Tom Harper - The mosaic of shadows

‘Did you ever see any others with such a ring?’

‘None. As I have said, no-one visited my brother here.’

I spent another hour throwing questions at the prisoner, checking the details of his story and prodding for any clue he might reveal, wittingly or not. I asked about his own circumstances — he was unmarried, it transpired, and worked as a minor clerk for a notary, taking a fraction of his employer’s earnings for the documents he prepared. He worshipped in the approved manner, fervently but without the zealous self-righteousness which the fathers condemned. He told me the name of his village and I wrote it down, for someone would have to travel there and ask about his brother. It would not be me: a journey through the Macedonian mountains in winter would not, I decided, afford the best use of my time and talents.

Outside the windows, evening was coming early to the dark day, and I was keen to be away. I had only a single question remaining, and it was more curiosity than hope. ‘Tell me, Paul, was your brother a violent man?’

The words seemed to agitate the prisoner greatly. He did not answer, but jerked his head against his shoulder as if shaking water from his ear.

‘Unbind me, and I will show you.’

I ordered a Patzinak to cut his bonds. Paul gave a grimace of acknowledgement as his hands were freed, and pulled up his sleeve. I drew in a breath, for all down to his wrist the entire arm was black, as if it had been burned or rotted away. Only after a few moments could I see that they were in fact a mottled patchwork of overlapping bruises.

‘It does not become a man to speak ill of his brother,’ said Paul heavily, ‘but even in our childhood Michael was cruel. I told you he departed our village because he disagreed with my father’s choice of bride. In truth, he fled before the vengeance of her father, after his rage had left the poor girl almost dead. He has learned many new things on his travels since then, but he has forgotten nothing. If he could throw down our city in a cauldron of blood, he would not hesitate.’ He rubbed his loosened wrists. ‘Indeed, he would revel in it.’

‘So he is a Roman, corrupted by Franks into turning on his mother city, and returned to work violence and sedition.’ Krysaphios licked the honey from his fingers as he considered this; he had been eating when I found him at the palace, and the urgency of my news would not deter him from his meal. ‘And just across the waters of the Horn we have ten thousand armed Franks, who spurn our hospitality and provoke our ambassadors. Who arrived mere weeks after your monk. I imagine you have noticed the coincidence?’

‘I have.’

‘But how could they profit from killing the Emperor unless they could take the city. And what could give them to think they could do that? They have no siege engines to batter down the land walls, and no fleet to attack us from the seaward side. They depend utterly on the Emperor to provide for them. If they risked an assault and failed, we could starve or execute them at our leisure.’

‘Then they must be confident. Or fools.’ The contradictions bothered me too, for it was ever my task to question the anomalies which other men dismissed or did not notice, but here I could not resolve them. They were barbarians, I told myself — they did not think as we did. ‘Perhaps they relied on the monk, or Aelric, to open the way for them.’

‘It would need more than one treacherous Varangian to open our gates to an enemy horde.’ A honeyed nut crunched between Krysaphios’ teeth. ‘And my spies have yet to discover any others who were complicit with Aelric.’

‘Yet the Varangians remain exiled from the palace,’ I observed. Every door and alcove still had a Patzinak by it.

‘The Varangians are posted on the walls, away from the gatehouses, and will remain there indefinitely. We need men we can trust about us, Demetrios, and the Patzinaks are ferocious in their loyalty.’

‘Until the monk manages to corrupt one of them.’

Krysaphios’ smooth forehead wrinkled with mock confusion. ‘But the monk is gone, you told me. His brother said so. Do you not think he has fled back to Frankia?’

‘I doubt he is further than a mile beyond our walls, and probably safe in Galata with the barbarians.’

‘You think he will come back? Attempt to murder the Emperor a third time?’

‘I do. If his brother spoke truly, and I believe he did, then he is too much a zealot not to. Whomever he serves.’

Krysaphios fixed me with an inscrutable look. ‘And so? How do you propose to act next?’

Here I was on firmer ground, for I had spent the march back to the palace pondering exactly that. ‘First, we need to find a home for the monk’s brother. I have brought him here, but he should not be cast into the dungeon. He has done nothing to deserve it, and a little kindness might repay itself with more news of the monk. We should leave him somewhere comfortable but secure.’

Krysaphios nodded. ‘You have an extravagant kindness, Demetrios, but I will do as you suggest. You can quarter him in one of the houses we use for foreign emissaries.’

‘Good. After that, we need to worm a spy into the barbarian camp. Someone who can see if the monk is hiding there, and listen for any word of a plot against the Emperor.’

‘That will be harder. There are many eyes watching the barbarians: the Patzinaks, the merchants who supply their needs, even down to the drovers and carters who deliver it — all that they see is reported back to me. But to penetrate their darkest confidences. . I cannot see how that would be done.’

‘I can.’ With brief words, I told him my plan. He did not like it; indeed, he rebelled against the sacrifice and chastised me for a sentimental fool. But, after a full hour’s argument, I won him round.

Anna did not like the plan either when I told her the next morning.

‘It will almost certainly fail,’ she told me. ‘Either he will abandon you the moment he has crossed the Horn, or he will be discovered and tortured to death. Either way, you would never forgive yourself.’

I rubbed my chin. ‘I know. But I cannot think of an alternative. And if he does desert me, then he will be back among his own people and I, for one, will not feel his loss. There are many poulia in this game, and he is one who has no other role to play. If he succeeds it will be a great blessing; if not, we have lost nothing.

It was a poor choice of words, and Anna hissed with anger. ‘You’ve spent too much time in the halls of the palace, among the generals and eunuchs, if you believe that men and boys are all just counters in a game, to be discarded from the board at the throw of a die.’

‘I’m sending him back where he belongs.’ Her words pierced me like arrows, that she should think me so callous, but I hid my shame and persevered. ‘A boy of his age should not be kept locked in a monastery far from home, to be tutored by monks. If he chooses to come back, then he will have earned his freedom and far more besides; if he does not, he is still free.’

‘And if he tries to come back and is found and killed by the barbarians?’ Anna’s anger had not subsided. ‘What will you do then, Demetrios?’

‘I will pray for his soul. And for mine. I do not do this lightly, Anna, but there are no others who would be trusted in the barbarian camp who could pass for a Frank.’

‘Thomas doesn’t pass for a Frank — he is a Frank,’ Anna observed tartly. ‘And what of your monk? If he is in the camp, as you believe, then he will recognise Thomas and he will kill him, as he tried before.’

‘Yes.’ I had come to tell Anna that I would be taking Thomas away from her, but she had quickly forced from me the entire story of my plan and the reasons for it. ‘There are ten thousand men lodged in Galata. With luck he will keep apart from the monk.’