by Tom Harper
Hugh wrung his hands together. ‘I know that, Lord Isaak. You know that had my army not perished in storm and shipwreck, I would even now be in Jerusalem. But these men are unreasonable, and they suspect the wiles of the Greeks. They will twist sinister meanings even out of your generosity, which I know well to be true Christian charity.’
‘If they will not accept our gifts, then they can do without them until they find their senses,’ said Krysaphios. ‘Send orders to the Eparch that their grain supply is to be reduced. We will see how long they endure empty bellies and the winter rains. And prepare to have them moved across the Horn to Galata. They will be further from mischief, there, and easier to contain.’
‘And what of my responsibility?’ I began tentatively. ‘How do you wish me to proceed?’
Krysaphios glared at me. ‘As you see fit, Demetrios, as you see fit. Whether the barbarian captain would overthrow us or not, I do not doubt that he would seize upon any disruption to work as much evil as he could. So whoever wants the Emperor dead, you had best find him quickly. Now go.’
I returned home in haste, for it was less than a week after midwinter and the days were still short. I could no longer afford to flout the curfew, having lost my Varangian escort when I sent Thomas back to Anna’s monastery, to learn our tongue and our customs, and to keep him away from my daughters. Helena, in particular, had not forgiven me for it, nor for the scolding she had received for her immoderate conduct that morning when I found Thomas in her room. She had persuaded me that nothing more reprehensible than talk had passed between them, and Zoe, unusually, had supported her story, but it had done little to placate me. Nor deterred me from sending the boy away.
It still rankled with Helena. ‘After he was kidnapped and enslaved by that wicked monk, how could you lock him away in a monastery? He’ll go mad.’
‘I doubt the monks of Saint Andrew’s will force a bow into his hands and make him shoot it at the Emperor. And why is there no meat in this stew? The fast ended three days ago.’
‘The fast will continue until the barbarian armies go. At least, that is the rumour. Few drive their beasts to market for fear that they will be seized by a mob of Franks and Kelts, while the animals which do come are bought by the imperial commissary and taken to feed our enemies. So we go hungry.’
‘“If your enemy hungers, give him bread to eat; if he thirsts, then water to drink, for you will heap up coals of fire on his head and the Lord will reward you,”’ I told her. ‘I met the King of the Franks’ brother today.’
‘Was he fat?’
‘He was wearing an enormous, ill-fitting robe. It was hard to tell. Nor did he have coals on his head.’
‘Did he say when they would be leaving?’ asked Zoe quietly. She was at an age when the slightest change in her mood could make her seem almost a woman, or scarcely a child. Now she just looked afraid.
‘The decision is not his to make. They need permission from the Emperor.’
‘Then he should give it to them and let them go.’ Her voice was rising, the words tumbling out, and she was twisting her hair round her finger as she had not done for many years.
I tried to speak gently. ‘Why? Are you hungry, Zoe? The Emperor cannot simply let a horde of barbarians pass through his empire. He must ensure that they are kept from causing injury.’
‘Well he should send them away. The streets are filled with strangers, and there’s no food, and soon it will be the feast of Saint Basil and we won’t be able to celebrate it properly, and all the time there are a thousand Franks at our gates armed for war. I hate it. I want the barbarians to go, and the city to be normal again.’
‘So do I.’ I put my arm around her shoulder and drew her in to my chest. ‘Doubtless the Emperor will order it that they are gone as soon as is possible.’
He did not. Through a long, wet January the barbarians stayed camped by the head of the Golden Horn, while I searched with ever-mounting frustration for any sign of the monk, whether he even lived or not, and if so whether he was in consort with the Frankish army. I found nothing. After a fortnight I began to doubt myself, to wonder whether he had indeed perished in that freezing cistern. I would have trawled it again, but I no longer commanded any urgency in the palace: with every fruitless day which passed, my meetings with Krysaphios became less frequent, the hours I waited in crowded corridors ever longer.
