by David Capel
There I was now, on the outer rim of the church’s dome and wall, and as I had seen there was scaffolding poking up here and there above the sides of the building. I raced round the outside of the dome to the furthest of the rickety structures, and scrabbled down the thin ladder that served as its stair.
I was on the other side of the church now, with no idea where I was in the city, but several narrow streets opened up in front of me and I ran towards the nearest one. I turned into it and threw myself against the wall of the nearest house and looked up at the church behind me. There was a guard, only now creeping onto the outside walkway, and a second later he was joined by Bryennius. But neither seemed to have looked in my direction, so I plunged once more into the crowded lane in relief.
After a few paces I forced myself to slow down. The men and women I passed were staring at me in alarm as I pressed past them, and I realised that the surest way to be followed was to act the part of the fugitive.
So I forced myself to dawdle, and turned left and right in the confused jumble of streets, while always seeking to put distance between me and the palace and church. At length I recognised a broader avenue near the port that I had visited that morning, and I considered my options.
My first instinct was to make straight for the nearest gate and flee the city. But then I would be horseless. I remembered that I had prepared my weapons and other belongings for departure that morning, including my saddlebags. My nameless fears of the morning had been foresighted, for it would be the work of minutes to claim my horse and leave the inn where I stayed. It was at any rate near one of the gates on the western side of Trebizond. None of my pursuers knew where I had rested for the night, so I made my way there, taking care to keep to the crowds.
At the inn all was quiet, so I seized my possessions from my room and saddled my horse myself. I found the landlord asleep in a back room and left some coin by his side.
Within only a few minutes I cantered out of the stable yard and down the main street towards the western gate of the city. My only aim at this stage was to put as much distance between myself and Trebizond as I could. I pushed my way through the crowd at the gateway, looking nervously at the guards and telling myself that there was no way in which they could already have been warned to accost me. When one of them looked at me I swallowed the urge to gallop away and instead asked him the road to Sinope, a port that I knew lay some way along the coast to the West. He pointed in that direction and I set off that way at a canter, before leaving the main road at the first southward track and doubling back through the fields to the route that I hoped would lead me to the Imperial army.
Hoping that my trick would buy me enough time to avoid the initial pursuit, I alternated between a canter and a trot, trying to conserve the energies of my mount. I tried to assess how much time, if any, I had bought ahead of the pursuit. That Bryennius and the others would follow me seemed beyond doubt. They knew I had a letter from Nikephoritzes to the governor, Gabras. They could not afford for it to fall into Imperial hands.
I considered their options. They might spend time searching for me through the streets. But it would not take them long to ask for me at the gates and scour the area outside the city. In that case I had to assume that they would be on my trail before long.
The urge to flee to safety was strong. I could cut away to the South and West, perhaps doubling back to the coast and seeking a way to return to the safety of Constantinople. But the country that way was alive with Turks. My route would necessarily take me not far from my ruined estate. It would be far from safe. Besides, my words to the guard at the gate might well have worked – Gabras and Bryennius would be sure to send a detachment towards Sinope, in which case I could be cut off at the coast.
In truth I did not seriously contemplate such a dereliction of my duty and my hopes. I had to get word to the Imperial authorities about this plot that, from what I had read so far, clearly jeopardised the success of the whole campaign. Defeat for the Emperor would surely mean the loss of my estate for ever.
My path, then, lead to the Imperial army that was converging on Lake Van.
I took the road through the hills in the direction of Theodosiopolis, which was about half way to Lake Van where the army was concentrating. I rode hard for the rest of the day, eating up the miles. My horse was fit and well rested, and it seemed to me that I had good hopes of outrunning any pursuit until I reached Imperial forces.
At nightfall I could run no longer, for the moon was but the slenderest of sickles and the blanket of stars lit only the heavens. So I turned aside from the road and found a ruined byre where I hunkered down in the corner amidst the weeds. I risked a brief fire, for light as much as warmth, and read Praetor Nikephoritzes’ letter in full.
The sheer ambitious, scheming evil of it took my breath away, and I read it twice full through before extinguishing my flames and pondering it late into the night.
In essence it was nothing less that a plot to overthrow the Emperor Romanus IV Diogenes and replace it with a regime headed, at least in name, by his step-son, the co-Emperor Michael VII, husband of my very own friend Maria Alania.
But Michael himself seemed almost incidental to the plan. The guiding figures were Nikephoritzes himself and Caesar John Ducas, uncle of Michael and brother of Diogenes’ predecessor, Constantine X. These two – eunuch and Caesar, were to rule the Empire with Michael as puppet, and they were the authors and guarantors of the plot.
This so far made sense to me. Even I knew of Caesar John’s bitter resentment of Romanus Diogenes, and how he had married his brother’s widow to take the throne. The Caesar had retreated to his estates in Bithynia, but had I not seen him with my own eyes at the house of Michael and Maria, and indeed in the garden of Nikephoritzes’ villa? So he had the motive, and the power, and it could be no surprise to any inhabitant of the City that he was in league with a man like Nikephoritzes.
