Richard Blake - Conspiracies of Rome

‘So you came looking for me,’ I said. ‘When you found me sleeping in the sun, you sat beside me and waited for me to wake up.’

Yes, Lucius had used me like a clever hunting dog. He’d helped me gather up and connect the fragments of evidence available into a credible and largely true narrative. In return, I’d taken him steadily closer to the moment when he could set hands on those letters again. The dispensator would have no evidence. The plot could begin over again – only this time, with me to vouch for them and a trail of bodies, the provenance of the letters would be all the stronger for the brief delay. Losing the gold was well worth the additional prize.

Lucius had acted his part in the drama with a smooth conviction that I’d never once doubted in my waking moments. Even as he handed out knowledge he already had, he’d made it look freshly uncovered.

Did this mean… did this mean everything had been a lie?

Lucius must have understood the look on my face.

‘Alaric,’ he said, ‘I was attracted to you in the physical sense when we first met at the dinner party. Then the Gods told me at the sacrifice that you would help me achieve the great purpose of my life. Even then, though, I was still prepared to use you and move on.

‘It was the next day, when I found you sleeping by the river, that everything changed. You can’t know how long it seemed when I sat watching you sleep. You can’t imagine the longing and tenderness and desire for moral cleanliness that welled up in my heart. I can’t feel your touch, I can’t look at you, but my whole body and soul catch fire.

‘I didn’t tell you the complete truth, Alaric. I couldn’t tell you that truth. But I love you, Alaric. And so long as I am alive, I will never be apart from you.’

I moved my body close against his. We were both already sweating lightly from the heat of the day outside. Lucius moaned gently and ran his hands over the muscles of my upper back.

‘Alaric, in just a short while, we shall be in Ravenna. There are libraries there so great, you will not comprehend their size until you have seen for yourself. As a co-emperor’s consort, you will have open access to every library in the city, public and private. With Phocas out of the way, I can arrange Alexandria and Constantinople itself. Every piece of knowledge you’ve ever wanted will be yours for the having.

‘By all means, send books to England. But also have them copied for the new Italy. We shall build a great future – but on the foundations of our great past. We need to recover that past, now most of us have lost it. That includes all our learning. But we shall need new libraries, and teachers to explain the meaning of the ancient writings placed there. Who could be better as my minister for learning than you?’

Lucius used the phrase ‘ magister scholium ’ – ‘master of the schools’. I wasn’t just to be his bed companion – his Antinous. I was also to be an integral part in his plan of renaissance. There were to be statues of me in every city, and my name on the pediment of every new school and library. I’d be… I racked my brain for a parallel. Except I’d be the younger, I’d be to him what Plato had tried to be to Dion of Syracuse.

‘A place in the imperial government,’ I said. ‘Every library in the world open to my direct or indirect inspection. An army of secretaries and architects and builders. The revival of learning in Italy, and me to supervise! You tempt me, Lucius.’

‘I don’t tempt, my love. I promise. Together, we will create a new order.’ Lucius sat up. ‘But we must be on the road again. We must get to the exarch before I can deliver on anything.’

‘Come to me, Lucius,’ I said smiling. I held out my arms. ‘Lucius, I love you.’

I took his head in my hands as he sat beside me and kissed him long on the mouth. Still holding his head, I twisted my hands suddenly, one jerking forward, one back. I heard the snap of his neck like a dry twig.

Lucius died at once, with a slight convulsion, his body flopped forward onto mine. The last thing he could have known was the unbounded happiness flowing from the surety that I loved him.

I don’t know how long I sat cradling his naked body against mine. I wanted to think this was another of the opium dreams – that I’d wake up beside him in another moment, and he’d send me down with a purse full of debased silver to negotiate a last change of horses; better yet that I’d wake and find myself still bumping along the road in that Greek official’s carriage, while Lucius fussed about with ointments and charms.

But no – I was awake just outside Ravenna, and Lucius lay dead in my arms. The wonderful, glorious Lucius was dead. Lucius, whose charm, it turned out, had not failed him even with the emperor. In my arms had died the last of the Romans – and perhaps the first light of a new Italy. And I had killed him. And I now sat alone.

Since then, Italy has gone from bad to worse. In those days, the embers of the old world still faintly glowed. They are now extinguished forever. I can’t say how many cities that were then just about surviving are now mere heaps of overgrown ruins. An age of chaos and destruction stands between that world and whatever will finally emerge in its place.

Did I contribute to that? Did I, to revenge the death of one man, help bring on the death of many more?

I don’t think so. Lucius was a great man. He had almost every ability needed to do great things. One thing only he lacked, and that was common sense. At the level of high politics, I have no doubt he could have defrauded Phocas – and perhaps also the exarch – out of Italy. He could have done over the pope and dispensator as individuals. But did he seriously think he could replace something as solid as the Roman Church with a revived paganism led by a few eccentrics and vagrant magicians? I think not.

All his noble plans would have been brought to grief in very short order by his proposal to base his new order on the rubble of the Church. He might have got as far as deposing Smaragdus in one palace coup. With every Italian of substance – no, every Italian – against him, I doubt he’d have lasted six months. At best, he’d have been another Julian. And he’d not even have left that legacy of interesting writings and speculations on what might have been. More likely, he’d only have accelerated a collapse that was already under way.

But it wasn’t politics that went through my head as I sat alone with the body of Lucius. I tried to adjust the long lock of hair that fell down from his forehead, and close the dulling eyes. All I managed to do was push the loose head from one unnatural angle to another. The eyes and mouth hung open in expressions of blank horror.

Lucius was dead, and I had killed him. For all I loved him, for all I clung to him, for all he had done with and for me, I had to kill him. Because I loved him, I had made his death as sweet as any man might want. He died in the arms of his love, just moments away from a triumph after which all else would surely be disappointment. I sent him into the darkness with all hopes undimmed. But I had killed him, and he lay dead in my lap.

I think the sun was heading towards the west when I heard a rattling. ‘In the name of the Church, open this door!’

It was a harsh, urgent voice. Still looking down at my poor, dead Lucius, I gave it no attention. ‘Open, or I break it open.’

The voice was louder and more menacing. Still I ignored it.

There was a great crash and splintering of timber. Fragments of shattered door hung loose on the hinges. The men who’d smashed it in stood smartly back. In their place, filling the doorway, stood One-Eye. Sword in hand, he was, as ever, dressed in black.