January passed: the day of the Heirarch Basil, then the Epiphany, and even the feast of Gregory the Theologian, and still – so far as I could see – the barbarians would not demur. Every day brought new rumours: of other great armies at Thessalonika, Heraklea or even Selymbria; of villages raided or livestock stolen; of barbarians stealing through windows in the night. As my business still took me, occasionally, into the palace, I perhaps heard more tales than most, though the gossip in the gilded halls seemed no more reliable than that in the market. And still we went hungry, still the streets teemed with those who had sought refuge, still it seemed that the barbarians were as much our besiegers as our allies.
One evening, a few days before the onset of February, a messenger came to my house, dressed in the livery of the palace.
‘I am come from my master, the Emperor,’ he announced. Water dripped from the hem of his cloak onto my floor.
‘Indeed?’ I had expected this moment for some days now, the news that my services were no longer required. I could not say I would have done otherwise in his position.
‘The barbarian captains have agreed to send ambassadors to meet with the Emperor and discuss his demands; the Emperor fears that the monk may try to slip into the palace disguised among their retinue. As you are the only Roman who has seen the man and lived to tell of it, he asks that you attend.’
It was comforting to know that the monk still lived in the thoughts of the palace at all. ‘I will be there,’ I said. It would not do to have the Emperor cut down before the barbarian envoys, and it would be interesting to hear what they had to say, after the defiance I had witnessed in their camp. At the very least, it promised to be a spectacle.
ι ζ
Cymbals clashed, and a thousand guardsmen stamped their feet as one. A lone trumpet sounded its mournful note and the choir began again, their voices rising a half-tone with each repetition. The light of countless candles glittered off the ranks of axes, the scaled armour, the gold and silver of the courtiers’ robes and the emeralds, sapphires, rubies and amethysts that bedecked them, a mosaic of coloured light.
The imperial acclamation resounded through the hall.
Behold the morning star approaches,
The daystar comes.
His eyes a mirror to the sun,
Alexios, our prince,
Doom of the Saracen.
A dozen priests stood at the front of the room, swirls of incense rising from the censers which swung in their hands. They chanted their own contrapuntal hymn, matching the rhythm to perfection so that the tunes flowed together like water. An Egyptian pounded on a pair of goatskin drums, rising to a climax at the end of each verse until, with a single breath, every man in the room bellowed out: ‘Hail!’
‘You’d think with all that cheering the Emperor would show some gratitude,’ said Aelric, next to me.
We were in a gallery above the main hall, peering down from behind a curtained arch. Below us, on a throne mounted on a marble pedestal, the Emperor himself sat like a statue. A resplendently jewelled lorum covered his chest and shoulders, overlaying a dalmatica of shimmering purple silk: only as it caught the light could you see the subtlety of the patterns which curved through it. The constellated pearls and gems of the imperial diadem covered his head, and a pair of bronze lions lay like sentinels at his feet. To his right, on a lower dais, sat the Sebastokrator Isaak, regaled in finery which eclipsed all but his brother’s, while on his left stood the eunuch Krysaphios. Beyond them a galaxy of lesser nobles and bishops vied among themselves for the opulence of their dress.
The choirs of priests fell silent, leaving
only the drummer striking his staccato beat. It rose through the silence like thunder, sounding from the walls and columns; it seemed to fade from beneath us, yet the echo at the far end of the room grew ever louder, until I realised it had become a pounding on the golden door which faced me.
Krysaphios lifted a hand and the doors flew apart, thrown open by the hands of a half-dressed giant who lumbered in like some latter-day Polyphemos. He stood at least a head taller than Sigurd, and his skin gleamed with oil; he led an octet of eunuchs bearing silver biers on their shoulders. Seated atop them, seeming at once in awe and discomforted, were two barbarians. Their garments were dull and drab, with neither the artistry nor the ornament of our people; they seemed, if it were possible, to suck the radiance from the air they inhabited. Neither of them were men I recognised.
The eunuchs set them down on the floor before the Emperor, bowed low and left. They seemed unsure whether to stand or sit: one made to stand, but even as he did so the pair of bronze lions by the Emperor’s feet sprang into life. Their jaws rose up and down; their manes flared, and their tails thudded against the floor. The barbarians watched open mouthed, as if afraid they would be devoured by these mechanical toys.
