Terror of Constantinople (21 page)

    ‘We might be willing to consider a regularisation of linguistic use. Greek would be regarded as the one authoritative language of the Church – as the language in which God has most recently spoken to man. All would look to Constantinople for final authority on any matter of doctrine. Other languages, though, would be formally accepted for those unfortunate peoples unable to receive the Word of God in its original. Such languages might be Coptic, Syriac and Latin. These would all be equal in status, below Greek.

    ‘Once this was agreed, new liturgical translations could be prepared. Being regarded as secondary statements of the Truth, these could contain such additions as might render them comprehensible to the people. Rome could then make what glosses it pleased on a new translation of the Creed. The Syrians and Egyptians could also gloss other texts so that what may be verbal differences rather than points of fundamental difference might be removed from dispute.’

    ‘A “new translation” of the Creed?’ I asked. I knew what was coming but wanted it spelled.

    ‘Oh, indeed,’ Sergius said airily, ‘a new translation. We have already agreed that
Pater Omnipotens
is not a precise translation. My Latin is not all that it might be, but would not
Pater Omniregens
be more precise? There are many other words and phrases that might bear a second look.

    ‘It would be an honour for us to help in these translations. We accept that our brethren in Rome are less able in Greek scholarship than we remain in Latin. We could very quickly supply new Latin translations of greater accuracy than those undertaken in the past by Westerners.’

    ‘That is unacceptable to us,’ I said flatly. I was competent to reject this purely on my own initiative. ‘Latin is the official language of the Empire. We could never consent to a settlement that degraded it to the same level as Syriac – or, given time, Lombardic or even English. Whether or not you accept him as Universal Bishop, His Holiness is the senior Patriarch. The language in which He addresses the faithful is to be respected by Greeks and barbarians alike.’

    And so we passed the remainder of the afternoon, wrangling over words – and, behind the words, over whether Rome or Constantinople should rule the Churches. I couldn’t care less about the relative status of the Father and the Son. But I was a Westerner, and I wasn’t having our priests and bishops put in leading strings by a pack of shifty Greeks – being doled out a new set of translations every time we went begging for support.

    Not even the dangled promise of no objection to the Universal Bishop title could shake me. It wouldn’t have shaken the Dispensator, I could be sure. What point in settling words when the facts they described had been altered?

    Our voices rose occasionally as Sergius and I walked up and down the colonnade. We switched back and forth between cit ations from Scripture and the Fathers and arguments over historic meanings. Martin, who’d sat himself at the far end with a book, was mostly out of hearing. A few Greeks from the conference lounged inside one of the doorways. Again, they were mostly excluded from this exchange of ‘random thoughts’.

    ‘Well, Alaric,’ Sergius said at last, ‘I think this has been a most interesting afternoon. We must repeat it. Something I’d like to discuss in more detail is this heresy uncovered in Ravenna. As you know, some of us regard much heresy as stemming from a misunderstanding of words. The difference between us and the Monophysites is that we regard Christ as One Person with Two Natures, and they regard Him as One Person with One Nature.

    ‘It may be that the Monophysites can be brought to agree that Christ has Two Natures if He has but a Single Will. We might also agree that He has but a Single Will but Two Natures. We need to think about this. I am sure you will make a note of these discussions. All things considered, though, it may be best not to commit anything to the posts, but to wait until you are personally in Rome.’

It was my intention to write all this down. I might as well go through the motions for the Dispensator. But when I got back to the Legation I found myself in another of those acrimonious disputes with Demetrius. Unlike the other officials, he hadn’t warmed at all to the presence of a child in the Legation and was lodging endless complaints about the crying at night. He claimed that it was disturbing the sleep of the Permanent Legate. I found this unlikely, bearing in mind the size of the building, but usually found an apology was enough to shut the man up.

    Now he’d been complaining to Authari, and had received a mild kicking for his impertinence. It was nothing much – just a scrape and a few bruises – but he was demanding that I have the man hung up and flogged.

    ‘No wine for the rest of today,’ I said to Authari, ‘and you’ll give Master Demetrius the respect in future that becomes a man of his station.’

    To Demetrius: ‘I will, of course, apologise in person to His Excellency – just as soon as he sees fit to receive me.’

    That stopped him short. With a scowl and a mutter about letters to Theophanes, he was off back to his part of the Legation.

21

The bells were still sounding the call to prayer. For all my connection with the Church, I’ve never been a frequenter of Sunday services. I’d been alone since dawn at my desk in the University Library. Sergius had broken my routine and, day of rest or not, I had work to do.

    The Chief Librarian had finally made good on his promise to dig out the complete letters of Epicurus on government. This was a glorious find. Written over eight hundred years ago, the letters were as fresh today as when first dictated.

    I’d guessed right about his political opinions. A wise man, he said, is one who wants to be left alone, who wants to leave others alone, and who wants others to be left alone. Therefore, the sole functions of government are to secure individuals in the possession of life and property.

    ‘Most unlike our own dear world of universal love and justice,’ I muttered, looking up at the frescoes of the Creation and Fall that adorned the ceiling.

    I looked down again. The book rolls must have been four hundred years old. From the
protocol
still attached to one of them, the papyrus dated from before the reorganisation of the Egyptian factories. The last time I’d seen anything that old with proper attribution, it dated from the reign of Caracalla.

