Raptor (73 page)

Doing as Myros did, beside us, the princess and I walked slowly, with pauses, across the throne-room floor, and then knelt before the Basileús Zeno. His throne, of course, was of purple-upholstered porphyry, and it was wide enough for two men, but Zeno sat well over on the right side of it. I knew the reason for the over-commodious couch. On holy days, the emperor would sit on the left, with a Bible occupying the right side, to indicate that the Lord God reigned on those occasions. But on working days, like this one, the emperor took the Bible’s place, to indicate that he represented God’s vicar on earth, or at least in the Eastern Roman Empire.

Zeno was a bald man of early middle age, but his stocky body was still as solidly muscular as that of any warrior, and he had a complexion the color and texture of a brick. He was not wearing an imperial toga, but the chlamys and tunic and even marching boots of a soldier. He made a notable contrast to the attendants standing beside and behind his throne. Most of those were Greekishly dark and willowy and perfumed and so impeccably dressed that they scarcely moved, so as not to disarrange the careful, almost sculptural folds and drapings of their robes. Only one among them, the one who stood closest to Zeno’s right hand, though clad as elegantly as the others, was obviously no Greek. He was of about my own age and fairness, and might have been passably handsome, except that his face wore the dull, petulant expression of a gudgeon, and he had no more neck than that fish does.

“That has to be Rekitakh,” the princess whispered to me, while we knelt with our heads bowed. “The son of Strabo.”

When Zeno grunted for us to rise, I respectfully saluted him as “Sebastós,” the Greek equivalent of Augustus, and introduced myself and the princess as ambassadors of his “son,” Theodoric, King of the Ostrogoths. At that, young Rekitakh—for it
was
manifestly he, and evidently he understood some Greek—ceased to resemble a gudgeon for long enough to curl his lip in an unfishlike sneer. Another young man, this one the interpreter Seuthes, leaned forward from the ranks of attendants to start repeating to the emperor what I had just said, word for word. Zeno cut him off with an impatient gesture, nodded curtly at me and addressed me only by the Greek equivalent of Caius, and addressed the princess not at all.

“Kúrios Akantha,” he growled. “It ill becomes a presbeutés, and it ill serves his master’s interests, when he comes to this court rudely and recklessly trampling on its sacrosanct traditions.”

“I did not intend sacrilege, Sebastós,” I said. “I merely wished no delaying formalities to—”

“So I have noticed,” he interrupted. “I watched your approach across the palace grounds.” His brick face did not quite crack into a smile, but I thought I could hear one in his voice when he added, “I believe it is the first time I have ever seen the oikonómos Myros walk any distance farther than from table to koprón.”

That word means a latrina, a rere-dorter, and it made the chamberlain snuffle embarrassedly at my side. I was emboldened to hope that Zeno was regarding my demand for this immediate audience more humorously than censoriously. I said:

“In all sincerity, I thought the Basileús Zeno would find my king’s letter of consummate importance, and therefore should see it as soon as possible. I hope my impetuosity has not offended.”

“Your unseemly haste I can understand,” said Zeno, no longer sounding amused. “But a single presbeutés should be sufficient to deliver a single letter. Why am I confronted by a sympresbeutés as well, and that a
female
one?”

Since I really had no reason for that, I said only, “She is the king’s own sister. A royal princess. An arkhegétis.”

“My own wife is an empress. A basílissa. But she does not accompany me even to the Hippodrome games. Such audacious presumption in a woman would be unheard of.”

I could hardly say to
him,
as I had said to others, “You are now hearing of it.” But I was spared saying anything at all, because Amalamena had caught the tenor of the conservation, and herself now addressed Zeno:

“Another mighty monarch, called Darius, once granted audience to a lowly female.”

Of course she said that in the Old Language, but Seuthes was quick to translate it into Greek. The emperor turned his eyes on the princess for the first time since our entrance, and his look was baleful. But he unbent enough to say coldly, “I am not ignorant that Darayavaush was one of the greatest kings of Persia.” The interpreter told that to Amalamena in Gothic, and she was encouraged to go on, with Seuthes translating:

“That King Darius was preparing to execute three war prisoners when a woman came to plead that he pardon them, for her sake, because they were the only men she had in the world—her husband, her only brother and her only son. She begged so piteously that Darius finally acceded—to a degree. He said he would let one of them go free, and asked her to choose which it would be.”

