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Authors: Richard Blake
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face. It stirred up the dust on the pavement. I looked out to sea. From behind me, the moon still shone bright. Now, for the first time it was reflected in a tessellated splash from the waters of the Harbour. Further out, the sky, empty of those bright, unwinking stars, was turning a brownish grey.
‘The storm approaches,’ said Macarius. ‘It will be a great one. Even if not wet, I think I can promise a cooler morning than in many days.’
Stronger now, the breeze blew again. I shivered in the sudden chill. This had been an unplanned meeting, and it had run its course. Time to take my leave.
From the stairs just as I was stepping below the level of the roof, I looked briefly back at Macarius. He’d gone again to the southern edge of the roof. Once again, he was looking intently into nothingness.
Chapter 7
Martin stared at me and pursed his lips again.
‘Well, I don’t like him,’ he said. ‘If you ask me, there’s something dodgy about him.’
‘Martin,’ I sighed, ‘please bear in mind that every local sneer you repeat about the natives is also made behind our backs about us. Are we also “wogs”?’
‘What they choose to call us is their business,’ said Martin with a sniff. ‘Personally, I don’t like the natives or the local Greeks. In my experience, there’s nothing between them but the choice their ancestors made of which language to speak. But that isn’t the point. What is the point is that you found the man wandering about the Palace roof at night in what sounds very like an act of sorcery.’
I gave up on the argument. Praying up a breath of air doesn’t constitute sorcery – not even by the stupid laws Heraclius had just republished to great acclaim. And Macarius was, I’d tried repeating, highly useful.
It was mid-morning, and the storm had indeed cooled the air. The sun shone brightly as ever, but Alexandria was again a Mediterranean city. The sun was bearable, and slightly more than bearable. I was still wearing a hat, but had left my arms uncovered. We’d had business near the main gate that led to the Egyptian quarter. Now, we sat at one of the covered benches outside a wine shop. A hundred yards away, the police were checking the identity documents of the Egyptian workmen passing in and out of the centre. Some of the Greek trash had gathered, and were setting up a chant. It was one of those ritualised verse insults of the sort I’d heard many times pass between the Circus factions in Constantinople.
‘If anyone’s dodgy,’ I said, looking back at Martin, ‘it’s that fucker Priscus. You know as well as I do how often the man’s tried to have me done away with. He made three full attempts under Phocas. He’d no sooner come out for Heraclius when he tried again.
‘Now he’s here in Alexandria, and I smell trouble that makes yesterday’s little reverse nothing by comparison. He—’
‘From what you tell me,’ Martin broke in, ‘he’s here with his tail between his legs. He’s lost Cappadocia, and—’
‘He’s still head of the noble interest in Constantinople,’ I went on. ‘A few defeats don’t change that. Heraclius may prefer to rule through outsiders like us. But he can’t altogether snub the old families. Priscus is trouble on legs. And how did he get here? He turns up at the Palace with a change of clothes and has another ready for dinner, yet tells me he came alone. He says in particular he came without guards. Yet he must have come overland from Pelusium – and we know that road is notoriously infested with bandits. If I hadn’t other matters to deal with, I’d have Macarius checking him out even now.’
I noticed that Martin wasn’t paying attention. It couldn’t be the trouble now blowing up over by the gate. He was mostly staring down with a worried look on his face.
‘Are your guts giving trouble again?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘I suppose it was the lead sauce,’ I said. I’d called him back from his clerking the night
‘The storm approaches,’ said Macarius. ‘It will be a great one. Even if not wet, I think I can promise a cooler morning than in many days.’
Stronger now, the breeze blew again. I shivered in the sudden chill. This had been an unplanned meeting, and it had run its course. Time to take my leave.
From the stairs just as I was stepping below the level of the roof, I looked briefly back at Macarius. He’d gone again to the southern edge of the roof. Once again, he was looking intently into nothingness.
Chapter 7
Martin stared at me and pursed his lips again.
‘Well, I don’t like him,’ he said. ‘If you ask me, there’s something dodgy about him.’
‘Martin,’ I sighed, ‘please bear in mind that every local sneer you repeat about the natives is also made behind our backs about us. Are we also “wogs”?’
‘What they choose to call us is their business,’ said Martin with a sniff. ‘Personally, I don’t like the natives or the local Greeks. In my experience, there’s nothing between them but the choice their ancestors made of which language to speak. But that isn’t the point. What is the point is that you found the man wandering about the Palace roof at night in what sounds very like an act of sorcery.’
I gave up on the argument. Praying up a breath of air doesn’t constitute sorcery – not even by the stupid laws Heraclius had just republished to great acclaim. And Macarius was, I’d tried repeating, highly useful.
It was mid-morning, and the storm had indeed cooled the air. The sun shone brightly as ever, but Alexandria was again a Mediterranean city. The sun was bearable, and slightly more than bearable. I was still wearing a hat, but had left my arms uncovered. We’d had business near the main gate that led to the Egyptian quarter. Now, we sat at one of the covered benches outside a wine shop. A hundred yards away, the police were checking the identity documents of the Egyptian workmen passing in and out of the centre. Some of the Greek trash had gathered, and were setting up a chant. It was one of those ritualised verse insults of the sort I’d heard many times pass between the Circus factions in Constantinople.
‘If anyone’s dodgy,’ I said, looking back at Martin, ‘it’s that fucker Priscus. You know as well as I do how often the man’s tried to have me done away with. He made three full attempts under Phocas. He’d no sooner come out for Heraclius when he tried again.
‘Now he’s here in Alexandria, and I smell trouble that makes yesterday’s little reverse nothing by comparison. He—’
‘From what you tell me,’ Martin broke in, ‘he’s here with his tail between his legs. He’s lost Cappadocia, and—’
‘He’s still head of the noble interest in Constantinople,’ I went on. ‘A few defeats don’t change that. Heraclius may prefer to rule through outsiders like us. But he can’t altogether snub the old families. Priscus is trouble on legs. And how did he get here? He turns up at the Palace with a change of clothes and has another ready for dinner, yet tells me he came alone. He says in particular he came without guards. Yet he must have come overland from Pelusium – and we know that road is notoriously infested with bandits. If I hadn’t other matters to deal with, I’d have Macarius checking him out even now.’
I noticed that Martin wasn’t paying attention. It couldn’t be the trouble now blowing up over by the gate. He was mostly staring down with a worried look on his face.
‘Are your guts giving trouble again?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘I suppose it was the lead sauce,’ I said. I’d called him back from his clerking the night
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