by Tom Harper
‘The Emperor was wrapped in a council of war when I left – can he really have seen me?’
‘My lord Alexios has both eyes and ears, and he does not always use them in unison. Will you stay, by his invitation?’
It was hard to resist the easy humour of this youth, but the single purpose in my mind overrode all else. ‘I must return to my home. I worry for my daughters’ safety, and I fear there will be more danger in the streets tomorrow.’
‘And the Emperor shares those concerns. He will send his guards to bring them here.’
At a stroke, all my resistance ebbed away. Though the palace was far from safe, and though any battle in the city would rage fiercest here, I would rather see my daughters by my side in a stout fortress than at the mercy of the mob. I nodded my agreement. ‘I will stay.’
The young man smiled, though there was a strain in his cheeks. ‘Thank you – it will relieve the Emperor. God alone knows what else will on this accursed day.’
‘Accursed indeed if my doings are his only comfort.’
‘Today has been bad. His enemies have risen, and his friends circle the throne like dogs; his choices are few, and ever diminishing. Yet these are merely the first breaths of the storm.’ He played absently with the clasp of his brooch, scanning the sky as if for a portent. ‘Tomorrow, I fear, it will break.’
κ ζ
It was the Great Friday of Easter, the holy day when Our Lord was crucified, and I woke in fear. Not fear of the barbarian armies who massed to strike us, nor of the assassins who might haunt the palace halls, nor even of the mob who could tear the city in two at their Emperor’s cowardice. It was fear of my daughters, fear that they would wake too soon in the small chamber where we had been lodged, and see their father curled shamelessly on a mattress with a woman who was not their mother.
Anna must have sensed that I stirred, for she twisted herself so she could see my face. ‘I should go. There must be some in need of a doctor here, after yesterday’s violence.’ She shook her tangled hair. ‘And though your daughters guess much, there are some things they should not see.’
‘Some things their father may not wish them to see,’ I added quietly. My spirits had leapt when Zoe and Helena arrived at the palace with Anna, she having still been at my home when the guards came. When at last I had finished roaming the passages near the Emperor’s apartments, well after midnight, I had been grateful, if cautious, of her embrace.
All thoughts left me as a stern knock came from the door. I was on my feet in an instant, trying to kick the blanket free of my legs, while Anna rolled against the wall and affected sleep. I heard tentative sounds from the far corner, but by the time Zoe’s head had peeked above the covers I was at the door and looking into the unblinking face of a guardsman.
‘You are summoned.’
I had grown tired of this abrupt phrase, seemingly the only form of invitation familiar to the guards, but I was glad of an excuse to be out of that room, and followed willingly. The smudged light I saw beyond the windows suggested that the dawn had not yet come, yet still we had to force a way through the bleary-eyed functionaries bustling about, until at last we came to a door guarded by four Patzinaks. My escort spoke something unintelligible to them and they stepped apart, flanking the door.
‘Go up,’ said my escort. ‘We wait here.’
Trying to affect calm under the Patzinaks’ hostile stares, I pushed through and began climbing the stairs beyond.
After a time, I began to wonder if this was some joke on the part of the guards, for there seemed no end to the stairs, only a succession of turns and counter-turns leading inexorably up. Nor did it seem that any others attempted the ascent: I passed no-one, saw none descending, and heard nothing but the lonely sound of my own footsteps. Even the slitted windows were sunk too far through the walls to reveal anything but grey light beyond.
I turned another corner, identical to every other, and saw a slab of sky above. I ran up the last dozen steps, and emerged onto a broad, flat platform. It was a high place, as high as I had ever been in my life and perhaps as high as man could build without provoking the jealousy of the Lord. By day it must afford an extraordinary view of the city, and all the lands for miles about, but in the predawn darkness I could see only a skein of embers spread across the landscape. A low wall lined the tower’s edge, utterly out of proportion to the depth of the drop beyond. Certainly inadequate beside the magnitude of the imperial life it now had to protect.
