The Ghosts of Athens (55 page)

Ludinus smoothed his robe where it had come up over his thighs, and tottered forward to the big, heavily armed guards. ‘I come on Caesar’s behalf to address the Great Chief,’ he called in Greek. He stopped and waved both arms dramatically at the guards.

They looked over at us, but didn’t move.

I’d imagined Kutbayan would be a huge thing with a beard to match. I’d thought of him any number of times these past few days as a fiend, roaring drunk on the blood and fear of the conquered. Nothing had prepared me for the beardless and rather elderly man who sat in his tent between two unarmed young assistants. If you leave aside the lack of writing materials, and the pronounced slittiness of his eyes, this might have been one of our own generals, receiving and dictating messages in his tent. But even before my own image of him could dissolve and reform itself, I knew this was indeed the Great Chief of terrible reputation. You could see that from the hushed manner of his assistants – and from the cold glitter of his eyes.

His first words were to us in Avar. When these brought no response, he switched into very good Slavic. ‘Where is the interpreter?’ he asked. He leaned back in his chair and waited.

As if he’d guessed the meaning, Ludinus frowned and looked about the tent. ‘I must speak urgently with the Great Chief,’ he said loudly in Greek.

There were a few blank looks. Another of the attendants who stood behind Kutbayan left off scratching the scars that kept his beard from growing and shrugged.

Without moving, Kutbayan raised his voice in faint annoyance. ‘Where is the unballed one who interprets?’ he asked. He waited again. When there was still no answer, he got up from his chair and took a step towards us.

Except for the two Greeks, we all threw ourselves to the ground. Without looking to see what everyone else was doing, I tried to blend in with a feeble attempt at a prostration. I looked round only when I could hear everyone else getting up. I was last back on my feet, and stood, looking firmly down at beaten earth that had smelled of blood.

I now heard Kutbayan draw breath. ‘I want someone here
now
who understands the language of the Greeks,’ he said in what didn’t rise above the sound of a polite conversation. One of his assistants leaned forward, and I caught a low whisper as to the whereabouts of a certain Kollo, who might still be drunk. Kutbayan frowned. ‘Now, get this pair of timewasters out of my tent,’ he said. ‘They can come back when there’s someone to interpret.’ He sat down and pointed at the assistant who’d been relaying a message when we entered. He thought again, and raised a hand to cancel the instruction. He looked briefly at me, but then pointed at the man who’d led us to the tent. ‘You go and get him,’ he said.

The man bowed and nearly tripped over a stool as he hurried out into the fresh air.

I’ve said I hadn’t been able to bring myself to a suicide attack. But this was merely a calculated risk that bordered on the lunatic. I cleared my throat and didn’t bother with a foreign accent as I spoke in Slavic: ‘O, Great Chief, Leader of Men and Lord of All Creation,’ I said, ‘I know the language of these Greeklings from the time I spent among the Lombards.’

Nicephorus was first to speak. ‘Alaric!’ he croaked. ‘What are you doing here?’ He stared into my face with uncomprehending horror.

His face turning what may have been puce, Ludinus gave me the look of a man who’s just seen a ghost.

I reached forward and struck Nicephorus so hard across the face that he fell to his knees. ‘The Greekling, O Lord of All Creation, shows insufficient respect,’ I explained with a low bow at Kutbayan. ‘I heard them talking together as they came here.’ I stopped and went into a tremble that was entirely unacted. ‘They have news that will surely anger My Lord.’ I swallowed and stared up. ‘Will My Lord pardon me for conveying the filthiness that is within their black hearts?’

‘Speak freely, young Germanic, and freely have my pardon,’ came the formulaic reply. Kutbayan sat back in his chair and pressed his fingers together, a thin smile on his face.

I turned and faced Ludinus, who was now about to recover the use of his voice. ‘What have you to say before I get you tied over one of the livelier bonfires?’ I asked in a Greek that – just to be on the safe side – I made sure to stumble over a few times.

