The Walls of Byzantium tmc-1

by James Heneage

  He knew it to be true. It had always been true.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  Some time later, Zoe stood on the terrace of the Mamonas Palace. A perfect orange orb had risen in the west and the stars were beginning to take their place in the darkening sky. The sea was all around, black and huge, its power deep beneath the shaft of restless red and gold that shivered beneath the moon. She breathed deeply and looked out at this vast desert, a desert across which her family’s floating caravans travelled to places she would not visit again. Never again.

  Think. Don’t let anger cloud your judgement. There is another way.

  Yes, there was another way, another empire to rule. An empire far, far larger.

  Zoe lifted her head to the moon, fuller than crescent, and smiled.

  Suleyman. I have his attention. Now I need his trust.

  Three nights later, and at a later hour, Anna was lying in Damian’s bed.

  She was alone and nervous and she kept looking at a small vial of herb essences that the Despoena had given her earlier. They were intended to heighten desire in a young bride.

  Should she take it? What if Bartolomea had bought it from that charlatan they’d met on the road?

  She felt nothing but cold trepidation. Was she frigid? No, she’d admired Alexis’s handsome friends and more than once had thought how nice it would be to lie with one. The problem, she had to recognize, lay with the man to whom she was now married, whose arrival she expected at any moment. It wasn’t that he was ugly, or had bad teeth, or smelt; it was simply that he was the coldest person she’d ever met. And while she was, of course, a virgin and had no experience of how to pleasure a man, she didn’t believe that she could evoke any passion in him.

  Perhaps it would help if she distracted herself. There were certainly other things to think about. There was the meeting with the Archon, who had been kind and welcoming. Then there was the visit to the Head Cook, who’d taken her through the fifteen courses that would be served at her wedding feast and had made her sample the wines so that she was quite tipsy by the time Zoe had come to collect her to look at the wedding gifts. And finally, she’d met Joseph. She’d known he was Luke’s father the instant she’d seen him. It was not just his height but his eyes, which matched Luke’s and spoke of honour and goodness.

  Then had come the wedding.

  In the early hours, Anna had risen and been dressed in a long, sweeping dress of white crushed silk, embroidered at the sleeves and neckline in gold fleur-de-lis. On her head had been pinned a tiara, encrusted with tiny jewels, at the front of which sat an enamel castle in miniature.

  The wedding itself had passed in a blur. So many people, so much music and incense. And flowers, flowers everywhere. Anna had been stifled by the heat and the attention, her dress too heavy and her shoes too tight. She’d begun to feel the panic that she’d known in the hole and had silently cursed the aged Metropolitan as he stumbled through the service with all the forgetfulness of old age.

  Then it was over and she and Damian had walked back down the aisle of the Panagia Hodegetria past the Despot, past her parents and Alexis, past a thousand nods and smiles and out into the brilliant sunshine of the square where giggling girls had showered them with flowers from the balcony above. They’d walked up to the rocks behind and there, in the bay below, had sat the Byzantine fleet bedecked with bunting, the decks lined with cheering sailors. Anna had looked across at her husband and wondered how much gold had been spent to arrange such a show.

  The wedding feast had been held in the gardens of the palace, where long tables, groaning with food, had sat within opensided tents and musicians with viols and tambours played beneath fruit trees. Luke, Matthew, Nikolas and Arcadius had been summoned to wait at the tables and were standing with trays of drinks when Anna arrived on the arm of her new husband. When she’d seen Luke, she’d released Damian’s arm and gone over to take a cup from his tray.

  ‘Your talents are endless, Luke Magoris,’ she’d smiled. ‘Horse taming to the serving of refreshment. I am glad to see you here.’

  ‘And I to see you, lady,’ Luke had replied, bowing. ‘On this happiest of days.’

  She’d looked at him then, looked for the sarcasm but seen only goodwill. For a moment she’d allowed herself to study the broad forehead above eyes of piercing blue, the long mane of golden hair, the firm line of his jaw. Then she’d turned away.