‘Welcome to the court of the prince of peace,’ Krysaphios intoned. ‘He bids you offer your petition.’
With a hesitant glance at the nearer lion, which had lapsed into stillness, one of the Franks stood and gave a curt bow. The crowd stirred, and I guessed this was not the protocol, but he remained standing and uttered a short speech in his own language.
‘I am Geoffrey of Esch, companion of Godfrey, Duke of Lorraine.’ Perhaps it sounded magnificent in his tongue, but the monotone of the interpreter robbed it of any grandeur. ‘It is by Duke Godfrey’s command that I speak here, O morning star, most noble Emperor.’
‘The interpreter’s obviously been instructed to avoid trouble,’ murmured Aelric. ‘I doubt his true words were half so humble.’
He spoke in a slightly hollow, detached manner, far removed from his usual good spirits. His knuckles were white where he gripped the balustrade, and he seemed to sway slightly, as if he would fall without a handhold. Perhaps he feared for the Emperor’s safety – I certainly did. A pack of barbarians had spilled into the chamber behind their leaders, standing sullenly by the doors, and I scanned them anxiously for any sign of the monk. With the smoke of candles and incense making my eyes water, and a bright light pouring through the doors, it was hard to see anything of them at all.
The barbarian spoke again, though not one thread of the Emperor’s robes moved in response.
‘Prince of peace, we have journeyed many miles, and through many dangers, to come to your aid, to join you in God’s holy war against the Saracens and Ishmaelites who infest the holiest places of Christendom. But the road is long, and already we have delayed a month here, while in distant lands the ravages of the heathen continue unchecked. We ask you, great Emperor, to give us leave to pass from here and to give us passage across the water, the better to perform God’s work.’
The interpreter fell silent, and every man in the hall strained to hear Krysaphios’ answer.
‘Honoured guests, come from all the nations of Christ, the serene Emperor embraces your thoughts to his heart. He gives thanks to the One God that you have come to fight at his side in the cause of righteousness, and would not see your keen swords dulled through unuse. But before you pass from our walls, he would have you swear the oath customary among our people, to serve him truly and to restore to him that which is rightfully his, the ancient Roman lands of Asia.’
A murmur arose at the back of the room, and the envoy’s face darkened. Even the translator’s tact could not disguise the true intention of his words, for he spoke in haste and anger, with frequent jabs of his finger towards the impassive Emperor.
‘Great star of the morning, we humbly beseech your indulgence. While nothing compels us more urgently than the desire to see your glory and power restored to its fullest lustre . . .’ The translator faltered, his talent for equivocation clearly stretched to breaking. ‘But we Franks are jealous of our oaths, and do not give them lightly. We beg more time for reflection.’
Krysaphios’ lip curled. ‘We know well how close you guard your allegiance. That is why we honour you as allies. But the munificent Emperor would have you remember that he is quick to show his gratitude to those who aid him.’
The eunuchs who had borne in the barbarians now reappeared, four mahogany caskets slung between them. As they neared the dais they seemed to trip, sinking to their knees and tipping forward their loads. The chests fell open and the barbarians gasped as a king’s treasure spilled out across the floor. Golden chalices and plates, bowls and bracelets, necklaces set with pearls, myriad shining trinkets and enough coin among them to pay an army. Both barbarians were on their feet, stooping down to touch the riches before them with wonder on their faces. One scooped up a handful of hyperpyri and let them trickle back through his disbelieving fingers; the other held a drinking vessel, and stared at it as though he had found the cup of Christ.
‘Great are the rewards for those who pledge their loyalty to our cause,’ said Krysaphios.
But the barbarians showed little heed. They were talking urgently between themselves, fingering the treasures as they spoke. There seemed to be some disagreement.
‘That’s unsettled them,’ said Aelric. ‘That much gold could turn anyone’s mind.’