His answer was a shove into my chest so hard, I almost fell sprawling on to the ground. He stepped past me and made a low bow. ‘Kutbayan! Kutbayan!’ he cried in his most imploring voice. He smiled and reached out at the Great Chief to pluck the hem of his jacket. He pointed at me and shook his head. ‘Kollo – where is Kollo?’ he asked with desperate emphasis on the name.

He was interrupted by Nicephorus, who was now up on his knees and starting a babbled plea for mercy.

Ludinus twisted round to look at him. ‘Shut up!’ he hissed. He silenced the pleas with a sharp kick. ‘Keep your mouth shut if you don’t want to play this chancer at his own game.’ He turned back and would have started calling out again for the Great Chief’s own interpreter, when Kutbayan held up his own arms for silence. Ludinus stopped in mid-flow, and even let himself be pushed over to the wall of the tent by a couple of the assistants. One of them put a knife to his throat, and that was an end to his interruptions for the time being.

‘What are they saying?’ Kutbayan asked with a look into my face that nearly brought on a fart of terror. He got up again from his chair. He glanced over to where Ludinus was still trying to smile and gesticulate for attention. He raised a hand for silence, and the knife pressed harder into the eunuch’s throat. When all was silent, he turned back to me.

I stared into what might have been the eyes of a snake. The problem with these remote barbarians is that you can never guess what they are thinking. At any moment, Kutbayan might have me dragged out for execution. Just as likely, he might embrace me. ‘The fat one is blaming the other for talking in front of me about their plans,’ I explained.

Kutbayan looked away for a moment to glare once more at Ludinus until he’d stopped trying to wave his arms for attention. He turned to me again. ‘And what will you tell me of these “plans”?’ he asked very softly.

‘They were talking to each other, O Great Chief,’ I whispered with faint horror, ‘about how King Heraclius has sent orders for you to depart from his realms – to depart or face the wrath of his soldiers.’ That was all I’d have dared say. But Nicephorus now came back into the conversation with an unstoppable flood of denunciations of me. I turned this neatly into a threat of what Heraclius would do if the ‘worthless old fool’ Kutbayan didn’t head back at once into the zone of starvation. I even used the endless pointing at me to advantage by talking of the Western barbarians – all as big as me – who were marching towards us with the Exarch of Ravenna at their head.

Kutbayan really wasn’t at all as Priscus had let me think him. He didn’t lose his temper. He didn’t reach for the nearest weapon or set about the grovelling Count or the now silent Ludinus with a whip. He wasn’t in any sense your normal barbarian. He certainly was no fool. He waited as I ran out of inspiration and fell silent. He listened to the continuing babble of Nicephorus and looked at a desperately thoughtful Ludinus. He also was no fool. Unless I could bring this to a rapid end, he’d find some way of getting his point across; that, or Kollo would stumble in with enough Greek to push me out of the conversation.

I tried another wild throw of the dice. ‘O Lord,’ I cried out indignantly, ‘the bearded one is saying that the treasures brought to you by the fat one were washed in the blood of slaughtered prisoners, and cursed by the great priest of the cross-worshippers so that whoever touches them becomes as unmanly as the fat one.’ I dropped my voice to a scared whisper. ‘The other unballed one who speaks Slavic is even now passing this about the camp.’

There was a murmur of outrage from the assistants. Kutbayan didn’t so much as blink. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. He stared once more into my face, now seeming to look straight through its covering of dirt, now fixing himself on my eyes. ‘What is your name? Who are your people?’

‘I am Aelric,’ I blurted out. ‘I’m from a place in the furthermost west called England.’

‘Well, I don’t think I trust you,’ he said, not once taking his eyes off mine. He gave a thin and very suspicious smile.

He and Priscus would have got on with each other no end. My stomach turned over a dozen times in the space of a single heartbeat, and I pulled my eyes free and looked silently down. How much longer could I keep this going?

‘Go and find Kollo,’ he said, still facing me. Someone behind him bowed and made for the exit. ‘You,’ he said to me, ‘go and stand beside the fat one.’