Yet still the essence of the plot was breathtaking in its betrayal. For the two planned to sabotage the very Imperial army as it stood against the common foe. For the Caesar’s son, Andronicus Ducas, who commanded a division of the army, was to turn tail and flee the field at most opportune moment of battle.
Thus would the downfall of the Emperor be assured: with luck he would be killed in the defeat, or taken prisoner. At worst he would be humiliated, his army dispersed and his reputation in tatters.
I could not believe my eyes on reading this passage. Thus on the altar of their ambition would these two men – great figures in the hierarchy of Rome – sacrifice the Ecumenical Empire itself. The victory of the Turk was assumed, but its consequences unrecognised. The dreadful plight of the Empire after such a defeat seemed hardly contemplated. That Michael might inherit nothing but the final defence of our City was not considered by the plotters, let alone the inevitable deaths of thousands of our soldiers. I thought of Symeon the centurion and his family on the Marmora beach – tough and brave, and all gone to waste under the schemes of his supposed better, Caesar John Ducas. I thought of the blackened figure of Bouzanis, swinging on my estate, and the desperation of Father Adrianos. Neither would see justice thanks to the caprice of Nikephoritzes.
The purpose of the letter was to warn Gabras of the plot. He was clearly an associate of Nikephoritzes already, and was to guard the northern flank of the Emperor’s retreat, cutting him off from the sea if he escaped the Turk, and arresting him there if possible. The Praetor assured him of the success of the plot, naming several senior figures in the administration and army back in the capital, mostly linked in some way to the Ducas family.
What puzzled me slightly was that there was no mention of Bryennius. To have such an experienced soldier in on the plot should have been worthy of mention, especially if he was bound for Trebizond. I reasoned that perhaps his arrival there had been unexpected, prompted as it had been by his pursuit of me.
To my relief the letter did not mention Alexius Comnenus. The proximity of his force to the capital could make h
im a major player as the plot unfolded. His association with Bryennius and his familiarity with Maria linked him to the plotters, so the absence of his name from the letter was another mystery. It gave me hope, though, that some at least might remain loyal to the Empire.
Nor was there any specific mention of Maria, for that matter. Her husband Michael was a puppet in the whole game, to be sure, but it seemed implausible that the couple knew nothing of this affair.
The contents of the letter, and particularly its final sentence, casting me aside to my fate like an unwanted garment, shocked me once more and filled me with a burning desire to pay these people back. I barely slept that night and rose before dawn to reach the road at first light.
I resumed my flight at punishing speed, and reached Theodosiopolis in just four days. But there I had a serious alarm which made me change my plans. The road was busy with traffic, both civilian and military, but I realised that I could not simply report my finding to any military unit. It might be loyal to Andronicus, who commanded one of the army divisions, and at any rate whoever I met would have to convey the message to the Imperial command, so it made no sense to risk delay by accosting an intermediary.
At the same time I had to be wary of any pursuers from Trebizond, and on several occasions I had left the road to conceal myself at the sight or sounds of galloping hooves.
It appeared that part of the main army had passed through Theodosiopolis, which at least made my presence as an officer unremarkable. So by the time I reached the town I felt safer, sure by now that the pursuit, if there had been any, must be left far behind. I had found a room at an inn with stables, and after splashing my face with water, went in search of refreshment and shelter from the late afternoon heat in a tavern.
I was sitting there in a corner, sipping my first cup of wine, when three soldiers barged in and went straight up to landlord. To my horror one of them said, straight up, “We’re looking for a horseman that has come in from the Trebizond road. A dangerous fugitive called Lascaris. Have you seen such a man?”
The Landlord said he hadn’t, thank God, and suggested they try the very inn where I had found lodging. They were leaving when one of them noticed me lurking in the shadows.
“And you?” he said, pointing at me. “Where have you come from?”
“Taxiarch to you, my boy,” I said, trying to keep a tremor out of my voice. “And my business is my own. But since you seem to be on an official mission, I’m on my way from Sebastea to join the Emperor. I have an errand to fulfil in this town along the way, and no, I have not seen any fleeing criminals, though in truth the roads are filled with fugitives.”
The soldier looked at me for a second before one of the others said “Come on, let’s go to this inn,” and the three of them left, without saluting.
Trying not to seem rushed, I gulped down my wine and paid the barman before leaving and walking in the opposite direction from the inn. It was time to leave in a hurry once more, and this time I had no chance of collecting my horse. I had also left my weapons and other gear behind at the inn, including the letter of Nikephoritzes. I had nothing save a dagger, my purse, and a cloak.
I plunged into some narrow streets that headed in the direction of the east wall. There was a postern there, and fortunately in the late afternoon it was crowded with peasants coming and going at the end of the day’s labour. I could think of no better plan than to head off into the dusk, making for the hilly ground that I could see to the East.