I dropped to my knees, glad of the excuse to be hidden from the dizzying space around me, and prostrated myself.
‘Get up. By tomorrow you may have to save your homage for another man.’ He spoke gently, but there was a weariness in his face which gave his words an unintended bitterness.
‘Is your confidence in me so low, Lord?’ The altitude must have enfeebled my mind: how else could I presume to jest with an Emperor?
He stretched his lips a little under the thick beard. ‘Confidence? Demetrios Askiates, you are one of the few men in whom I keep any confidence. Every one of my generals thinks me a coward, or worse, and my subjects denounce me in the streets. Many of my predecessors have found their eyes put out and their noses slit open for less.’
‘They pray that you will live a thousand years,’ I protested, but he rolled his eyes in impatience.
‘I have ruled fifteen years already,’ he said. ‘Longer than any since the great Bulgar-slayer himself. Yet what will a later Theophanes or Prokopios write of my reign? “He spent his life fighting the barbarians when they attacked, yet willingly surrendered them the empire when they came as guests.”’ He turned to the east, where a smear of crimson heralded the sun’s rising. ‘I stood here when Chalcedon burned with the fires of the Turkish army, when a single mile of calm water kept us from their advance. Without the Franks, and the Normans and Kelts and Latins and whomever else the pontiff of the west sends us, the Turks will come again, and they will not pause at the shores of the Bosphorus.’ He kicked the balustrade, and I tensed for fear that he might trip and topple over it. ‘My counsellors and their mobs do not understand that we no longer have the might of our ancestors. We cannot march across the world, as a Justinian or a Basil could. We are a nation rich in gold but poor in arms, and if I am to protect my people I must let others fight in their place.’
‘Then it is little wonder that your generals chafe, Lord.’
The Emperor laughed. ‘Little wonder indeed, and far greater wonder that they have left me my throne this long. In fifteen years I have never sought war – why would I? If I win, my commanders grow stronger, and scheme to put themselves in my place; if I lose, then thousands more Romans are left to the depredations of our enemies. Only by turning those who would attack us against each other can I keep my people safe. Except now the barbarians will not be turned, and the precarious edifice which passed for my policy is revealed as a conjuror’s trick.’
‘Yet the walls remain strong,’ I argued. ‘As long as they are manned, the barbarians can do little more than ransack the suburbs.’
‘The walls remain strong while their garrisons are loyal. How long will they support a coward who resists every provocation of the barbarians?’
The scarlet sun was rising now, filling the east with a cold red light, while above us great banks of clouds surged against each other, scarring the sky. The first bells were ringing in the churches below, and I could see their many domes gleaming crimson in the dawn. I shivered, and the Emperor must have noticed for he warmed his tone a little. ‘Keep faith, Demetrios, and keep close beside me. Have you not guessed their plan?’
I started. In the night I had conceived a hundred plots which the barbarians might have devised, but none which seemed probable.
‘They mean to kill me today.’ He assessed the prospect calmly. ‘When I am dead, I will change from coward to martyr. The mob and my generals will throw open the gates to avenge my memory, and the barbarians will rout them. That is what I would do. While we keep to our
walls they cannot harm us, so they must tempt us out. As long as I rule, we will keep inside, so they must remove me.’
‘You could stay here, Lord,’ I suggested, ‘on this tower. Then none could approach, and you would be safe until the barbarians were gone.’
Alexios shook his head sadly. ‘If I stayed up here, isolated and alone, I might as well be dead. My generals would issue orders which I could not countermand, and there would be a battle. No, I must stay in their midst, exerting what power I can, and you must see to it that the barbarian agents – this monk, perhaps – do not overcome me. While we hold to our walls, we will be safe.’
I looked over to the west. The light had touched it, now, and I could see the fringes of a vast army gathering itself for war. They must have spent the night in the fields, cold and damp, but I guessed they would have kept the rust from their swords. And somewhere among them would be Baldwin, buckling on his armour and dreaming of making our empire his by nightfall.