  In the middle of the lawns had stood a large pavilion of magnificent coloured silks that rustled gently in the breeze, its ropes threaded with gold and its poles garlanded with flowers. Anna had never seen anything so splendid and was admiring it when a dark figure arose from within it and came out into the sunshine.

  Suleyman.

  The heir to the Ottoman throne was smiling and his arms were spread in greeting. ‘This tent is my gift to you both,’ he’d said in perfect Greek as he bowed. ‘And, lady,’ he’d said, taking Anna’s hand, ‘should you ever find yourself wandering lost outside a city’s walls again, perhaps it might afford you some small shelter.’

  Anna had taken her hand away

  ‘I am surprised to see you here, highness. I had thought we were at war. Your gift is not welcome.’

  Damian had gripped her arm and begun to speak, but Suleyman had raised his hand. He was watching her with interest.

  ‘It is a tent,’ he’d said with a shrug. ‘Give it to a servant if it pleases you.’

  The wedding feast had not been a happy affair. The Despot had been unaware of Suleyman’s invitation and struggled to maintain his composure when the two were presented to each other. After all, it was widely supposed that Bayezid’s galleys were, even then, on their way to blockade his brother the Emperor Manuel’s capital, Constantinople.

  Shortly after the main course had been served, Theodore had risen. ‘My lord Mamonas, sadly I must leave earlier than expected. A matter has arisen at Mistra that requires my return.’

  No one had believed it. The Despot had signalled to his retinue and they’d left.

  And Anna hadn’t even said goodbye to Alexis.

  Now, lying in this vast bed, hung with silk curtains and spread with herb-scented lawn sheets, she looked up at the Mamonas arms emblazoned on its silk tester and felt utterly alone. Then a new dread entered her soul. She looked again at Bartolomea’s potion. Was now the time to take it? Would she even need it? After all, Damian had appeared quite drunk by the end of the banquet, slurring his words and leering at a servant girl who’d bent too low to serve him wine. But then she’d watched Zoe take him by the hand and walk him slowly over to the long shadow of a tree where they could barely be seen. She’d seen her bend close to him, so that their foreheads touched, and they’d talked for a long time.

  Then Zoe had taken his head in her hands and kissed him on the lips.

  Anna was remembering her shock at seeing this when she heard the creak of the bedroom door. Damian was standing there in a red velvet nightgown.

  Too late to take the potion now.

  From the candles burning around the room, she could see that he looked nervous. And he was very drunk.

  She leant across the bed and drew the covers back, then patted the sheet beneath them. ‘Will you come to bed, sir?’ she asked.

  Damian swayed and then steadied himself against the door. He looked around the room. ‘Why are all these candles lit?’

  ‘I thought you might like to see your new bride,’ she said.

  He seemed to consider this possibility. Then he staggered over to the corner of the bed and sat down heavily, facing away from her. He was breathing quickly.

  ‘Come here,’ he said. She began to move across the counterpane.

  ‘No!’ he barked. ‘Come here!’ He was jabbing his finger at the floor in front of him.

  Anna climbed off the bed and walked round it to stand in front of him.

  ‘Take it off,’ said Damian.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘The dress, shift, whatever it is. Take it off
!’

  Anna began to unlace the cords threaded through her bodice, her hands moving with the quick rise and fall of her breasts. Once they were undone, she unhooked it from her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Quickly she drew her arms up to shield herself.

  ‘Take them away,’ whispered Damian. One of his hands, released from a sleeve, had begun to move up and down beneath his nightgown. Sweat was gathering at his temples. His breaths were coming in rasps.

  Anna was transfixed with horror. It wasn’t meant to be like this.

  ‘Take them away,’ barked Damian, the movement at his groin more urgent. ‘Take your hands away now!’

  Anna did what she was told and stood there, naked, her skin aglow in the light of the candles. She looked down with appalled fascination at the hunched figure before her who was now using his free hand to feel her breasts, pulling and twisting her nipples and running his palm across their tips. Then the hand moved down to her groin.

  ‘Open them!’

  Anna opened her legs. She felt a shock of pain as Damian thrust his fingers inside her, invading, probing, wounding her. Going deeper and deeper. She pulled his hand away.

