Julian Stockwin - THE SILK TREE

Time passed infinitely slowly, then the door crashed open.

‘Right. Shall we start the fun?’ Marcellus went to the brazier and lifted an iron. It was a flat arrow-shape and glowed white-hot. He sauntered over and flourished it before Nicander.

He flinched in terror, his mind near unhinged.

Marcellus lowered the iron. ‘I think not.’

He selected a more elaborate one, a distorted corkscrew. Speculatively he held it up, watching Nicander’s eyes following its every move.

The Excubitor tested its heat. ‘Ah yes, this will do. I should tell you we normally have a little ceremony before proceedings really begin, more of an entertainment for you.’

A young pig was brought into the cell on a long rope. The animal snuffled about, investigating busily, its farmyard snorts out of character in such a place of torment. It made its way over to the chained men, looking up in puzzlement with innocent eyes.

It was a mistake.

Marcellus stabbed down with the white-hot iron, directly into its pink body. It shrieked in pain, convulsing and thrashing while the Excubitor twisted the iron expertly. The reek of burnt fat rose up as the crazed animal screamed its life away.

Trembling, the handler lifted up the carcass and hurried out.

‘There, now. We know what it’s going to be like, don’t we?’ Marcellus said. ‘Then shall we begin? Who’s to be first?’

Almost fainting with horror, Nicander tried to flog his mind to reason. There were only minutes of sanity left to him – then, as if in a dream, he heard the dry, age-withered voice of an old man standing in the doorway. ‘Marcellus, I thought it was you! Good God, are you at it again?’

He was frail but in a crimson-edged robe that told of a rank of eminence.

Marcellus looked taken aback. ‘What! Can’t you see I’m busy?’

The old man approached and whispered something.

Marcellus snorted. ‘If you must! Damn it, why can’t I be left to get on with it?’ Then he roared peevishly, ‘Guards! Go with ’em.’

Released from their chains, Nicander and Marius followed the old man out along a passageway into another building.

He stopped at a heavy wooden door. ‘That will do.’

The guards took up position outside and they entered what appeared to be a monk’s cell.

Nicander fell into a chair and stared up at their grey-haired saviour. ‘Sir, who…?’

‘My name is Narses. I am grand chamberlain to His Clemency the Emperor.’

‘And… and you…?’

‘The Lady Antonina got word to me of your misfortune. Marcellus does have a tendency to get the wrong end of the stick but he means well. I told him I would be continuing the questions for now.’

‘But-’

‘I can say he won’t be seeing you any more, if that is your concern.’

Narses’s eyes took in the spartan simplicity of the room. ‘No doubt you are at this time living in a mean and humble abode. Now this you may consider your cell, holy brothers, guest of His Sacred Majesty. Is it to your satisfaction?’

Nicander mouthed, ‘Th-thank you, sir.’

‘We’ll send for your possessions but for now I think it advisable you stay here and not venture out. You are perfectly safe with me. Meanwhile, you’ll want to bathe – I’ll have fresh raiment sent here for you.’

Reeling at what might have been their fate, Nicander managed to ask, ‘This is kindness beyond the usual. May I know… why are you treating us with such… benevolence?’

‘Why, is not this self-evident?’

‘Sir?’

He gave a benign smile. ‘The Lady Antonina mentioned your expedition plans. To me this is a splendid enterprise, worthy of the best adventurers in the land and deserves well of us. And because it bears so as it does on the revenue situation of the state, I am taking immediate action.’

‘Wha-?’ Nicander scrabbled to make sense of what he was hearing.

‘I’m overriding the usual protocols – when you are ready I shall take you before His Benevolence, Emperor Justinian himself, to present your case in person.

‘Given the nature of your mission we must see to it that you have every facility at hand and no interruption while you polish your case before you see His Refulgence. Involving as it does questions of wealth beyond the commonplace, we must also regard it as a privy secret of state. This means that I must ask you to remain in this cell while you work and refrain from discussing this with anyone – no one whosoever.’

He went on, ‘I’ll ask the Patriarch to relieve you of any clerical or ceremonial duties and make arrangements for your food to be brought. I do beg you will forgive our discourtesy to a guest but the matter presses exceedingly. I know the Emperor would look ill upon any delay once he learns of the expedition.’

After Narses had left, Nicander sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

Marius paced up and down. ‘What’s to do, Nico?’

‘Let me think.’

In a short time they would be expected to present themselves and their ‘project’ before Emperor Justinian. To bring out a reasoned, credible plan to recover the seeds of the silk tree from the other end of the earth – when they had no idea at all where or how to get to them.

Nicander groaned, ‘We’re going to cross the Emperor!’

‘Where’s your backbone, Greek? That was our plan before, if you recall! We’ve a chance for the big money and now you’re turning cold?’

Nicander gathered his wits, trying not to let the imminent prospect of confronting an emperor affect him. The fact that it was so past belief that a penniless outsider like himself would be in this position insulated him from the actuality.

He worked hard. Going over all parts he ensured there were answers to every possible objection, provisions for failure, background detail to add plausibility.

This was what he was good at, for wasn’t he the one, in better times, who’d planned and put in place the successful cross-country myrrh route to Cyrene? And not forgetting that it was his own delicate talking with the desert Garamantes that had secured the Carthage frankincense concession.

When it was all there, he made Marius ‘emperor’ and delivered his presentation over and over again until he was sure of it, then he sent word to Narses that he was ready.

The old man’s eyes glowed. ‘Excellent! This day I promise, you will be before His Resplendency.’

Before the morning was out, he was back. ‘It shall be so. Directly after the Reception of the Western Kings you are granted a privy audience in the Daphne Palace! This is all but unprecedented, you are honoured above all.’

Nicander was giddy with excitement and nervousness. ‘What do we do – that is to say, the formalities…’

‘For a privy audience there is nothing laid down in the Scroll of Ceremonies, do rest your concern. It is a simple matter: when bidden, you approach, kiss the slipper and remain on one knee until released.’

‘Yes, and…?’

‘I took it upon myself to acquaint the Emperor in a small way of the petition, your expectations and likely success should you meet with his approval. He was most interested.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Do let me give you some frank advice, Holy Brother. His Sacred Clemency is not one for form and custom. Efficiency and clarity are his watchwords, therefore I advise that your presentation be brief and to the point, sparing in honorifics and platitudes. As well, do remember that his mind is sharp and watchful and unforgiving of loose thinking. And whatever else, never utter an untruth – this he cannot abide in any man.’

It brought Nicander up with a sudden chill as the scale of what they were going to do returned.