Doctor Who_ Byzantium! - Keith Topping [92]
But Greece, like the Jews, had found itself enslaved.
‘Hieronymous is fatally weakened by the choices that he makes, particularly those with regard to the gentile woman,’
Phasaei noted. ‘For, is it not written...?’
‘Probably,’ interrupted Titus before Phasaei had the chance to trot out another of his stock clichés. ‘He is weakened, certainly, although whether it shall prove to be his downfall, I myself have doubts upon this matter. I like not this woman, so clever and wily in her ways. Nevertheless, Hieronymous has made his choice. And he must live by it. Or otherwise’ Titus turned to face out across the city and shielded his eyes from the harsh reflection of the sun. He looked across the central market square, and towards the city limits and beyond. ‘This is a unique place and a unique time, Phasaei,’ he noted absent-mindedly. ‘Hieronymous once asked me whether I could live within any of history’s pages, whence would it be? I ask you the same question.’
‘In the olden days of yore,’ said Phasaei instinctively. ‘The time of Moses and Aaron and Joshua. When the law was the law, and there was no petitioning of the Lord with prayer. And you, my good brother, whence shall be your time?’
‘My time is now,’ Titus said simply ‘And it shall be, hereafter.’
Down within the forum, the bustle and rush of the day was beginning to drain the energies of those exposed to the ravages of the afternoon heat.
Even the hyperactive juggler who spent each and every day nimbly dancing in a perpetual motion seemed to have surrendered to the sun and gone for a nice lie-down.
Nikos, the bread-stall owner, sat on an upturned log behind his table of breads, his legs sticking out from the stump and keeping it upright with a feat of balancing that would have been impressive to anyone watching. If it were not so abominably hot.
He removed a piece of cloth from his toga and wiped the sweat from his eyes.
Business was slow on a day that gave slothfulness a good name.
‘Thirteen loaves, good patron,’ said a voice from under the shadow of the stall’s canopy. Nikos leaned forward and then stood up, excitedly, as Daniel allowed a handful of battered coins to fall onto the stall.
‘Thirteen, say you?’ asked Nikos, calculating that such a purchase would almost double his sales for the day. ‘You have many mouths to feed, stranger?’
Daniel said nothing, looking casually around him as crowds briefly mingled and then dispersed in an ebb and flow like the turning of the tide. ‘I come from a very large family,’
Daniel noted, finally. ‘And it is growing all the time.’
‘Wait a moment,’ Nikos said as he began to wrap the loaves. ‘I know you. Your mother had cause to name you Daniel, yes? You are a friend of James, the Christian?’
‘No, I am not,’ said Daniel flatly.
‘Yes, you are,’ replied a convinced Nikos.
‘No, I am not,’ repeated Daniel.
‘I am sure of it.’
‘You are mistaken,’ Daniel said, denying his allegiances for the third time before breakfast. Then he hissed, ‘What are you saying?’ at the Greek.
Nikos looked nervously around, although he wasn’t certain why. ‘I know what you are, impatient youth, but I fail to understand your fear in everyone else knowing of it. Your faith is perfectly legal, is it not?’
‘The law of man is corrupt and open to barter,’ Daniel said in a harsh whisper. ‘We are persecuted for what we are and what we believe, and no law can put asunder such persecutions,’ he continued, hurriedly picking up the bread and turning away from the stall-owner.
‘Wait,’ called Nikos. For a moment, he thought that Daniel would break into a sprint away from the stall, as though he had the devil at his heels. Then, almost as an afterthought, the young man turned back to the stall, wearily.
‘Yes?’
‘In your haste you neglected to take the coinage to which you are due.’
Daniel snatched up a drachma that Nikos offered to him and, again, began to move away. ‘You are so paranoid, my friend,’ Nikos shouted after him. ‘Who would wish to persecute