That night I lay down hungrily among the thorn bushes, uncomfortable, but relieved at my escape. I could not be too far by now from the army, and it seemed to me that if I travelled south-east I would eventually find a military unit that I could seek shelter with, and together we could converge on the Imperial host and I could deliver my message at last. It did not worry me unduly that I had lost the eunuch’s letter, for its contents were indelibly written in my memory, alongside those of Artabazus. It might even fall into the hands of loyalists, in which case there was a double chance of the news reaching the Imperial command. For my part, all I had to do was explain it to the Imperial authorities, and to do that I had just to catch up with the main army.
In the event it took far longer than I had anticipated. On the first morning I reached a village populated in the main by Armenians. There I bought bread and a gourd for water, and sought directions as to the lay of the land. After that, however, the country seemed to empty, and I wandered alone as if in a wilderness. On the third day I approached another village, but this time found the place deserted, with several houses apparently suffering from fire damage.
The last building in the settlement was a church, and there I saw for the first time in days a sure sign of the enemy. The shape of the crescent moon, painted in some dark liquid, was daubed upon the door. All was dark within. And as I hesitated there I heard the harsh cry of a crow, and looked up at the bell tower. There, hanging, was the black shape of a man, his arms extended slightly as if warding off a blow to his body or spirit. Birds pecked at his face and eyes.
Hastily I walked on, and for the rest of that day and the next flitted fearfully from bush to boulder in a land that was increasingly barren. I kept away from the low ground and scaled hill after hill, increasingly hungry and thirsty. And then, on the fourth evening after leaving Theodosiopolis, just as I sought shelter in the nightfall, I saw a spark of light in the valley below me. Then, one after the other fires were lit, almost carelessly, until as the stars came out they were mirrored by many flames perhaps a mile from where I lay. Turks or Romans I could not tell for now, but in the morning I would either find salvation or my road blocked for good.
μ
In the valley the smoke of numerous small fires stained the morning summer air. Otherwise, there was no sign of life. At the time I found this puzzling, but in fact this is an entirely natural phenomenon. We think of mankind as separate from the rest of the world, more gaudy and artificial. Yet any experienced soldier will confirm that if a body of men stays motionless and does not emit smoke or light, it can remain essentially invisible to all but the most experienced scout until approached at close quarters.
So although I knew by their campfires that there were many people among the scrubby trees by the stream at the bottom of the valley, and that their number and confidence meant they must be soldiers, I had no idea of what kind, friend or foe.
I watched them for a while, lying flat among a group of boulders near the ridge, since I was extremely suspicious. But I was also very hungry and cold. Even in August in these eastern mountains the nights are frigid, and there was a biting wind that cut like a knife across the stony ground at dawn.
After a while I concluded that they could not be Turks. There was no sign of horses, and also the group seemed entirely still. A kind of perpetual, shifting motion seemed to characterise the nomadic invaders which was absent here.
As I slowly picked out the little bodies of huddled men from their drab surroundings, the group below looked more like a peaceful expedition processing through the country. I guessed by the apparent lack of equipment that this was a body of theme troops. Perhaps my discomfort made me incautious, but my instinct proved to be right. I walked down the slope towards the encampment, trying as best as I could to keep to the cover of trees and bushes, but with little expectation of escaping notice.
In fact it was I who had to disturb the campers. There was no sign of a piquet, and eventually I approached a group of huddled men lying around a damply smoking fire. I stood there, cold and hungry, amazed that I had not been noticed. Eventually a man turned over and eyed me from his blanket with slight hostility but no great surprise.
“Hello. What do you want?” he said in Greek.
“My name is John Lascaris, taxiarch,” I replied. “Where is your commanding officer?”
He sat up and rubbed his eyes “You, a taxiarch?”
“Indeed. And you, what rank are you?”
“Err, none.” And eventually a mild embarrassme
nt must have seeped into his waking bones, for he stood up and shook himself free of the cloak he had wrapped around him.
“Your commanding officer?” I repeated.
“Over there, by the tree.” I looked where he pointed and saw that a crude bivouac had been suspended from the lower branches of a thorn tree near the stream. Without another word to my slovenly friend I stalked over towards the officer’s tent. Before I was half way there I noticed another man striding towards me from the other side of the encampment.
“You there,” he cried in a voice fit to wake the rest of the slumbering men, waving what looked like a spear. “Stand and state your business. Who are you?”
I approached him and called out for the second time, “John Lascaris, taxiarch. I have come from Trebizond and seek the Imperial army on an important errand. Are you the commanding office of this company?”
The man eyed me suspiciously. He was short and dark, with thick stubble covering his hard looking face, but he looked alert and lively enough.
“No I’m not, sir. I will bring you over to him. But if you please do you have any notification of rank? We are in hostile territory here and I need to confirm your identification. You are dressed in a somewhat irregular manner, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
I laughed, for I must have looked more like a beggar than a soldier. “So I am,” I relied, “and for that reason I’m afraid I can offer you none. I was ambushed near Trebizond and escaped with none of my gear. But I am an officer on the staff of General Alexius Comnenus and seek the Imperial army which I understand is operating in this vicinity. I have an important message for the Emperor himself, and I would be grateful for travelling with you if you are heading in that direction.”