  Damian looked up at her, his eyes unfocused, his mouth slack with lust. A sliver of sweat ran down the scar on his cheek. He pulled himself to his feet, using the bedpost. Anna stepped forward, attempting a smile.

  ‘Why don’t you remove your nightgown, Damian, and come to bed?’

  A stinging pain exploded across her cheek as Damian slapped her. ‘You bitch!’ he shouted.

  ‘But …?’

  What had she done wrong?

  ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To pity me! Do you think I didn’t know what you were doing at the steps of the Laskaris House? How dare you pity me!’

  He’d stopped rubbing himself and with both hands threw her across the bed. Then he fell on top of her, pulling his gown up at the front. He grabbed her hand. ‘You do it.’

  Miserably, Anna began to move her hand up and down.

  ‘Faster!’ he urged, his breath hot against her ear. His hand was at her throat.

  She rubbed faster, closing her eyes, wanting to finish this as quickly as possible.

  Damian went rigid and his fingers dug into her neck so that, for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Then he rolled away

  Anna felt a wave of burning shame. She could bear the pain in her neck and on her breasts, but this humiliation was more agonising by far. She wondered what she could say to make him understand that, whatever his hurt, he could not treat her like that ever again.

  She turned to him, but he was lying on his side and away from her. He was fast asleep.

  Outside, standing in shadow in the corridor, was Zoe. She’d heard very little of what had happened in the bridal chamber but she could guess.

  She will still be a virgin after tonight.

  But why did it matter? Why indeed was she there, listening to the muffled agonies of two people beyond the door?

  She knew the answer to this. She’d seen the way that Suleyman had looked at Anna at the wedding. He’d not looked at her like that.

  She needed to win Suleyman’s trust. But perhaps she needed to win Anna’s first.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MISTRA, SUMMER 1394

  The Despot was not a man often moved to anger, but when he was, it was impressive.

  Certainly, that was the opinion of Nikolaos Eudaemis, Kephale of Monemvasia and the Despot’s representative in that city. In theory he had the same powers as the Archon; in practice he was not even close.

  Eudaemis had been summoned back to Mistra to explain why, after three months, some important elements of the marriage agreement, such as the handing back of Geraki Castle, had not taken place. Geraki was of particular significance since it was critical to the defence of the Vale of Sparta and its rich farmland.

  Theodore was beside himself. ‘How dare he?’ he shouted, stabbing the papers on the table in front of him with his finger. ‘Is it not written there in the contract in black and white? Or perhaps the monks of St Sophia drank too much of their altar wine and couldn’t spell Geraki? Tell me, Nikolaos, which part of the contract does the Archon not understand?’

  ‘I don’t know, Majesty. He’s always too busy to see me,’ said the man wretchedly.

  ‘Too busy? Too busy to see the appointed representative of the Despot?’ yelled Theodore, his face purple with rage.

  Simon Laskaris stepped forward. ‘Majesty-’ he began, but the Despot rounded on him.

  ‘Don’t, for once in your life, Simon, tell me to be reasonable! I’m sick of being reasonable! I’ve been reasonable for three months, written letter after letter and nothing has happened! Reasonable does not work!’ Theodore stopped suddenly and eyed Eudaemis malevolently. ‘Is he bribing you as well?’ he asked, his voice more even.

  ‘Majesty!’ cried the Kephale in shock.

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t surprise me. He seems to bribe everyone else,’ said the Despot moodily.

  Simon Laskaris coughed, judging this change in tone to be a good time to intervene. ‘Sire,’ he said, ‘why don’t we allow Nikolaos to go and rest after his long ride and we can talk to him later when we’ve had more time to consider things. You’d like a rest wouldn’t you, Nikolaos?’

  The Kephale looked at him with gratitude. He glanced at his sovereign, who was still watching him darkly. Then Theodore nodded. Eudaemis bowed his way backwards from the room, leaving the Despot alone with his Protostrator.

  ‘He’s taking bribes, isn’t he?’ said Theodore, looking at the door through which the Kephale had left.