Amalamena waited until Zeno barked, “Well?”

“The woman chose her brother.”

“What!?
Why?”

“Darius said the very same thing. He was astonished that she chose neither her husband nor her son, and demanded to know why. The woman told him. She said she could always marry another husband, even give birth to other children. But, because her parents were both dead, she could never have another brother.”

The basileús blinked in surprise, then looked silently at her, and his gaze seemed to warm somewhat. The princess concluded:

“Just so, Emperor Zeno, I come before you in company with the Saio Thorn. To present to you King Theodoric’s request for your wise and gracious granting of a pactum.” She held out the sealed letter. “And to voice my own entreaty of your generosity, on behalf of the only brother I possess.”

Seuthes had no sooner repeated that speech to Zeno in Greek than young Rekitakh shouted at Amalamena, in the Old Language, “Your brother Theodoric is not the
King
Theodoric! That title belongs to my—!” He stopped in midsentence, because Zeno, without waiting for any translation, turned and skewered him with an angry glare.

Then Zeno gave me very much the same sour look, and growled, “The young lady at least has better than barbarian manners, and knows how to comport herself with dignity at court.” He returned his attention to the princess, and now politely addressed her with the title of co-ambassador, “Sympresbeutés Amalamena, give me Theodoric’s letter.”

She did, smiling, and he smiled back at her—and so did I and Myros, while Rekitakh glowered at her. The emperor broke all the waxen seals, unfolded the vellum and read through its contents, first rapidly, then more slowly, his free hand stroking his bald head and a new frown gathering on his face.

At last he said, “As already has been reported to me, Theodoric claims to have bested the Sarmatae of King Babai, and claims now to hold the city of Singidunum.” Zeno rather stressed the
claims,
so I said:

“I fought in the siege and the taking of that city, Sebastós. I can affirm that everything asserted in the letter is true.”

“You say so, do you, kúrios? I wonder—would you dare to say the same if the fearsome Babai himself were here?”

“But he is here, Sebastós.” I set my ebony box down on the floor and undid the latches that let its sides fall apart. The head of King Babai, dried and browned and wizened by smoke, would not have been a very impressive sight, had it not been for the broad-cupped goblet of gold filigree in which I had the Novae gulthsmitha set it. I gestured and said:

“If you should wish to drink a fitting toast to Theodoric’s victory at Singidunum, Sebastós, simply have a kheirourgós saw off the top of Babai’s skull, and fix that piece of bone, inverted, in this exquisite golden shell. Then pour into it your best wine and—”

“Eúkharistô, Kúrios Akantha,” the emperor said drily. “I have been a military man myself, and not infrequently a victorious one. So I already own other such skull cups, and now and then I do drink libations to the memory of the old enemies of which they are made. But that head could be anybody’s.”

“If you have never met King Babai, Sebastós,” I said, “perhaps your attendant there has—the young man Rekitakh—and perhaps he can verify the identity. I understand that Babai and the young man’s father, Theodoric Strabo, have long been—”

Rekitakh interrupted me by snarling,
“Vái!
My royal father’s name is Theodoric
Triarius!”
I do not know whether he was more irate at my linking his father to the late Sarmatian king, or at my calling his father Theodoric the Wall-Eyed, or simply at my knowing who
he
was. However, when Zeno shot another glare at him, Rekitakh grudingly admitted, “I have met King Babai. That is—that was he.”

“Very well. I accept that,” the emperor said blandly, and Seuthes went on translating for the benefit of Rekitakh and the princess. “Now, whether I can accept this request for a pactum… that is a matter not so readily to be decided. Theodoric says here that he has made the identical request to the Emperor of Rome. We cannot both grant it, I think. Tell me. Does the little Emperor Augustulus yet have this under consideration, do you know?”

“Oukh, Sebastós,” I said. “We would have no way of knowing if my fellow marshal has even reached Ravenna yet. But I daresay… whichever emperor first grants the pactum will have possession of the captured city.”

