Crispin wanted to turn and see who this other mosaicist was but he dared not move. The man behind him stammered, ‘My lord . . . thrice-exalted lord, it has never been used in Sarantium. Never on any other dome. I proposed-‘
‘And what we have just heard of Rhodias? Five hundred years ago? The reasons why? Did you consider this?’ ‘My lord, the affairs of the fallen west, I-‘
‘What?’ Valerius II sat upright now. He leaned forward. A finger stabbed the air as he spoke. ‘This was Rhodias, artisan! Speak not to us of the fallen west. This was the Rhodian Empire at its apex! In the god’s name! What did Saranios name this city when he drew the line with his sword from channel to ocean for the first walls? Tell me!’
There was fear now in the room, palpably. Crispin saw men and women, elegant and glittering, their eyes fixed on the floor like subdued children. ‘He … he … Sarantium, thrice-exalted.’ ‘And what else? What else? Say it, Siroes!’
‘The … he called it the New Rhodias, thrice-great lord.’ The patrician voice was a croak now. ‘Glorious Emperor, we know, we all know there has never been a holy sanctuary on earth to match the one you have envisaged and are bringing into being. It will be the glory of Jad’s world. The dome, the dome is unmatched in size, in majesty …”
‘We can only bring it into being if our servants are competent. The dome Artibasos has designed is too big, you are now saying, to use proper mosaic technique upon? Is that it, Siroes?’
‘My lord, no!’
‘You are being given insufficient resources from the Imperial treasury? Not enough apprentices and craftsmen? Your own recompense is inadequate, Siroes?’ The voice was cold and hard as a stone in the depths of winter.
Crispin felt fear and pity. He couldn’t even see the man being so ruthlessly annihilated, but behind him he heard the sound of someone sinking to his knees.
‘The Emperor’s generosity surpasses my worth as much as he surpasses all those in this room in majesty, my thrice-exalted lord.’
‘We rather believe it does, in fact,’ said Valerius II icily. ‘We must reconsider certain aspects of our building plans. You may leave us, Siroes. We are grateful to the lady Styhane Daleina for urging your talents upon us, but it begins to appear that the scope of our Sanctuary might have you overmatched. It happens, it happens. You will be appropriately rewarded for what you have done to this point. Fear not.’
Another piece of the puzzle. The aristocratic wife of the Strategos had sponsored this other mosaicist before the Emperor. Crispin’s appearance tonight, his swift summons to court, had threatened that man, and so her, by extension.
It was appallingly true, what he’d conjectured earlier: he’d arrived here with allegiances and enemies before he’d even opened his mouth-or lifted his head from the floor. I could be killed here, he thought suddenly. Behind him he heard the silver doors opening. There were footsteps. A pause. The banished artisan would be doing his obeisance.
The doors closed again. Candles flickered in the draft. The light wavered, steadied. It was silent in the throne room, the courtiers chastened and afraid. Siroes, whoever he was, had left. Crispin had just ruined a man by answering a single question honestly without regard for tact or diplomacy. Honesty at a court was a dangerous thing, for others, for oneself. He kept his own eyes on the mosaic of the floor again. A hunting scene in the centre. An Emperor of long ago, in the woods with a bow, a stag leaping, the Imperial arrow in flight towards it. A death coming, if the scene continued.
The scene continued.
Alixana said, ‘If this distressing habit of spoiling a festive evening persists, my beloved, I shall join brave Leontes in regretting your new Sanctuary. I must say, paying the soldiers on time seems to cause so much less turmoil.’
The Emperor looked unperturbed. ‘The soldiers will be paid. The Sanctuary is to be one of our legacies. One of the things that will send our names down the ages.’