The icy grip of the chains broke through Nicander’s paralysis of unreality. The guttering light of an oil lamp illuminated instruments of pain and the merciless face of the torturer.Excubitor Marcellus waited impatiently for the soldiers to leave then crossed to them. ‘Now, I’ve not much time to waste on filth like you. Make it easy for me and you can have it quick and clean – tell me lies and I’ll let Khosrau loose. Understood?’He leant forward until he was inches from them. ‘You’ve been skulking about, first in John the Cappadocian’s villa, then Magister Peter Barsymes is seen being very amiable towards you – this is not his way towards low-life. Then I’m brought word that the same day, if I chose, I could find you being heartily welcomed into his home by none other than the great general Belisarius. So what am I to conclude? I think it speaks for itself, but I’ll let you tell me in your own words.’He whirled on Marius. ‘You! What’s the meaning of it all?’The legionary stared back in contemptuous silence.‘Very well.’In sick realisation, Nicander knew what was next.Turning to him, Marcellus eased into a smile.