The Emperor had nothing more to say. I followed him back down the long stair as the sounds of our own army rose from the courtyards below.
It was two hours or more before the barbarians showed any semblance of order, two hours while I lingered in the throne-room trying to keep my eyes on the space around the Emperor rather than the events beyond his windows. It amazed me how the pugnacious, lively man I knew from the rooftop and the garden could still himself into the statued poise demanded by ritual. He sat on his golden throne, turned so that he could look out at his enemies, and kept motionless while a stream of courtiers and soldiers paraded past. Most of their petitions he did not even acknowledge, leaving Krysaphios to answer; a few, if the question was particularly confused, or the supplicant well-liked, he answered with brief changes of his aspect, stern or gracious as was demanded. I wondered that the weighty debates of empire could be settled thus, but never did I sense that he left any doubt as to his meanings.
And all the while, the low chants of the priests rose and fell in the background. As the Emperor could not attend the ceremonies in Ayia Sophia, an altar screen had been erected behind him, and three priests sang the melancholy songs of the Great Friday liturgy in private. Perhaps if my faith had been deeper I would have found solace in them, in the promise that even the worst suffering and death would be redeemed into eternal life, but in truth it only unsettled me to hear the brutal narrative of the passion. How it played on the Emperor I do not know, but he gave the appearance of ignoring it, save when the priests scurried out for him to perform some role allotted to him by custom. Then his audience would pause, while he recited his part or did as was required, before resuming his business. Incense rose with the music from behind the screen, and the scent, coupled with the ceremonial familiarity, slowed my senses and left me uncomfortably lethargic.
As the morning drew on, the room slowly filled with courtiers. They clustered around the fringes and conversed in hushed tones, so adept at hiding their voices that even I, standing almost beside them, could hardly discern a word. Their presence piqued my unease and restored my vigilance; perhaps overmuch, for now there were too many faces to scan, too many hands to watch for hidden daggers or sudden movements. Though the air from the open windows was cool, I began to sweat, and I wondered again how the Emperor could seem so frozen under the radiant weight of his grand robes.
At about the fourth hour, the bronze doors opened to admit a familiar figure, the barbarian Count Hugh, with a quartet of guards before him and as many pages behind. I stiffened, and nodded to the Patzinak captain to keep close to the throne. I had been assured of Count Hugh’s loyalty to the Emperor, or at least to his treasure, but having a barbarian so close, on this day of all days, seemed unspeakably reckless. The Emperor, as ever, gave no sign of discomfort.
‘Count Hugh.’ Krysaphios spoke from beside the Emperor. ‘Your kinsmen are again marching in arms against us. We are a peace-loving people, but in their hearts there is only war. Will you go to them, and press upon them our fervent desire for their brotherhood? Those who befriend us are rich in the blessings of life; our enemies enjoy only the pains of death.’
Count Hugh swallowed, and touched his throat to straighten the glittering pendant he wore. ‘You know I am always at my lord the Emperor’s command. But there is a madness in my kinsmen which I can neither cure nor explain. They have forgotten all that is good, and are seized by a thirst for blood and war. Loyal as I am to my lord, I do not think they will hear me.’ He lowered his voice a little. ‘They may not even respect the honour of my station.’
Krysaphios seemed about to speak angrily, but the Emperor forestalled him. It was the subtlest of movements, a drop of the chin and a slight widening of the eyes, but it must have been a deafening shout in Krysaphios’ ears for he recomposed himself and continued: ‘The Emperor reminds you that on this holy day, all Christians should unite in friendship. As our Lord Jesus Christ preached: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for great will be their reward in heaven.”’
It was not the gospel as I remembered it, but it seemed to pacify Count Hugh. He shifted the weight of his enormous lorum, so heavy with jewels that I feared it might crush him, made his obeisance and departed in haste. From beyond the door, I heard the sergeant calling for horses.
Left to his own desires, I suspect Count Hugh would even then have delayed his embassy as long as possible, but the Emperor must have made his will known throughout the palace, for within a quarter of an hour I saw their small procession trotting out of the gate below and across the plain towards the barbarians. I moved my way around the room, so as to have both the Emperor and the Franks in my sight.
