THE SILK TREE

CHAPTER TWELVE

The early evening streets seemed noisier and more foetid than usual, but Nicander was not going to let that affect his mood.

‘Fish or meat?’ he asked happily, a vision of a slab of roast shimmering enticingly before him.

‘A brace of ox ribs from Thessaly,’ Marius replied immediately. ‘With all the trimmings.’

Their stroll changed to a purposeful stride at the thought but a cry from a slave loping towards them brought the pair to a halt.

‘Good gentlemen – I’ve been searching everywhere for you. Magister Barsymes asks that you spare him an hour. There’s someone he’d like you to meet.’

This was probably to make acquaintance of some lower ranking functionary they would be working with instead of the great man himself.

They turned to retrace their steps back toward the Praetorium, but the slave stopped them. ‘Oh no, sirs, not there. At his home! This way, if you please.’

They were shortly outside one of the exclusive residential buildings near the Grand Palace, like the others showing only a small portico entrance in an otherwise blank facade. It led into a vast interior courtyard with a fountain flowing.

The slave beckoned them up marble steps to a top floor room, passing a careless display of wealth on all sides. ‘Be used to it, Marius,’ Nicander whispered. ‘It’ll be us soon!’

A richly dressed woman rose from a couch, her lustrous rust silk dalmatica set off by gold and pearls.

‘My Lady Barsymes,’ Nicander bowed, remembering just in time to speak in Latin.

Her strong features registered distaste. ‘Be careful with your words, sir. I’m no creature of that toad. You are addressing the Lady Antonina, wife of Justinian’s foremost general, Belisarius.’

‘But why…?’

‘I used the name of that reptile to bring you here to my house.’

Unease seized Nicander. What on earth could she want with two such humble persons?

‘I am at a loss, Lady, to understand…’

Antonina purposefully straightened an ornate emerald ring on her right hand, then looked directly at him. ‘To be strictly correct, I have no great wish to, to… but by your actions you have interested me.’

‘We-’

‘I’m a woman and cannot bear a mystery. And this one is particularly deep. I want the answer, and all Constantinople knows I’m not to be denied. Do you understand me, or must I…?’

‘My Lady, anything I can-’

‘Then tell me this. Why is it that in the last few days you have been seen with both that loathsome John the Cappadocian and the slimy pig Peter Barsymes? Not only are they the two most powerful money men of the age but they hate and detest each other to a degree.’

‘It’s nothing really,’ Nicander mumbled, desperately trying to think. ‘We-’

‘Don’t waste my time, or you’ll rue it! I make it my business to know everything of consequence, everybody’s petty plots, secrets and crimes – that way I’m not to be surprised when things happen.’

A look of cruel calculation came on her face. ‘Or shall I make a guess and you’ll tell me if I’m right? Very well – I say that the Cappadocian is plotting to restore his place before Justinian by a clever false betrayal of Barsymes, for which he needs information from the inside, and you’re the one to feed it to him?’

‘N-no, My Lady, that’s not-’

‘So. It’s the other, and more serious for all that. These two are colluding in a master plot, some wicked design that requires them to join their forces together. They loathe each other so you are the go-between, and therefore know everything. Right?’

Nicander flashed a helpless glance at Marius.

‘Great lady. May I explain everything?’

‘Do so.’

‘We’re holy men from a far desert kingdom and…’

He stumbled through his story.

‘A fine tale. And all lies.’

‘No, no, My Lady. This is the truth!’

‘Don’t insult me!’ she spat. ‘I know the world more than most, and holy men you’re not! Where’s your doleful look, snivelling whine, begging manner? And for one born and bred in the desert you’re as milk-white as a babe!’

‘I-I…’

‘And all that dog vomit about silk seeds. Even I know silk comes from spiders, and you’re not going to keep those in a bag all the way from Sinae!’

‘But-’

Her voice dropped. ‘I don’t think you quite understand your situation,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ve only to lift that bell and the general’s men will rush to my rescue, you having talked your way into my room. When he hears of this, you’ll be begging for a crucifixion as the more merciful. Yes?’

