The wounded eparch took another step, holding the knife so as to strike. But the step became a lurch as his legs abruptly lost their strength. Nikos crashed to his knees, the blade spinning from his grasp and clattering onto the stone floor.
Clutching at my legs, he hauled himself up, his mouth working to frame a word. His eyes beseeched, but the word was never spoken, for even as he gave it utterance, a great gush of blood surged up from his gullet and out of his mouth.
"An eye for an eye," I muttered. "A life for a life."
With a groan, he made to rise, clutching at me and trying to gather his legs under him, to stand one last time. He gained one leg and, shaking violently, somehow pulled himself into an unsteady crouch.
Nikos, bent nearly double, raised his head and gazed furiously around, his eyes glassy and unseeing. Beads of sweat glistened on his pale flesh. Pressing both hands to his chest, he lurched and fell heavily onto his back. With a deep, rattling groan, he rolled onto his side and was seized with a spasm of coughing. Blood issued forth in a brilliant crimson cascade, and he lay his head down on the floor-stones.
I did not realize he was dead until Harald, bending over him, pushed him onto his back once more. There came a slow, gurgling hiss as the air fled his lungs.
Someone spoke, and I looked up to see Dugal standing beside me. I stepped towards him, and my legs turned to water. Dugal grabbed my arm and bore me up in his strong grasp. I saw his mouth move, but could make no sense of his words.
A rushing sound filled my ears, and I felt a heavy pressure inside my head. Squeezing my eyes shut, I gasped for air, fighting for my breath. The sound and pressure dissipated, and my breath returned.
"Aidan…Aidan?"
Opening my eyes, I found myself looking into Dugal's face. Brynach had joined him, and they were both staring at me with troubled expressions. Dugal held me by the arms, shaking me lightly; they were both talking to me, but I made no response.
I looked away from them to Nikos lying on his back on the floor, gazing up at the blue sky-painted ceiling. Still, I felt nothing: neither hatred, nor remorse, nor elation, nor any other emotion, save only the familiar dull emptiness. I knew what I had done, and I was fully aware of everyone's shock and dismay. The scholarii, amazed at what had happened, lowered their spears and made as if to guard the body, but their reaction had come too late. Frightened now, and finding themselves outnumbered by barbarians, one of them began shouting and beating on the door, calling for help. Justin merely stood aside looking on.
In a moment, the smaller door opened within the larger and the magister appeared once more. He took one swift glance at the corpse on the floor, and retreated, his hands fluttering in agitation. We heard him go crying into the room beyond and, as the great door swung slowly open, two imperial guards appeared. Taking positions beside the entrance, they crouched there, spears at the ready. More guards hastened towards us, weapons drawn, their leather shoes slapping the polished stone floor. The magister officiorum stood in the doorway, wringing his hands, and behind him Basileus Leo advanced with swift and terrible dignity.
I faced him calmly; indeed, I was astonished at my own clarity and presence of mind. It seemed as if, having crossed some unknown divide, I now stood on the other side, myself once more.
Regarding the new emperor, I observed a tall, narrow-faced man-the length of his features was emphasized by his long dark beard-wearing a simple white robe of common cloth, and a cloak of the same stuff. The only evidence of his imperial rank was a crown made of flat plaques of gold joined to form a narrow band; the centre of each plaque held a different gem, and two beaded strands joined the band to hang down either side of his head. His high and noble brow creased in a frown as he halted in the doorway to take in the tableau before him, his large dark eyes searching out each and all.
No one moved. No one spoke.
Lowering his gaze to the body on the floor, he paused as if contemplating an obscure text, the meaning of which eluded him. Finally, raising his eyes to the living once more, he said, "So!"
"Blessed basileus," began the magister, stepping to the emperor's side. "Eparch Nikos has been killed. He-"
Basileus Leo silenced the courtier with a practised flick of his hand.
Ignoring the magister, Leo said, "Will someone tell me what has taken place?" Though low, his voice echoed loud in the thick hush of the domed Onopodion.
I found the question extraordinary. Clearly, he could see what had happened, and in any case the magister had just told him. Yet, he made no judgement, nor did he rush to a conclusion, but waited for an explanation.