Count Hugh and his entourage had just dropped into a dip in the landscape, and out of our view, when the doors were thrown open with a crash. I spun around, my hand on my sword, to see the Emperor’s brother Isaak marching in heedless of manners and convention, and entirely without the customary retinue.
‘What is this?’ he demanded of Krysaphios. ‘The barbarians are massing to attack again, and the legions sit in their barracks polishing their shields. They should be behind the walls, ready to be unleashed as soon as we have our enemies trapped under them.’
Krysaphios stared at him dispassionately. ‘The Emperor believes that the sight of our army in the streets would incite the mob to demand action, and raise the risk of a precipitate attack by an intemperate commander.’
‘Does the fear of the mob now guide the Emperor’s policy? Has he lost all faith in his captains, that they cannot be trusted to keep their men in order?’
‘If captains could be trusted with strategy, they would be generals.’ Krysaphios was less patient now. ‘And we have companies of archers who will hold the walls.’
‘And will they aim at clouds, as they did yesterday?’ Isaak was red with anger. ‘Every time we do not crush these barbarians, they grow bolder. Defeat is the only lesson they will learn – defeat by the force of our arms.’
The grains of the argument threatened to grow swiftly, but in a second the Emperor had stilled his chamberlain and his brother both. It seemed that he did no more than stretch out the fingers on his right hand, as if admiring his rings, yet Krysaphios and Isaak and all the assembled courtiers fell silent, and turned their gaze on the plain outside. Count Hugh was returning, galloping back as if the furies themselves chased him; he was comfortably in advance of his escort, and had entered the gates, climbed the stairs and been admitted to the Emperor’s presence before the last of his group had even reached the walls. All that time no-one spoke, save the priests who continued their ceaseless chanting behind the screen.
Count Hugh’s splendour was much diminished by his errand, though his pride was unbowed. There were gaps on his lorum where gems must have been shaken loose by the violence of his ride, and mud was splashed halfway up the skirts of his dalmatica. The jewelled cap he wore so constantly had slipped over one ear, which glowed as if it had been slapped.
Krysaphios still waited before he had performed the full hom
age before letting him speak.
‘My Lord,’ he said indignantly. ‘It is as I warned you: they are completely deaf to reason and charity. They called me a slave – me, a lord of the Franks and brother of a king. Their king, no less. How can I treat with such men?’
‘How did you?’ Krysaphios was unsympathetic, but Count Hugh’s answer was delayed, for the three priests suddenly processed from behind their screen and walked solemnly before the Emperor. One held a tall cross on a wooden staff, the second a censer, and the third a golden cup. He tipped it to the Emperor’s lips, while the others flanked him and sang their acclamations. When he had drunk, all three retreated, never once acknowledging the watching multitude.
Count Hugh glared at them, and continued. ‘I did as my lord the Emperor wished. I told them that all should offer their allegiance to the greatest power in Christendom. I reminded them that they were far from home and allies, and that rather than seek to overthrow the noble Romans they should be grateful of their aid. I appealed to their love of all good things in earth and heaven, and they laughed at me. Me, the brother of . . .’ A stare from Krysaphios ended his aside. ‘They said: “Why beg for a treasure we can seize ourselves, and from a king whose crown will have fallen before we are even within his walls?” I would have argued, but they grew tired of the interview and I feared they would kill me if I delayed longer. “Run to the Greeks,” they said as I left, “but you will find no safety there. For we are coming, and none can resist us.”’
‘And they are coming indeed.’ The Sebastokrator Isaak spoke from beside the windows, through which the lines of the Frankish cavalry could now be seen advancing towards us arrayed for battle. ‘Now will you hear me, brother?’
Krysaphios looked to the Emperor, still as a rock, and back to Isaak. ‘Your brother reminds you that unless they have built an army of siege engines in the night, the walls are secure. We can withstand a thousand such attacks.’