Nicander nodded helplessly.

‘So let’s begin again. Just what are you doing with those two vultures?’

They were cornered like rats with no alternative but to confess the full extent of what they planned, and hope for mercy.

Stony-faced, she heard him out, down to the final twist.

‘Now, let me get this right. You two plotted to defraud the Emperor with a wild scheme, then let Peter Barsymes take it over? In some colossal sum as would see either in some difficulty?’

‘Yes, Lady,’ Nicander admitted miserably.

Antonina stood transfixed for a moment, then shook her head in wonder.

Suddenly her body convulsed, and she screamed with laughter. ‘Oh, merciful God, but I’ve not heard such a merry tale in all my life!’ She bent double, choking back tears of mirth. ‘It’s priceless! That I could see their faces when-’

‘My Lady, you’re not-’

‘Good God, no! I wish you well of your… enterprise.’

Her face suddenly tightened. ‘Screw those rat-faced fuckers for every obol you can get and you’ll have my great thanks for it. You know it was that prig Justinian who recalled my husband away – in case he should win a popular victory over Totila the Ostrogoth?’ She smiled. ‘May I offer you some advice?

‘Barsymes is entirely corrupt and there’s nothing he will not stoop to. Trust him no further than you can spit. Avoid the palace like the plague – it’s a cesspit of betrayal and intrigue. There are some like Peter the Patrician who are straight enough, but he’s an emperor’s man to his gizzard. And Marcellus – thick as a short plank, always gets the wrong end of the stick. But dangerous. He’s Count of Excubitors, which means he’s in charge of protection for the Emperor, which gives him a lot of power.’

She paused, then added, ‘But Justinian is the one to fear. Been on the throne for years and years and knows all the tricks. Since poor Theodora passed on, he’s turned sullen and unpredictable and the whole empire is heaving with spies. But then of course you don’t have to worry about him now, do you?’

There were sounds of movement below. ‘Oh, that sounds like Belisarius. You must dine with us!’

Struck dumb by the giddy speed of events, Nicander could only nod an agreement.

‘Antonina?’ came a voice on the stairs.

‘Here, my love.’

She turned to them both and urgently whispered, ‘I wouldn’t mention the last detail of your venture, it would confuse him.’

‘No, Lady,’ Nicander promised fervently.

Belisarius was grey-haired but clear-eyed and still in glittering parade armour. ‘Ah, you have guests?’

‘Two gentlemen on a holy mission, my dear.’

‘Then the least we can do is offer them the hospitality of our table.’

They descended the stone stairs and emerged into the courtyard, Antonina on her husband’s arm as they crossed toward the triclinium, the dining room. Slaves were already carrying silver pitchers of conditum and ornate platters of exotic food there.

But before they could begin the meal a dozen soldiers crashed into view, weapons drawn.

Belisarius’s sword leapt into his hand and he thrust Antonina behind him.

An officer in a crimson cloak called imperiously from the doorway. ‘General Belisarius, you are taken, sir.’

Seeing him, Antonina came out from behind her husband. ‘Marcellus! You gave us such a fright. What is going on?’

‘Stand aside, Lady Antonina. I mean to put the general to the question!’

‘What in Hades are you talking about, Marcellus?’ Belisarius roared. ‘You break into my house and-’

‘You’ve been fairly caught, sir! Consorting with known plotters! You’ll come peacefully or-’

Antonina stormed up to Marcellus. ‘You fool!’ she threw in his face. ‘You never stop to think, do you! The greatest and most loyal commander in Justinian’s army and you’d risk your own standing with His Majesty by arresting him? Where do you keep your brains – in your boots?’

‘I must have answers to my questions, My Lady,’ he replied, his cheeks turning red.

‘Then you’ll not get them from Belisarius the Goth-slayer! Get out of here, you oaf.’

Hesitating for a moment, Marcellus lowered his sword. ‘Well, I’ll take these two and wring the truth from ’em – then I’ll be back!’