    How they’d reached the Library was clear. The tag on one of the rolls recorded a confiscation about a century earlier. Less obvious was how they had survived for so long and in such an indifferent climate. A whole line of owners must have treasured them. Perhaps they too had been borne up by the knowledge of death as the end of things.

    Half into the third volume, I decided to vary the pleasure of this find by taking a shit. The public latrines of Constantinople are best avoided unless the call of nature is particularly imperious. But the University Library had a nice, clean one that I didn’t scruple to use. It was scrubbed and polished three times a day, and gave off very little smell.

    I took off my outer robe, hitched up my tunic, and sat on the common bench. Just as I was preparing to finish off, someone else sidled in and sat beside me.

    Small, balding, he had the look of a Syrian or Egyptian. He wore good but nondescript clothing. He was rather old for a student, but might have been one of the Sunday lecturers. As I sat there with open bowels, I thought with vague interest that I might have seen him before.

    There were five other places on the common bench, and I took a little more interest when the man chose to sit right beside me. Did he fancy me? I wondered, as I unfolded some of the linen scraps I carried for such purposes and leaned forward to dip one in the water channel. I didn’t fancy him at all, with his hairy legs and pallid skin.

    But I was thinking most about what I’d been reading. Perceiving the truth and having a good shit are both pleasures, so far as they lead to peace of mind. But how to compare them? If they produce the same end, they do so by very different means. There had been nothing in Epicurus to suggest any answer. An idea was floating through my head about comparing not whole experiences, but small increments of each  ...

    I got no further. The man next to me cleared his throat and shifted his position slightly.

    ‘That’s a good practice, young man,’ he said, with an approving look at the wet cloth in my hand. ‘I normally carry my own sponge with me. You never can tell what contagion may lurk in these places.’

    In the Greek of an educated Syrian, he described various modes of cleansing he had observed on his travels through the East.

    I grunted and set about wiping myself. Since he evidently had no sponge with him, I wondered if it might invite more familiarity if I were to offer him one of my private bum-wipes. I decided it would.

    ‘But you are’, he continued, ‘rather a fastidious young man in all respects. Isn’t that so, Alaric of Britain?’

    ‘What business have you with me?’ I asked, keeping my voice neutral. This wasn’t an attempted pick-up. More likely, I was being approached by some agent of provocation. If he was fishing for treasonable words, he’d get none out of me.

    ‘Why have you followed me here?’ I varied my question.

    ‘Partly because getting hold of you in any other way was proving difficult,’ he said in a voice so quiet I had to lean towards him even in that little room. ‘It was pure luck that I saw you coming into the University on a morning when we’d be alone.

    ‘I believe you tried to save Justinus of Tyre.’

    ‘Your belief is mistaken,’ I said flatly.

    ‘You may not yet be aware,’ he continued, his voice still low, ‘that Heraclius has moved from Cyprus. I was with him just before he set out. He’ll be at the Straits within the next few days, and Abydos will open its gate to him without a fight. With a secure base there, he’ll move forward to the City. The gates will then open without any need for violence.’

    I wondered if I should just grab my clothes and bolt for the Legation. Instead, I leaned forward to wash off the shit I’d smeared over my shaking hands.

    ‘I’m a stranger to the city,’ I said at length. ‘I’ve no interest in politics. If you are as you seem, I ask you to understand that I cannot and will not get involved in your affairs. If I see you again, I’ll denounce you.’

    As I got up to leave, he said in the same level tone: ‘I’m not here to recruit you to our band. I only wanted to make your acquaintance, and to commend you for your brave attempt to see right done by poor Justinus. But it was foolish of you to interfere. The work you have been sent here to do is too important to be risked for the life of any one man.’

    I looked hard at the man again. I did know him.

    ‘You’ve changed your mind’, I sneered, ‘since you tried to kill me with those roof tiles.’

    He looked back at me and grinned. He’d given up on his air of mystery.

    ‘Call that a mistake,’ he said lightly. ‘I follow my orders as given. Let’s say that they weren’t so clear last month as they have become since. I won’t ask if Justinus did tell you anything before the eunuch cut his throat.’

    I got up again.

    ‘Keep to your work, Alaric,’ he said. ‘And remember – God is on our side. What Heraclius is doing, he does not for himself, but for the Greater Glory of God.

    ‘God is with us,’ he continued, as if telling the way to the spice market. ‘God is before us. When the Blessed Heraclius rules the world as His Universal Exarch, Justice and Peace and Glory will be restored.’

    He gave up on trying to sound committed to his cause, continuing in his normal voice: ‘But if you want to see something remarkable, that will explain the exact importance of your work, be at the Great Church this afternoon. I can’t say more, but the Patriarch himself will be there, and perhaps the Emperor. The service will end before you normally go back to the Legation for your evening entertainments.’

    He smiled at the stony look I gave him.

    ‘You will see me again, Alaric, and when you do, it will, I assure you, be to your advantage. In the meantime, you are under our quiet protection.’

Back at the Legation, I called for a jug of wine. And then I called for another.

    ‘Where’s Authari?’ I grunted at Martin, who had come in with the wine.

    ‘I thought it best to ask him to stay with Gutrune,’ he said.

    I grunted at no one in particular. At least someone was having a good time in Constantinople.