  ‘Oh yes, lord,’ said Simon Laskaris cheerfully. ‘Do you imagine he could afford that Goulas mansion on the salary we give him?’

  Theodore groaned. ‘Whom can I trust beyond you, Simon?’ He took his old friend by his arms. ‘I’m sorry for shouting at you.’

  ‘It’s nothing, lord.’ The Protostrator smiled. ‘And there are plenty of people you can trust. Alexis, for one. He’s outside waiting to give his report to you.’

  ‘Good, good,’ said the Despot, tiredly. He went over to the table and poured three goblets of wine. ‘Show him in.’

  Alexis had been sent by his father to Monemvasia a week previously to check on reports that the fleet had yet to set sail to the support of Constantinople. He had travelled alone and incognito. Now he was walking through the door, his clothes and face grimed with the dust of a long ride.

  ‘Alexis!’ beamed the Despot, all signs of tiredness vanished. He walked over to embrace his godson and thrust the goblet into his hand. ‘How were the roads?’

  ‘Free of bandits, my lord. The country seems at peace since the Turkish raid, and the people are happy.’

  ‘That’s good, that’s good. And much praise must go to you and your men for keeping it so.’

  Alexis bowed and turned to his father. ‘I’m afraid I heard no word of Anna, Father. They say she keeps to the palace and barely takes a step outside.’

  Laskaris shook his head. It was unlike his daughter not to be curious about her new home. And what of the many letters he’d sent her, none of which she’d answered?

  Theodore glanced at his friend. ‘I dare say she’s busy coming to terms with her new life, Simon. It must all be very strange to her.’

  Simon was not convinced. He walked over to the table where the papers were laid out. ‘Lord, we have here a list of the Empire’s warships that have been resupplying in the deep-water ports around Monemvasia. Now, Alexis, are you able to tell us how many have left for Constantinople?’

  ‘None, Father.’

  ‘None?’ exclaimed the Despot. ‘But only last week we were told that eight were ready to sail!’

  ‘I know, lord,’ said Alexis. ‘But the Archon has ordered further repairs to them so they are to stay at the docks.’

  ‘He can’t do that!’ Theodore’s voice was beginning to rise again. ‘He knows how badly they’re needed at Constantinople!’

 
‘Alas, he can, lord,’ said Laskaris. ‘You will recall that in one part of our recent agreement, as reward for returning Geraki and giving us funds to rebuild the wall at Corinth, he was to take control of the provisioning of the fleet at Monemvasia. It seemed sensible given his experience.’

  ‘Why on earth did he want that?’ asked the Despot.

  ‘We assumed, lord, so that he could rake off some profit. It seemed a small price to pay for the extra efficiencies to the fleet. After all, he controls all the ports around there anyway.’

  Theodore thought for a moment. He took another draught of wine. ‘So what do we do, Simon?’ he asked at last.

  ‘We take control of events, sire,’ replied the Protostrator. ‘We send a force to take control of Geraki in your name. And we do it without delay.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then, lord, having shown that we are in earnest, you and I go to Monemvasia and demand that he release the fleet. He will have no choice but to comply.’

  Theodore considered this. ‘And whom should we send?’ he asked eventually.

  Laskaris looked at his son. ‘Alexis, are you ready to ride to Geraki?’

  Alexis was not happy with the men riding behind him. They were Albanian mercenaries and he didn’t entirely trust them. But his men of the Guard had been away on exercise, so he’d taken what he could get.

  There were only twenty of them, which Alexis judged to be a prudent number. Any more, and the garrison of Geraki would see it as an attack, and Alexis knew it would require thousands to take one of the strongest fortresses in Greece. No, for this mission to succeed he needed guile: guile and the authority of the Despot.

  They had not left until midday but had covered the ground quickly and it was late afternoon when he saw the great bulk of the castle on a distant hill, its walls and towers dominating the plain around it. It was still flying the flag of the Mamonas.

  Alexis wondered when the garrison would first see their approach. He spurred his horse faster and turned in the saddle to signal for his companions to do the same. It was vital that they gave the garrison commander as little time to think as possible.