I looked back at him. ‘I speak truly, O Great Chief,’ I said firmly. ‘But let me question the bearded one again.’ Without waiting for a repeat of his order to join Ludinus, I went and stood over Nicephorus, who’d now fallen on to his belly and was rubbing his face in the dirt. ‘Listen, you bag of shit,’ I said in a questioning tone. ‘His Nibs will give you both a fair chance. Whichever one of you gets first to the nearest set of bodies outside this tent can stay alive. If you don’t want to be rolled about in a nail-studded barrel, I suggest you get moving.’

Ignoring the knife that was still pressed against his throat, Ludinus now pushed forward. ‘Don’t move, you bloody fool!’ he urged Nicephorus. He sidled away from the armed assistant with a move that showed his origins as a dancing boy, and stepped suddenly forward. He knocked me aside and stood again before Kutbayan. He pointed at me and put a hand over his mouth. He made a quick gesture of a throat being cut and shook his head. He smiled and pointed at me again.

But I’d judged Nicephorus right. Even as Ludinus seemed about to bring everything back to order, the Count got up with a strangled scream and made a dash for the exit. I heard the rasp of a sword outside and a brief and bubbling scream. As Kutbayan swore loudly and hurried out of the tent, I let my shoulders sag.

I turned to Ludinus. ‘I’ll bet he didn’t trust you with the details of the secret way into Athens,’ I whispered.

‘Then it must be you to give those details,’ came the snarled reply. He gave me another big push in the chest, and made for the tent flaps.

I’ll say again that suicide was no part of this admittedly mad plan. Even as Ludinus was beside Kutbayan, who was now frigid with anger, and going into a speech so emollient no Greek was needed to understand that something had gone wrong, I took a very deep breath. ‘The fat one has a knife!’ I shouted. ‘He’s gone out to strike the Great Chief from behind!’ I pushed past the scrum of barbarians who’d got out before me and were piling on to Ludinus, and managing to fall on top of Kutbayan in their eagerness. I raised my voice and bellowed for assistance. I darted away from the tent, and tripped straight over Nicephorus. I landed with both knees on his belly, and his mouth opened and a loud burp came out. I thought for a moment he was only wounded. But wide, staring eyes that didn’t move told me he was dead. I scrambled up and shouted a call of alarm at the man who was coming at me with a sword. I pointed back at the tent and got out of his way. There were other men hurrying forward, all with drawn swords. But these weren’t interested in me. Without another look back, I ran as if I were trying to win some ancient foot race towards where I’d found the horses.

I’ll pass over the details of my escape from the camp. I may have got to the horses in a state of advanced terror. The dead and naked barbarian may already have been found. But I was able to start a cry that Kutbayan had been killed, and that Greek soldiers were already fighting their way into the camp. I got on to the first horse I could touch once everyone was hurrying off to get armed, and didn’t look round till I must have covered a mile on the road back to Athens.

When I did look back, it was in the sure and certain knowledge that a hundred barbarians were riding me down – all of them mad with anger, and with Kutbayan in front. In fact, I was the only man in sight with a horse. I forced myself to slow from the irregular canter that was the best I’d been able to get from the horse over these worn paving stones and tried to look important as I was carried slowly past the unordered crowds who seemed to be wandering without purpose up and down the road.

I stopped at the second of the rain-swollen streams that I passed. I watered the horse and scrubbed all the dirt I could from my face and hands. I hadn’t eaten in over a day. But I drank until I thought my stomach would burst. As I passed over another little bridge that kept the road going without break across the flat plain of Attica, I found myself among a few dozen men of my own colouring. They shouted cheerfully up at me in one of the most northerly dialects of Lombardic. Not fancying a long conversation, I answered in English, and managed to get away with a halting exchange about the weather. I did overhear a few comments suggesting that this gigantic raid south had taken all pressure off Thessalonica and the remaining walled cities that guarded the approaches to Constantinople itself. But that much I’d already guessed for myself. The next crowd I passed all had the squat, yellow appearance of barbarians from the furthest reaches of Scythia. They parted in silence as I approached them from behind and let me ride through.