“You daresay, do you? Well, let us consider your Theodoric’s terms. He asks a resumption of the consueta dona annually paid for the keeping of peace on the empire’s northern borders. However, for that same service, I am now committed to paying those three hundred librae of gold to the
other
Theodoric. Now, am I expected to deprive the one to pay the—?
Siopáo!”
he snapped, as both Rekitakh and I opened our mouths. We instantly shut them again, and Zeno went on:

“Another thing. He asks for assured and permanent tenure of the lands in Moesia Secunda currently occupied by his tribe. But he and you, Kúrios Akantha, Kúria Amalamena, ought to be aware that there are numerous other claimants of those same lands. For one, the tribe of the other Theodoric.”

Rekitakh looked affronted at having his nation described as a tribe, and I probably looked so, too. But Amalamena only said sweetly:

“Excuse me, Sebastós. The Saio Thorn and I have just now traveled all the way from the Danuvius. Between the lands of our people and the lands of the Thracian Greeks, north of here, we saw no other occupiers or colonists or settlers except some immigrant Wends. Those are not Roman citizens, and therefore are not
allowed
to lay claim to any lands.”

Zeno coughed and said, “Human claimants aside, there is the Christian Church.”

“The Church?”

“Perhaps, kuría, since you enjoy the enviable privileges of noninvolvement afforded by your being a heretic Arian, you would not know that the Christian Church is the largest landowner in the entire Roman Empire. Once upon a time, rivers marked the boundaries between nations, but now those rivers may merely be flowing through and watering the croplands or timber forests or just the flower gardens of vast Church estates. And wherever any lands are not securely in the title of others, well, for those the Church makes extremely persuasive petition. To any donor of land, whether peasant or emperor, the Church promises eternal bliss in heaven. More to the point… but ouá!” He threw up his hands. “There is too much to explain.”

“Allow me, Sebastós,” said Myros, and, with the aid of the interpreter, he told me and Amalamena: “Every one of the five patriarch bishops of Christendom tries to increase and consolidate his power and authority, in hopes of reigning supreme in the Church. Naturally, our Basileús Zeno favors our Bishop Akakiós of the Orthodox Church here in the east. But the emperor must be ever mindful, as well, of his many far-flung subjects who adhere to the Catholic Church of the west. At the same time, he must conciliate all the conflicting desires and demands of the innumerable and mutually inimical sects in both Churches. The Chalcedonians versus the Monophysites versus the Dyophysites versus the Nestorians, to mention only four. Those Christians even fight in the streets, and slaughter each other, over their hairsplitting doctrinal differences. Therefore, when it comes to granting—”

“Now allow me,” I interrupted, being deliberately rude and abrupt. “One item is getting obscured in this thicket of split hairs.” Myros, Seuthes and Rekitakh all looked aghast at my effrontery, but I went on, “I have heard nothing to suggest that any claimant or inhabitant of the lands in question—not Wall-Eyed Theodoric, not the Sklaves, not any of the rapacious Christian elders—is offering anything tangible in exchange for those lands. The princess and I are here to offer, so to speak, the keys to the formidable city of Singidunum.”

Everyone in the room, Amalamena included, turned to look at the emperor, as if expecting him to hurl a Jovian lightning bolt. But he surprised even me by saying:

“The presbeutés Akantha speaks the truth. To military men like him and myself, deeds are more important than words, and substance more important than promises. A city that dominates the whole of the river Danuvius, here on earth, I deem preferable to any nebulous hope of heaven hereafter. However, kúrios, I
will
require incontestable title to that city.”

I said, “I believe you have it already, Sebastós, if you wish it. From what I hear of the new and less than august Emperor of Rome, neither he nor his regent-father is secure enough on the throne to make any binding agreement. I might suggest, though, that you date the pactum as of the day Singidunum fell. I give you my word and Theodoric’s—and his sister is here to bear witness and swear asseveration—that your claim takes precedence over all others, and will be honorably upheld.”

“The word of two military men and a fair princess, that is surety enough for me. Myros, summon a grammateús, so that I may dictate the pactum without delay.”

Rekitakh uttered an anguished bleat, but Zeno silenced him with yet another look, and went on addressing me and Amalamena:

“I will grant to Theodoric’s people their possession of the Moesia lands in perpetuity. I will resume payment of the annual consueta dona. And further, I will appoint Theodoric to the title that his father held during the reign of the elder Leo—magister militum praesentalis—commander-in-chief of all the border forces of the Eastern Empire.”