But why make a deal with Phocas? No one believes he’ll be around much longer. Even if he is, how can you trust a man like that?’

    Lucius smiled. He took the hand from my brow and kissed it. ‘Phocas and I hatched the plan together in Constantinople. That’s how I got the gold and the letters in Persian and Greek. But the plan grew and altered as I made the sea journey between Constantinople and Ravenna. By the time I’d had dinner with Smaragdus, certain important details were – ah – changed.

    ‘The letters were still to be intercepted and carried to Smaragdus. There were still to be arrests in Rome. But once we’d got our hands on the money of the Church, Smaragdus was to get himself declared emperor of the West. He has all the right qualifications, you know: birth, education, sufficient ability. He would denounce Phocas as a tyrant and an incompetent. He’d have stolen a march on the exarch of Africa, whose son and nephew still haven’t worked out which is to be the rival emperor. An emperor in being is worth a dozen possible claimants. At worst, we could do a deal. Africa is expendable, now the corn supplies from Sicily are adequate.

    ‘Most people in Italy would accept a Western emperor – someone at hand with the means and ability to throw out the Lombards. Though Smaragdus is a Greek, he’d govern through Latin ministers. Neither Phocas nor anyone else who might take over from him would be able to lift a finger to dislodge him.’

    ‘And the Church?’ I asked. ‘Where does the Church come into this? Orders from Constantinople are one thing. No one in Italy can get at the emperor there. But how long could Smaragdus last in Ravenna as the man who plundered the Roman Church?’

    Lucius shifted his position and looked wistfully up at the ceiling. ‘My dearest Alaric,’ he said, ‘Smaragdus is an old man. As emperor, he might have at best a few years of power. From the start, he’d need a colleague. This colleague would be in all reasonable likelihood his successor. That colleague will be me.