In the manner of Constantinopolitans, Justin said a prayer over the meal. It was not unlike one which might have been heard over a meal at the monastery. The prayer finished, I took up another loaf and broke it in half, releasing a yeasty gush that brought the water to my mouth. We ate and drank for a time, savouring the bread, warming to the wine.
After a while, Justin observed, "This may be a Roman city, but it has a Byzantine heart, and a Byzantine heart is, above all, suspicious."
"Why suspicious?"
"Need you ask?" Justin said, his smile becoming secretive and sly. "Nothing is simple, my friend. Every bargain masks betrayal, and every kindness is cunning in disguise. Every virtue is calculated to the smallest grain, and bartered to its best advantage. Beware! Nothing is as it seems in Byzantium."
This seemed to me unlikely, and I told him so. But Justin grew insistent.
"Look around you, priest. Where great wealth and power reside, there suspicion runs rampant. Even Rome in its greatest glory could not surpass the wealth and power Constantinople possesses now. Suspicion is a necessity in this city: it is the knife in your sleeve and the shield at your back."
"But we are Christians," I pointed out. "We have dispensed with such worldly conceits."
"You are right, of course," Justin conceded, emptying his cup for the second or third time. "No doubt I have lived too long in this city. Still, even Christians hear the rumours." Leaning forward over the table he lowered his voice. "It is said that our former emperor, Basileus Michael, died from a fall. But does a man lose both hands at the wrist by slipping in the bath? Even the emperor's friends say Basil the Macedonian's ascension owes less to divine appointment, than to the skillful application of the blade." Justin silently drew a line across his throat with his forefinger.
The King of Kings, Elect of Christ, God's Vice-Regent on Earth entangled in murder? How could anyone say such a thing aloud, let alone think it? Was this how the citizens of Constantinople spent their days-in vicious speculations and wicked calumny? Ah, but he had already drunk a fair amount of strong wine, so I forgave him his slander and paid no heed to what he said.
The taberna owner returned and placed before us two clay bowls of milky broth and two wooden spoons. He left again without a word, drifting to another party of three reclining on couches. In a moment all four were laughing out loud. I raised my bowl to my lips to drink, but Justin stirred his soup with a spoon and I was reminded how I had slipped into the ways of the barbarians.
"Any sorrow at Michael's passing was buried along with his blood-sodden corpse, I should think," Justin said lightly, raising his spoon to his lips and blowing on the hot broth. "He was a profligate and a drunkard, bringing the city to ruin with his extravagance and dissipation. It was well known he seduced and bedded Basil's wife-and not once only, but many times, and that Basil knew. Indeed, some claim that one of our emperor's sons is not his own, and that only because the cuckold's wife had produced a royal bastard was the hapless Basil allowed to take the purple and become co-ruler."
Glancing around quickly to see if anyone had heard him, I saw to my relief that the other diners appeared oblivious to our talk. "How can you say such things?" I demanded, my voice a hoarse, offended whisper.
Justin shrugged and swallowed down the broth. "I do not say Basileus Michael was an evil man, only that he was a weak one."
"Weak!" I gasped.
My companion raised the corner of his mouth in a grim smile. "We have had Popes and Patriarchs that would make poor dim-witted Michael seem a saint by comparison. It is said that Phocus kept two Abyssinian boys as lovers, and tortured heretics for the amusement of his dinner guests. Theophilus, they say, killed two brothers and a son to get the throne. Basil has his son Leo locked in prison this very moment."
Lifting the bowl to his mouth, Justin spooned down the broth. I gaped in disbelief. "You are not eating, Aidan," he observed over the top of the bowl. "Do you not like the soup?"
"It is not for lack of an appetite that I refrain," I retorted sharply. "I am aghast at the callous way in which you defame the Holy Emperor. I am appalled at the facile way in which you repeat vilest slander. Even if the smallest crumb of what you say is true, it should move us to pray pardon and forgiveness for our fallen sovereign, rather than to repeat malicious gossip."
Justin lowered the bowl. "I have upset you. My words were ill-chosen. Forgive me, brother, it is the way we speak here. On my life, I meant no offence. I am sorry."
His contrition softened my anger, and I relented. "Perhaps I have over-stated my objection. I am a stranger here, after all. If I speak when I should listen it is for you to forgive me."