‘Buying allies can be an expensive habit. Allegiance bought with gold is like meat in the sun: it festers quickly.’
The two barbarians concluded their argument and turned back to Krysaphios. For all the wealth at their feet, neither looked happy.
‘The friendship of the Greeks is a valued honour,’ said the interpreter. ‘But nothing gains merit by haste. We ask time for pause, to carry this offer’ – he waved his hand at the scattered treasure – ‘to our lord Godfrey.’
‘The lord Godfrey should have sent ambassadors who could vouch for his thoughts and speak with his voice,’ Krysaphios told them. ‘But perhaps you wish to retire to a private chamber to consult your hearts.’
The envoys nodded dubiously. Again the eunuchs ran forward to raise their litters, but the barbarians disdained them, and were already walking back down the aisle to the door.
‘Halt,’ called Krysaphios, and they paused. ‘None leaves the Emperor’s presence.’
Without warning a tremendous noise exploded through the room, and a billowing column of smoke rose around the Emperor’s dais. The barbarians trembled, grasping one another for support as if they expected a bolt of lightning to sear into their flesh.
The smoke began to clear, and I felt a surge of shock as I looked down at where the Emperor had sat. He was gone, and with him the gilded throne, the bronze lions, everything: all that remained was a smooth disc of white marble.
Aelric must have noticed my shaken pallor. ‘Don’t worry, Demetrios,’ he said, touching my arm. ‘That was no miraculous barbarian weapon. It always happens like that, to excite the foreigners.’
There was a touch of scorn in his voice, though I was too flustered to comment on it. Looking through the eddying remnants of the smoke, I could see the ambassadors hurrying out of the door glancing nervously over their shoulders. Krysaphios and Isaak, I noticed, had also disappeared.
‘Well, I saw no sign of the monk in their retinue. Did you, Aelric?’
‘None.’
‘Though if he prefers to hire others to do his work, it could have been any of them.’ It was hard to think of the monk while marvelling at how close I had been to the Emperor, at the glory which surrounded him; I was still remembering the splendour of the barbarians’ entrance when the door behind me opened. A slight commotion in the room caught my attention, but it was only at the sound of the voice that I shook off my daydream.
‘Why do we persist with all that theatre? The smoke stains my robes and scalds my cheek – it’s a miracle that it hasn’t burned my bear
d off. How would I look to the barbarians then, Krysaphios, with one cheek charred and shorn?’
‘It serves its purpose, Lord.’
I turned around, forgetting even to sink to my knees. The man who had sat on that throne so motionless and unyielding, the prince of peace and the morning star and the heart of the empire, now paced only a few strides away. Beneath the well-groomed beard the cheeks were ruddy, like a peasant’s; thick eyebrows surmounted his flashing eyes. Even under his shapeless robe you could see the breadth of his chest and shoulders, sense the rough strength in his arms. He moved with restless energy, barking his thoughts to Krysaphios and the Sebastokrator who stood respectfully by the door.
I collapsed to the floor and made the customary obeisance, rigid with apprehension. I had spent almost two months thinking of little other than his safety, of the cares and motives of his killers – but as an abstraction, a riddle: never had I considered him a living, breathing man. Now, as he strode around the small chamber, it was hard to imagine him otherwise.
‘Who is this?’ he demanded, breaking off the litany of his impatience with ceremonial. ‘Why is he here?’
‘Demetrios Askiates, Lord,’ Krysaphios murmured. ‘He is the only man who has seen the monk who tried to murder you on the feast of Saint Nikolas. He is here to protect you.’
‘Get up, then, Demetrios Askiates.’ The Emperor’s eyes fixed their curiosity upon me. ‘I have heard your name. But tell me, can you protect me against the inflammatory excesses which the credulous minds of barbarians require?’
‘Lord . . .’ I stammered.
‘No matter. I knew when I accepted the throne that assassins, ingrates, invaders and usurpers would try and depose me from it: I did not think I would have to pose there like a statue while gouts of smoke roared about me. Perhaps I should haul the great founder Constantine down off his column and erect him on that throne. He would serve as well.’
